FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

'The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war.' -Douglas MacArthur >--. .-. .. -- / -.-. .- .-.. .-.. .. -. --. / -- .- ... - . .-. >-.-. --- -- . / .. -. / -- .- ... - . .-. >-.-- . ... / -.-- . ... / .-- .... .- - / .. ... / .. - >.. / .... .- ...- . / -. . .-- ... >.-- .. .-. .. -. --. / --- ...- . .-. / - .-. .- -. ... -.-. .-. .. .--. - / -. --- .-- >-.-- . ... >.. / .... . .- .-. -.. / .- / ..-. . .-- / -.. .- -.-- ... / .- --. --- >.-.. --- -. -.. --- -. / .... .- ... / ..-. .- .-.. .-.. . -. >- .... . -.-- / .- .-. . / --. --- .. -. --. / - --- / -... . / .--. ..- .-.. .-.. .. -. --. / --- ..- - / - .... . / ... - --- .--. ... / --- ...- . .-. / - .... .. ... >.. / . ...- . -. / .... . .- .-. -.. / -. .. --. .... - / .-.. .. --. .... - / .. ... / -... . .. -. --. / .- -.-. - .. ...- .- - . -.. >.. - / .-- --- -. .----. - / -.-. --- -- . / - --- / - .... .- - >.-- .... -.-- / -. --- - >- .... . / .. -... . .-. .. .- -. / .-- .- .-.. .-.. / ... - .. .-.. .-.. / .... --- .-.. -.. ... >- .... . / -.. .- .-- ... --- -. / .-. .- .. -.. / .-- .- ... / .-.. .- ..- -. -.-. .... . -.. / .--- ..- ... - / - .... .. ... / -- --- .-. -. .. -. --. >.-- . / ... - .. .-.. .-.. / .... .- ...- . / --- .--. - .. --- -. ... >-. .. --. .... - / .-.. .. --. .... - / .-. . -- .- .. -. ... / .. -. .- -.-. - .. ...- . >.- -. -.. / .. - / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / ... - .- -.-- / - .... .- - / .-- .- -.-- >--. --- --- -.. >.. / -.. --- -. .----. - / .-.. .. -.- . / - .... . / ... --- ..- -. -.. / --- ..-. / .. - >-. . .. - .... . .-. / -.. --- / .. Chapter 8: Precious Quiet >A gentle, floating sort of warmth, Everything just... sits, tranquil, pristine. >The air holds no buzz, no murmuring, no thrum. >Every part of you is at peace, there is no tension, no worry. >Except for the unshakable feeling that you've been here before. >The bed seems a little too perfect, like you've worn your notch into it from night after night of rest, despite everything around you looking spotless. >The warmth of the summer hearth filtering in through an unseen window is bright, but doesn't agitate your eyes. As if some unseen hand installed a dimmer switch on the sun and spent a few hours nudging it into just the right setting. >As you stare at the ceiling in contemplation, you wonder why all of this is somehow plucking at a sense of familiarity. >And a distant feeling of dread... >It's not the home you know, the aroma in the air is different, no trace of the usual vices. Everything is too clean, and you can't hear the usual movement of a living city through the walls. >As something stirs outside the window, briefly disrupting the light, a memory snaps out of the shade. >Of course... >It's taunting you again. Showing you this facsimile of the perfect life you can't have with plywood walls and a paper heart on a string. >Your chest sinks as you breath out again, waiting for the game to end, for these prop walls to fall away into the night so you can be force fed your sampling of misery. >That's what it wants, what it's always wanted, to sap your spirit. >To see you give in.... And finally recognize there's no point in struggling for what you can't have. >You can hear a shuffling breaking the pristine silence, heavy, soft steps echoing from somewhere outside of your cell. >That warm haze is probably approaching, being puppeted around to keep up the illusion that anyone is here besides yourself. >Come to think of it, the stand-in didn't have footsteps before, it just appeared at the door without protest. >Those small voices outside weren't there this time. The light filtering in through the curtains is brighter than before, and the ceiling bears a different shade of paint. >Irrelevant changes to be sure, just bait to set off your curiosity and prompt you into tripping the wire. >Maybe if you just lie still, and don't look, then you can fool it long enough to wake up without having to go through the rest of the motions. >The steps wander around the 'house' some more before coming to a soft halt at where you assume the door is. >You would double check, but the fear sitting on your throat scratches that craning your neck forward will snap some invisible thread drawn over your larynx. >Not sure if the entity would somehow recognize you're awake when it enters, you meter your breathing to simulate sleep; hoping it will just go right back out and leave you alone. >A soft scratching and a click, the door swings open with a whispering creak, and you can feel that vague, fuzzy warmth creeping around your core again. >You can already see the ghost of it, some peach haze that just floats in the doorway pretending at being alive, because even your subconscious can't fabricate 'the one'. >A broken imagination for a broken man. >But it's not leaving, and there's something else there, some feeling familiar beyond this torment. >The minutes crawl by, you hear the air occasionally shift with a breath, or a soft tap on the doorframe. Gentle grabs at your attention to lure you to the honeypot. >It's more life like than before, shinier bait, but bait nonetheless. >You aren't moving. >... >And the dream isn't ending. >It seems intent to force your hand if you want to leave. >...might as well. You know what's on the horizon, and you're sure it can't throw anything worse at you. >Time to step in line. >You crane your neck forward, ready to feel the snapping of thread and the rush of ice as the walls fall away, but as you look up you lay eyes on the figure in the doorway. >The grey fuzz has a voluminous, curving shape, and stares back at you with glimmering blue gems. >It's.... Her? * >Your breath jumps softly as you try to decode the warm blur of colors your half open eyes greet you with. >Some dull sensation grips at the back of your head. It's a distant, but discouraging distraction, and you shutter your eyes closed again. >At least you're warm. >Very warm. >The heat has seeped into your core, soothing your heart and relaxing your being, you feel perfectly content to just lie here and forgot about... whatever it was you were supposed to do. >A warm wall presses against you on your right, and you feel surrounded on all sides by warm fur. >Wait... >Fur? >You remember a dense nesting of faux fur blankets, the jackal's attempt at providing a comfortable respite. >Comfortable was the right word, and her attempt was a success. She's usually prompt about her business, so you figure she'll wake you up when it's time to go. >The breath in your lungs coasts out with a dreaming sigh as you settle your head back into the soft warmth of your pillow. It shifts to cradle you, quivering slightly as you hear a faint murmur from above you. >Another presence in bed breaths deep, murmuring more and moaning out a sigh... as the dense, warm mass under you rises in time with her breath. >... >You dare to creep an eye open. >Grey. A bountiful lake of grey with faded white shores. >Oh Christ. >This situation is starting to edge on familiar, and you aren't sure how to feel about that. >But is she awake? >She might kill you if she's waking up. >Nervously hiking your shoulders, you creep your gaze upward, being careful not to move too much, because judging by the sensation of warm iron barring across your back, she's pulled you into this hold in her sleep. >You lay eyes on her muzzle, and find by the serene expression glazing her closed eyes, and the content smile on her lips, she's still fast asleep. >Another murmur, her mouth nips at nothing, and she stirs slightly. Pleasant dreams that have you seeing echoes of your old girl back home. >You miss that mutt, but at least she seemed to give you some tricks and relevant experience to use with Teth'ra. >Tricks like finding the right spot to scratch to help out her emotional quibbles. >It's cute really, watching this furred brickhouse of a woman 'hunt' in her sleep like a pup. >Wait...cute? Her?! >The novelty of it almost has your head spinning. She has sharp fangs, goring claws, legendary senses, primal instincts, and was strong enough that she could likely snap you in half. >A trained killer, a warhound that carried a gun almost as large as your torso... and you found her cute. >Adorable even, as she mumbles something before her sleepy grin goes from content to outright goofy. >As her leg twitches, you have to wonder what saccharine little scenario is currently playing out in her head. >And if it involves you somehow. >You did end up dreaming about her, if only superficially. >What could it even mean? Her presence in that dream, and how the more nightmarish parts of it refused to show this time. >Something to think on after you slip yourself out of another awkward situation. Last thing you need is another repeat of the morning before Cache Creek. >Come to think of it, neither of you really acknowledged that since it happened, which was fine with you. >She mumbles something again, and you shift to feel out where her arms are around you. >Her hold on you is nice and loose, so if you just pull far enough away, you can shimmy out without disturbing her and then go about the morning routine to keep your mind occupied. >A new problem rears its head as you consider your options, however gently, due to her size and how close you are to her, you're going to have to push off of her. >Meaning if she's ticklish or not that heavy a sleeper, your little mission is doomed from the start. >The plan from your dream reemerges, if she stirs awake then you can just pretend at being asleep. In her morning haze she may not be keen enough to pick out the fine details. >You wander your hand around over her middle, gently brushing at her fur and watching her face closely to see the effect. >It's doing something, she continues her aimless nips at the air while murmuring out a subdued bark >So far, so good, you bury your hand a little deeper in the sugary feeling silk of her fur, not making an effort to really push in yet. >The rich fluff doesn't extend out that far, but it is dense, and immediately her response ratchets up a little. >Teth belts out a series of muffled, quiet moaning sounds as she turns her snout upwards, flashing a wide fanged smile. Her tail is lazily wagging as you hear the limb brushing the sheets. >You've discovered one of her good spots, but you think better on it and migrate your hand towards her side. >If she produces a more subdued reaction, then that would be your likely hold for worming your way out of her grip. >Her nipping turns to snapping as you test it, and she squirms a hair, her breathing jumping towards something resembling laughter. >Her sides are ticklish, so it's back to her belly, after you pull away your hand to allow her a reprieve. You can't push it or she might wake up. >Teth's grin subsides back into that quiet smile as she settles into her pillow, and you take the opportunity to push a hand in and rest it across her stomach. >Briefly she starts up again with some happy whine before uncoiling into rest. >The feel of her is different, very different. >The plush silk of her fur envelops your hand, and the flesh underneath gives in with a comfortable softness, settling against a steely core that shifts gently under your touch with her breathing. >The plan was straightforward, just push away a little, and then slip downwards out of her grip. Then you could just settle in at the other side of the bed and go back to sleep. >No awkward mornings, no errant touches in the wrong spot. -No difficult questions- >... >You can't think on that, it'll just throw you off. >You just gotta squirm your way out without waking her, no big deal. >You whisper pliantly to try and offer some sort of appeasement to her unconscious so she stays in slumber. "Okay big girl..." >Pushing in gently, she moans a little as you shuffle against her arms to loosen her hold. "...Easy does it." >Pause. look up. Is she stirring out of it? >She's turned her head back upwards so you can't see her eyes past her muzzle to check, but as you hold your breath, she settles back into the unresponsive daze. >Just a little further and you can easily slide out from behind her arms, you really don't even need to risk pushing against her stomach anymore. >A crest of relief prompts a slight smile and a whispered quip as you shuffle away. "Now just let go an-HMMMmmm!" >As soon as you back against her arms, a lazy growl rumbles from her throat and she wrenches you back in, squeezing you tightly against her. >This time the warm mass of comfort holding you in bed is physical rather than just the sense of your own laziness. >You pause, thinking maybe the sensation of something pulling away from her embrace triggered some reflex, and if you still yourself her grip will loosen. >Her deadlock over your back holds firm, and she even shifts, angling her shoulders down and bringing her legs up, curling herself around you. >Mission failed... And the dread sets in that she's waking up. You listen against the hush of the airvents in the house, but she merely sighs dreamily before stilling again... still asleep. >There's no way you're getting out now. "What is it with you and not letting go?" >A rhetorical question towards a slumbering giant holding on to you like a teddy bear. >Your life had gotten more than just strange ever since you left home. >Seeing as how she continues to gently snore, you start recounting. >You were there the night the sky turned bright as day with an endless autumn fire, and watched through the window as an unending tide of gunmetal swam through the streets to meet it. >It wasn't too long before the draft came to your neighborhood. Basic training wasn't the massive trial you thought it would be, but you struggled through the mud like everyone else. >The time at the motorpool saw some ghost of normalcy, if it wasn't for the shuddering explosions a few miles away at the front. >Then you met Willard, and your life turned on its head. >Sent off to academy on the recommendation of a squadron captain, learning the new and intricate technologies behind iron giants. >Strapped in and struggling through your first steps all over again, and heeding the words of an old german espousing his doctrine on artillery and barrage fire. >At least you didn't fall, and the finesse behind handling the big guns just seemed to click. >You started a bit of a repertoire with the old man, he believed you a natural talent, and you respected him for what he had to teach you. >Soon he left you with a few extra tricks, and back to the front you went, to officially join the 512 as their newest pilot. >The new stripes of a master sergeant were a welcome change of pace, now you had a bit of weight to your words to throw around. >Small comforts when you felt increasingly uneasy about actually taking up the fight, you always told yourself you were fighting in your own way, behind the lines, but talk like that was cheap now. >Through the haze of violence, they became like brothers to you. >The brothers you never had, before they were torn away. >Before your mental ramblings can spiral down to be any more dire, she squeezes again, throwing a leg over yours and making an unconscious effort to huddle you in closer to her. >Not able to distract yourself anymore, a wave of warmth floods out of your already fluttering heart. >How the hell does she keep doing that? >That first night when you met her, and she carried you outside to talk, saying just the right things. >The way she secured you when your nerves raised in fear. >She was always there. When you needed that reassuring hand, those kind words, that warm embrace. >The big girl didn't even waste any time with words after the crushing weight of gravecall, she just held you close to her to wash away the cold. >Then after Cache Creek, she was eager to see you safe, and her presence managed to shoo away the waking nightmares in the corners of your vision. A detail you failed to notice at the time. >And after you relived the hell of that encounter that so haunted you, she was still not unwilling to help, even as you were straining her patience. >Your angel... >Maybe there was more truth in those two words than you ever realized. >You were of half a mind to reach around and feel her back for a pair of wings. >The silk of her fur ruffles under your touch as your hands slide up her sides and... wait, the fuck are you doing? -going mental?- >Lying in a plush bed under a massive lump of faux-fur blankets, pinned against a giant jackal by her habit of cuddling in her sleep, and feeling around her back for a pair of celestial wings that couldn't possibly exist. >What sane man would be doing that? >Coupled with the things plaguing your own subconscious, and that swirling heat dancing in your ribs, you didn't have much ground to stand on to defend your sense of stability. >Teth'ra stirs briefly with a happy moan as you think. Her embrace over you tightens further, pinning your arms square to your side. >The heat grows, and not just from her further burying you into her body. >It's a feeling that to your growing anxiety, is familiar. >A stirring dripping with memory, both joyous and painful, and more memory is prompted from hiding by the sensation. Last night you and her got close, prompted by the fugue of alcohol to get more than just comfortable. >That warm, smothering feeling from her throwing her thigh over your leg shakes out more from the dull ache you're now aware is inhabiting your head. >The things you talked about, the way she loosed into her truer colors, that boundless playful energy when you accepted her challenge... and the noises she made... >She curls in on you further, and you feel a slight prodding ruffling through your hair as she again breathes that happy sighing, like a...- -lover in the afterglow...- >Your breath catches in your throat, and a wave of intense heat washes over your face. You can feel the tempo of your heart growing stronger. >She wanted more than just some time away from her business. It wasn't just some juvenile urge to compete that drove her to grapple with you. >And the noises... >Oh hell, the noises... >She was enjoying it, and you were so caught up in the haze of liquor and confusion, you weren't even thinking on if YOU were enjoying it as well. >... >She was on top of you... >Laying overtop of you... >If you had lost control, she would have felt it pressing against her backside, and that's not something easily forgotten even after a hangover. >Thinking on it, her grabs at you may have been attempts to repay your own accidental gropings in kind. >The almost predatory look that grew in her eyes was a different kind of hunger. Something less primal. Something more personal. >Oh christ. >And when she had you pinned... >A lump of heat glides up your throat, as if attempting to replicate the sensation. >What did that even mean to her? >What experience you have isn't of much help, with your old gal back home, that was just a showing of trust and familiarity, but a common dog Teth'ra is not. >Was it something similar? Some mark of deep kinship? Or is it a message that she thinks of you as a... a partner? >Your intuition leans towards the third option, even as the growing heat under your chest protests. After all what is a small lick like that if not a measure of affection like a peck on the cheek? >... >But why you? -you aren't worth the trouble- >You feel her tense briefly, pulling you out of the rattling swell of emotion and guesswork. >The jackal stretches backwards, and produces a sort of muffled whining sound in what is undeniably the canine imitation of a yawn. >Shit! >She's waking up... >Your instincts suggest tightening up for a defense, tensing up like last time, ready to bolt, but you're far too close and you fight against the urge. >Pretending at being asleep should solve another awkward morning, so you try to relax into playing the dead fish despite that nervous tick to hunker down or flee. >You know her, she wouldn't do anything to you. This is what... the fourth time now? >Against your better judgments, you let your weight fall where it may, settling smoothly against the curve of her body, your cheek sinking just a little further into the 'pillow' to your growing shame. >Now you have a different sort of problem. >Your shame is growing. >This time you don't even have the comfort and excuse of a morphine cocktail weakening your resolve. >The heat of her body bleeds into your own, flushing your being further with a sense of intimacy that refused to be ignored. >You read somewhere that most anthros maintain a higher internal body temperature than humans do, and between herself and the blankets; Teth'ra was like a small furnace. >The heat was making it difficult to distinguish what was the warmth of the bed and what was your own stirring. >You do realize that lightening feeling down below indicating captain richards is coasting down the runway with the throttle open, the traitor. >Flexing your legs to starve the sortie of fuel, you hoped dearly it actually worked, because somehow you could see the big girl teasing you about a successful takeoff with little relent once you 'woke up'. >You didn't crack when she was in her skivvies and you were loaded with morphine sulfate and whatever other miraculous medical reagents science could offer to smother your better senses, and you aren't going to let your base instincts drive now. You're in control of yourself dammit. >The struggle is hard fought, and even unconsciously she seems to strike back against your efforts at holding your delicately balanced composure. >It's far too late to move your head, and her morning daze has your 'pillow' swelling up and down as she yawns. >You would admit the almost squeaky sound of her yawning is cute, it's something to pull your attention away from the bed of corpulent, supple flesh you find your head cradled by... The rich swell feels so amazingly soft, the plush silk of her fur calls y- >NO!... shit... >So far that leg casually resting overtop yours hasn't been an issue, until the solidifying wave of stretch rolls through her, and the heavy blanket of her thigh suddenly becomes a pair of rocks pinning your legs together. Even still the feeling of being squeezed like that is doing weird things to your bloodflow, and threatening to send you over the tilt. -those things could pop a melon- >no, bad! >You curl your toes in desperation. You can't send things careening into a repeat of that morning before Cache Creek, not after what you talked about last night... What you did last night. >Drunkenly cracking some sexually charged quips at some idiot sitcom? The way both of your gazes were ensnared by the net when the onscreen pairing of jackal and human shared a kiss? Chatter about your past loves? That bought up connotations you don't even want to think about, not now. >She shifts a little, and now you're dreadfully aware of her belly sliding underneath yours as she continues her stretch with a massive yawn. >You can't help but be drawn into the depression she leaves in the mattress, and the feeling of coasting fur presses around your sensitive spot, before it sinks in enough that something more solid bumps it, prompting a shock of electric feeling, and a sudden revving of the throttle. >You bite down in response, holding in a grunt and briefly tensing everything to kill that drive. -so soft... but so strong... maybe she's not that bad, hmm?- >Shit! >Distractions! fucking distractions dammit! Think! Just think! >The thread of last night continues in your mind's eye, it's not ideal but you seize on it. >Then there was truth or dare, Truth or fucking Dare! Like a couple of college kids stumbling face first into love. -love huh?- >Christ, stop! >The torture of the jackal's stretch stops, and she relaxes, pushing you back into a less compromised position and relenting the industrial strength press that was pinning your legs. You sorely wish you could breath deep to stabilize yourself, but that would just blow your cover. >Settling for hesitantly coasting out a heated breath, you listen as she orients herself, and then nail your eyes shut as she pauses with a hissing inhale. >The fog must have lifted from her senses, because by your count that can only mean she's also become keenly aware of your awkward situation. >Keeping your contingency in motion, you arrest any and all signs of tension in your body and keep your breathing slow and lazy. >You just have to hope to god that she doesn't notice, and that you can hold your dog down. -maybe she could help with that. She must have an amazing grip~- >please shut up.... bastard. >The air is so still now you can make out her mumbling something. >"oh.... shit..." >At least she seems surprised and flustered as well, small comforts. >Least that's what you're hoping for, if she gets any funny ideas you might just have another episode. >Even against her 'cushioning' you can feel her shifting her shoulders to take a look around, the whole while continuing to swear under her breath. >"uhhhh..... fuck. Okay..." >You can feel the stony presence of her arms slowly uncoiling from their hold as she contemplates what to do. You can only imagine the wave of questions and confused feelings running through her own head right now, and what plan of action is attempting to percolate through the storm of embarrassment. >For your own sake, the best helping hand you can lend her in the effort to disentangle is to keep pretending at being asleep, despite your sensitivity to so many of her movements. >"Alright, PLEASE be a heavy sleeper..." >She acts quickly, very slowly lifting her leg away from yours while attempting to shuffle out the other one from underneath, hoping that the gradual absence of the sensation won't wake you. >Every time your facade hitches a little in a peculiar breath or a reflexive twitch, she immediately pauses, and you can feel her staring down intently at you to see if she had stirred you awake. >If only she knew. >For such a big thing, she's being exceedingly careful, she already has her legs free and is now trying to work out how to best move your head from its perch. >She must try a dozen different times to work some kind of angle, before withdrawing and trying again when she thinks better of it. >You hope she finds the 'solution' soon because you don't know how much longer you can hold back that thought ricocheting in the back of your head. >Now she comes in low, trying to sneak a hand in under your head, and you see her plan. >A swapout like that idol you know... at least before the boulder started moving. >Except this time she's swapping out the stand, likely ready to use a free hand to drag the pillow under you and set you back down. >One soft mass should feel the same as another, right? >You can feel the way her chest shifts under you as she presses in a hand to try and lever it under you, but you'll keep assuring the benefits of her doubt. It should be easy to keep up the act as long as she- >"Mmmm-nngh!" >...keeps quiet. >Near instantly she swallows her breath and locks up, staring at you with a scrutiny renewed by an internal panic. -how sensitive are these things?- >Not now dammit! >She's not moving, barely even breathing, you have to do something to make it look clear for her to continue. >You were never much of a thespian beyond a talent for dodging questions, so you pray that your faked snore is convincing. >Teth'ra gives a hearty sigh, and you can the urge to sigh in relief yourself, she can't get through with this soon enough. >Sure enough her paw starts sliding under you. You'd be worried about the claws, but you don't even feel them, even in the morning haze she's cautious about them. >The silky, ticklish feeling glides along your temple, and you feel there are breaks in the cottony fur, small, warm spots that demand comment on how pleasantly smooth they are. >Her large, gentle hand cradles your head, the sensation is warm, weird, and soothing, you relax into the touch. >Her warm hand and delightful little pawpads are oddly comforting, melting a mellow sigh out of you. >The jackal takes a short gasp, slowing as you feel her eyes on you again. >wait... >oh... you fucking idiot. >Your heart starts tightening, but soon enough she shyly continues, and you hold in your motions of relief. >Guess she just thought it was a stirring in your sleep rather than your waking mind, she certainly made more than enough of those sorts of noises earlier. >She makes some sort of scoffing sound as she tries her model best to keep your head still while sliding her bust out from under it. >"hm, cute." >You don't even need any prompting to understand she's probably wearing that gentle, ever familiar smile. This has some flapping thing near your diaphragm doing corkscrews. >How does this woman keep having such a strong effect on you? -Lo- >Shut it! >The hushed shuffling of the pillow tugs underneath you, and with the care of the ocean letting a ship settle, she lowers you onto the pillow, slipping the warmth of her paw away. >You catch yourself missing that feeling already. >Still, the heavy heat of her presence bathes your side, and now she's probably conceiving a way to slip out of bed without raising your notice. >She must think you a heavy sleeper as she goes for a careful roll away from your side. >To be fair, if you were in her position you'd likely think you were sleeping like the dead too. >Then the weight off to your side shudders strangely, she takes a hissing inhale, and you hear the dull thump and rush of air of a hand shooting out to grab the headboard. >Of course, she could make your act even harder to keep up by being a big klutz and almost falling off the bed. >Again you feel her staring at you, holding her breath and waiting for you to awaken and question why she's hanging off 'your' side of the bed flush with embarrassment. >Satisfied after another long minute, she breaths out her continuing relief at your apparent coma, and you feel the weight on the mattress carefully dismount. >She gives another yawn, rummages through something, and then wanders around the room a bit muttering to herself. What she's talking about to herself (or you) is inaudible to your ears. >You wish she'd hurry up and get on with her day so you can finally drop the facade. >Another few minutes.... and finally, you hear the bathroom door followed by the muffled rushing of the shower coming on. >Oh God finally! >You roll over onto your back and shoot your eyes open, that dull beige painting the room had never looked quite so refreshing. >The frustration and heat vents out in a protracted, agitated groan. "Uuuuuuuugh... Fuck." >Sitting up, the static air breathes a crawling chill over your skin, and you catch your reflection in the dusty mirror of an old oaken dresser by the wall. >Your face is stained heavily with a rosy red, your hair is disheveled and in disorder, and you're already bracing your arms, shivering for the lack of such a warm body next to yours. >What is that woman doing to you? And why is she even interested in you? >All of these confused feelings and urges playing in thrust and countermand under your breast. Are you really attracted to her? Or is a simple lack of release to blame for your increasingly unrestrained whims? >Either way your internal battle may sway, you have to collect yourself for the day ahead and sometime later maybe find a few hours alone to work yourself out. >You have to be deadly certain about this. >You've been cut too many times, and even now you're treading dangerous and shifting grounds. >The whims of the heart... <Teth'ra> >You breath deep, steadying the hand over your chest and trying to mellow the tempo felt through your fingers. >A heat stirs in you, burning to go back. He was at such peace. >Even now there's still a pull to peek through the door and see that content comfort dressing him, but he needs his rest. >He just looked so relaxed, sleeping there with his head on your breast. >No flinching or uncertainty, just an undeniable security near you. >You can't know if he shuffled over to you or if you pulled him that way in your sleep, but the fact he didn't wake up, that even unconsciously he smiled when you touched him sends warm shivers all over. >This time he felt safe in your arms even when you weren't comforting him from his nightmares. >However briefly, the fear wasn't there. Not even a trace >It dances in your head, after images from your dreams, dreams of a better life, with someone right there at your side. As you saw more of who he is under the broken shale of his traumas and fears, he started fitting into that nook more easily. >Your dreams last night were just a cozy, disjointed blur of pleasantries, but you saw him, and it was actually him, not a puppet of your libido shaped to resemble him. >It was only a brief time, but he was standing in a garden, leaning on a shovel as the dry summer sun enraptured his face. >He was wearing that roguish smile, with a charming air in his eyes, and peeking out from behind his knee was a curious little muzzle wearing young eyes wide with wonder and a stripe of gold on their chin. The shy little bundle of youthfully puffy fur was a shade of grey like you, but darker. >As the light caught it, you could see traces of his deep blackened auburn mixing with your ashen grey for that marvelous color. >And the eyes... a sparkling grey-blue, exactly like his. >That image quickly filled you with an undeniable, complete warmth. >Then just as quickly, the vision was gone, vanished in an autumn wind chilled with whispers of war and despair. >You did not reach to grab it, it was only a dream, but the things you would do to realize even a fraction of that. >The hissing water warms behind you, and you scrutinize your reflection, standing firm against itself in the large mirror dominating the wall. >Through the smudging haze of the steam starting to coat the glass, the harder edges of your figure melt away; Your stomach softens; Your arms look just a bit thinner, more pampered; Your pillar like legs start looking more fatty from this angle; Your heavy breasts lose the texture of your fur; And the undeniable signs of strength in your wide hips fade. >Your muzzle is too much of a smudge to make out, and your ears have vanished into the white haze on top of the mirror. >Staring at the oily blur in the mirror, you can almost fool yourself into thinking it's human, that it's not almost eight feet tall. >That it isn't you... >Is this what he wants? What he would need to see when he looks at you? >As much as a sense of melancholy wants you to say yes, other signs drag your best guesses in the opposing direction. >You wipe away the fog, staring at the tip of your nose before meeting your own eyes again. >You're torn on how he sees you, and a dull ice rattling in your skull since you woke up isn't doing you any favors. "Get a hold of yourself girl." >It's not like he's actively keeping away from you, he did accept a night alone with you after all, but exactly what happened after you settled onto the couch with him starts becoming a blur. >A ghostly trace of his scent hangs about your fur as you breath in, there's an urge to keep it like a scent mark even if he's entirely unaware of that practice, but you should keep yourself clean and in order. >The water should help this headache too, what were you even doing last night? Trying to remember hurts. >You wince a little as you turn back to the shower, you barely fit in the damn thing. Your head easily clears over the rail the sliding glass door hangs from, and what room is left in the stall, you take up a fairly large portion of. >Least it's not as cramped as those damn field showers, but you miss that big tub back home. About the only place you could stretch and relax into the warm water. >Ducking in, you stand yourself against the wall with a hand, the last thing you want to do at your size is slip. >The clinging heat of the water quickly hits your hip, and a crawling twitch snaps through your leg as you thump your heel against the tile. >After the twitch runs its course, you feel the sensation turn over to a cool relaxation, sweeping away the morning dead weight in your leg. >You don't pretend to know exactly why you do that kicking when the water first hits that spot on your hips, but you don't care. Stepping into the shower like this and washing away the tension feels wonderful. >You turn the other side, soaking your other leg and moaning in contentment. >It's still a bit tight in here, but unlike the rickety canvas stalls with a harshly rationed supply of hot water, you have some time and space, doubly so since some entitled little tramp wasn't trying to hog the showers specifically meant for larger troopers. >You really had no choice but to throw them out on their ass, even in those larger field showers you could barely move, but there was no damn way you'd fit into the normal sized ones. >You reminisce back on those misadventures as you soak your fur, even if it was just over one slice of the morning routine, it was good to feel like an alpha. >It was one of the few things you held real sway over in the battalion, and you held fast to your guns on that front. >First it was a bit of a routine, you'd find some bint that barely came up to your stomach acting like the only unoccupied stall marked for 'troopers of inordinate size' was somehow reserved for her when she could easily just use one of the many spare regular stalls, and you'd either get her to scram with a threat, or force her out and take your rightful spot. >Sometimes you swear they did it just to be petty and inconvenience your mornings, taking up half of your hot water in the minute they had it running before you got there. >Soon enough you cracked down on your territorial rights. Now if someone was using YOUR stall before you had your morning wash, you'd roughly throw them out of the shower tent itself into the open air; both to catch windchill and to be gawked at. >That got the message through, it was your fucking stall. >It became an unwritten rule that no one uses the big stall unless they want to involuntarily display themselves to half the camp when they're thrown out of the tent, at least not until after you were done with it. >In a rare show of honest responsibility, the captain even called everyone together to mandate everybody to leave that stall open for large-bodied women like you or face discipline, either by official means or the makeshift punishment you cooked up. >Faced with either duty cleaning the latrines or unwilling exhibition, the incidents stopped almost entirely. Aside from the occasional clueless greenhorn that got thrown out for a fair slice of camp to ogle her cup size, you won the battle. >There were grumblings about it since aside from a couple particularly butch hyenas over in D and E companies and an elephant LT in D company, there really weren't any other women in the 606 that fit the 'inordinate size' bill, but nothing really came of that complaining beyond a few jealous looks shot your way. >But you did hear of the hyenas holding down a couple girls refusing to follow the rule and roughing them up a bit, you weren't the only one to get territorial over that damn stall. >All that fuss over a space still a hair too narrow to comfortably fit your hips into, and at best two minutes of hot water. >The stress of the field and being away from home made small comforts valuable, you imagine if you somehow found a smaller woman squatting in this shower, a godsend compared to the usual field drudgery, you'd do worse than just throw her out. >At least you've found better things to find comforts in since then. >By now you're thoroughly rinsed, and the feeling of massaging warmth around your scalp starts leeching away your hangover. >Wait... hangover? >You remember now, you put on a show and shared a drink with him, it was some cheesy sitcom, but it was an old favorite for... some reason. >Wait no, he was flicking through channels and found it by chance, and he found some whiskey in the liquor cabinet, which you hammered down to flatten out your nerves. >You downed a whole bottle out of nerves, no wonder your head was throbbing and clouded. >Sliding open the privacy door, you snatch up the combo shampoo-conditioner you got from home, stepping away from the shower head to lather your mane. >You work in, kneading your scalp to break the ice and shake out more memories. >The bottle felt light, and you make a note to ask your mother for another one of her care packages when you next write home. >As you spread the foaming lather along handfulls of your increasingly rich mane, you realize; you never told mom anything about Tom. >A minute lump collects in your throat just thinking about it. >You know how she is, the second you mention you're interested in a good friend, and especially if you even hint at anything to do with how you saved eachother, your dear mother would already be planning the wedding. >It's not something unimportant enough to just be relayed by a letter to home or a call either. She deserves her only daughter coming home, and introducing her face to face with the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. >...The rest of your life. >What was an incessant murmur behind your breast grows into a drum. -scared?- >No, you knew what you were signing on for when you decided to follow your passion around him. It's only right you commit to this. >He had more than earned your loyalty. >The water cascades back over your head, running that refreshing feeling through your mane. >You remember those civilians, the '100 Mile Miracles', and a grin can't help but break onto your lips. That was the single biggest exemplar that your efforts weren't wasted on him. >He could really change, and more importantly: he was willing to change. >Maybe that's part of why you were so determined to see the good in him; some of it manages to show through. >He wasn't another dime a dozen bad boy that would do nothing to smooth themselves out despite the best words of their suburbanite arm candy. >More of the glacier hanging over your thoughts breaks apart as you comb back through your fur. >It was that episode. >Oh gods, you told him it was your favorite... which wasn't exactly untrue, but you had more of a love/hate relationship with that one for multiple reasons. >The 'fight' at the beginning was such unapologetic schlock, you always imagined if you were in such a ridiculous scenario. How you'd laugh at the idiots trying and failing to have a brawl in front of you, or how you'd just chase off your attackers yourself. >The thought of being rescued though... was always nice. >It was there that the night really turned towards something that exceeded your expectations. >Maybe it was just the liquor pushing him to be more talkative like yourself, but there was something in his words that started sprouting feathers on your heart. >'and the most caring person I've met out here.' >You find your drying throat pining for the long empty bottle to douse your nerves. How are you this bad at taking a complement? >Despite your soaked fur, the fiery blush creeps around your ears, pinned down while you wash. >How can he just up and say that with such certainty? Especially after you told him, showed him even, your tendencies to act on your own. >You care, you undeniably care, everything you did for him stands to that, but you aren't some shining beacon of charity. -that's what you are to him- >... >Your chest thumps as your core makes its best impression of a spring. >He thinks that highly of you... oh christ, just, think on something else. >'anyone else would have left me to rot.' >ANYTHING ELSE >Your mind wanders back towards his rolling commentary on the 'fight', something that despite yourself was making you giggle. >You couldn't have been getting drunk that fast. >It was then that you started smelling a cocktail of anxiety floating from his side of the couch with what could be a ghostly hint of longing, and he blindsided you with a question while you were contemplating what it could mean. >You can't quite remember the query though, and you dive your head back into the hot stream to try and help your memory. >The baldie had just mugged the jackal for a date, and... he asked if the two of you were like that... >If you were moving too fast. >If something was wrong because he wasn't terrified of you. >All over again a million and one questions ricocheted between your ears, which felt like they were starting to catch fire. >Then it happened, you locked in on eachother's eyes and your heart started going ballistic. With some sort of bizarre connection, you seemed able to peer straight into him, and the liquor loosed your tongue to relay what you were seeing. >And no matter how much harder your heart pounded, and even as the fire started licking at your loins, you could not tear yourself away. >'My angel.' >You inhale sharply, the sensation of a short wave of heat rolling through your body taking you off guard. >Christ! >How pent up are you!? >And... and then he touched your nose and called you cute. >Oh you've definitely done it now, your breath is hot and heavy, and you feel an urge growing. >Shit! >You had an opportunity to cool off after that episode, venting at the mess of a family onscreen and rubbing your legs a bit to let off steam and get yourself back in order before things got awkward. >You don't have that opportunity now, you try and remember further in. If you can recall how the night ended off, then maybe you can get some help to douse yourself. >Of course, he was also asking about your mating habits like it was nothing. >You swear that man is either oblivious or knows exactly how to drive you up the wall, maybe both, he was drunk. >Your breath hitches as you realize what happened next. >The pair on screen kissed passionately, and back then and even now you imagine if it was you and Tom. Your heart performs acrobatics in response... and you can feel flames crawling between your legs. >You caught a scent off him, a brief flash of arousal that just made it worse. >Jesus tapdancing Christ! However briefly, he had the exact same thought. >A flood of feeling courses over you: exhilaration, glee, anxiety, apprehension... lust >The smoke is rising because there is definitely a fire now! >And then in a scramble to try and get your mind anywhere but there, you thrust the first topic of conversation you could think of into his lap. >You picked your mutual dating histories, idiot! >At least it turned out better than expected, the rough spots in your love lives provided much needed distraction, something sorely lacking right now. >With enough time to bat down the flames and discuss things, you had an opening to press in later when you were more in control of yourself. >Your chosen method was ad hoc, but you could work with it, showing him further he had nothing to fear from you, drawing him in close and showing affection in ways you were sure he couldn't miss or misinterpret. >It was into this that you must have let inebriation take you completely off the rails, you fell back towards a more base state of mind, and wanted desperately to 'play' with your 'friend' -read: rough house your prospective mate into a compromising position- >You wanted fun of both kinds, and you got it. It made a strange sort of sense though, what better way to help with his fear and show him you wouldn't hurt him than wrestling for fun? >Plus you had a plan that had brewed into your head, your objective was to catch him in a compromising pin, and help him understand your feelings. No possible way for him to misread that. >However you didn't really think things through, you had the time of your life finally cutting loose a bit, even revved yourself up after her grappled you in a few better spots, both with and without your help. >Then it finally happened, you were on top of him, winded, drunk, and with no clue what you were going to do. So you just made something up that sounded good to your libido. >From a fakeout, you would steal a kiss from him and brush away all the fog between you... you just forgot about the whole anthrophobia thing in the moment, and paid for it. >But even as he was recovering from the shock of it, he was 'fine with sharing the bed'. >Another surge of heat and desire, your legs tremble. >Impassioned thoughts broil to the surface, daring you forward. >You bite your lip as the temptation is so close. >Maybe it would be best to let your passion ride out before you have to spend the day with him... >You dirty bitch, he's just in the next room! You haven't even locked the door. >But the shower would be covering for you, and if you can keep yourself quiet... >A sense of paranoia stands in the way of the flow, you have no chance of squirreling your way out if he wakes up and walks in on you. -but that's the thrill, isn't it?- >... >Your hand hovers between your legs, it's not like you'll have to take any time to clean up, and really the only thing you can imagine attracting his attention is if you're making a terrible racket. >You're covered head to toe in fur, right? Of course you'd take a while in the shower~ >You bite your lip as you press yourself against the wall. >You can't believe you're doing this... --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- <Tom> >After you recovered some sense of control about yourself, you set to work dressing on your uniform and digging your kit out of the footlocker. >For a few minutes you paused, thinking maybe the noise of you rummaging around would get picked up by Teth'ra, and she'd shyly call out from the shower with that awkward question; 'how long were you awake?'. >But as far as you can tell, the hissing deluge is drowning out your morning routine. What did seem odd to you was just how long she was taking in there, but all that fur must take time for a thorough clean. >It's not like you really need the shower anyway, you freshened up after the usual checks on your machine last evening. >Which reminded you, the left arm napalm fuel pump had been acting up since Cache Creek, random spikes in pressure were forcing the fuel line to run rich, and they were only getting more frequent. >You would have to get a work crew to help you pull the pump and take a close look at it before the pressure waves got to the point of flooding the line. >The other pump on the right arm could use a look too, and likely a cleaning for both of them. After emergency dumping both tanks fighting that punchy bastard, the pumps could have sucked in debris and sediments before shut down. >Currently you're trying to worm your belt through the loops on your ammo pouch so it sits on your hip correctly, which given the weight of the thing was a pain in the ass, which is why you usually refrained from wearing it unless you were venturing into the field. >It's not like you'd need more than a dozen shots on hand at base. >Glancing down to the hard leather holster at your side, you vow to stop leaving it empty, field duty or no. >Your ruminating halts as you hear it again: that occasional light thump through the wall. >A muffled grunt follows, so submerged among the rest of the noise you can barely even register it. >Poor girl sounds like she's having a hard time moving around in there, must be cramped for her. >Your heart pangs in sympathy, even the normal field showers had dimensions more fitting of a locker than somewhere you actually expected a person to move. Just how bad was it for her with her larger frame? >Her larger, thicker frame... >You shake your head to fling away any temptation to bite into that fruit, you had more than your fill of that earlier, and you are not going to allow a repeat. >It was only because she was so close in the first place, she's off in the other room now so you have that distance to your advantage. >Slipping on your boots, you get to lacing them up, wondering how much more of a delicate operation this would have to be with claws. >It was an amazing thing, really; how deft she was despite the small knives she had tipping each finger. All this time you spent near her and she didn't even so much as nick you on accident. >Another soft thump through the wall, you hear something clattering around and she makes a low groaning howl in response. The noise in question being an almost one for one replica of the complaining noise your dog used to make. >'Course on the other hand, she can be a flat-footed klutz just by virtue of a moment of mental absence and how much space she takes up. >You pull your arms around yourself to press out the morning chill. Either there's a window open somewhere in this house that you didn't notice, the heater's off, or maybe she really was just that warm and the relative difference in temperature has you freezing. >You can't keep your mind off her for too long, can you? -we're falling again- >shut up >It's just confusion and urges, give it time and it's sure to fade like it always does. This feeling never really endured, not since the one that left. >Maybe she's right, maybe Carmen did just abandon you in pursuit of pleasure and cheap thrills. -wouldn't be the first time- >A sea of faces, a blurring of warm bodies, and none of them held a heart in tune with yours. >As you peer back through the history without the fugue of alcohol, something jumps at you with all the subtlety of a neon sign exploding: all of them were human. >Not once did you think an anthro could hold what you were looking for. >But you can't blame yourself for that... Afterall, she's the only one you aren't scared of. >You jump as another thump echoes through the wall, louder this time, and an almost haunting sound leaks through the door. >"Mnngah-GRAAaaauuharrr-rr!" >Rather suddenly her bizarre howling ceases, and you're left confused. >The hell is she doing in there? >Did she stub her toe or something? -...- >A musing manages to squirrel into your headspace, some conclusion of logic that seems to wrap things up with a neat bow. >It's her tail, weighed down with water. She must be hitting it flat against the wall, producing that occasional thump you've been hearing. >She did say it had a mind of its own, and you can only imagine slapping an extremity full force against the wall would be startling and painful. >Course that brings up another question, interesting in and of itself; why exactly is she pleased enough to be frantically wagging her tail like that? >Perhaps she just woke up in a good mood, or she's thrilled to have a shower that's not cramped beyond measure and more than two minutes long. >Gotta take joy in the simple things, you suppose, or else someone might just go mad out here. -or maybe she's remembering last night- >don't you fu- -remembering her time with you...- >...dammit >The ponderous question beaches itself onto your consciousness again: What draws her to you? >Why does she believe she can find what she wants with you? >What makes her think you're worth it? >The obvious answers spring to shore first. You're determined to address each one and roll them back into the sea of your subconscious where they belong. >The first fat lump of convenience and circumstance congeals into something resembling a reason, the brightest and most obvious of these confusing happenstances. >You saved her life, but just in turn, she saved yours. Quid pro quo, so what could she believe that she owed you then? >She was a loner from the rest of the platoon before her promotion, so it's not like anyone else you covered that day was close with her. >Unconventional as her approach was, she saw a man in need of help, not an opportunity to spread her legs. THUMP >"AHRAAAUUH-MMmmm-!!!" >A thudding like a tree falling sideways onto the increasingly thin sounding wall between you and Teth'ra sends your solved query skittering away in fright, and your breath into a hitch. >You stare long at the pitted beige dividing the two of you, an expectation swimming in the back of your head that at any moment it will tear open like paper and her nude form will collapse forward wearing a concussion. >And what on God's green earth was that noise? >It was almost like a howl, and pretty damn loud at that, but she pretty quickly shut herself up. For fear of waking you? >Can jackals even howl? >And what the fuck is she doing in there? -...- >A minute wheezes by, but you don't hear anything else. A concern calls that maybe she hurt herself, but listening to the shifting hiss of the water tells you she's just fine. She's tougher than that. >Maybe she just forgot herself and was engaging in some personal ritual, the sort you do when nobody else is home or the nearest person is far and away out of earshot. As for what it is, you don't have the slightest fucking clue, but it does bring up the point that she feels comfortable around you. >You shake your head softly with a mutter. "anthros" >You peer down at the flak vest laying in a heap at your boots and breath a deep sigh. Later, damn thing never fits right. >You try and steady yourself to recall your mental chain to answer those pressing questions, studying the scars across the fabric. >You weren't fighting alongside her at Cache Creek, she was in that bunker, securing whatever Central was keeping on ice. >The way she embraced you as soon as she saw you back at base camp told you that these feelings were already developing before then. >Her experience in the field must have pushed it to the surface of her mind, prompting her to act on these feelings before it was too late. >So it wasn't that which made her interested. >The only other time you 'fought' near her wasn't even a fight, it was just sweeping the houses because this battalion doesn't seem to understand that a mech pilot isn't trained for mere grunt work. >She always made sure to keep you behind her, but within reach. She didn't want to shuttle you away in a corner despite your lack of training, but she was worried regardless. >That told you that she respected you as an equal, rather than wanting to smother and restrict you like a lost pup. Something you were thankful for, you had more than enough of being coddled by people only pretending to understand. >Looking back, her banter read like she was trying to sneak in a pass at you, so her attraction was already in bloom. >Wasn't that either. >What else could you have done to set off her- >oh... >The realization collapses on you with all the strength of her hardened body. >That day in the rain... when she cracked open and revealed a wounded heart much like your own. >No matter how strongly you may have felt about being left to yourself, how much your hatreds coursed, you were overwhelmed. >Guilt, sadness, sympathy, it all ran through you in such a great surge as she wept. The illusion of invincibility and danger was shattered, leaving a lonely woman with a shivering heart and a plea on her lips. >'Don't go' >She was broken, like you. -'A heart in tune with yours'- >No, dammit, shut up. >You can't... >She's... >...an anthro >Guilt weighs into your chest, that terrified family were 'just anthros' too, before you saw the desperation in their eyes. >And she was that strange anthro that hung by you before that day. >You showed your true colors, but she didn't shirk you or leave you to your episode. She saw your terror, and it rattled her heart to see how broken you are, but it drove her to pull you away from the others. >'Don't go' >She must have thought that she just lost the only friend she had left. >But you didn't leave her, did you? >The morning a week ago, when she pushed you to do the right thing. The fear poised at your throat to turn away, even as she said that if you went down that path, there wasn't any hope for you. >But you pressed forward instead, didn't you? >And the family, the father had a gun trained on you out of fear, and in fear you considered eliminating a threat. >But you saw the humanity glimmering in his eyes. >So much works against you, you bristle with anger and spit toxin, but something changed when you met her, she sees something past your cobbled shell. >But you're a good man... aren't you? >Is that why? Her seeing the 'good man' beneath your fractured armor? >What even is there... >What qualities of a better man has she seen from you to spark her attraction? >A rare kindness. >Sympathy. >Mourning for those you lost. >Making up for your mistakes... >You don't want to hurt her again... >A sharp wit >You at least know how to have fun. >And... you make her laugh... >... >oh shit you're screwed >You're so caught up in introspection that the sound of hissing water fading away almost escapes your notice. >You pause and listen. >The murmur of a sliding door, the soft beat of steps with the tack of naked claws, the scrape of an object lifting off the counter. >Nothing to tell you what she might have been doing earlier, now she's probably drying off and combing her fur into order. >Would being fresh out of the shower make her even more fluffy? >You noted that dense coat had been gaining more volume and looking more regal lately. It was puzzling, but despite being native to the desert, was she growing a winter coat in response to the chill of the north? >How soft wo- >You shake your head free of the trappings, just focus on the day ahead idiot, stop winding yourself up in thinking about her... qualities. >You occupy yourself inspecting your revolver and plucking bits of grit from the inscriptions with an old cloth. >How did these even get in here? You haven't really used it recently. >Your suspicions reflexively point to a half-wily coyote believing he's funny again, but you remind yourself you're far and away in the battle lines now. >The stray hair you find on the grip tells likewise, it's grey. She's been around you for so long it's probably nothing though. >Swinging open the cylinder you find all six chambers still loaded, unused for a month now. >Maybe you should put in some range time when you have the chance, don't want to get rusty. >You swing it closed again and stow it in the holster, then promptly stare ahead and contemplate choices for breakfast. >Nothing even really comes to mind before the click of the bathroom door opening sounds from your left. >Well that was quick. >You're awash with humidity and the overwhelming smell of wet dog as the door swings open, might as well pay her courtesy. "Mornin' Te- WOAH!" >As you look towards her, you catch sight a sea of bare, ruffled grey, a pair of petite pink cherries sat neatly at the heads of twin planetoids, but that was all you gleaned before you turned away and hid your shamed face in a hurry. >Her side of the room immediately produces a wet clap as her arms bolt to cover herself, followed by a terse bark of alarm. >"YIPE!!! SSSH-SHIT!! YER, UH. Y-You're awake!" >HOW COULD YOU NOT BE?! >You fall back on instinct, it says dodge. "Yes! How very observant! The thing I'm not being right now!" >A warm feeling is crawling out from your chest, beat it back down. Beat it down! >"I-I uh, I just-. I just gotta, get in here and grab something real quick. Sorry!" "No, sure. By all accounts, don't mind me. take your time!" >She flips up the lid of her footlocker, slamming it harshly against the furniture of the bed, you can hear her claws occassionally scraping against the lacquered innards as she hurriedly rummages for something. >"I, uh, kinda left my clothes out here. Sorry!" >Why would you need to know that? -you are now thinking about her undressing in front of y- >SHUT THE HELL UP! >Heat scuttles around your cheeks and your heart quickens. Ah shit, it's happening again! >She rips something away from the rest of the pile in there and slams the lid shut again, the air moving around her assaulting you with her scent. "You done yet?!" >"Just a second!" >Her claws resume tacking on linoleum, and you loose a lungfull of relief, the door clatters shut shortly after she peals off one last shy word. >"Sorry..." >You drop all pretense of holding yourself upright, and drop your hands back to your side, slumping as your head hangs. >Your face is baked with a desert like heat, your heart throttles like a motor... and worst of all, you can feel that little bastard downstairs snuck back out onto the runway. "fuck..." --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- >You didn't stick around to see her reemerge, you needed distance, and fast. So you dove downstairs into the kitchen, scrambling through the cabinets to try and find a drink. >That whiskey last night was all that was here, and you swore under your breath as you heard her timidly descending the stairs. >She didn't say anything, and she refused to meet your eyes, all fine by you. >Breakfast soon after was just as silent, you elected to just use one of your MRE packs rather than attempt to cook something more palatable. In your state of mind you'd probably just burn something. >She chose similar, and you largely stared out the window while choking down cardboard steak and undercooked beans. All while trying to forget about everything and sort out the chaos swimming through your head. >That was just it, you don't know what it is you're feeling. It could fade, it could flourish, it could die, it could turn. >Before you acted on anything, it needed to do something first, to stabilize and provide you with some concrete frame of reference. >Wise men say only a fool rush in. >It's also a fool that rushes out before he knows what he's dealing with. >Stuck between a rock and a soft place... >Your feelings had proven false before, either by a change of face on their part, or a change of heart on your own. >You know her face, but you don't want to hurt her, not again... >It's best to just stay your distance, and get some time alone to think. >You swallow the rest of the crumbling brown chalk that excuses itself as a brownie and nudge the tray off into the trash, trying not to think about the taste to make it easier to keep down. >Least it wasn't field rations, God you hate field rations. >You hear shifting next to you as the other barstool creaks nervously under her. >"Hey, uhhhmmmm..." >Oh Christ, here we go. >"Sorry, about earlier. I guess I just got a little bit too comfortable." >You're far from eager to engage on this issue so soon, but you guess in a way it's excusable, even with the spectacularly bad timing. >You swivel to face her and offer a bit of easy deflection, if only to help both of you move swiftly away from it. "Hey, I get it. First time you sleep under an actual roof in a genuine article bed relatively to yourself in... how long?" >You weren't expecting an answer to the question, but she raises her snout and glances at you a little while engaging a thoughtful expression. >"It's April. So over a year by now." >She runs a thumb inside her fingers, as if remembering some lost trinket. >"I was drafted in the spring, last year." "I thought you were an 'early pick'?" >"Yeah, the draft came for me long before anyone else in my hometown. Not long after my birthday, actually." >Come to think on it, you never actually looked into how old she is. With anthros, age seems to be more of a mystery, they don't wear their wrinkles. >And her being drafted after another year on this earth rang close to home. It's hard to steady yourself when you keep stumbling into things you have in common with her. "Oh Lord..." >"What?" >You could only offer a crooked brow and drawn lips. >"Wait. Don't tell me..." "Same story, wasn't a week after I turned twenty five that the recruiting officer payed a visit." >She flashes a brief grin and rests her chin in her hand, blowing a pleased huff. >"Incredible." >"So that would make you twenty six?" >Her math is dead on, she must have guessed based on your context. >Clever girl. "hm?" >"I just figured you were in the same recruiting batch I was. Even if we were on opposite sides of the country." >She's sharp, and you can't help but find yourself drawn just a little further in her direction when she proves her smarts. >But you can't just let her get away with it either. "Yes, but it's rude to bring up someone's age you know." >"snrk Please. Like either of us are polite members of society." >She lifts her muzzle from her paw and sets it flat on her collarbone. >"Twenty five. There, we're even." >And another score on the board, you're both a couple of idiots in their mid twenties. You give a satisfied grunt. >"What? Did you think I was older or something?" >She almost sounds hurt, you're quick to deflect towards your ignorance. "No, I just... With anthros it's not exactly easy to tell." "You don't wear your wrinkles." >"Eh, you learn to look for grey hairs." >You stare at her deadpan, she's covered in grey. She returns a mischievous smile. >"Yeah, I know! 'That doesn't exactly work with me.' Heheheheh" >It seems the conversation has moved her away from the occupation keeping her quiet over breakfast, but she's still a little shy about meeting your eyes right now. >She did briefly adopt your tone of voice, it sounded off from her, but the gesture has you rolling your eyes. "Smartass." >"Hey! That's my line." >You can't help the smirk settling over the corner of your mouth. She blows a pleased huff and softly shakes her head, wearing one of her serene smiles. >This woman can get you talking, and it seems like she does nothing but enjoy your company. >Your heart jitters, and you look away to produce even the faintest sense of isolation. >The stool squeaks under her as she she shifts again, out of the corner of your eye you see her lay her snout across her arms on the counter and snoop at old newspaper clippings pinned to the fridge. >You swivel to face outwards, and lean an elbow on the table, tracing the direction of her snout to see what she's interested in. >'The Enemy is Here!' reads one headline 'Anchorage Falls!' touts another, 'Can The Swarm's Move South be Stopped?' >All of them from before the northwest cordon was established. >"I wonder what it was like here. When the bugs were on the way..." "Probably a lot of scared people looking for a way out." >"Like rats on a sinking ship." >She sighs heavily, her breath whistling through her nose. >"Some refugees moved so far south as to fall in with my neck of the woods. Despite the troubles they bought with them, couldn't help but feel sorry for 'em, they were so desperate." "Maybe one day they can go home again." >"Yeah. I just don't feel like dying for it." >Her tone sounds faintly dismal. >You trace her eyes directly to a clipping from some paper in the city of Prince George to the north 'Cowards in Command: The EDF Refuses to Defend Us.' >The cordon lines were drawn far to the south, where the forces of man regrouped to dig in and make a stand. >It was there that the winter swarm crashed against the lines. The defense held, narrowly saving Vancouver, but everything to the north was indefensible and had to be left behind. >Three failed counter offensives had been launched since then, this excursion being the fourth. >You tear away from the recounting and stand up to retrieve your jacket and flak vest from the foot of the stairs, you have things to do. >First of which is getting outside and finding a quiet spot to think things over. >Dragging over your garments, you set down on the couch still roughly shoved off against the wall, inspecting the shoulder of your jacket in contemplation. >It wears three black chevrons underpinned with a trio of rockers, wrapped in a piping of gold thread. A master sergeant in the mech corp. The infantry had the inverse standard with gold thread and black piping. >Overhead are a pair of badges nestled side by side: 13th mechanized infantry divison, and 606 hellhound rifles. You swear you can still see the 512 armored fusiliers badge at a glance. >you slip it over your shirt and start tucking the buttons into their homes, stopping as the bar stool in the kitchen gives a relieved groan. >"Where are you off to?" >You hope the foggy answer you offer is to her satisfaction, for as shy as she's presently acting, you still get the sense she wants you around. "...morning run." >She stretches up towards the high ceiling in the kitchen, her joints audibly popping with her tenses and grunts. >"Erm, mind if I come with?" "Teth... I-" >Looking up, you find her with an expectant expression, tall ears standing with a certain energy. >"Come on, I could use a good P.T. partner. It's been a while." "Don't you have your squad?" >"Oh-. That's a lot of grumbling and panting, I could use some conversation." >She spins shy glances in your direction, eyes bright like a puppy's, and she makes that telltale tapping with her claws. >"...please?" >She offers a skittish, charming little smile. >You coast out a sigh. Damn your sensibilities, you can't say no to that face. "Alright." >A sense of perkiness bounds across her features, you could swear her ears even did a little bounce and have to wonder how much of a dog's boundless energy for morning walks would translate to a canine anthro. "Just don't show off, alright?" >"Wha. Why would I show off?" >Some reflexive connection between 'morning walks' and 'dog' rolled out those words; a half joking warning to your old pooch not to run out ahead of you when you took her outside. >The last thing you need on top of this morning is Teth catching on that the more animalistic ticks she displays remind you of a feral cousin of hers you had as a pet. So you cover for yourself. "You have longer legs than me." >"Oh what? You're scared of these?" >With a practiced fluidity, she shifts her balance onto her hip and holds one of her legs up. >Even with her cargo pants loosely clinging to them and breaking up the curvature, you know how massive those things are. A vision flashes back in your mind's eye of those man killers dominating your field of view, ready to clamp over your neck. "...no." >Her snout breaks into a grin, and she chides snidely. >"Huh! Maybe human stamina isn't all it's cracked up to be." "Excuse me?" >"Long distance running, pursuit predation, marathons. Maybe they aren't as hard as you like to think they are." >That cheeky grin raises an energy in your core. >She's challenging you, and despite yourself you get caught up in the spirit; ready to show her that for all the advantages anthros have, humans are still the kings of endurance. >You've put more than your fair share of endurance running into practice back home and especially now with your machine. Hell, endurance training was a large slice of mech academy, running those machines is not easy on the body. -she won the last competition, get even!- >She doesn't know what she's in for. "Oh you're asking for it, little doggy." >"Hahhahahah. You're on! I'll even let you pick the route, in case yer still scared." >With that, she strides out through the door with a bounce in her step and a swaying tail. >You look over briefly to the dusty old flak vest. Fuck it! You can get it later. She made you look like an idiot with that wrestling stunt, and it's time you pay her back. >Buttoning up your jacket the rest of the way, you step out through the door to find Teth'ra out at the curb lunging side to side to stretch her legs. >You reckon that in an all out sprint, the sheer power and size in those pillars would make her deceptively fast in a straight line, but she might be like your heavy lug of a muscle car and have to slow down to corner. >The glimmer of a lustrous sun through the leaves seems to welcome you back out into the wilds with the wafting smells of pine and morning dew. >The unkempt grass on the lawn sways in waves from a crisp breeze. It is strangely nice out today. >If it wasn't for the overgrowth and any and all signs of life on the street being in uniform, it would almost look normal. >Teth'ra stands back to her full, towering height as you approach. The corner of her mouth still shines with mischief. >"Ready to go whenever you are pipsqueak." "You think you can run with an auger pilot? cute." >"Hey, you said it yourself, I got longer legs." >They won't serve her much in a tight space. You drop a knee forward and lunge to stretch. >Looking towards the bump of a thickly wooded hill rising next to the lake and overlooking the town, a plan starts forming. >She did say you could pick the route. >The wind stills, and she pauses, looking more intent. Her tall ears scan towards the south, searching for something. >"You hear that?" >The air breathes laconically, you hear nothing over the rustle of leaves and incidental bird calls. Cupping a hand to your ear you try and listen towards the lake like she is. >You stay like this for what must be a solid thirty seconds or so before anything you're hearing presents itself as unusual. >The soft lap of water, more rustling, and a deep rushing noise, far off but growing closer. If she didn't point it out you probably wouldn't have even noticed. "Jets..." >"And a lot of them. Sounds like the airforce woke up." >She looks skyward, and you check over your boot laces. The sound of jet engines growing in volume surprisingly fast. >Either some sky hooligan is on full afterburn and flying low, or Teth'ra was right about the sheer number of planes. Regardless, your sense of direction narrows the angle of approach as from the south. >You spare some quick glances around the street, what few troopers you see have stopped what they're doing and are staring towards the clear sky over the lake. >A whistle from your side reaffirms your attention. >"phew That's a lot of planes." >The noise has shifted into a low, breathy howl punctuated with sharp waterfall roars as the formation begins passing overhead. >Following the line drawn by her snout provides a view of a lazily shuffling swarm of broad shadows, small clumps of arrow shapes thrust between the larger forms' dreamy maneuvers. >You haven't seen an air formation this strong in a long while, there must be hundreds of them. 'the airforce woke up' indeed. >"What even are they?... Never really studied my wings." >You'd recognize those broad manta-ray silhouettes anywhere. B-62s, the EDF's premiere strategic bomber, the result of some madman aeronautical engineer throwing a flying wing, a gunship, and a Super Fortress into a blender. >The 'Fortress Eagle' flew on 8 turbojets and carried 62 tons of munitions in addition to an array of defensive guns that dwarfed even the defunct B-17. "Bombers, lots of bombers" >It was strange, usually you saw B-62s flying in far smaller squadrons, dropping enough payload on enemy strong points to powderize a city block. >"Huh, almost makes ya feel sorry for the insect bastards they're gonna dump all those munitions on... almost." >"Why do you think they're up there anyway?" >With those giant ground pounders? In that great a number? "They must want something in particular really dead." >The last time you saw such a force of bombers, they were after a super swarm a ways inside the cordon, a swarm with an excess of particularly dangerous bug breeds. >That was just before your first sortie, the captain made remarks about it as he had faced that same swarm before. >"Or maybe they're rolling us out a nice carpet of flattened bugs all the way to Anchorage." "psch If only it was that easy." >"Yeah, if only." >Whatever they're after must be deep in enemy territory, multiple squadrons of fighters are flying escort amongst the hundreds of fortresses. For all you can guess, they could be outbound to Anchorage itself. >But for all that's said and done, what's droning over your heads right now is not your problem. For a mission going as far ahead as you suspect theirs is, the only help the airforce can get is what it gives. >You mutter a blessing under your breath. "best of luck flyboys" >Back to the business at hand, you know roughly which way you want to go, and you're about to ask Teth if she's ready to set off, but pause as you see her continuing to stare upwards at the passing birds. >She's not paying attention, and she did say she was ready to go whenever you are. >You can't help a sly grin tugging at your lips. You're feeling a bit devious, and want to give her some payback for the situation she put you in. -do it- >You launch yourself forwards like a spring, taking just a moment of time to announce the start of your little competition with a word and a back-handed slap to her hip. "Aight GO!" >You don't even need to look back, your imagination filling in her surprise beautifully. >Her confused bellow just sweetens it. >"Wha?! HEY!!" >It's a light, bouncing sort of feeling rolling across your chest right now, it drives you to move forward, to make the best of it. >It drags a laugh out of you as you skip your stride sideways and look back, only to swallow a little in dread as you see just how quickly she's catching up. Her strides are long and forceful as she shunts herself forward at a speed that takes you off guard. >She's even faster than you were expecting, her long, powerful legs giving her sprint a launching bound to every step. >Despite the determined grimace dressing her features, you catch back on those words, no, that promise she made last night and feel a little more at ease as she closes. >She only slows once she comes aside of you, blowing an annoyed, exaggerated gust from her snout. >"Sneaky little... Don't think you can get away from me that easy!" "You're really determined to see this through, aren't ya?" >You look up to see the conviction settled on her brow, she definitely has some reason for doing this. "You that desperate to show me up?" >A thin smile creeps onto her lips. >"Hmph. Maybe I'm just sick of you hairless folk talking all big and bad cuz' you have sweat glands." >She definitely has a reason, but you admit seeing this competitive side of her flourishing charms some deep sense of appreciation, like your friendship has rejuvenated the big girl. >You're still going to edge out a victory over her this time. >The initial plan remains to play the long con, because with that display earlier, you're sure as hell not outrunning her in an open straight. >You meter your pace like the old man thought you for long marches, and hope that her stamina will wear down faster than yours, which itself is a difficult puzzle. >Anthros are known to have a marked disadvantage in stamina aside from most members of the canid family, like her, where the difference is less pronounced. >At the same time a large body like hers needs more effort and energy to move by necessity, but she's lived with that as a fact of life for years, and could likely have trained herself around that downfall the same way she trained the rest of her body into 'peak performance'. >She easily matches your pace, longer strides making her bounce a bit more. It's now that you notice her jacket is actually buttoned up for once. >You just got so used to seeing her bearing her midriff and painfully stretched tee-shirts to the world. >It's an oddity you can't help but remark on. "You finally buttoned up for once?" >"Yeah, didn't want my tits to give me a concussion." -[error: please contact your system administrator]- >Briefly blanking, you forget your footing and stumble a little as your boot scuffs the pavement, you pull yourself back upright but can't hide the shock on your face. >"HA-HAHAHAHAAAHAAAA!" >You've fallen behind her a little, she looks over her shoulder with a grin a mile wide, and you can see her attention is divided between indulging in her mirth and not also tripping over herself. >Shaking your head with vigor, you pick back up to fall in at her side, battling the blush creeping around above your jaw. >You try to wrestle out the mental image of her melons launching upwards into her chin while she coasts out her laughter. >"Heeeeh-. Seriously though, ask any woman that jogs, having these things free while you're moving like this is a pain." "...Y-yeah I bet." >Don't look idiot, don't look. >Don't imagine how much they're bouncing... just don't. >Can't distract yourself, you have to beat her. >She was practically guaranteed to win that wrestling bout, even if you made her work for it, but you still have your ways to come out on top. >You can't just have her so casually holding every advantage over you. >For the time being you force away the part of you that recognizes a presence and just focus on moving forward. >Why did you let her goad you into taking her along? <Teth'ra> >He jogs slightly ahead of you, staring firmly ahead in an attempt to hide his face from you. >But you don't need to see that red hue creeping around his features, the way he stumbled over himself at that little quip told you more than enough. -he likes you- >Some small part of him does. He may not be directly acknowledging it, but you can sniff out the faintest hint of interest there. >A hint is better than nothing, but you can't jump the gun, as much as your baser instincts wish to do so. >The leisurely pace he's setting gives you room to think on other things, namely questioning yourself over what you thought you were doing earlier. >Walking in with your girls out like you owned the place, you're getting complacent. >The shame swallows your neck in a tight warmth. You can't forget the wide eyed stare he affixed you with before hiding his own face, either for his own shame or some fear of your retaliation. >Later over breakfast, you couldn't even bring yourself to look at him for long, and he did likewise. >The question then was if you simply took him by surprise and he was hiding away from you to conceal some stirring of feelings, or if he was silently put off by you. >Fucking idiot! You were finger fucking your brains out while he was just in the next room, this is what you get for failing to keep a lid on it. >Even pounding your hips against the wall in lust mad thrusting. What didn't he hear? >Are you really so desperate for a mate that you can't even control yourself? >But... while he was keen to move the topic away from what happened, he wasn't outright avoiding you. >That's the sticking point. >You have his attention. >You have his friendship. >But do you have his affections? >It's a question you still can't provide a concrete answer to. Humans don't display obvious tells or really have any set mating habits. >Each one is different, and you're still prying into what his signs are. He shows more warmth as you grow closer, but he could appreciate you like a fussy sister rather than something deeper. >A conflict is wearing in him over you, but the sides of the battle are unknown. Who's to say that one of them is a shy idea trying to break through to see you as a woman with needs and desires? Its opponent could just as easily be that primal anxiety over your beastly nature. >An anxious feeling skitters up your throat, you clench your jaw to trap it because you're fearful of the words it might take with it if it escapes. >Some small part of you wants to open up your caged heart, and just flat out ask him, but your fear holds the key tightly. >Scenarios spin through your head of the many ways a confession could go wrong. >He could think you're unhinged for holding these feelings so long. >He could be disgusted, both with you and himself for being attractive to something he thinks he should be afraid of. >He could believe that you only wanted to use him... >... >inhale, count to four, exhale >Patience girl. >You have to be patient. >Let him find his feelings for you. >Calling yourself back to attention, you find Tom still staring ahead without any real sense of purpose. >Is he even sure of where he's going? >You want to tease him over it, jog him back into wakefulness and keep his mind away from what exactly it was you were doing in the shower this morning. >You quickly look around, as much as you enjoy seeing him flustered and getting precious looks at his true feelings, you don't want to embarrass him in front of anyone else. >The street is largely deserted aside from small clumps of troopers emerging from the houses they garrisoned for the night, so you wait for the 'crowd' to thin where the chances of another pair of sensitive ears eavesdropping on you is lower. >In the meantime, you take in your surroundings. The dimming rumble of the airforce still leads off into the north, the sky above is wonderfully clear for the morning sun, and verdant evergreens sway everywhere around you. >The winds bring the unfettered smell of the wilderness, you taste the aroma deeply, sighing happily. >It smells green and lively, the far off calls of birds make you feel at ease. Being out here in the wild courses a minty vitality through your core, and your heart runs smoother. >Without them around, it's beautiful up here, if chilly. >Something you want to share with him, and hold him close to keep the cold away from his furless body. >There's a lot fewer people around now as you march towards an intersection, practically no one is in earshot with the potential exception of an obstinate looking private smoking like a chimney as he leans on the stop sign. >You silently turn your nose up, that awful smell has a habit of sticking to everything, and you're not sullying the freshly washed fragrance of your fur by drawing close to him. >Before the clinging stench of the tobacco can interfere, you hunker forward quickly and take a delicate sniff near Tom's neck, and withdraw quickly before anyone can take notice. >There's a near silent trace of melancholy on his scent, you know that smell... His mind is wandering towards sad and lonely places, so it's time to reel him back in. "Do you even know where you're going?" >"hm- what?" "I said. Do you know where you're going?" >"...Yup." >He has no idea, but still tries so staunchly to sound sure of himself. It prompts a giggling to curl from your lips. "Hnhnhnhnhnn. Well then where are we going?" >You're trying not to sound condescending, but you're attempting to parse together the words to let him now it's okay to admit he's lost, only to be interrupted as he barks out a call at the intersection. >"Left!" >You don't know what it is he's up to if he isn't just wandering with purpose, but you shrug and follow alongside as you turn north. >You'd still like to know what destination he has in mind, if any. "So. Where are we going?" >"You'll see." >A smirk creeps over your lips, you try not to giggle again as you test his bluff. "Oh?.. A surprise then." >You put just a little vigor into it to make it sound like he's taking you to some secret spot instead of running around to clear his head. >"Yes... A surprise..." >The edge of deception in his voice tells you that he's up to something. >Payback for last night? You'll have to see, but you aren't going to let him win so easily. An innocent excitement has started bouncing around you after he said yes to another one of your little challenges, you feel like a teenager again, excited to play with your crush. -maybe he's leading you to a romantic little meadow- >Oh, shut up... >You look around again to check if anyone's watching, especially as you can feel your tail swaying happily. >The two of you are all alone now. >perfect. "Thank you." >"Uhm... for what?" "Last night. It's been a while since I've been able to let my hair down like that, so. thank you." >He takes a long pause, and you can smell the faint whiff of embarrassment on him, the shy way he's holding his shoulders reinforces that. >"...Don't mention it." >A flurry of signals flies off of his scent, too much mixed in to pick out what exactly it is he's feeling right now. >You listen close, and find that he's making an effort to keep his breath metered. >This effect you had on him was something common between the two of you, but the confused mess of signals means you can never quite pick out the subtleties. You always hope that you aren't intimidating him and instead it's a confused, hesitant attraction to you like you suspect. >But your earlier advice still rings back in your head when something pulls in you to push further. >Patience <Tom> -'seriously, don't mention it.'- >Her pressing was getting a little uncomfortable, now was not really the time you wanted to discuss last night, or even really hold more than a passive conversation while you felt so mixed up. >For now she seemed to back off, and you breathe a slight relief. You still aren't sure if you actually want her here or not. >You push the mess away again and focus back on running the road. >As much as she teased about your surprise being some romantic kick, there really was a surprise in store for her. >You planned to snake around up to the road hugging that lakeside hill, and at the right time, you'd find a way to distract her before modifying the conditions of your little competition. Then you'd go tearing to the top of that hill through the dense thickets of evergreens. Your smaller, nimbler body having a much better chance at out pacing her through the crowded foliage. >Sure you weren't playing fair, but she wasn't either when she was manhandling you last night. -ayyy- >Shhh! >inhale, count to four, exhale >Just let it drift, this is your time to reflect. >She stays mercifully quiet as you shift right at a tri-way onto a crooked switchback. >You breath deeply, inhaling the crisp sensation floating on the cool morning air, and focusing on what's around you rather than who. >Old evergreens creak in the wind, the young saplings sheltered below them bend with the breeze. Waves of increasingly wild grass shuffle over their own stalks as vines creep around whitewashed walls. >Blurs the colors of loam and winter flit in and out of sight at your approach. Constant chatters and cheeps are the biggest sign of this array of invisible life animating around you. >Every time you try to lay eyes on one, they disappear into the branches, and their wordless songs echo from the trees, singing a melody with no defined tempo or measure. >It was far in imagining from the frenzied discord of battle, or the homogeneous sigh of a moving city. It was quiet, simple, and thoughtless. >And in all your time journeying these wild spaces, you almost never stopped to listen. >"Nice day, isn't it?" >The planes from earlier are long gone, and without any real trace of anyone else among the sound, it's honestly tranquil. >A mellow beauty that can only be appreciated in isolation, but for as big as she is, she doesn't seem to intrude on this peace. "Yeah... it is." >"Reminds me of my hikes back home. Always felt more complete just taking a moment to listen." >Anthros are closer to nature than you ever were, so her being an outdoors type is just a foregone conclusion. "Never got any of that in the city. Countryside was always just flying by in the window." >"What was Boston like?" >The question takes you by surprise, how did she? >...oh >...right... >Last night... >You leave out any mention of the inhabitants out of a paranoia that she'd see you as lesser for it, but for the city itself you make no effort to hide your disdain. "Noisy, crowded, dangerous. All around I hate the place. They tell you that there's a nice ocean view but that's small comforts when you're coughing on smog from the factories and the harbor is choked with oil spills and trash." "There's a huckster on every street corner, The Globe is always telling you what to think, and you're about as likely to catch lung cancer from secondhand as picking a pack a' mollies. And it's an uphill battle to find parking that won't get your car keyed." >It was a choking, oppressive place, and you want little to do with it. >Too many bad memories lie there. >Others would tell you that your home is something to be proud of, some of the finest centers of technology on North America lie there, but if MIT and Harvard produced some benefit to the dregs of the city, you never saw it. >The place is rich with American history, but every Bostonian knows all those pages by osmosis, and the tourist traps along the freedom trail didn't exactly get the tax dollars flowing into roadworks or the police department. >All of it was combined with a schizophrenic sense of illusory community that could be divided on so many lines. A city that wore a dozen different hats. "Above all, it's a place that can't decide on what it wants to be. Cultural touchstone? port town? tech haven? industrial sprawl? last bastion of the American identity? or is it Tuesday? Ah yeh, let's start wavin' around the fuhkin' UTR flag and rant above jus' how fuhkin' good we have it. Oh it's Friday? Gah, fuck it! They found another body on the waterfront, and the Sowks just got their asses kicked in their own fuhkin' stadium. Oh boo-hoo, Fenway! Time to go on the bahr dive!" >"snrk Haheheh hehe, Yer slipping into it." "What?" >Finally swallowing your precious sense of solitude, you glance up to find her wearing that sly grin. >"You have barely a trace of the accent, most of the time I can't even tell it's there... Unless you're all puffed up." >The amusement is clear as day on her voice, she thinks this is funny!? >You've just turned east on the road out of town, and now you scowl deadpan at her. >You don't like being reminded of the minute traces of the east coast drone that still cling to your vocabulary. >Her smile just shows more teeth, and she turns away snickering. All you can muster is an annoyed grunt. >Snarky little furball... >"Come on, I know you grew up surrounded by it." >If that's what she wants, she's going to be sorely disappointed. You aren't some traveling flavor platter for that old city and its confused identity, hell, you don't even like the Sox that much. "I'm not doin' it." >"It would just be one time!" "I'm not doin' it-." >You aren't doin' it. >You aren't making a fool out of yourself. >"Come on! It's only the two of us out here. I won't tell anyone~" "I'm not doin' it!" >A low whine sounds close to your ear. >So she's pulling that trick again, You still aren't doing it. >She's not getting what she wants. >A longer, more intent whine that pulls on your heart. >'She just wants to have fun with you' it says, 'why are you being so mean?' >She can beg as much as she likes. She can shred your heart strings reminding you so dearly of that precious little puppy you nurtured when the runty white cotton ball was abandoned from the rest of the litter. You still aren't doing that ridiculous act! >A despairing, heartbroken, plaintive little whimper leaks from her throat, and you can feel your heart melting into a puddle. >Son of a bitch! >...You always did have a hard time saying no to that dog. >... >No! No accents! You're done with it! >You rebuke her with a low tone. "Teth'raaa-" >A precious moment of si- >"I'll help you sniff out liquor for your stash if you do it." >... >You hold the bridge of your nose and nail your eyes shut, laboring on a single breath to clear the air. >...shit >That did sound like a good trade. >There's an undeniable pull to get drunk even now, just because your strings have been drawn out and frayed so much recently. >stupid... fuckin... adorable... bitch. "Alright fine!" >"-yes!-" >You pull right onto the long road snaking south around the hill, trying to formulate what exactly it is that you can come up with to sate her. >And what minimal effort on your part you can get away with. >"Well?" "Give me a second, it's been a while." >Think, what the hell would old Joe down the street start yelling when a game was on? Minus the avalanche of curses. >Although maybe you should include that just to get back at her... >No, the hill should be enough, but your window for giving her warning just shrank. >"I'm waiting..." >The excitement floating on her voice is giddy, and it bounces off your brow, ruining your concentration. >You shoot her a sidelong glare, only to find her leaning intently in your direction, her smile a mile wide and a light in her eyes. >Can you really disappoint that face? >...fuck it "Ahright, you wanna know about Bohston, I'll tell ya about Bohston, in Bohston we got crabcakes, marathons, and a bunch a' dead assholes, also an old boat suckin' up tax dollah'. Cambridge? what the fuhk is Cambridge? We gots Hahverd, useless degrees and kayaking teams, only one low investment of yeh whole bank account to feel good about yerself cuz' you went tah Hahverd! MIT? sure! Les' talk tah Poindexter, he'll show ya this neat trick with a rat and a circus peanut, then we'll go down tah Quincy fer the labstah bake and watch the Sowks game. Say hi tah miss Mcready, she's still beating her husband, the old crone. Or would yah like The Freedom Trail? Nickel an' dime ya fer a star spangled hand job an' a cap. Up, there's Paul Revere's house an' the projects on tohp of it. Ya havin fun yet?! Let's stare at some cahrdboard cutouts of the british an' then have a middleschool lecture in front a' this here old church. That'll be five hundred dollahs and yer dignity please!" >A gnarled knot of heat sits on your heart, and you open the gates to a rush of cold air to kill it. >For the love of God, she better not say she wants more. "Huuggggggghh... There, ya happy?!" >You slowly wander your gaze back over to her, her lips have drawn closed but are struggling to stay that way, and her chest is subtly jumping. >"Mmmnngh-kh-kh-phhHAA HAAA HAA HA AH HAAAAA!!" >Guess that's a yes. >She stops and doubles over, howling with glee. >You arrest your stride and stare back at her. The jackal has her hands on her knees and is fighting valiantly to keep her breath, but failing. >Before her mirth was always contagious, but the reminder that she's laughing so intently at your accent, whoever much you played it up, is more than a little insulting. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up..." >She holds up a claw, and scrambles to recapture her breath. >"S-Sorry-y-hee-y-hee heeehheheh!" >It's something like a minute, a long, humiliating minute before she approaches something resembling composure. >Your face is alight with a burning indignity. >"Hehheh... HAAA ha ha hah snrk Hahehehe!" >And she just keeps going. "You about done yet?" >At least whatever quirk of hers that tricks reality into giving the two of you plenty of time with no one else around is still going just as strongly as her incessant giggling. >If anyone was watching you'd probably go and throw yourself into the lake, it is just down the hill. >"snrk hnhnhnhahe Sorry, I just-kngh hehehehnhnhn gasp... The accent is adorable, you sounded like a puppy-hahahha." >A sense of anger still floats, but a strange flattery coils around it, her wildly thrashing tail just reinforces your confusion. "I... Uhhhh." >"Hnnnhnhn... snff-hoooh. Sorry, but it's true-heh, you really did sound like a pup there." "...HOW?" >She makes a muffled choking sound as she swallows another giggling fit, before taking another second to collect her composure. >"The fast, breathy speech? The short hand pronunciation? You reminded me of a pup that just learned to talk, running all of his words together." >... >"Plus... You look cute when you're all red in the face. hnhnhn" -yup, you're screwed- >The broil of emotion and heat floods over you again, when all you wanted earlier was to just get away from it. >More so to at least catch a clear breath away from her. Teth'ra defies explanation with what she does to you. >inhale, count to four, exhale >You're going to win this little bet and teach her not to discount you, then finally get some time alone when the call comes for forward march. >The hill you set on is right here, you just have to surprise her at the right moment. >She's looking away, smiling at nothing in particular, then closing her eyes and taking long, slow breathes. >"Well red man, where are we off to? You should know whatever you do I'm still gonna beat ya." >Alright, that's it. >You're gonna wipe the grin of her snout, that overconfidence is just asking to be punished. >She's busy laughing to herself when you spring the trap, you lunge off towards the trees at the side of the road. "Top of the hill!" >She can't say you didn't warn her. >Her confused bellow puts a righteous smile on your face and drags away some of the heat in a satisfied huff. >"Wha? SON OF A-!" >Her boots echo hard on the pavement as she lunges off after you, but you're already in the trees, brushing aside the bushels of pine needles as you bound over hillocks and roots. >The trees grow close together here, tangling their branches and gnarling the ground into an earthen washboard. >They're more sparse near the road, and if they didn't become so much more dense just ahead, you'd be more worried about her catching up. You hear her pounding feet a fair distance behind you, but you know all she needs is a good clear straightaway to catch you. >Ahead of you an old aspen hangs open a gateway into the thickets of trees, and you can almost see a winding path into the forest starting there. >You duck under a low hanging branch and twist between a bush and the tall trunk of a spruce. Running as hard as you can, you almost didn't notice a root arching out of the ground. >You step high, lunging off the root instead of letting it catch your foot, and you find a narrow channel peeling left through the brush, perfect for a short burst of speed. >Somewhere behind you echoes heavy footfalls and a cacophony of rustling and snapping as she forces her way through. >"YOU DID IT AGAIN!" >She sounds angry, but it's a hollow sounding anger, so you see no danger in taunting her as you dive over a low squatting bush at the end of the aspen corridor. "Just try and keep up, tiny!" >A crack echoes from on your trail as you presume she simply pushed a branch out of her way, then followed by a burst of rustling and her briefly yelping in surprise. >"Gyaaauhhh!" >There's a crashing noise and a solid whump, she wastes no time swearing vehemently. >"Fucking hell! What ASSHOLE put that there!? Graarrrrrr!!" >Seems she found that root. >You can't help a devilish chuckle as you wind through more trees. >Some of the gaps here are so narrow even you think twice about the possibility of fitting through them, must be nightmarish for her. >The uphill run is straining, but you've fared through worse, and it provides an easy direction to your goal. >More roots churn the ground ahead of you, but from this angle they almost look like a staircase straight up. >Noises of all sorts move behind you as she fumbles through into her own way through the trees, you can hear her spitting and swearing near constantly. >You look again at nature's escalator... >Fuck it, it just needs some legwork. >You hop gently from root to root, branches brush over your hunched back as you dash up the steps. >Teth'ra trips over herself again judging by the sudden up-tick in snapping sounds, likely she just crushed an innocent hedge. >"FUCK!!" "I thought you loved nature!" >"Oh, fuck off!" >You hope she isn't too mad, if it'll lesson the sting you may offer to help pick the pine needles out of her fur. >Right now you have a race to win. >The root stairs take you up pretty far, and you can see sunlight dancing through the canopy ahead, which way to go now? >You can't dawdle as you hear Teth's relentless climb closing towards you. You have to give the big girl credit, the rough terrain isn't slowing her as much as you thought it would. >As long as you keep the initiative, it's doubtful she can reclaim the lead, you spot a breach in the foliage between a bush and a fur and dash for it. >Wood creaks lowly where you just were as you brush aside the needles, she must have found the staircase of roots. >Then an echoing snap. "SERIOUSLY?!!" >You kind of have to feel bad for her there. >At least she doesn't destroy furniture the way she snaps these thin little aspens. >You see more sun, and as you brush aside a pair of spruce trees, you're met with the wide blue sky again. >You slow and wander through more low bushes into a clearing, the summit of the hill is right in front of you past a few more trees. >Another loud snap closer on your tail, and you book it. >Taking a few high-kneed bounds upward past the last of the trees, you've reached the hill's bald summit. >You proudly step on a smooth rock nestled into the yellowing grass in a tiny echo of a safari hunter making a display of his victory. >The sun on your face feels sweet, you coast out a warm sigh and don a triumphant smile. >The treeline below you rustles angrily before 8 feet of angry jackal thumps out of the brush panting heavily, takes one look at you and your cocky grin, and spits a pine needle out of her lips. >"Not. Fucking. Fair." "Oh like you played fair last ni-" >"Don't even say it!" >She has a claw leveled accusingly in your direction, before she sulks through the brush to join you at the top. >You track her as she climbs up onto the summit with you, the tired way her limbs hang suggesting that she isn't going to do anything rash. >She marches up next to you, hitching your breath a little as she looms over you, every heave of breath carrying the hint of a growl. >"Alright... Sorry for making fun of ya." >She lightly slaps your shoulder. >"Smartass..." >A gnarled and stunted spruce is the only real feature atop this hill, it bends sharply towards the south before attempting to curve skyward like a bow. Weedy branches spread to catch the sun just over the level her ears are at, so this little tree almost takes the shape of a reclining chair with an umbrella over it. >She groans as she puts herself down on the misshapen trunk, plucking waxy green needles out of her fur. >"I swear if any of this shit got in my mane, you ARE going to help me pick it out." >You put her through more than enough with that stunt, even if she was asking for it. You raise your hands placatively. "Fair enough." >Besides, you don't want to turn her humbling into a wounding. >You relax your shoulders and take a look outwards while she fusses over herself, you can probably see for a fair few miles up here. >Towards the north and northwest is really the only way you can look, the eastern view is dominated by hills furred with trees and the rising mountains. The south is hidden behind that last row of trees, their bushy tops screening the summit from the road. >Below you is the same nesting of houses you just came from, and you trace a long string of them running back up to the town proper. >Although most of it is obscured by a hill ahead of you, you can sight the small civil airstrip near the heart of town, and the large scaffolding screens set up there for mechs to make field repairs. >the runway itself was cratered and broken, yet it was already too short for most jets to begin with, only a handful of VTOLs and helicopters paused there to refuel. >Beyond the town the highway continues its wind northwards into wilderness and enemy territory, hills, woodland, and small, glittering lakes scatter to both sides, and occasionally the blanketing of trees is broken by the squat shapes of structures. >The view is pleasant, but it's nothing you would call breathtaking, you busy yourself studying the traffic moving up the highway. >Well, you would, if her breathing wasn't so distracting. >Short, hurried gasps free of vocal effort, and outtakes just as quick. You look over to find her tongue almost lolling out of her mouth. "You're panting?" >The tree sags gently under her as she's reclined herself into the trunk's curvature. >She eyes you tiredly, but you swear some sense of appreciation is there too. >"No sweat glands. remember?" >Right >"You know. That's the first time someone outran me." >Is this routine for her? "You make a habit of challenging people to this?" >"Nah. Just the ones I like." >That sincere little smile gets your heart attempting to sprout feathers again. >"You know, when we get leave I should take ya to monument valley. See if you can outrun me then in the open." >Knowing her, she'd take it as an excuse to run you down and tackle you. "What? And get pounced? I don't think so." >"Jackals don't pounce." "What?" >"I said we don't pounce when hunting, we LEAP." >You don't doubt those legs could launch her through the air like a furred cannonball, but the terminology seems purely arbitrary. "Semantics..." >You look out to study the stride of some far off walker before your attention is called back by the jackal's seat creaking in protest. >She's stood herself up, and is wearing a devious grin, quickly setting off alarms in your head. >"Maybe I should show you~" "Oh no-I'M GOOD!" >"snrk hnhnhnhn, I'm just fuckin with ya!" She leans back onto the gnarled trunk and adds something in a low, sour whisper that almost escapes your notice. >"-'sides, it's not like you'd survive under me anyway...-" >... >You're just gonna let that one be. Seems like she wasn't intending for you to hear that. >Despite what she's put you through, you don't want her morning to go out on a sour note, so you offer conversation for something you're sure she appreciates. "You said you went hiking?" >Her smile fails to reappear, but you have her attention. >"Oh, uh, yeah. Though it was less hiking and more wandering." "No sense of direction?" >She gives a soft scoff, her grin briefly making itself known again. >"No... My place was towards the edge of town, so, it didn't take much to find myself out in the wild." >"Some days it was as simple as jumping the fence in the backyard. The neighbors behind us had access to the street that led to the city limits." >You have to raise a brow at that, obviously where she came from plays by different rules, but in Boston that sort of behavior would get you in deep trouble... or shot. "I bet that made you popular." >"Ah, Miss Shane was nice enough. But it was hard explaining why I was on the roof of her garden shed the first time." >Briefly the image crosses your mind of the way she is now perched on top of a cheap plastic shed. The obvious conclusion is that she immediately falls through the roof. >The thought is funny, but she was probably a lot scrawnier at the time, and wouldn't be such a risk to structural integrity. "Hn" >"I swear she was the only person that hated the natives as much as I did, she and her husband went through a nasty breakup after he converted. Invited me inside for pie a few times, good cook, and a nice place." "Nice lady." >"Yeah... I should check in on her sometime." >She sighs happily. >"Once I got free of town, I had everywhere to go, that little pocket of wilderness was all mine. My empire of claw marks and wildflowers." >"Every ledge was a challenge and a conquest, hollow old trees were mysteries and outposts, and if it was cute and cuddly, I'd practice my hunting catching it." >A fay light glimmers in her blues as she looks at you, like she wants to show you all of this through her eyes. >A smile is tugging at the corners of your mouth, hers grows brighter in turn. >"I had more live birds in my hand than my ornithology teacher ever did." >She was a bright eyed trailblazer, gently clutching a nervously beeping bushel of feathers. "D'aaawwww" >Teth'ra cracks a nervous giggle and looks away. The crossing thought of paying her back by sending her into a fit of embarrassment is only that, in crossing. >She's sharing more of her heart right now, and the want rises to coax it out. >Shyly, her muzzle raises back in your direction, her eyes dart, and her ears twitch. "What?" >"I-I just. You probably see me as a dumb kid now." >What you see is a truly gentle soul. >You speak your mind. "Teth. Everyone does dumb things when they're young. Just not usually something so... stupidly adorable." >"I-eh. Keh- Tsch!" >It's not difficult to get a read on how hard she's blushing, the furious wag of her tail tells all. >You give her space and she takes the time to collect herself. You try to make it as obvious that you can that you're open to hear more. >She cups her chin in some effort of solidarity. >"I loved that damn place. It was my little kingdom, I marked out the borders, places of interest... the fields." "Fields?" >"snrk, wildflowers are easy, just dig up a couple and put them somewhere else, they take care of themselves really. I could never get the vegetables from mom's garden to take. 'Course, I only grew the prettiest weeds I found." "What about all those poor trees you marked up?" >"U-eh. Most of em were dead before I got there, stop trying to guilt me!" >You splay your hands defensively, no ulterior motives here. >"Hahaha hnhnhnhn. It's fine. I mostly used those trees for practice, but I made sure to leave at least one mark on pretty much every tree on my 'border'. I just have to wonder if there's an urban legend from all the marks I left around!" >"Mom didn't approve of any of this, mind you, but she had a hell of a time trying to tell me no if I came home with a sad look on my face and a bird I found with a broken wing." "How many did you bring home?" >"I... never kept track. She always looked torn between scolding me or praising me, it helped that I never got hurt out there. I'd always turn around if I smelled trouble." >As sweet as she is, trouble and her get along like a lug and a wrench. "'Trouble' meaning...?" >"Ah, the usual. I'd run home if I caught the scent of a bear or wildcat... OR some strange boy I didn't know~." >You bite down the implication before it can launch itself into your attention, she titters at her quip before continuing, her voice heavy with the strain of longing. >"I have to wonder if that place is still there. My duchy may have been overturned for a factory." >It's something so dear to her, it'd be a shame if it was gone. the thought of some concrete box belching smoke and washers in its place is quietly enraging. >If the wild kingdom still endures, it would be something to see. "I'd love to see the realms of Queen Magaul." >A thin smile wears on her lips, and you catch each other's eyes. >"I'd love to show you." >Her lips quiver with the ghosts of syllables, some spark in her eyes is trying to make itself known. >She steals a shallow breath, before stopping rigid. Her ears scanning towards the north. Her gaze follows shortly with the alert movements of her head. >"The hell is that?" >She's heard something, and the content comfort you had on this little hill drops, you have no idea what it is she's picking up. >It now occurs to you that neither of you are really ready for a fight. You left your flak jacket behind, and she is bereft of her armor and machine gun. >All you have are your sidearms, and some rouge pack of bugs may have snuck past the lines further north. >You encountered bugs out of your auger frame before, but they were alone, and memory provides blurs of adrenaline rather than suggestion. "Teth... what's going on?" >"...Something's exploding." >So many possibilities, all of them bad. You reach for your magnum. >You halt as her snout darts in your direction. >"No, no! Hold on! It's very distant, I don't think we're in danger." "Well WHAT are you hearing?" >"Sounds like artillery, but it's a bit off. It's too... metered." >The tension in your chest is slow to uncoil, you air out your lungs to try and help it along. >You watch Teth'ra's ears scan before she rises from her recline against the gnarled tree. At her full height, her eyes scan the horizon, you try to follow her gaze, but see nothing. >The wire drawn over her shoulders slacks, and her face softens as she stares out. >"Well... that is something else." >Apprehension gives way to curiosity, what exactly has she sighted? "What do you see?" >"I have no idea, but it's... gorgeous." >Try as you might, nothing you can see fits the bill. "Teth, unless you're gawking at trees I don't know what we're looking at." >"Tom, i-it's beautiful. Get over here!" >You follow her direction, maybe she's seeing whatever wonder caught her eye through a break in the trees you can't see from this angle. >Careful not to trip over a stone while you're scanning the horizon, you wander closer to her. >Without any real pretext, she reaches a hand to seize your left shoulder and pulls you into her side. >The touch makes you jump slightly, but she isn't too forceful. >Her other arm levels itself in the same direction as her snout, drawing a thick line directly above the horizon. >"Right there. You see it?" >Trying to ignore the way her hip is pressing deeply into your side, or the large shirt-tearing lumps obscuring the right half of your vision, you try to spot what she's looking at in a fever. If only to get her to leave you a little space. >Still no luck "I-I don't see anything!" >She blows an annoyed huff as you find yourself being prodded forward. >"Here, we'll try this then. Hang on!" "Wait, wha-Haaaauuuht!" >Her hold on your shoulder drops away, before you find both of her hands nailed hard to your hips, and with an unsettling sensation she lifts you clear of the ground. -oh shit, oh shit, oh shit- >You go rigid to maintain your balance and suck in air. This is without much warning and you're hopelessly lost on the context, what is she doing!? >Your lungs feel chilled, a brisk alarm chirps through your skull, and visions of teeth and trauma start surfacing behind your eyes. >Your rise upwards halts and you're lurched back before finding yourself seated on some firm narrow shifting under you to hold your weight with unflinching resolve. >The hands arresting your hips move away, and panicked over your balance, you manage to find a spot to hold on in a downy ruff to your right, but you're still afraid to move as your sense of vertigo is precarious. >Daring to look down, you find that she bought you up to her shoulder. >"See it now?" >You can't see much of anything while you still feel like you might fall, you fumble out your left, grasping blindly for something to hold onto. "I. Uh. Teth? Please!" >"oh, um... Here." >Your hand finds something warm wearing an odd texture flat against it, you grasp it anxiously, and it clasps around your hand in turn, providing some precious since of equilibrium. >Lungs trembling and trying to get your hair to stop standing on end, you fight to get your breath back. >Teth briefly looks back up towards you before returning towards the horizon, before stopping with a jilt and snapping back to you. >"I-oh. OH! Shit! I am SO sorry!! I don't know what came over me! Are you okay?!" >Her urgency is desperate, having just realized what she did. You have to wonder if there are going to be any more times where she slips into a trance and manhandles you without warning. >But, she didn't do anything too rash, and you're perfectly intact, if rattled. >No harm, no foul, but a jumping heat flares to remind her to be more considerate of you. "I-..... I'm, fine. Just.. Give me some warning next time!" >"I-I'm so sorry. I should have checked with you first. I just wanted you to see... that." >Her blues gaze up at you with a tangible plea, the regret on her voice is clear. >"Puh-please, Don't be mad. I. I got excited and wasn't thinking ahead of myself, I'll try not to let it happen again!" >You don't really find a reason to be angry, it was a mistake made in the heat of the moment, and with you making your discomfort clear as day she was quick to recognize her fault. >Dare you say she might be overreacting a little. >It's now that you realize your right hand is firmly in the luxurious silk of her mane, and you scratch at the back of her head to offer a token of forgiveness. >She groans shyly, and you fill your lungs to stabilize your ratcheting heart. "I'm okay...... But you need to be careful." >"I-I will!" >... >inhale, count to four, exhale >She's more than strong enough to support you up here, and she was fast to recognize her error. As long as she avoids doing it again it should be fine. >It seems to you that recently she's been alternating between trying to relax and form a stronger bond around you, and fretting nervously about overstepping herself or slighting you. >What could be setting her into that nervous switch so easily? >It could be that such lapses got her bitten harshly in the past, so now she's twice shy. >She waves her free arm out in front of her with a shy smile. >"Well?... There it is." >You finally find the will to lift your head, tracing your eyes upwards. You waver a little as you realize just how high off the ground you are. >A view high off the ground isn't unfamiliar to you, but that's always accompanied by the sweat of leather bracketing your eyes and a heads up display. >With the wind on your face and your body free of any of the restraints and supports of the armature, being 10 feet in the air on top of the hill is a little terrifying, and exhilarating. >You shunt in the breeze to clear your head a little. "Hooh! I can see the top of the damn world from up here." >"Look further." >You brace yourself to be greeted with the wide wilderness yawning beneath you, squeezing your handholds in case the vertigo tips your balance. >As you trace the land northwards, your left anchor squeezes back, and your breath is stolen by a splendor on the horizon. "Holy hell..." >Great marbles of rose light shimmer far in the distance. From miles away you can still see the dancing shadows cast deep into the trees. >The glowing domes fade into a deep fuchsia before flattening into heavy mounds of wine stained smoke that you can swear resemble the unfurling of a rose. >As one fades, a bright gold streak smashes into the earth from somewhere above, erupting into a fresh marble of blushing fire. Each light grows, shimmers and fades into the floral smoke with a spotlessly precise timing. >Drifts of reddening vapor climb like vines into the air over the target for this strange and awe inspiring attack, catching the light with shimmering specks of argent debris swirling in the clouds. >Such a curious and pure sort of beauty, floating over the collapsing shell of a long dead town. It's difficult to believe what you're looking at is even real. "Is that ours?" >"The shells are coming from the south... it has to be." "It's not like any artillery I've ever seen. It is... beautiful." >It's now you realize what's ensnaring your hand, silk warms your palm like a winter hearth, and smooth pads rock gently between your knuckles and above your wrist. The sense of her claws sit over your flesh in a guarding cage, not a threat. >She squeezes gently with a grip not allowing your digits to dare move. The rose fire must be reaching all the way over here because you feel it on your face, and the din of your heart curls in your ears. <Teth'ra> >There were two reports, one high, one low. The shells were coming from somewhere high above, some sort of massive aircraft no doubt. >But the distant booming of the cannon and shell is long drowned out by the noise of your own heart flooding your ears. >His thin, dexterous hand has been clasped in your own as the both of you stare at this ethereal garden of titanic roses blooming in the destruction of a bug infested town. >You don't even care anymore about what sort of munition central, or the airforce, or whomever really is raining on that place, the sight is something beautiful that you never believed could exist in the midst of utter destruction. >You got a little eager to show him, but now he sat so calmly as you held him on your shoulder that you're guiltily thankful you took the chance of picking him up. >Your shoulder complains lightly, he's not too light, but to keep this moment of connection between the two of you; you would hold up the world. >Somehow, this sight would be wasted without him. This moment would mean so much less with anyone else. >You swear your pounding pulse is reaching up through your arm, and leaking through your palm to synchronize with his own. >Though you listen intently, it's hard to tell them apart. >"It really is beautiful, Teth'ra. I don't think I'll ever forget this." >An errant taste of the air, so close you get an unclouded read of his scent. >Embarassment, anxiety, a fading fear, and... arousal. Flames grow within. >Your heart is racing for war, not even in the bunker was it beating so fast. >Your throat is dry and clammy, your ears burn, and you can feel your pawpads starting to slick with sweat. >Fighting the itch trying to start a tremble in your legs, you manage to coax out a word. "Tom?" >"Yeah?" -you love him- >'I love you' >You love him. >... >An electric pinch seizes the ruff of your neck under the warm presence of his hand, and you swallow the tar gumming your mouth. "...Thank you, for being here." --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- >You had been on the move for hours, that moment tauntingly running itself in your head over and over again. >'what if you had said it?' it coos, 'would he ever say it back? or did you miss your chance?'. >You thrash your head, and take in the chill of the evening air to calm yourself. >Your better judgment seized on you at the last moment, before your passion steered you into making a mistake. You had indulged yourself too much this morning, and he was in turmoil, now was not the right time. >It wouldn't be that way for a while, and you have other things to worry about in the meantime. >After you veered away from what you suspected was just a trick of passion and timing, the bombardment soon faded. You were more than hesitant to keep talking about anything, and simply expressed your desire to return to your temporary barracks so you could get your stuff ready to ship up North. >The run back was quiet, and it was honestly a relief after you shoved your footlockers into the back of your assigned truck and Tom split from you to go warm up his machine. >Gathering up your squad everything appeared peachy, nothing had burned down while you were gone, and while both looked rather testy, Duran and Feldspar weren't bitching at eachother for once. >Matthews complained adamantly about needing another space heater to avoid torpor, and you told her that she and Pliskin could fetch one from the requisition depot once you all got to the assembly area. The twins also handed you a shopping list for spare parts, which you tucked somewhere safe. >Your orders had changed since last night, said staging grounds were now miles north of the original sight. The planned sight of William's Lake had been abandoned in favor of the large town of Quesnel, forty miles south of the city of Prince George. >Said city was likely to be the most daunting obstacle in the path of the advance yet, but strategy was not your issue for now, so you joined your squad in hitching a ride along with the passing convoys. >From there you rode for miles, leaving 100 Mile House far behind. Occasionally you caught sight of Tom's machine far ahead, but you didn't dare raise him on comms. >You needed your space, and it looked best to let him have his. >Soon you saw the reason for the change in orders, Lake Williams was a field of craters. >It was the same story for other bug infestations up the line, you were following a trail of destruction. >Every side road injected mixes of troopers into the column, so many of them from different divisions that yours hadn't been in contact with for weeks. >A few uniforms in the migrating crowd of rifles even looked like marines. >In the sea of chatter, you picked out one word that presented itself as a title: 'Thunderbird' >Thousands of eyes must have scanned the sky, but 'Thunderbird' never showed itself. You had to wonder if the flying titan would simply flatten Prince George for you like it had all these towns. >"What? You're looking kinda grim." >The phrase snaps through your recollections and brings you back into the now; marching the last mile into Quesnel. >Your ears swivel behind you. >"Leave me alone, Julia." >"And what if I don't want to? You gonna wave claws in my face too?" >Your lips sour into a frown, so much for the peace between your corporals. >"I already said that was a mistake! I am sick of apologizing, leave me alone." >At first you believed it would be best to let them blow off steam, but their little spats had been getting more than just harmless. >"I'll leave you alone when you stop glowering at people, I can smell your anger." >You had starting seeing the beginnings of a rift between them, and the lump in your throat started glowing hot. >This is supposed to be a unit, you will not have your own squad being split because neither of them have been willing to sit down like adults for almost a week now. >Your ears flatten, and a growl builds towards a snarl. You turn back in their direction. >"Maybe what you're smelling is your own sh-" "KNOCK IT OFF! BOTH OF YOU!" >Both of their shoulders jump, both snap their attention to you with wide eyes. "Duran! Up here!" >The doberman's ears shrink, and she picks up the pace to join you at the head of the squad. >For her part, Feldspar wears what you can best narrow down as a hesitant relief, but your attention is now shifting to Julia. >She moves in at your side, ears low, tail slack, and shying from your eyes. She may be a head or so taller than Feldspar, but you still loom large over her. >She knows you're speaking as her superior, not her friend, your tone of voice reinforces this. "What is your problem?" >"I-..." "What is your problem? You've been harping at her daily for almost a week now. I get that you want the lesson to stick, but pushing it day after day? Once? she gets it. Three times, she REALLY gets it. Eight times? You're just pushing it!" >"It's like she's a different person!... Ever since the hanger she's just been finding every reason to get pissy, and she will not stop glaring at people." >A certain dogged attempt to shame her sounding in her ears every five minutes probably isn't helping the lion's mood. "So? She's angry! Who the fuck cares? There are a thousand reasons should could be angry, not all of them related to you or the hanger. Are you really going to misinterpret every single one?" >"I'm just worried she's going to slip back." >So she constantly bombards her with shame and judgments? You want to put faith in her that she's just not aware of the effect she's having or hasn't thought her approach through. >Duran was so quiet when you first met, now she seems one of the loudest, most impulsive voices. "Well what you're doing isn't helping that, if anything it's making it worse." >She wants to say something, but swallows the words as her eyes wander in thought. >She's listening, and you take the opportunity to help your point. "You pushing against her so hard is only making her want to stand her ground. Whether you intend to or not, you're not giving her an out." >You know what it's like, because once you were on the other side of that. You know how Feldspar's heart will harden if this continues unabashed. "Soon enough she is going to start believing that any sort of repair or forgiveness between the two of you is impossible, then she's going to start resenting you for it. Even growing to hate you." >Her snout twists in conflict, and she voices a disbelief. >"How could you know? You've only been with us for a few weeks. I know Charlene, she gets in a habit of speaking for us, and she's defensive, sure. But it's rare that she holds a grudge." "I know, because once I was in her position. The difference is my mistakes were imagined, I was assigned blame for the failures of someone above me, and all the judging and talking behind my back only made me despise people I once called friend." >They were sold in their belief of you, and every little thorn of your personality was magnified into an executioner's sword. >They took every excuse they could to see you as the villain. -but maybe you've been doing the same- >Lu... >Maybe she's been rethinking you. >Maybe you should have accepted her apology. >Maybe your old friend has been seeing the error of her ways, and is ready to rebuild bridges. >If only you offer your hand, and accept your own flaws. "This whole thing happened because of my failure, but she still has her own mistake, give her some space to realize that." >"I'm scared that she might split the squad." >It would be more likely that Feldspar would become the pariah of the group, but the concern on Julia's voice is heavy. She believes without a doubt that the lion would tear the squad straight down the middle. "And how would she do that?" >"The kids... Alex and Samantha. They looks up to her, think the world of her." "And you think they would just follow her into a sedition. They look up to YOU too, trust me. Whenever the two of you get in a spat, those kids remind me of siblings just trying to keep their heads down while their parents are fighting." >Both of the privates were hesitant to even speak for anything but necessities like the space heater for Matthews, otherwise they refused to take a side. The twins meanwhile were firmly in Duran's court. >"All due respect ma'am. You weren't there when we found them." "Found them?" >She takes a more neutral expression, eyes deep in a recounting. >"Those two aren't originals to our squad. Charlene saved their lives during an action. They were originally from a fresh platoon with a bunch of other kids from small townsville USA, the kind of places where there are no exports beyond corn and apple-cheeked youngsters." >You have to start wondering just how young the pair is, they couldn't be more than a day over 19. >The army was growing a habit of recruiting younger and younger. >"They got lost in the confusion of an engagement, separated from their platoon and their squad. We came across the pair of them pinned in a half collapsed house. Running out of ammo and surrounded by a large pack of warriors and razorbacks." >You look back as she continues. Feldspar wears a frown coupled with forlorn eyes, scratching loosely along her arm. The twins share glances between themselves and the lioness as the gun rig is shuffled behind them. Matthews and Pliskin chatter between themselves, Sam's bristled tail exposing their worry. >How different did this squad look back then? >"The sergeant was out of action so me and Charlene were in effective command. I wanted to hold back and get more guys involved, but Charlene wasn't listening. She saw a couple of kids in trouble. Next thing I know she's off. So she roars up behind this pack, screaming at the top of her lungs 'ya'll leave them alone!'. She was spraying with one hand and lobbing with the other! I remember thinking: 'this woman is either insane or trying to get us killed.' But you know what they teach us in boot, live with your squad, die with your squad." >She briefly looks up to you, hazel eyes sparking in that familiar way before looking back in the privates' direction, a thin smile growing before she looks forward to the road. >"So I shake off my confusion first and order the troop forward to support her. One of the privates with us lost a leg, another got a nasty scar across the chest, and Charlene got a pair of quills in the ribs and a broken arm for her trouble. But we saved those kids... Thing was, during the battle their platoon got wiped out. Afterwards they were sent in to our outfit. Charlene took over their grenadier training, and they've looked up to her ever since." "What happened to those other two privates?" >"...they're gone now. Our last sergeant took them with her." >If your mental picture is lining up correctly, that would mean only the two corporals and the twins are what remains of the squad's original members. "I'm sorry." >"Nothing you could have done. Nothing to apologize for then." >Four out of ten and they were still going, even now with seven of ten including you, they were understrength. You still had yet to receive any word about new recruits or reinforcements joining you, something that you suspected Vilka was at fault for. >She trusted most of her paperwork to that sabercat with the vacant stare, and you didn't like even being near that one, something about her just seemed... evil. It was either her or the bitch herself that was denying you the trio of rifles your outfit needed to be fully operational. >But angry visitations with your lieutenant was a task for another time, so you turn back to the now. Julia needs some gentle encouragement to take the chance on Feldspar. "I get why you think they'd hardline their loyalties to Feldspar, but they're just kids, really. How old even are they?" >"...seventeen." >You have to pause as you feel your stomach curdle, a knot of disgust slides up your throat before you swallow it. >When you were 17 you were sneaking out to hang with friends and shoot the shit, your worries were over boys and your figure, not your life. It should have been the same for them. >You look back, they're still whispering anxiously, and only one conclusion crosses your mind. >They don't belong here. >It's a struggle to turn your attention back to Duran. "Well... then that just means that they're at an impressionable age, which works to your favor. Charlene may have been the first to move, but all of you pitched in to save them, so they likely think of all of you guys as a second family. So trust me when I say that they're just as worried about this situation as you are." >The consideration on her muzzle turns towards acceptance, looks like your argument has gotten through. >"Hell, talk like that and you may be part of our dysfunctional little family." >The thought is flattering, but you're still relatively new to them, and you didn't start off on as nearly as strong a foot as you did with Tom. "Flattering, but you said it yourself, I've only been with you for a few weeks." >"True, but you're also one of the most reasonable sergeants we've had. Sure you flipped your lid a bit but you recognized your mistakes, apologized, and you're trying to be better for it. More than I can say for most of our sergeants." >You aren't sure if accepting the praise would be in bad taste, but you don't want to seem prudish either. "Ehm... Thanks." >"No problem, mother." "Stop that." >If you were more cynical you'd believe she's trying to distract you from leveling a punishment instead of joking from relief over just getting off with a warning. >"Speaking of parental absence, where were you last night?" >Finally making a move, but she doesn't need to know that. "I trust I don't need to baby you, corporal." >Jesting at her independance should wave her off without any issue. "You can take care of yourself without me for five minutes. can't you?" >"Ah yes, the classic 'dad going to the bar' excuse. Didn't take you for a drunkard." >You shoot her a disapproving glare over the bridge of your muzzle. Breaking down one's constitution in public is shameful, you don't get why humans do it. >Her wiry grin stays strong. She may be joking, but you aren't going to tolerate even the thought that at least your public face is anything but respectable. >Drink was for private moments, between trusted friends. "I was off with a-some friends. I don't go to crater dives." >Your tongue hitched a second and almost betrayed your real reason, you pray she doesn't notice. >"Uh, all due respect ma'am. But the rest of the platoon has a communal stick up their ass, and the other sergeants in the battalion think you're trouble. What friends?" >Snippy little thing, isn't she? >You're starting to prefer her back when she was quiet. You had plenty of friends in the unit... had. >Some depressive spot leaps over your ears, but you blow it off with a sour huff, it can go fuck itself. >And she doesn't need to know what you were getting up to last night. "Well if you're gonna be like that, it's none of your damn business." >That was a night between you and him, no one else. He showed how vulnerable he was, and he trusted you every time to keep it between you, you will not betray that trust. >The man has gone through enough betrayal and loss in his life as is, you can make it better. >"Oh... I get it!" >A dangerous glare crests your brow, and you direct it at her in warning. >What exactly does she think she gets? Because you're fairly sure you don't like the answer. >"You were off getting some 'meat~', weren't you?" >A nerve breaks madly around your core, producing a short flash of animosity. >You vent it piecemeal with an open palmed slap to the back of her head, a gentle reminder not to overstep herself. >Out of the corner of your eye, you see the soft clap of the strike draw Feldspar's attention before Julia makes her displeasure known. >"Ow! -augh. Okay, I was asking for that one." >An angry stirring still collects into a growl, so you weave it into a verbal warning. "One thing you should get straight right now, corporal: is I DO NOT sleep around." >She clutches around behind her ears, checking for any damage but finding nothing permanent. If you wanted to hurt her, you would have. >"Understood and duly noted... Man, you guys really are touchy about that stuff." >A barb in your throat spits at the typical domestic attitude, but you breath sharply and let her have that one. >Last thing you need is to lose the trust of your functioning corporal again. It's best to remain at a stern but fair demeanor. >It's been more than enough joking around, and you remind her that the purpose of this talk was not for jesting. "Look, my point is if you want to help things with Feldspar, then change your attitude. Don't be so determined to misread everything she does. Remember that she's your friend, not your target. If Charlene is the sort of person that I believe she is, that I met, and that you know, with time she'll start seeing where she went wrong. And if she comes forward to you, don't confront her with rabid judgments and a closed fist. Try some understanding, let things go. Hell, lend her a hand to help her fix herself! Just stop pushing against her, because when the ground under someone that obstinate breaks and you're still pushing. The only way they can slide is backwards." "I'm confident that if you offer some honest help, she'll take it. Things can be better. But before any of that can happen, you first have to back off. Don't make it an order." >The doberman breathes a long sigh. >"Alright ma'am. You've convinced me. We'll do it your way." >Your hand moves for her again, you rest it confidently on her shoulder. "Thank you." >She looks up, and the two of you share a small grin. >When all is said and done, the both of them are contentious, but you see promise in them. Perhaps some small part of them reminds you of yourself. >You can shape this squad up yet. >You glance back towards Feldspar, her snout turns away but you know that for a little bit she was watching intently, and probably trying to listen. >The twins will no doubt need expertise to help fix their gun. >And you remember Tom was staring at some sort of plan sketched into a notebook when you were packing up. >A plan starts coming to mind. "Now then, you need anything from the supply depot?" >"Yea-uhhhh why do you ask?" >You can't help the knowing smirk cracking your lips, but you conceal the exact reason with a practiced deflection and a jerk of your thumb over your shoulder. "Those four back there have been bugging me for various provisions, and I need to top up on ammo. So I figured if you needed anything it would save a trip." >Her eyes briefly narrow, searching you for some betrayal of your intent, but she finds nothing and her sense of practicality pushes her to make her needs known. >"I was checking over my fuel tanks yesterday and found a little bit of a leak. I could use a new set of sealing gaskets" >Now for the distraction. >"I'll see that you get it then. Now go check on the kids, they looked paranoid that I was going to bite your head off." >Looking back, she confirms what you're saying and nods curtly. >"Ma'am." >Duran departs, and you glance back while she's busy with the privates, catching Feldspar in another one of her intent gazes. >You motion for the cat to join you. Her approach is a bit hesitant and she wears a worried brow. >"Uhh, wha'd'ya need sarge?" >You've seen her like this a few times over the week, pretty much always after arguments with Duran. The cat withdraws into herself, the confidence that was once there bleeds out, leaving her pallid and forlorn. "Don't look so nervous, you're not in trouble." >"Um, alright then..." >You need to ease her back into opening up, show her that she doesn't have to tread so lightly around you. "I just want to check in with how you're doing corporal, I'm not going to hit you if that's what you're worried about." >"Oh no. Once was more than enough." >She clutches near her stomach in a moment of inattention and guilt tugs at your frown. You're still questioning whether or not you were too hard on her. >Worry plucks that her shy behavior is hiding resentment, maybe it would help if you explain yourself. "Look, I'm sorry for... that." >She jumps a little as she realizes where her hand is. "But, the fact is, you had already proven yourself to be obstinate... and you were the first to step majorly out of line, so-" >"-You were making an example outta me." >... >"I got what ya were doin' after shaking hands with yer little friend. Anyone else woulda done the same, you bit me hard, so ya wouldn't have to bite me again." >Her scent stirs with a hint of anger, but you feign a complete acceptance to let her think over how that very thing was your intent. "I'm glad you understand. I can't have my number two threatening to kill someone." >On queue, a shot of guilt reaches your noise. Her intent wasn't murderous, your faith goes that far, but your suspicion was most parties involved interpreted it that way even if they didn't admit it. "Now then, I have something for you to do." >This would give her time to think clear of the distractions of you or the rest of the squad, and present her with an opportunity to forward an olive branch. >She looks at you expectantly as you remember where you stashed that list. >You dive a hand behind your breast plate and probe for the minute slip of paper. "Alright, where is it?" >It was the safest pocket you had, but it was a bit of a pain fishing it for what you wanted when every little jostle and shift could have your quarry descending deeper. >You were at least thankful that the twins had adjusted the straps and fitting on your vest so it was far more comfortable. >The cat has a brow raised, understandably intrigued by the sight of her superior rooting a hand around between her breasts, but what girl hasn't used her girls as a pocket? >Finally two claws close around something that crinkles, and you wrestle the slip of paper away from the clutches of your chest, handing it to Feldspar. >"What's this?" >Your plan in motion. "That is a list of spare parts the twins need for their gun rig. The kids need a space heater so Matthews doesn't have to worry about torpor, Duran could use a new set of sealing gaskets, and I need three a-hundred round belts of high explosive armor piercing fifty cal." >"I don't see how an errand will-" "-Don't think of it as an errand. Think of it as an opportunity to take some time, and clear your head." >You grip her shoulder gently. "Think you can do that for me?" >Her eyes flit in thought, but eventually a minuscule smile creeps onto her muzzle. >"Yeah, I can sarge." >That wasn't as hard as you thought it'd be. >Today was shaping up alright. You offer the cat a proud smile. "atta girl." >Now to find Tom. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- <Tom> >You've been staring at this scribble in your notebook for about five minutes straight, also staring at the metal tube and pile of spare parts sitting obtusely on the table, and wondering if you should go for welding brackets or try and find a disused rail that won't snap off with the weight. >There's also the question of a sight, would it need a ladder sight? Or should it be fine just eyeballing it? >And where exactly should you put that hacksaw to work? >If only you got more exact measurements. >Come to think of it, the shroud would get in the way with a rail, so it would be better to bend the forward mounting bracket around that to ease and balance the weight. >Recoil shouldn't be an issue despite the caliber. With low velocity and a solid base the kick didn't need any direct dampening that wasn't already there. It was going to be propped up by a solid pair of legs anyway. >Now for the real question, leave it muzzle loaded or try and scavenge more to set up a breach fed magazine? >There was also the trigger, the existing lever bar would work perfectly, but would something more familiar work better? >It was already a hassle getting your hands on the first tube, and you couldn't just cap off the cut-off length since you weren't sure exactly how much you would need for the magazine, but where could you sneak in a second tube? >Maybe if you can bullshit the supply sergeant enough... You already had a prototype feedramp that you managed to work out with some sheet metal and a coil spring. >...You could always just swallow your pride and ask for help, surprises were damned difficult. >On the other hand, you would have most of the day to work on this and get something functional, since your official project wasn't going anywhere. >Damn quasi-celebrity fucknugget was hogging all of the damn work crews again. >You gaze again at the pieces on the table, and back to your hasty chicken scratch of a blueprint. -you don't know what you're doing- >A heavy breath lolls out of your throat, you weren't used to working on this small a scale, and the chances of a misfire seemed to add up the more you considered making it more complicated than it strictly needed to be. >You take the pencil back to your notebook and adjust your notes, splitting the design into two. >The first design would be a prototype to make sure the basic premise worked soundly, would be easy enough to test it with the smoke shells you got a hold of. >If a smoke shell misfired, you got a sting in your eyes and a bit of a cough, no big deal. >Better than testing with proper high explosive. >The second design would incorporate the magazine, holding four, maybe five shots counting the one in the chamber would be something to appreciate, but it would have to wait until you got your hand on that second tube and worked out a feed and chambering system that would hold up to the pressure. >It was lucky the supply sergeant bought your story of trying to work out a mech scale smoke grenade dispenser, seeming to forget that for that to work you'd need a lot more firing tubes. >At that point you could also get outside help to move past the prototype in 'Mk. 1'. >She's pretty sharp, she would have the knowhow. >You hate to not make it as big a surprise as you were hoping, but it's better safe than sorry. >Shit, just look at yourself. Agonizing this long over a gift, you really do sound like you're in love. >But you still can't help that excited query. Would she like it? It was a pretty slapdash piece of work to be done by chopping up a disused light mortar, but would it be a case of 'at least the thought counts'? >It would be miles more practical than any of your other homemade gifts you scrounged together, and it just seemed more honest knowing you made it with your own hands instead of just acquiring it. >This was your apology, and it has to be perfect. No box of corner store flowers would do the job. >Those things are always just left to shrivel up and be forgotten in a vase anyhow. -how romantic...- >... >When was the last time you cobbled something together for a woman you didn't have feelings for? >You can't remember. >But again, you don't know what you're feeling right now, you're pent up, confused, and her signals aren't exactly clear. >She's been acting differently lately. The competition, the teasing, the affection, all of it hinted towards something unspoken. >She could just be excited over your recovery, she's your best friend despite everything, but that girl displays such a shyness sometimes that a murmur at the base of your skull whispers that there's something she's not telling you despite how much she may want to. >Something she feels. >But the slightest stir has a heavy ambrosia leaking in on your thoughts, you stare more, noticing the little bounces and rolls. It could be coloring your reading of her towards a conclusion that doesn't apply. Unaware habits and comforts being mistakenly read as deliberate attempts at your attention. >Maybe you should take some time, stroll out to the greenery just out of town, find a quiet spot downwind and... relieve your urges. >It's been around a month now, right? It's only healthy... >But that could wait for later, you had to get this mess in order and then go scream at the nearest technical sergeant to stop jerking off the ace and get some damn work done. >It's not like anyone else could help y-. >"Tom?" >Your back knots in a painfully familiar way, and your lungs seize every square inch of air available on reflex. >Hiding the pile like your shame, you yank a crumpled tarp over the mess and quickly shunt your notebook under the canvas. >You swear if it's those fucking cats again you're done. >And just at the exact wrong time again too. >The frustration spits at the intruder. "Christ!! Do you people ever knock!?" >"snrk Hnhnhn. You don't have a door!" >The cheerful dulcet tones you've become so intimate with reach your ears. >Oh... it's her again, and you've made yourself look like a fool. >Heat is crawling around your eyes, say something, anything. "Uh.... Heyyy, Teth'ra." -real natural- >shut it. >How are you going to hide your surprise from her? It's not ready yet and she's undoubtedly curious about what's on the table. >Turning around, you meet her deep blues, once again radiant with that happy energy. Today is not keeping her mood down any. >"Is now a bad time?" -yes- "N-No not really." >Her snout splits into a gleeful white gleam, and she softly turns the toe of her boot into the ground. >"Glad to hear it. I, uh.-have a proposal." >She strides in towards you as you panic in wonder why she's doing this when you meant to wave her off. >Wait!... Shit!... Well, can't take back that blunder of the tongue now. >You can't really muster yourself to say no to that charming grin and the excited way her tail swishes with only a distant acknowledgement to the tempo set by her stride. >Propping your back against the table, you concentrate on breathing away the heat creeping under your cheeks. >Her eyes regard the covered mess behind you but don't seem to make anything conclusive of it. >You take security in the fact you saw no flash of recognition, she instead turns and makes a seat out of the right corner of the battered old work bench. >It wheezes wearily under her, but you're certain it's taken worse. >"So uh... hmmm, how to put this." >You turn to find her with the leg closer to you crossed over the other, and her brow furrowed in thought. >Half of you balks that she's considering the best way of gently breaking a request for something you would never do otherwise, but the rest of you stirs with a distant energy. >She eyes you over her shoulder, and the shyest hint of a grin has that feeling in you climbing into a subdued... excitement? >All things considered, last night with her went alright, as long as she leaves you time to yourself, you wouldn't actually mind another hangout. >"I'm uh, running a firing drill later in the evening, I'd like you to be there." >That spring of a good feeling fades quickly. Her squad, it's always with her damn squad. >You can't relax around them, too many snouts getting too curious. You loose a heavy sigh, not caring if she infers your meaning or not. "Them again huh?" >Almost all of them seem to have some tick that raises your hair. >The doberman is inoffensive enough, but you've seen that her temper is getting progressively shorter, she flips from quiet to ranting at the drop of a hat. >The small spotted cat... ocelot?... whatever, flies into excitement about revolvers a bit too fast for your liking, luckily she's never spotted yours. >Those twin cats are so eerily in sync that the only thing it reminds you of is The Shining. >The lion you always keep an eye on, you aren't fooled by her meek act, not with the way she glares at you sometimes. >The only one you can afford to ignore is the lizard, she keeps herself out of the way, and of course Teth never forces you out into them, just insists that you're always around to sidestep any approach and glare at them like it's prom. >"Tom... Remember our talk?" >Her tone is one of gentle admonishment, but you're tired of those wary hours with absolutely nothing to speak of. >Some bitter swill pools on your tongue. "Yeah, I know. It's for my own good..." >You want to believe her, but you don't see how, just being around the zoo isn't going to magically cure you. You find yourself missing the days where it was just the two of you against the world. >She never told them about you until something had already happened, so you may just be falling into the same trap she did. >You're tired, stuck with a project you can't do on your own, and off balance. Meeting with them again is the last thing on your mind. >"Tom..." >You want a nap and a heavy meal for once, but guilt plucks your heart for shirking her. >Sure most of the squad seems like they don't want to do you harm, but they also don't want to approach you, and it's likewise for you. >If she intended for you to come out of your shell, it's just not happening. "Teth'ra, I know. But whatever you're trying to do... I just don't see it." >The table groans again, and her presence soon looms over you. >A strong hand rests on your shoulder, and she spins you to face her as she kneels. >The swell of her chest dives out of your vision, and you're left face to face with her naked concern. >Ears held back at an angle, brow steeped with worry, and her shimmering sapphires betraying a sadness worn on her lips. >This giant respects you enough that in such a crucial moment, she plants her knee into the dirt to get on your level, to make sure the both of you aren't hiding anything from the other. >The eyes are the window to the soul, and hers has always been gentle. >She holds her snout a small distance away from you, but the gap between her nose and yours is measured only in inches. >So close, those shining gems look so rich with life, her breath washes into yours. >"I know it must be hard for you, but I meant what I said. I want you to be free of this terrible thing. I know there's no easy way through, but that's just the way these things are! There's never a quick cure all, it always takes time and effort." >You swear some part of her is reaching into you, you can't break away from that magnetic draw. The luster in those eyes is renewing. >"They really aren't so bad, they just... aren't sure how to behave around you, because you're always hiding away. I know you must be scared, but I can't help you on my own, I need a little help... I need you to try, if for no one else... then at least do it for me." >You want to take the hand she's offering, but where could it even go? All roads lead to Rome, and Rome is in a civil war. >The doberman and lion may have stopped arguing whenever you were around, but the fact is their conflict seems to have forced the rest of the squad into isolation. You had no cheap and cheerful way to even attempt conversation. >She's asking the impossible, but instead of frustration you feel the sink of guilt pulling lower around your belly. "What is there to even do? With your corporals at each other's throats I don't have an in, and it's not like any of them will come forward." >"Then make an in! I've taken care of Feldspar and Duran's spat, so you have an opportunity. hell! I'm helping you with an opportunity, the Jorgenson's need their gun rig fixed. You don't even have to talk to them! Just do something nice, show them a little of the good man that I see." "Teth, I-I don't know how. With you I-..." >You don't know what you did. >"You were drugged up, tired, trusting of a pair of eyes. And in dire need of a friend." >...those eyes >Those impossibly blue eyes. >"What would we be without that? What would I look like to you if we never met? If you didn't know who I am?" >The answer creeps from a deep pit, sloughing off a trail of despair and guilt as it squirms up your throat. >You cage it with your teeth, but her eyes sadden, she's already seen it through your own eyes. >The way your instincts could have stirred when confronted with her image, if it wasn't held down, drowning under sorrow, loneliness, and medicine. >A long snout lined with gleaming dagger teeth, large gripping hands tipped with filleting claws, predatory pointed ears that can hear your breath from half a mile, an infallible sense of smell, and a body stacked with crushing, primal muscle hidden by a thin curtain of unassuming fat to take just enough of an edge off that you lower your guard. >In a time of barbarism and instinct, all of that would be the sign of an alpha predator that was something beyond successful. >Even so just loosing it pulls needles out of your core. It's all so shameful, you don't want her seeing herself that way because it is so at odds with her gentle soul, her caring nature, her holding of life as precious. "yh-y-Y-You... You'd be terrifying..." >All of this, and she's a better person than you. Why does she stay by you? Why keep focus so intently on what little could redeem you? >"That's exactly it. Tom, we met by circumstance, and I hate to think what we would be without it. They don't have that benefit, but I do have an idea. So please, give them just a little of the chance that I was given, let them show you who they are. So you don't have to focus on what they are." >... "Alright... Alright, I'll go." >A happy whine, a gleeful smile, a vice grip around your torso threatening to squeeze your lungs out. "Hmp!" >She curls her arms over your back, pulling you tight against her. Your jaw is immediately over her shoulder, and she bars any attempt to back away. >"Thank you!" >Her voice is honeyed with ecstasy, but you can detect a strong hint of relief. A silky, ticklish feeling starts gliding around your neck, interrupting your thought as a wet spot brushes your nape. >You forget how touchy-feely she gets, once again she nuzzles enthusiastically over the back of your neck. The feeling of fur gliding around your neck and hair is light and fuzzy, occasional scratchy feelings from more coarse hairs or the wet kiss of her nose have feathery feelings crawling around your spine. >It's like being attacked by a feather duster, and you have to hold down the jumping coalescing in your lungs so you don't look like a fool. >What if someone sees you like this? >You complain, loudly, while fighting stray hairs from her mane attempting to infiltrate your mouth. "Pah, tch... Teth!" >"Araaouf~!" >Her answer is one of those rarely heard barks, she must forget herself when she's happy. >Her assault continues, and soon enough the little cold touches from her nose are breaking down your resolve. "hk-tsch! Hn-hahn-Heheheheh! Teh-T-Teth! Come on! Krch-huehahahaa! Stop it!" >Finally she withdraws, an air of smug self satisfaction dressing her features as she looses her hold. >"You feeling better now?" >The sentiment was there, but she was also trying to embarrass you, something that despite the wash of fresh air over yourself you don't appreciate. >You 'rebuke' her with a finger pressed into her nose. Immediately she snaps to a confused attention, going cross eyed to focus on the offending digit. "Bad!" >Her face seems to freeze in the moment, an eye twitches, her lip curls, and her breath starts jumping. >"Nnnghe-aah-auh-" >She's fighting it but you can see the inevitability, and you smirk a bit. All you had to do was push her button. >Her snout dives downward, and she vigorously rattles her head as the involuntary reflex seizes her. >"-AAgh--FFFFFfffffff-t!!! snf aww." >The skittering feeling under your breast is renewed into a rich laughter. She sneezes exactly like a dog. "mph-Pahahahahahaha!" >The hand on your shoulder lightly slaps its perch before returning to her side. >"You ass!-snf" >Her ears have lowered and she wears a rather displeased glare, she attempts to start into some sort of rant before her ears shoot back up and she gets that confused look again. >"I can't believe y-eh. Ah shi-Ahfffff!!" >You can't hold in a breathy snickering, and she shoots a glare at you before the urge seizes her yet again. >"Son of a bi- HACH-FFffff-t!!!!" "Hahhahahahahaha!!" >"I HATE THAT DAMN FEELING!" "Oh come on." >"hueagh-fft! Dammit! Now I'm gonna be doing that all day!" >Seems you pushed her buttons in another sense, her annoyance is turning sour. "Is it really that bad?" >"Take that crawling, burning feeling you get in your nasals when you want to sneeze, now apply that along the length of THIS!" >She motions along the bridge of her snout, your middle turns in sympathy. That sounds even more annoying than dealing with your own allergies. "...I'm sorry." >"You better be..." >She crosses her arms and pouts, making an interesting chain of muttering mixed with low growling. >You glance around and listen a moment, nobody's around, her talent for finding you when you're alone in action again. >The silky cascade of her mane edges over the collar of her jacket, flowing down between her shoulders in a fluffy curtain of waving grey cotton. You note that towards the tips, her far longer fur here darkens. Maybe she has traces of black backed in her. >Remembering how your pup would throw her muzzle aside and pout when you teased her over a treat, you forward a similar peace offering. >Your fingers weave effortlessly into the rich curtain of fur, and you soon find her neck with the tips of your fingers. >Her response as you begin scratching is immediate and humming with satisfaction. >"Hrmm, mmmnf, hur-arrrrr. Wh-wha-what are you-" >You press in with your nails, scratching into the base of her neck as she reflexively curls around your touch, growling mirthfully. >"rrrgh~. Mmmm-rrrrrr! Ahrauurrrr." >She peals off a light sort of whine as her muzzle inclines skywards, big girl wants more. >She really is just a big dog sometimes isn't she? You've never had one that weighs more than you did, but you've also never made friends with one with a figure and an attitude. >The jackal has leaned over towards you to allow easier access, you see her tail steadily picking up pace as it threshes back and forth over the table. >Luckily it doesn't disturb the tarp or the mess of parts under it, but you figure that even that alone can't make up for all she's done for you, so you might as well treat her a little. >It's no secret that anthros of all stripes appreciate petting, so you use your free hand to attack her chin with a wandering scuttle up and down the underside of her muzzle. >This immediately produces a response. >"Mnnn-ooOOOOooohh! HmmmmnnnrrrrrrrrRRRRRrrrrr~! Haaaa-AA-aaaa!" >She's making all sorts of mumbling noises, reminding you of the way your old mutt would 'talk' at you when she was curled in your lap enjoying your petting. >Of course she's far too big to ever curl in a ball over your legs, but the sight of this massive jackal squirming happily under your handiwork is endearing. >"ho-mmmn. D-d-don't stop. Harurrrrrgh!" >Her smile has reappeared, twice as wide as before, making no effort to contain her pleased sighs and content rumblings. >She's been making a lot of noise, some of it a bit... sensual. are you sure no one heard that? >Drawing your attention away from her, you scan the shadows the sun casts against the gantry screens, though you watch the shifting shade of the sparse trees nearby, none of the shadows resembles a figure for more than a moment. >No sounds greet you beyond what 'chatter' she's making and the rustling of the wind carrying the distant percussion of men at work. >Your attention is pulled back by a familiar, needing whine. You've slowed while your attention was elsewhere. >She pants lightly while presenting the top of her head towards you, more specifically her... ear? >What could she want with that? With your old girl the ears did nothing for her, just something to idly flick between your fingers while absorbing whatever drivel was on the idiot box. >For how similar she's acting to the old bird right now, there was still a world of difference between your runt and the jackal, maybe this was one of them. >What's the worst that could happen? >Tepidly, you maneuver your hand around the base of her ear and pinch gently, admiring the feel of the warm velvet as it slips between your fingers. >"Hmng! GrrrrRRRrrrr~..." >She squirms towards you as a shudder coarses through her from head to toe. -well that was different- >Must be a sensitive spot. You can feel her throat rumbling in pleasure under your other hand, and her panting has turned deep and breathy. >She's positively melting under your touch, she must have really needed something like this. >Teth'ra moves in even closer, sliding over and leaning into you. She hooks herself under your right arm and cranes her head to rest across your chest. >She's very quickly gotten in close, but the fear isn't what's lurking around the corner this time, instead it's an undecipherable heat, creeping up through your neck to dig its roots into your cheeks. >It occurs to you that if she couldn't before, being so close she can definitely hear your heartbeat, and right now it's going strong. Your sanguine core stirred by some unseen hand to hammer harder. >Easy you dumb bastard, she's just getting friendly, it's what anthros do. >Breathing deep to fight off the fire and accompanying percussion, you try and ease her petting a little for your own sake. >She makes something of a groan of complaint in response. "Uhhh... Teth?" >"Shut up and pet me." >The demand is groggy, your fingers working some sort of daze over her. You survey your surroundings again, and again find all evidence rebuffing that you are alone. >It was easier to believe that with certainty out in the wilderness, but here in the staging grounds there are easily thousands just a stone's throw away. >Again worry bites over the possibility of someone stumbling on you like this, there was no explaining it. >The only ones that really had a solid idea about this was Teth'ra's squad, who didn't care at the moment; and Vegalta, who assumed on reflex that any two people moving within the same post code were romantically involved, so he was the opposite of credible if anyone asked. >Your instinct presses to keep it quiet, back home pairs even resembling yours were almost never seen; to your shame you remember the few times you did see them, something in your throat knotted with disgust. >That was a long time ago, but others aren't so willing to change. Then there was dear old dad... How the hell would you even solve that particular quandary? Assuming it ever came up. >"Something up?" >Her voice calls you out of your melancholy, the image of her peering up at you is a bit strange. >Holding her snout across your chest like any normal canine with your hands cupping her chin and curled around the base of her ear, but her eyes shine with an unmistakable intellect and concern. The very picture of the difference between animal and anthro. >She doesn't need to know of your doubts or confusion, it would just sour her mood and complicate what ever it is between you. "Just, thinking over things." >You pray that she doesn't pull another one of her empathetic magic tricks and see straight through you, because you have no answer to the question she'd inevitably ask. >"Well then, pet me!" She nudges your hand with her snout, pressing against you further. >Thankfully she's too distracted to pry, but she's not letting you just get up and leave until she's sated. >It's just petting right, probably isn't much more to her either than a pleasant distraction. >Again you breath deep to steady your heart and abide her pleading, running your fingers around her snout and through her mane. >She sighs dreamily as you resume your impromptu session, you get the sense that she would be just fine napping like this as you watch her body relax. >Once again, would be impossible to explain how 500 pounds of royal jackal woman fell asleep in your lap. >Something occurs to you out of your fog of confusion and harnessed emotion, maybe someone saw her come around here, and you have been alone in here together longer than strictly necessary for a chat. >...The noises wouldn't help dissuade any assumptions. >Plus, your nerves are steadily growing more severe, you wish you could say it's at least nice to have her close, but not out in the open like this, and not so soon after your squall of feeling. >Your intuition clamors for subterfuge, to make it plausible that your time alone is perfectly friendly. >Your eyes catch on the rigid bulwark hanging on the side of your machine's arm. A new addition anchored onto the outer gun shield, reinforcing spars cross their way over your machine's arms to hold the extra mass securely. >There is your excuse, and an out from your current predicament, you don't have faith in your ability to keep your pulse from ramping up. >Swallowing the heat in your throat, you offer the suggestion that she do anything but put you in an awkward spot. "You know, I uh. I... could use your help with something. -smooth- >shut it >You feel her shifting to look up at you. >"Uhm. What with?" >You point directly at the device anchored onto the rumbler's forearm. "That." >Around two hours ago, just after you turned off your engines, some eccentric in a grey lab coat marched in with two such corrugated hunks of some indeterminate alloy and a crane. >Sure the crew that egghead brought with him did the heavy lifting, but the fine tuning was apparently a personal matter for you, and the scientist refused to actually clarify any of the wall of babel he confronted you with. >The least he could have done was leave you with something remotely resembling a technical readout or the barest idea on what those things are even supposed to do. The best you got was a word salad acronym and assurance that it was perfectly intuitive once everything was wired up. >You feel nothing but unease about the eccentrics that clamor for their data and experimental models at the central science bureau, and one just walked into your gantry and deposited a pair of such experimental models onto your forearms. >They could be anything from some obtuse external fire control computers to mine dispensers, you never know. >You still remember the tale of Mitchell Pavel and his machine 'The Negotiator'. Some madman with a degree bolted a massive hydraulic ram onto his machine, something that should be a foolproof knockout punch against enemy machines. >The primary cylinder shattered on the first hit, spilling gallons of hydraulic fluid and paralyzing 'The Negotiator' along its right side before the system could compensate. This field experiment almost cost Mitchell his life. >You're deep in recounting when her voice snaps you back to attention. >"Well that's new, but what does a hunk of metal have to do with-" "Ah! It's not a hunk of metal. It's a, 'Hydro-Pneumatic Expansion Shock Device'." >The scientist's word salad seems to stun her just as effectively as it did you when you first heard it. >"I-what? hydro pneu-. Hydro pneumat-eh-. H,P,E,S,D. Fucking. Hypoz! Fucking Hypoz, the fuck is that?!" "I don't know, and the egghead that does walked outta here like an hour ago." >Finally she moves away to sit more upright, the mystery of your new experimental hardware seizing on her. It seems like she can't resist her curiosity. >"Okay, so what does the hydro pneuma-eh-fuck it, word salad even do?" "I have no idea, surprisingly enough he didn't leave behind an instruction manual." >They never really stop and explain exactly how these things work. Maybe they're so off base from months in a lab they don't know how to convey the technical ideas in proper english, or so haughty that they believe their selected pilots just wouldn't understand. >Either way it results in situations like Bill Macright, who was almost killed when the experimental coilgun duct-taped to his machine almost exploded from a capacitor overload. You curse under your breath, damn eggheads. "-fuckin' experimental shit.-" >"Alright, so what do you need me to do?" >You thought for sure she'd need a little more convincing considering the risk of oil and grease, but she doesn't sound afraid to get dirty, points in her favor. >The final steps were somewhat simple, but you couldn't manage them on your own. "These things need to be wired into the fire control and they're both hooked up the the hydraulics. I can run the wires mostly on my own, but the entire hydraulic system needs a thorough spot check in case the new additions are causing any leaks. I need to be up in the engine compartment to run a flush through the system, you just need to poke your head around and shout if you see dripping." >"How long should this take?" >It should have been long done if you were free of a certain outside annoyance. "All of two minutes with a proper work crew, that is if SOMEONE wasn't hogging them all... But with the two of us it shouldn't take more than half an hour or so." >That damn peacocking showboat was starting to piss you off. Who the hell consistently needs every spare work crew if their machine so much as moves? >you had walked within earshot of his group multiple times, and didn't find the din of work, but instead the sound of Redenbacher loudly regaling everyone with ridiculous stories. >"Who's taking all the work crews?" >You groan as you step away from the table and stretch, climbing around the gantries always made you feel a bit worn in. "Redenbacher." >"Who?" >... How could she not know? The way the old man put it, his image was plastered everywhere on propaganda for the mech corp. Hell, he was one of the few pilots consistently followed by war reporters. "Uh, The Red Baron?" >You look back to find her wearing a puzzled, but bemused sort of twist. >"Are you doing a bit right now?" >... "What?" >"snrk I'll admit I'm not the most astute student of history, but even I know the man carrying that moniker has been dead for almost a century. And it's Richthofen, not Redenbacher." -she doesn't know- >You never thought you'd have to explain Redenbacher of all fucking people. "No, you see... Redenbacher is a, last I checked, very much living strider ace who calls himself The Red Baron. According to my instructor, he selected the moniker because he quote: 'was a kindred spirit of Manfred Von Richthofen'." >Her amusement shines through into one of her trademark smirks. >"That is some very creative bullshit, but there is no way someone could be THAT self centered." >Maybe not, but you remember so many of the rants the old man launched into whenever the topic of the baron reared its head. >As far as you could decipher from all the shouting, Redenbacher, rather unfortunately named Orville just like the popcorn magnate, was once a struggling recruit on the verge of washing out of the academy. That is until the old man stepped in to drag his ass out of the fire. >Somehow the old German cracked into the young flunky's spirit and managed to start instilling his wisdom. Orville started climbing the scales, and by his graduation was at the apex of his academy class. >According to the old man, it was about then that everything went straight to Redenbacher's head. He never even thanked the old man for his help and completely ignored that without it he'd probably be a tunnel rat. >Since then you had encountered him personally, and while the old man may have been overstating things, the ace isn't exactly pleasant either. His paper thin accent rings as deceptive, and his habits and trimmings point towards a self obsession. >Today in particular it seemed he was wasting man hours telling about his own achievements in front of that garish mess of a machine out on the town's only runway. "Oh no I'm perfectly serious. You must have seen that violently red mech out at the end of the airfield, right?" >The change in her expression tells you everything as realization dawns on her. >"Wait, that's not some useless showpiece?" "Nope, he named it Frau Emile, and painted it 'the exact shade of signal red', roundels included. He's so absorbed into his role of reliving history that not only did he take the title of a man spinning in his grave. He 'forgets' that he was almost a drop out from the academy if it wasn't for the man that taught the both of us." >"Both of you were in the same class at the mech academy?" >That would require a far earlier recruitment on your part, and even if that happened you don't know if you could live with being in extended contact with a stage show actor masquerading as a pilot. "no, no, absolutely not. Orville graduated long before I came around, but my instructor had a bit of a hair trigger over him. said that showboat over there never even thanked him for pulling his ass out of the fire." >"That sounds..." "Pretty bad, I know. Granted, biased source, but I mean come on! The guy puts on a fake as shit accent hoping no one notices it's British, not German, does nothing but revel in all the attention the propagandists following him hand out, and constantly shanghais work crews to, as far as I can tell, form a circlejerk talking about nothing but his assumed legacy. Have you even seen how many propaganda posters have his face all over them?" >"Wait a mi-... That's him?!" "...yes?" >Her face twists oddly, before her lips burst with glee. >"Pffffhahahahahaaa-ha-haaaa!" "What are yo-" >"Hehehahahaa-hnhnhnhn... geauh-haah. I'm sorry, it's just. The way you put it, it sounds like this grown ass man is larping with his robot." >Immediately your mind flashes to the crater-faced geeks that garnished your schooldays, studded with pimples and plastic, wailing on eachother with foam cutouts and swearing that it was a grand adventure. Redenbacher's chipper face joins them, waxed mustache frayed and patchy, swearing up and down that no, really, he WAS Manfred von Richthofen, he memorized the kill count and everything. "Well when you put it like that... -hmkh" >It pounds on the insides of your ribs to let itself out. >...It's not like he'll here it anyway. "Heha-hahaha. HAHAHAHAAAA!" >Again you find yourself in the company of the jackal, your privacy, and an air of joy. The laughter comes for a long while. >It's always been like this, just the two of you... She really does so much to make you happy. >There's that confused swelling under your ribs again, you quietly let it deflate and move to start climbing up towards the peak of your machine. >"As ridiculous as that uh emh-hm dressing is. You ever actually talk to him?" >All of five minutes of antagonistic chatter over the radio probably doesn't count. "...not really." >"Well then all that shit your old instructor said is just hearsay from someone with a grudge, isn't it?" >She's one to talk. "This coming from the woman with a death wish for her LT." >"grrrrr Please! She's a different story! You don't know half of the shit I put up with from her, besides, you've seen how bad she is in person." >That much was true, after that dinner stunt you're fairly sure that somewhere out there, Vilka's name is on a register for sex offenders. She certainly had the habitual abuse of power down pat. >The thought of what she could do if she was allowed to get away with it has a feeling like a freeze dried spider crawling through your spine. You never want to get close to that wreck again. >That mangy, unkempt tangled mess of fur, dull grey eyes that only saw something to use, the yellowed teeth, the smell... -disgusting- "Eugh! Don't remind me." >"Least she got what was coming to her, the bitch." >You could merely grunt an affirmative as you climb more of the scaffolding surrounding your machine. >"So where do you want me?" >You look down to see her stripped of her usual jacket down the the white tee underneath. It clings around her shoulders and has long given up attempting to contain her bust or fully cover her stomach just like the rest of her collection. >Her tail sways slowly, and she wears a pearly white grin. She's eager, and you know exactly where she can help you. "If you don't mind getting dirty, could use ya to help poke around and thread some wires before the spot check." >Her grin twists, and you swear you know exactly what's coming next. >"Oh, I don't mind getting dirty~." "Stop it!..." >"Huehnhnhnhn." --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- <Teth'ra> >The next little while was quiet, you shut up to let him concentrate on the important work. This machine was responsible for safeguarding his life, you wouldn't ask any less if you were maintaining your guns. >You were curious over what exactly he was doing as you passed wires from the odd castle-corrugated bustles loaded onto the rumbler's forearms through the armor towards the central torso. He constantly slipped in and out of the crew compartment before eventually bringing up what looked like a soldering iron. >You found a spot along the spider's web of pipe welded gantry surrounding the mountain of machine like clouds spinning around a peak. >You would be trying to help spot those leaks he was worried about... if you knew what you were looking for and where. >Granted you had a vague idea where the hydraulics were, should be analogous to the muscles of a body by your reasoning. But, you weren't familiar with the ins and outs of a mech like he was so you'd defer to him to tell you where everything was. >In the meantime, you try to ignore the slight bite of frost in the air, it's definitely gotten chillier as you've moved north. >You're fairly certain that your fur has started growing out a little in response. It's not a full winter coat yet, but maybe it will be when you start nearing the permafrost. >Your mind wanders to how the extra fluff will soften your curves and lend just a touch more volume to you. You could also press something like that to your advantage, let him sate his curiosity over what it feels like, offer to keep him warm during those bitter winter nights. >The army never does have enough blankets. >Hell, with your size it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to share a cot if he was on top of you... or the other way around~ -easy girl...- >Damn, listen to yourself... the hell is with you? >You thought you had everything ironed out when you... tended, to urges in the shower, but the fire just started smoldering again atop that hill. >The crawling warmth from wrapping his dexterous hand in yours, the growing security he felt at the new height you raised him to, and the shy beauty found in the carnage. >He found something awe inspiring and captivating in that fire, he can see something so strong as something beautiful. >Something just like you. >The moment would be wasted on anyone else. >A hearth rumbles out of its slumber in your belly, and you breath deep to douse yourself back under control. >inhale, count to four, exhale >So that's it, you can't really try to fool yourself anymore, you want him... need him even. A deep part of you pulls towards him constantly, your instincts are drawn in and something about his scent is curious, stimulating, alluring. >But he's still apprehensive, there's more work to be done and you can't move too soon. >You don't want to hurt him, you could never, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself. >It was a battle between your wants and desires and your better sense, and you refuse to let the lust win until the time is right and you can make your confessions without worry. >The odd thing was your growing reactions to him, it was unlikely, but you still had to worry that maybe this was a sign that your heat was coming early. >The thought is heart stopping, the only thing that could be holding you back would be a compromised strength of will alone. >But there's usually more warning signs than a rise in your libido, it could be exactly like you said this morning, 'too comfortable'. >Challenging him to wrestle, Pinning him, that neck lick, thrashing yourself in the shower, hoisting him onto your shoulder like it was nothing, your impulses are starting to override your better judgement. >You're a godsdamned jackal, not a rabbit, you need to do a better job of watching yourself. Any overstep on your part could do serious damage to your relationship with him. >A whistle shatters your insulation, you snap your muzzle towards the source to find him leaning out of the hatch with a quirked brow. >"fweoo-oo Earth to notch-ear, you there?" "Oh! Eh, mneh. sorry." >"You ready or what?" >You have an idea of what you're looking for, but it can't hurt to double check. "Ehm, what am I looking for again?" >"Leaks in the hydraulics. I'll be up here running a flush and checking the pressure in the system, you poke around for the access hatches around the joints. Stick your head in and look for any deep red fluid leaking out of the big silver pistons." "Right, got it." >You watch him clamber overtop of the machine's back before he disappears behind the bulk of the shoulder plate and one of the turrets, you follow alongside from the gantries out of curiosity. >He reappears from behind the turret and throws open a hatch situated in the middle of what you guess as the engine deck. >He lowers himself in legs-first, and you feel a little anxious being left on your own outside. "Ya sure I can't help you in there?" >"Oh hell no! you'd never fit in here. Now wander around to the left shoulder so we can start... please." >With that he disappears like a rifleman into a foxhole. This leaves just you and the 500 tons of machine. >It's a cold but distantly angry sort of thing. Heavy plates and bold shapes lend the steel a very real sense of aggression. >As you walk around its impossibly broad shoulders, you get the sense that if this machine could manifest some buried sense of self, it would only feel at home in the carnage of the field. >A flaw that you have to worry may be shared with its pilot. Some men lose themselves in the thrash and chaos, they're more like animals than you ever were. >You've seen shadows of it in his panic, even in humans there is still a deep instinct to attack to ensure survival, and that instinct can easily take over under great stress. >It's easy to fall into it, many soldiers credit it with preserving their lives, but what happens when it goes too far? >You know what that desperate drive to bite and tear can do, how the lines blur and reason disappears. And with this walking fortress at his disposal, the thought is more than a little frightening. >"Alright, Starting the flush in a minute! We'll take this group by group! You with me!?" >There's no real trace of it on his voice, hasn't been for a long while. But someone can be a completely different person in the field than in their quieter moments, as a predator, you understand completely. >You arrive at the left shoulder, staring up through the yawning gap of the heavy steel pauldron into a nest of pistons and hinges looking like a utilitarian attempt at replicating the human shoulder socket. Hydraulics are arrayed in a radius around an armored shaft leading outwards from within the main body. The shaft terminates in a heavily armored housing around the size of a truck that forms into the upper arm. >You're starting to get why some find auger mechs like this one such deeply interesting machines, it's constructed more like a living being than a product of industry. >He's waiting for a response, so might as well get this started, you pray that you don't end up with any of these fluids in your fur. "Yeah, I'm with ya! Go ahead!" >"Left shoulder, check!" >Some sort of generator starts with an electric sigh, and you watch the silver radius in the shoulder closely. What you assume as the pump runs for around ten seconds, but you see no trace of red leaking from the seals. >You don't smell anything particularly off either, no new scent rises above the oil and grease. "Clear!" >"Upper arm's next, there are latches on the back of the housing to swing out one of the plates." >You're sure you see it just below you behind the 'bicep' of the upper arm, but the gantry doesn't go in close enough to easily reach. "And how exactly am I supposed to get there?!" >"How else?! Stand on it!" >The forearm was a massive assembly around the size of a city bus, it has to be so large as it held both a GAU-8 and a gigantic flamethrower. >Armored shields protected both sides of the guns, and squared plating bridged the gap overtop of the gun shields before forming over the joint connecting it with the rest of the arm. Behind the turntable that formed the elbow was what looked like an ammo drum for the GAU and a heavy counterweight at the end. >All of this looked more than secure, but it hung from a single pivot, and you worry that setting foot on it would upset the balance. "Ermh... Tom?! Ya sure about this?!" >Almost seeming to anticipate exactly what was holding you back, his voice echoes from the engine compartment with a placation. >"The machine is hard locked when shutdown, It'll hold you!" >...Still, a fall from up here would be nasty. -stop overthinking, you can trust him- >Right, it shouldn't be a problem... This thing alone weighs, what? 10 tons? >It's just that you have a bad history with things collapsing under you. >When you were 17 your old twin bed decided to give out one night, you didn't even fit on the thing after puberty anyway. There were a couple desks in senior year. And during basic the balance boards on the assault course just wouldn't hold you, but at least you weren't alone in that particular hangup. >You have to wonder what Yhana is up to, probably something a little less silly than testing your footing on something that's solid metal. >Now satisfied that you aren't cursed, you tiptoe onto the plating, sure to keep a hold of the gantry rail as you shift over. >He was right, the arm hasn't so much as budged under your weight. You really were worrying over nothing, idiot. >You're still careful of your footing as you climb up near the elbow joint and scan for those latches, which don't take long to find. >They stick a little but you easily manage to lever them, and for your efforts a half-shell back plate of armor swings open with gravity, revealing the interior of the upper arm, a mess of pistons, piping, cables, and wires. It really is almost like staring into a surgical incision and seeing bundles of muscle, snaking blood vessels, and branching nerves. >Here you are staring down the intricate anatomy of a metal animal with 4 diesel burning hearts and led spit, and for the first in a long time, feeling just a bit small. "Ready!" >"Alright! Run check!" >The pump kicks on, you watch, and you don't see any leaks, though it's a little hard to tell through the darkness inside the armor. "Clear!" >The checks continue on like this for a good long while, clambering around the machine's uneven surfaces is odd but manageable. >His routine is to work from the top down, each check takes you lower and to areas where the hydraulics are more protected, but harder to get at. Narrow hatchways invite you into yawning darkness that smells of chemically saturated iron. >You're thankful that you can manage what's asked of you by just poking your head through, you would not like to be crawling around in this dark labyrinth with only enough room to spare for you to breath the fouled air. >Now you're down to just one more check, the right ankle... Just through this square hatch at ground level... This hatch that was four sizes too small for you. >The other one you managed, it was a tight squeeze but you just poked your shoulders through in order to take a look around with the flashlight you held in your teeth. >"You ready?!!" >His voice echoes strongly from the top of this mountain of industry, quite the pair of lungs on that one if you can still hear him from what must be like 80 odd feet below. "Yeah, just give me a minute!" >Of course the inevitable rouge thought shoots across your bow. >You shake off the musing of him moaning your name in ecstasy, being distracted right now would be a good way of forgetting that the hatch in front of you is too damn small. >The latch bar holding it closed is yet another something that could use some oil with how much it sticks, but with enough muscle powered coaxing it breaks loose. >Confronted with yet another narrow crawl space, an urge in the back of your head pulls to try and dig, to widen the passage so you don't risk being trapped, but there's no damn way you're burrowing into metal. >Plus these crawl spaces at the bottom of the machine smell strongly of earth, artificial chemicals, dampness, and the faintest whiff of death. Likely you could still find bits of gristle from bugs this machine has stepped on down here if you look hard enough. >The narrow, swallowing darkness and the smell has your nose burning, and your nerves buzzing. >Easy girl, you've done it once before, you can do it again. "R-Ready!!" >You clutch the light between your teeth and lean in, putting your arms through first to keep your profile narrow as possible. You wish you could survey this comfortably with just your shoulders through, but you need a bit of distance in due to the hatch being set through some internal recess and most of the machinery you're supposed to keep an eye on being above you. >You pan the light around, bathing the corners in a wash of harsh white. It's dubious following your paranoia to check for monsters inside of this place, but the enclosed darkness has your nerves up. >It reminds you too much of that damn tunnel, the pitch blackness, the stinging aroma, and the infected silence beyond your own functions. >You deflate yourself and prepare to edge your bust through, pleading with whatever may be listening that you don't tear your shirt or pull your fur. Your bust hasn't cursed you with backpains but it was a burden here, scraping a little around the lower rim of the hatch as you carefully force it through, wincing a little as the icy metal drags against whatever of you is pressed into it by gravity. >"Starting her up, final check!!" >His voice echoes not from behind you in the open air, but muffled from above, the sound bouncing around through the machine's plating. >His bellowing takes on a hollow ringing which just doesn't sound right to your ears, even as you reassure yourself that it is him. >Now you're more or less in position now that your chest is through and you can safely eye the nest of hydraulics and rotors in front of you that make up the ankle joint. >The pistons give a smothered hiss as whatever the pump is putting out cycles through, you pan the light around the assembly but find none of the dark red he told you to look for. >Some thin tapping sound catches your ear, and your nerves rise on end. -something's in here- >You scan the light around the edges of the hollow in searching. The only place you can't really see is directly above you. >Shimmying yourself in further, you manage to get a clean line along the wall above you to search. >Nothing makes itself known from the nests of cables and wires, and you find your culprit in a braided cable swaying gently into some metal facet. >A hot breath surges out of you, it was nothing. >The silver mass settles its noise making, heralding the end of your little adventure in the guts of this metal giant. "Clear!!" >It's about now that you notice the hatch is clinging tightly to your hips, you moved in a little further than you thought you did and you can't easily just shimmy back, but if you got in, you can get out. >You plant your feet firmly onto the ground, toeing the plating as to give you a little more leverage. "hmp!" >You dig your heels in, pull hard to ignore the heat of exertion in your legs... and you don't budge. >A sinking feeling starts gripping your heart. >No, you can do this, you just need a little grip. >You try at it again, deciding to 'bounce' out... you're still not moving. >oh no... >No, no, no, no... You are NOT dealing with this! It would be humiliating to get yourself trapped like this, you can help yourself! >You clench the light in your teeth again and brace your arms against the recess to give yourself more push. "Huragh!" >Even with your arms you don't feel the bite of the hatch letting go of your hips, you force yourself harder, scrambling your feet to find the best purchase even as they slide against the dirt. "Nnnngh!" >You try twisting forcefully against your angle, trying to see if maybe you reorient yourself by just an inch you can come loose. >... >nothing... >You're in a dark place that smells dull and mournful, you can only hear your own lungs heaving for air, and a flying dread is starting to dart around your ribs. >The anxiety collects in a long whine. >You're stuck. <Tom> >It's cramped in here. >The engine compartment is never exactly your choice of hideaway, it's narrow, sweaty, and smells overwhelmingly of motor oil. The only lights are small yellow fairy lamps that cast hard shadows across the compartment, meaning you still have to bring your own light if you want to do any sort of precision work on the engines. Topping it all off is that it's still an uncomfortably narrow fit, you've snagged your belt or tools more than once. >The red needle quivers slightly behind the glass, and you stare at it suspiciously in case it dips. >Any sudden loss of hydraulic pressure could spell disaster, this must be what you most hated about hooking up anything new to the hydraulics or refurbishing the system: watching this damn gauge for five minutes straight in this oil-drenched hell hole while it stabilizes from the flush checks. >You could check the computers to look into their own recording of the hydraulic pressure after the fact, but paranoia and policy still dictate you have to sit here and watch the needle bob. >At least Teth'ra didn't find any leaks. >Of course, now you had to work in her affair into your schedule. That and try not to panic when inevitably confronted with her cantankerous charges. >You should have enough time to finish your side project before having to head to the firing ranges. >The sticking point was finding enough time to yourself to sort yourself. >More and more you caught yourself thinking about her in a less than wholesome manner. >"Tom?" >You swear you can even hear her right now. >"Tom!?" >... >Oh, you actually are hearing her... -dumbass- >Her voice boils up from one of the small vents at the side of the engine compartment, you'd been resorting to shouting back and forth through that vent to communicate. >"TOM!!" >She sounds agitated, what is she even still doing here? >All of your checks were done. >Grunting in complaint, you shuffle over towards the vent. "What?!" >"I-. C-Could you come down here and help me?!" >... >What could she possibly need now? "What is it?!" >"Could you just get down here?!" >The girl needs to practice just a shred of patience right now. "Teth'ra-" >"-I'M STUCK!!!" >Your breath forgets itself for a moment, and you pinch the bridge of your nose. "ohhh, fuck me..." >You should have seen this coming... >Someone her size squeezing through the hatches? Of course she would find a way to jam herself in there. >It would be like trying to stuff a bombshell into a cannon breach. >And it just had to be on the last one, didn't it? >"Toooom!!" >Her shouting carries a whining cadence, she isn't the least bit pleased. "Alright!! Just hang on a minute!" >Now not only would you have to check the pressure log on the computers, you'd also have to redo the test to doublecheck in case the gauge or electronic sensor wasn't working correctly. >...And you had to find some elbow grease to slip the living tank of a woman out of your mech before she started getting panicky. >If she hated those tunnels, you can't really measure just how badly she's taking being stuck in a dark, enclosed space. >Today seemed determined to push you close to her whether you liked it or not. >You shunt your way through the crawlspace between the engines, banging your boots and your hip on just about everything as you make an effort to go a little faster for her sake. "Christ, you're killing me smalls." >You manage to squirm your way back out of the engine compartment in to the open air, already you can hear her from a muffled echo coming from somewhere below. >"Get me out!" "Hang on a second, I can't just jump down!!" >Her response is a rather mournful whine. >You aren't sure if the reminder makes you sad or amused, since the last time you heard such a noise, your dog was running around with her head stuck in a jar. >Of course with the jackal, she must be in a situation not so easily remedied. >You know she's down by the right foot, the legs had some of the thickest armor and most cramped maintenance hatches on the whole machine, so of course that's where she'd inevitably forget how wide she is. >Scrambling out to the gantry, you still can't catch sight of her, but you can hear her whimpering. >It occurs to you the poor girl might be claustrophobic. "Don't freak out, I'm coming!" >The placation seems to quiet her some as you slide down the levels of catwalks to get back on the ground. >"You're not the one with your ass hanging in the wind!... Hurry please!" >She's definitely getting jittery. As much as it might be amusing to let her hang a little, she sounds nervous and you lack the heart to do something like that to her. >Mounting down the ladder, you finally feel the unforgiving earth under your boots, you stroll around towards the maintenance hatch on the machine's heel and have to pause at what you see. >Dangling out of the hatch that even you have trouble sneaking through, is the thickest pair of legs you've ever seen, an agitated grey blur sways furiously in the air above a lump of curves that could never even hope to stuff itself through that hatch. >It seems impossible that she even managed to squeeze her tits through. >She's backpedaling like a wild animal caught in a fence, but despite the muffled grunts of effort and her strong stance, she goes nowhere, only succeeding in bouncing in place and looking like a fool. >If you could see the other side of her, you'd imagine she looks like a stress toy squeezed by an alligator clamp. "Ffff-HAHAHAHAAAeeeeeh-huh!" >"Stop laughing at me!" >She stomps impotently as her complaints are muffled by the steel. >This does nothing to curb your amusement. "Ph-bahahaheheheheeeh-guuh! H-hah How did you even get stuck like that?" >Her jerking, backwards struggling pauses a moment. >"I don't knooow!... I-. I-I thought I heard something and moved in a bit to take a look around. Next thing I know this damn hellhole won't let go of my hips!" >The stress on her voice is tangible. She's not panicking but she's not calming down either. >You feel an urge to lecture her like you did your pup when she'd go around eating bees. "Now why'd you do that? You know you'd never fit." >"I-ah. I get nervous!" -poor puppy- >Yeah, that settles it, she probably has some kind of mild claustrophobia. Thankfully it's only an echo of what could be far worse. >You've seen it from tunnel divers, casualties aren't the only things shrinking their squads. >They call it Clutter Shock, the men that break under it are sent home nervous wrecks. Any sort of dark, enclosed space sets them over the edge, a feeling you're all too familiar with. >You can help her the same way she helped you, keep her mind off her immediate fear, let her know that someone is here for her. "Alright, alright. Let's get you out of there." >You move in closer and lean over her side, examining the hole for some easy fix. >Her hips are firmly jammed in, the metal biting into her sides and holding strong. This is going to take some combined effort between the both of you. >Not for lack of trying on her part, but her rear is angled just enough in the air from the angle she's stuck in that she can't get enough traction on the ground. >Her massive, juicy rear... >... >Focus idiot! >You shake your head to reorient yourself, she needs your help. >She seems to finally realize that there's no way she can get out on her own, her legs still and her tail sinks. A rather hurt whimper comes from the other side of the wall. >"Araauurgh!.. This is humiliating..." >Her spirit has been dragged through the mud, all of the confidence behind her voice has left and she sounds put down. >You gently admonish her to stay a little bright. "Oh relax you big baby. I won't tell anyone." >"P-Promise?" >She already has to deal with her power-tripping lieutenant, last thing you'd wish on her would be rumors going around that she got stuck in a man-sized hatch because her ass was just too big. "Yeah big girl..." >You reach your hand over to her to give her a gentle pat of reassurance, but think better of reaching towards her tail and instead cautiously pat her thigh. "I promise." >"Ye-You better not be finger-crossing me right now. Cuz' if you are, I swear to God!" "Why would I do anything like that?" >"I-uh... I don't know... Just get me out!" >It might be a simple case, couldn't hurt to check. "Alright, what have you tried? >"What?" "What have you tried to get out already?" >"Well... I pulled, pushed, and twisted. But nothing worked.." >It might just be the situation, it could also be some stirring urge to pay her back for this morning some more, but you cut the tension with a poke at her. "Have you tried not eating so much?" >The wave of an electric twitch seizes her, and her tail briefly attempts to stand on end. >"Wha-HEY!! A body my size needs bigger portions dammit!." >There was bigger portions, and then there was what she got. Sitting with her at mealtimes you learned quickly that she had a hollow leg, and none of her squad dared to say anything about it. >Must be how she keeps her outrageous figure. "Tch-hnhnhn. Calm down wide-ass, I'm just fuckin with you." >Her tail bristles as she tenses her legs in a renewed effort to pry herself out. >"Oh! Now you're calling me fat! Rub it in while I'm stuck why don't you. Nnnngh! I swear, when I get outta here-" >She'd never rough you up, she said so herself, promised you even. You call her bluff. "-You'll what? Sit on me?" >"I-. Uh. I'll uh..." >Just as you thought, she wouldn't want to so much as set a hair out of order. "Hueh-hnhnhnhn." >"Du-pstch. Shut up..." >Her mind is more on you than her situation now, that's good, will mean less of a chance that she'll be uncooperative. >You move to put yourself directly behind her, it could be just as simple as pulling her out at the same angle she went in. "Put your legs up." >"I... How is that going to help?" "Ugh, look, I'm gonna try to pull you out by your legs. Just put 'em up." >"Uhm, alright." >Timidly, as if expecting an upset to her balance, she raises her legs for you, her calves falling in at your sides. >You doubt that it would actually be this simple, but you pulling from behind should have more sway than just her footing alone. >You grip around her calves and have to marvel a little, it almost feels like hauling a thinner man by his middle. "-...like concrete wrapped in foam.-" >"What was that?" >Shit, did you say that out loud? "Eh. Ya ready?!" >"Of course I'm ready! I want out!" >Seems she didn't catch that, thanks to the metal. >You hoist her legs up to a firm grip under your shoulders and brace to start pulling, fully expecting to stop at any time so you don't dump her on her breasts as she comes out. "On the count of three." >Her tail wags once, which you guess is an affirmative. "One... Two..." >You steady yourself, because you're about to be hauling a heavy load. "Three!" >You lean back in a brace with your legs, pulling hard to try and get her out. >She assists as best she can, shimmying her hips and presumably pushing with her arms from the other side. "RRRrrrrgh." >"Hnnngah!" >Your legs are burning with the effort, but you don't feel any movement. >Your ribs quake, you've burned through your air with the strain, you stop and breath. Her legs sink back to the ground >Should have figured, she really is stuck, and as you look around the rim of the hatchway, you don't see any sign of progress. "Damn, you are really stuck in there." >"Were you even trying? It didn't feel like you were trying." >The implication isn't flattering. "Hey, if you don't appreciate my help I can always just-" >"-Nononono! T-Th-That's okay I ju-... Get me out. Please." >It occurs to you that she wouldn't be in this mess if she just followed some of her own advice. "You coulda just said somethin', you know." >Her tail sinks again. >"I didn't want to be a bother." "Well you're being a bother right now." >the grey bush curls between her legs accompanied by a shrill whimper. >"I only wanted to help..." >A needle of guilt punches you below the heart. >It's like scolding a puppy. You put a gentle malt to your voice to calm her. "Just be more careful big girl. And learn to ask for help, will ya? I can't come to your rescue everytime." >"...You can rescue me right now..." "Right..." >You're going to have to try something more effective than hanging off her legs since she's stuck so good. >The answer is staring you right in the face, bathing it in a growing heat. >Her center of mass... >You've taken your glances before but there's no ignoring it now. You swallow your pride and try to ignore the distant beat in your ears. >Being this close it hits you plainly just how large she is. Each of the pillars standing at each side as you look closely... are a little wider than your torso, and far more full in shape. >And the mountains in front of you... oh Lord give you strength. >Her normally baggy pants have been ridden and twisted by her predicament, and are doing practically nothing to mask her shape right now. >Your attempts to steady your breath are only meeting with partial success, the heat is crawling along your cheeks and you just know something is stirring lower. >The temptation whispers strongly, you know that she has some interest in you, she's right in front of you, and it's been far too long. >... >inhale, count to four, exhale. >Calm yourself, it's just a reaction, she needs your help, and you could never hurt her, not after all she's done for you. >It's still not going to be easy, as you swear out of the corner of your eye the fabric is riding tightly enough to see the corpulent flesh under it tensing and quivering invitingly. >Don't look, just... reach around it... and try to ignore it. -try...- >Christ, who are you kidding? This is going to get awkward with her, fast. >You halt as your hands are hovering mid reach over her, realizing what you were about to do. >What comes out of your mouth is as much a warning to yourself as it is to her. "Okay, don't freak out." >"Why, WhaHUUUuuuuit areyoudoing?" >Trying not to fucking lose it. "Pulling from your center of mass..." >"I... eh... okay." >She at least sounds willing to understand, you can't imagine how all of this must be affecting her. >You've had to reach wide, and now your hands sink in as you fumble to find a grip. >It's so forgiving... so rich... >The blush crawling around your eyes refuses to leave. Your only saving grace is that the rough fabric of her pants is still there. >You have to splay your arms like you're carrying a boulder to avoid touching her... ehm... boulders, but that might not be an option when it comes time to pull. "eh-hm Um, ready when you are." >"Oh. We're thrusting on my mark now, huh?" >Fuck's sake why did she have to say it like that? -you know you want to~- >Shut the hell up, you mental gremlin. "UhhHHhh. On, your go. yeah." >Fucking hell, your face feels like it's ablaze. You pray dearly that this will be the last hurrah and this torture can end already so you can find a quiet spot in the woods and wring out your snake. >Far, far downwind, a mile away from any potential snouts or ears, hand radio off and stashed in a hollow somewhere, and no doubt trying dearly not to think of this exact moment. >You don't dare to check if that bastard below is attempting to surface, it would mean bringing the titanic molehills into your view again and aiding his ascent. >She breathes with a familiar timing and you feel the mass under your fingers shift slightly, the feathery silk of her tail brushes your arm as she adopts a more readied stance. You brace your stance too, paying abject mind to avoid putting your groin anywhere near hers. >"Okay. Let's go!" >Before she even begins, you dig your heels in and pull. You fight your instinct to thrust forward, opting to lean instead. "HAAA-Ump!" >"RRRRRAH!" >Her hips harden like stone under your grip as she flexes, and as your arms lower and she tenses, her rump almost seems to reach out and welcome your forearms into a great cushion. >Even through the fat attempting to swallow your forearms, you can feel the wall of core-tempered steel straining underneath. >Just like her, soft but unbelievably strong. You try not to dwell on it. >"Come on! You son of a-. Bitch! Nuh!" >Suddenly she changes tactics, forcing her hips left and then slamming them back to the right. She roars with each alternating slam. You realize she's trying to 'walk' her hips out, smart. >The only problem is each change in direction drags your arms in the same direction, and makes you increasingly aware of where you're touching her. >You can even feel it wobbling through the fabric. >Calm down idiot, concentrate on anything else. >Your lungs itch for a breath, you gulp down air and continue. Your legs are heating like overworked servos, but you're not giving in just yet, you can actually feel her starting to budge just a little. >You roar a challenge, but the greedy hatch still refuses to let go of her. "RAAAAGH! This is worse than a rusted bolt!" >"Come on, Come on! I-I can feel myself moving a little!" >The both of you pull hard, but you still can't feel her coming loose. What the hell is it going to take? >"Nuuyaaaaagh-augh!" >She softens, the wind leaving her sails. You can hear a muffled panting from the other side and you let go of her to take a breather yourself. >At this rate, it would take forever to slowly shuffle her out, and even you probably don't have the stamina for that. >She would be left ruffled, dirty, and exhausted before she could get to her evening plans, and that whole chebang sounded important to her. Why else would she be so happy that you agreed to come along? >"Fuck me, I don't get it. Why isn't this working?" >You don't really have a solid idea, she jammed her hips in there, so it should have been relatively simple to pull her back out. "I don't know what sort of magic trick you managed to pull big gal... You're jammed in there like a baked rag in a funnel." >"What's that s'posed to mean?" >She sounds as tired as your legs feel right now, you need to get her energy back up. >Nothing seems to do that quite like some friendly prodding. "It means your fat ass doesn't want to go anywhere." >"Oh fuck off." >A weak snicker manages to bounce out of your chest. >Her tail sways a little stronger but she still sounds morose. >"I just want the hell outta here. It's been humiliating enough... I mean, what if the bitch saw me like this? I'd never hear the end of it!" >You promised that you would keep this between you and her, but the way things are going you may not have a choice. >Unless... >'rusted bolt' >Maybe all she needs to come loose is a little touch of the right stuff. "Hold on. I got an idea, just hang on for a minute." >You have to stop as she gives a nervous cry. "I'm not goin' anywhere, don't worry." >A light whine follows. She's been putting on a brave face but she's very nervous over the possibility of you ditching her. >You move off to the workbench, looking for the cure to what ails her. >It should be somewhere under here. "Alright... where are you?" >A trademark blue can sits in the shadow of a jerry can and a wrench set, there it is. >WD-40, a mechanic's best friend. If you can loosen her up with a little of this around the edges, she could just pop right out. >Some days you swear this stuff is magic, it works on everything. >You hear her, just barely, through the plating. >"Tom?...." >Again she calls for you, nerves quickly wracking her voice. >"Tom?!.. Tom?!!" >As clingy as she seems right now, the nerves are understandable. Again you offer your comfort. "Calm down! I'm not going anywhere. Promise." >You look back, take in the sheer size of the jam, and decide you might need a second can. Just in case. >The blue wonder's brother is hiding behind a pair of bolt cutters, so you grab him as a tag-along in case the elder sibling isn't up to snuff. >So you have one narrow hatchway, two cans of WD-40, and around five hundred pounds of distressed jackal with her ass hanging in the breeze. Time to get to work. >Never in your life did you believe you'd be working on a problem quite this odd. >As you approach her again, a big issue to your brilliant idea flies up in your face. >In order for this stuff to be effective, you need to apply it directly to the conflicting surfaces, and you can't reach into the inner rim of the hatch which just leaves her. >Her clothes won't do. >You have to use her skin... >The heat you had been dousing returns with vigor, and your heart is winding its song into your ears again. >Not just touching her, but rubbing it into her fur, feeling everything pass through your fingers. >Your eyes are caught in the trap. >The heat chokes your words and smoke smothers your thoughts, how the hell would you even break this to her. >She needs you, you have to try. "Okay-eh... God this is gonna sound weird, but uh..." >The last phrase feels like trying to cough out a rock. "I-I-ah. I'm gonna need to... Unbuckle your pants." >Her tail freezes stalk still. >Even the wind seems to die off. >The silence is deafening. >"...You what?" >Oh it's nothing, in order to get her out you just have to partially strip her and rub oil into her hips. -it is still just between the two of you~- >Good God, shut up! >You're puzzling over how the hell you can put this without seeming like an absolute cretin. >inhale, count to four, etc. >Just lay this out like a procedure. "I got some oil, and I think we can use it to help loosen you up. The thing is I need skin contact." >You mentally plead with her to understand so you don't actually have to say it. >"M-Meaning?" >Her voice quivers, pointing towards a realization, but her questioning is telling you she's majorly unsure. >Not that you can blame her, how the hell do you relay to someone who's nervous and stuck in a small hole that you'll have to partially strip them for their own good? "uhh.. I'll have to expose just a little bit of your hips to erm... lubricate." >Her tail bristles and her whole body tenses. >"Ieh-I-eh-Is that really necessary? I mean, you can pull again! That was working some! Or just, uh, ya know, get a saw or somethin'!" >This armor was not made to be cut through, you'd need a hell of a lot more than a rotary saw, and it would take upwards of half a day. "Teth'ra! It would take HOURS to cut you out of there!!" >The other option is breaking your word and getting more hands on deck. "It's either this... Or I go get help." >"...sigh Alright. Just, fuckin.. Lube me." >You wince as a fire licks your cheeks with quiet temptations. She just had to say it like that. >"A-And NO PEEKING!!" "Oh please! This is awkward enough as it is!" >You're going to have to go under her to start this fuckfest of a procedure. >The only real open avenue for approach is between her legs. >Calm down, you're just helping out a friend, nothing more. >You sit down and put your back against the steel, gazing up at an angle that's tauntingly familiar. >Again you have to ask yourself what she was doing last night with that, did she want you to see? Or was she trying to get something across that was just clouded by the booze? >Regardless, now you have to push that mental image a step forward. "Okay, let's take this from.. the bottom." >"Oh harr, harr, harr." "...shut up..." >She isn't wearing a belt, you guess she's wide enough to fill these things out without it. One less step. >You swallow your nerves and reach carefully for her, keeping an eye on the muscled mankillers either side of you. >If she wanted, she could do you major harm right now, despite her position she isn't harmless. >You remember her relaying to you a long while ago what happened when she was cornered. >Four men in hospital, one of them almost killed on the spot. Who's to say that she doesn't feel threatened in this position? >The noise of your heart is growing over your thoughts. You're so close, but you note that your hands are trembling. >Upon popping open the top button, she makes a nervous sort of croak and you freeze as what little you can see of her middle tenses overhead. >This feels like diffusing a bomb. "Do you want me to stop?" >She breathes with that ever familiar timing again. >"No. No.. K-Keep going, it's the only way." >You reach again, trying to bite down on the shaking, the silver tab gleams tauntingly between the folds like a shiny bauble set for a trap. >Seizing it with the tips of your fingers, you pull slowly as not to startle her. When it stops, you scramble out and back onto your feet in haste. >You pull the trick again, You're only helping a friend. >Turning around, nothing appears different, but you gently grab the belt loops and pull inch by inch. >Slowly, the fabric starts peeling away, revealing a carpet of rich fur sprouting in its absence. >"Ok-okay-OKAY! That's enough!" "Calm down, I just needed a little bit." >Sure enough, you've pulled them down just enough to expose at least an inch or two of bare fur all around the rim of the hatch. >You notice her pants are bunched slightly around her tail, which appears to have been threaded through a specialized loop, neat. >And you swear you see just a hint of... yellow satin? -curious, isn't it?- >You rattle your head to regain your focus and find the WD-40 where you left it. Extracting the red straw from the can, you spray a great amount into your open palm in order to get a richer, more slippery mixture, rubbing it onto both of your hands until they're practically dripping with the stuff. >The air feels brisk as you move your hands towards your gripping point, you check both to make certain you're skin-on-fur. >You press your hands in, only to freeze as her hips buck and she yips in alarm. >"FUCK ME, THAT'S COLD!!!" >You remember to breath as she limits herself to a dying tremble instead of clamping her legs together and crushing your ribs in panic. >The cans have been out in the open spring air so of course the shit is cold, it seems ridiculous she wouldn't have that in mind. "The hell were you expecting, olive oil and a massage?" >"A LITTLE WARNING WOULD BE NICE!!" "Okay, Christ! I'm sorry." >She still can't fully relax, an occasional twitch or tremble runs through her. >"Nyuh! It's dripping-." >Fuck it, this nightmare needs to be over with, you can deal with her complaints later. >You move your hands upwards, trying not to think on the sensation as she squirms under your touch. Then you move down to cover the rest of her sides, being careful not to go too far and end up hugging yourself around her. >"Aaa-hh-nnnyah! Nrrrrguh. H-h-hmmmp!" "Would you stop making that noise?" >"Nngyah~. You try being soaked with cold oil and see if you can keep-nnN, quiet." >Her voice is fluttering, your heart is pulling its best impression of a seizing jackhammer, and you're smothering the fire bathing your face with every ugly thought you can throw, but her gigantic ass is impossible to ignore. >Must go faster. >You soak your hands in oil again and kneel down to sweep her front. >Your hands land ahead of her thighs and she squirms, shuffling her legs and making a noise you just can't tune out. >"Arraahnn~!" >Christ... >Just let this end already. >You sweep your hands more towards the center, bracing for some ear piercingly loud moan of ecstasy/discomfort. >"hnng!" >Her hips buck again, but she swallows the most verbal of her complaints. >"ff-fff-fffuuuhk, why is that so cold?" >You don't entertain her whining for the sake of expediency, and lather your hands with the oil again to tackle her back. >Her complaints are far more muted this time, apparently she's either adjusting or she's not as sensitive back here. >Finally it's done, and you dry off your hands and leave her to soak for a minute, occasionally amusing yourself by watching her shiver. >"I think it's been long enough, can we go now?" >You've sat down to catch your breath for the final push, but she's not quite as patient, and neither are you because the sooner she's out, the sooner the taunting ends and you can get some fucking peace. >Giant fucking wrecking ball of a jackal always barging in and taking up your attention... >At least she's good company. >"Tom!" "Yeah, yeah." >Picking yourself off the ground you return to your position behind her, and realize your previous handholds are slicked with oil now. >More out of curiosity than intent you reach for the gently swaying bushel of grey, seizing it at the base when it stops swaying for a second. >Her tail stands on end, visibly bristles, and you can see her entire body tense up. She bellows angrily. >"DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT THAT!!!" >... >You release her tail and opt for the usual sexual frustration instead of an experiment that might get your ass kicked. >It's right back to what's tried and true then. >You anchor your boots into the dirt, brace and sink your hands into her hips. She feels slick so you end up gripping a little harder out of paranoia, she doesn't seem to notice or care as she's too busy steadying her breath. >"Okay.." >Her legs rise. >... >Wait... -uh oh...- >You're squeezed as her thighs come in on both sides and you feel her calves slapping over your back. >On both sides from your hips to your ribs, she has you sandwiched. The walls of her thighs tense and she pulls you into her, swallowing your lower half in a pliant, hugging warmth. >You're surrounded on all sides by muscle, fat, and fur and keenly aware that if she squeezed any harder than necessary she could probably break you. >Trying not to panic, you forward the obvious question. "Now what are YOU doing?!" >"Helping you help me!" "How is this helping?!" >"You'll have a better leverage than just me scrambling, now shut up and pull!" "-Oh Christ...-" >She has a point, as thin as it is, and the faster you act the faster she can let you go before she feels your runaway train starting to push between her thighs. >Face in flames, pinned against five hundred pounds of agitated jackal, and desperately waging a losing battle against your own body. Today could not get any worse. >She starts moving, muscles all sides of you flexing as she readies to do that hip shimmying thing again, it just got worse. >The strange, crawling press isn't so much as muted by your clothing. It leaks through, kneading your sides and pulsing against your stomach. The iron across your back is almost soothing. >Her hips shift ahead of you, grinding above your groin and prompting a wash of electric sensation that threatens to steal your breath. >Holy shit! >You have to fight to keep from vocalizing anything, but the fire is spreading as your thoughts flood over with sensation for a brief second. -Unf, Lower~- >"Well?! Come on!!" >Her barking steers you back towards attention, and snapping into a panic matching the thunder under your ribs, you push your legs hard, leaning away from her as far as you can manage. >You need to get out of her lock and calm the hell down immediately. >Your pocket rocket is making a lot of smoke on the launch pad, but if there is one thing you can thank your rotten luck for, it's that her efforts aren't pushing directly onto your groin. Just dangerously close to it... >It's a three way battle between mentally beating down your rogue element, swallowing any noise so what feels like a roar of strength doesn't come out as a plea for more, and pulling to get her the hell out of your machine and out of your gantry so you can have a precious moment to stop, think, and freak the hell out about falling for the wiles of a beast. >Your lungs throb in protest, your legs burn, your gun stirs even as you bash it with whatever reviling mental images you can hold onto, and her hips tortuously slam back and forth, rolling across your middle and swallowing half your body in pleasant pressure and throwing your poor brain into information overload. >But finally, you feel her budge an inch, and another, then another. >Your glee in unfathomable, but she's the one to voice such feelings, you button your lip in fear. >"Yes! Yes! YES! I can feel it! It's working!" >Your lungs are pounding, screaming, you half to open your mouth. >Don't moan, Don't moan, Don't moan! "Good!" >Thank fuck, you managed to choke out something intelligible. >You suck a deep breath through your teeth and keep pulling, she slides a little more as her hips move the other direction, and your heart spikes with anxiety as something downstairs touches your half-masted sausage for the briefest moment. "Hn~" >The pinprick of electric sensation almost shoots out your throat but you bite the thing in half before it can escape. >She slides back again, and you find your lean has inclined further, you're really getting her out. >"For the love of all things holy, just let me go already you damn demon hole!" >You share her sentiment, for entirely different reasons. This needs to end before you lose it or explode, as in right the hell now. >Stamping your heels, you throw yourself backwards, and suddenly find yourself falling. >"Wha!!" "SHIT!" >Her legs flee your side as her form comes rushing backwards out of the hatch, finally free, but now you have nothing to keep you away from the hard embrace of the ground. >You throw your arms out to steady your fall and hit your elbows with a painful jostle as your back rolls onto the dirt. >You have no time to recover as something heavy immediately crashes onto your ribs, driving the breath from you and pinning you flat. >"Oof! What the-?" >Your vision is swallowed by white and grey as her shirt drapes over one eye and her frazzled fur obscures the other. >She doesn't sound particularly perturbed, but you can't breath with her sitting on your ribs. You thump her in the side with a fist, managing to wheeze out a single command. "Get off!" >"Aw, fuck. Sorry!" >She rolls off to the right, and with the pressure on your chest relieved you start hacking to coax your lungs into working. >You open your throat, and a great rush of cool spring air eagerly accepts the invitation. >Air! precious air! >She lightly coughs and grumbles, looking over you find that the majority of her fur is going every direction but straight. >She stands herself on her hands and knees, wobbling a little as she regains her bearings. >You leave her to it, you have your own lungs to concentrate on and thankfully you're free of your fleshy entrapments. -that felt... wonderful- >If you had a way to turn this bastard off, you would do it. >That was horrible. >"Let's never do that again." "Agreed..." >Today was intent on torturing you by pressing you into her body, you swear if some situation develops at the firing range later that could result in you getting intimately acquainted with her erogenous zones, you're just leaving. You can't do this a third fucking time. >Oh fuck, that's right... >You made a promise to go to her little function, near her, and her squad. >Would she mind if you just sulked in the corner? At this point you legitimately have to wonder, you just don't want to be the center of attention right now. >You nail your eyes shut and focus on breathing, the ground feels nice all things considered. >Maybe you could just take a quick five minutes, with a day like this you deserve a nap. >You hear her shuffling somewhere off to the side, but you could care less right now, a dull pain stands on your ribs. She did a number landing on you like that, but you didn't hear or feel anything explicitly break. >You don't pay attention until you hear steps practically right next to you and feel her standing over you. >Daring to creep your eyes open, you find her offering an arm down towards you, but she isn't looking your way. >She looks a mess, her fluffy mane disheveled and tangled, fur going in all different directions, and her haggard shirt is worn crooked, but she at least remembered to pull her pants back up. >You clasp your hands around each other's forearms, and she hauls you to your feet with little effort, quickly stepping away and still refusing to really look you in the face. >You can feel your face is still red, and you imagine her ears are much the same, so neither of you really look at eachother. >Still, you feel a pull to at least make sure this experience is just going to be an awkward story for her later and not something damaging. "You okay?" >"Hey, I'm out. So I'm fine." -fine indeed- >shut the fuck up >"Erm, thank you.. by the way..." >Her mind is definitely somewhere else right now, since she only just remembered to offer gratitude. >Maybe you'd try to lift her spirits or something, but right now you just want to say your pleasantries and bid her to leave. >Risking a glance you see her muzzle pursed by a frown and she's staring into the middle distance. "You're sure you're okay?" >"yeah, yeah, hatch was just... smaller than I'd though it'd be." >Bit of an understatement. >Her disheveled looks are odd for her, usually she's rather trim. "Well, you look a bit of a mess." >"Well maybe if you didn't pull so... hard!" >Like she wasn't the one that got stuck in the first place, or pressured you into such an aggressive extraction. >You shake your head but find some odd scent reaching your nose. Smells like antifreeze, but there's something under it that you can swear you've caught wind of before. "sniff... Ya smell like a mess too. What even is that?" >"Oh! That... Uh.. One of your fluid lines- leaked into my fur." >... >You didn't notice any damp spots aside from the sheen of the oil you rubbed on, but you don't want to question her, it would keep her here longer than necessary. >"I uh.. Should probably go get... cleaned up now." "right." >She turns and walks for the way out, you find yourself breathing a sigh of relief, missing something she mumbles under her breath. >"-fuckin' tease-" "What?" >"NOTHING." >With that she strolls out, leaving you alone and with a heap of questions to ask yourself. >You attempt to relax, slumping yourself downwards, and have to pause in dread as you look down. >While you weren't paying attention, a tent was pitched in your pants. "Fuck" --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- >It's been around an hour or two, maybe three. You managed to calm yourself, and now you've just been operating on strung out autopilot as you tend to business. >The Rumbler's hydraulic pressure checked out, the usual checks turned out green across the board, and you've been developing a smoldering hatred for a certain self assured ace. >None of that shit would have happened if he just swallowed his ego for a second and let you have a crew for a few minutes. >You swear if he's operating in your sector again, you don't give a flying shit what happens to him, as long as he either leaves you in peace or you can show him up again. >Since then you managed to make something out of the mess of parts on the workbench. She at least didn't notice or question it, small comforts. >The completed tube is ready, you checked over all the minutia and it seems to be functioning properly, but you won't know until you run it through a proper test. >You check your watch. >3:19 >Teth'ra's firing drills are 'this evening' which you guess puts them at around 5:00 or 6:00, leaving you with at least two hours. >Munching on the sandwich you pilfered from the mess tent, you wonder how far out you could get on a half hour hike for an hour alone before coming back, picking up your project, and heading out to meet Teth'ra and the zoo. >Wait... anthros... >Make that a shower or at the very least a quick rinse with soap to cover up before you get anywhere within smelling distance. >"Er, excuse me?" >The meek tenor of a young trooper floats from a more than respectable distance behind you, asking for more of your precious time. >Looking over your shoulder, you find a thin ginger haired trooper wearing the typical service jacket over his wiry frame. A single tan chevron with drab olive piping sits on his shoulder; a private with the logistics branch. >His boyish face is cratered with acne scars, can't be more than a kid, and he stands off at well beyond arm's length, as if he could feel the frustration radiating off you. >You don't need this shit right now, but might as well see what he wants. "What the hell is it?" >He glances down to a clipboard clutched in his bony fingers, reading off it as his finer wits leave him under your gaze. >"Master Sergeant McWhicky?" >You spy a loaded hand dolly behind him, must have something for you. You turn to face him more directly and cross your arms as you lean against the work bench. "You have him." >His beady eyes light behind his spectacles as he finds the gumption to stand a little straighter. >"Ah, of course." >He wheels his burden up to the work bench, and one by one, hoists a trio of footlockers from the top of the stack and places them on the table. >You find it a bit odd that you got three of them, but footlockers had become a sort of universal container for a lot of the supply corp. If there's a shipment containing a host of small items that don't have their own containers or particularly small containers, they're usually assorted into a footlocker and delivered like that. >"These are for you, sir. Apologies for them being so late, they got lost in the shuffle for a while, don't ask me how. No one ever knows." >He turns the clipboard towards you and offer his pen, pointing to the blank spot at the bottom of the page. >"Sign here, sir." >You don't really read over the print, just scribbling your signature where directed. "Of course, kid." >"Thank you, and uh... sorry. sir." >The hell does he have to be sorry for? You would ask but you'd rather be alone right now. >He wheels back out and you turn to investigate this mystery stack in front of you. >A paper tag hangs off the latch of the top locker, strange. Usually these things aren't tagged, it's only... >...Personal lockers... >A dryness grips your throat, and you feel your heart slow. >Pinching the tag, you turn it over and read. >'Captain Gaius Willard, 512 Armored Fusiliers, Lunar-Stripes rumbler squadron'. >A cold shock runs over you, something barks in the distance, you read the next tag. >'Master Sergeant Terrance O'Neill, 512 Armored Fusiliers, Lunar-Stripes rumbler squadron'. >Another clatter off in the far fields, your heart murmurs with pain. You check the next tag hoping it's some dream, a freak hallucination, but find only a dreadful, tearing confirmation. >'Master Sergeant Vincent Kask, 512 Armored Fusiliers, Lunar-Stripes rumbler squadron'. >You let the tag fall limply from your fingers, some wetness seizes your eyes, your hands tremble faintly. You hear the rifles bark with perfect timing in your ears, aware that it's only a haunting of memory, they aren't there. >They aren't here... >It's staring at you in the face, this is all that's left of them. Three drab boxes, orderly, featureless, emotionless. Containing naught but memory after painful memory. >They're too small to contain their bodies, but each one might as well be a coffin. >You feel along the filed down grain of the wood, staring into the gleam of the metal as if your reflection in each one would twist just enough to resemble their faces. The lockers carry a quiet whisper, a fatal request, to carry them home, to bury them next to the empty pine boxes sent to their families. >It's a request that you cannot ignore, they fell by your side, and you have a responsibility to their memory, their legacy, the ghostly traces of their being left behind like vapor on the wind. >You know where you can keep them while you clash with the monsters they fought, while you hunt the one gleaming bastard that took them from you, that stole your brothers. >A great wave fills you from below, suspending your heart and filling your lungs with iron breath. >No more tears, you have to be strong, they're counting on you. >After you find him, after your vengeance, after that damnable twisted city of the north lies in smoking ruin and ash, then you can take them where they belong. You can bring them back to what you've never had yourself; home. >You can put them to rest as long as you endure, as long as you keep yourself alive and fighting, as long as you hold yourself true to what they would have wanted from you. >You will avenge them. >You will put their souls to rest. >Still you stand. [-------------------------------------------------------------Chapter End-------------------------------------------------------------]