ANIMAL CONTROL - PART II

I mess about with chords for a bit on my mediaeval instrument – childhood piano lessons flooding back like repressed trauma – and actually translate what half recalled theory I can muster into practice.

Although the alleyway seemed empty and obscured enough, by the time I warm up my vocals, some children have poked their heads out of an attic window several stories up.

“Play Fablefence!”

The language translation spell – that the enrobed magical assistant at the warp-way hit me with before departure – works for words but I have nothing on specific cultural touchstones.

Unfortunately, all I can do at their expectant request is shrug and apologise. “I am deeply sorry little ones, I know not the ditty thou doth desire! I come from a far off land and bring the music of my forefathers with me. Perchance, is there a square nearby from whence I could perform to a crowd?”

Kill me.

Talking like that is always so cheesy. I spent a week once as part of a living history event at an open air museum. As fun as ren-faires are if you're into them, you very quickly learn to kill the part of you that cringes, but in front of people who’s lives I am caricaturing... the undead rise!

My audience of two look at each other, shrug, then point over their heads toward the other side of their house. “Out front.”

I tilt my floopy hat, wade my way up through the muck, and proceed in the direction they indicated. Heads rotating after me then ducking back inside at a call from within.

By the time I have found a spot and am set up out front, a mirrored window opens the other side of the building, and familiar cheeky faces beam out like a lighthouse of curiosity. There’s a short stout inn and a line of market stalls between us, but I can just about make out their ruddy complexions same as before.

I wave to them, lay down my hat for tips, pick up my not-quite-a-lute, and begin to busk.

“Yesterday, was gonna be the day...”

I go with something easy to strum and croon.

Get myself into the flow.

It immediately draws an apprehensive audience.

Popular in any era apparently.

“Ahh, Fablefence... and a sharp rendition!” a round faced fellow comments from the crowd.

“...but maybe, she’s gonna be the one that slays me...”

By the end of my first song I can see the children in their high perch making rude gestures as I realise this was their request. They’re still happy it got played, just annoyed I said some rubbish about not knowing it, then do it as my opening number. On the final strum I wave an arm overhead and mouth ‘sorry’ in the hopes that they are appeased.

A reasonable applause from those gathered, a couple of coins in my hat, and calls for other songs I know not the local names for.

After a few hours, chatting between renditions to get information out of the townsfolk, and the sun is beginning to set.

No hint nor hind leg of the robotic dog, and although attempts are made to usher me into the inn nearby, I make my own excuses and head off to the next quarter to spread some coin and loosen some lips.

Yet still, even under the pretence of collecting local rumours and superstition as inspiration for songs, and with the boon of my earnings working their way back into the local economy, not a single bit of gossip implies the location of either undead or unusual dogs.

Well… nuts.

Circling back to the inn by the square, I secure a room for the night.

My only concern had been that as their doorways are tight for me, building internals would be scaled down as well, but thankfully the high ceilings makes manoeuvring my bulk – for this time, place, and peoples – relatively easy. Though beds are still slightly too short, so my straw mattresses end up on the floor.

“Anieeeeeeeeee, I can’t find iiiiiiiiiiiit...” once sequestered away, I fondle the orb and bother my colleague for backup.

No answer.

I try again but the call does not connect.

The crystallised clouds barely moving within the sphere.

She must have fallen asleep at her desk- 

“N’yo-hooooo~”

Oh no!

An all too familiar voice emits from the magical video call.

As the slumped sleeping form of Meganie comes into view, the feline face of Nya’lah fills the void beside her.

“Mrrrrrr... that’s where you’ve been hiding!” her tone thick with seductive intent, honey sweet and barbed.

I gulp as the telecommunications crystal is batted across the desk like a ball and carried away. The catgirl’s mane bobbing within the sphere’s field of vision while she scampers off to wherever she intends.

Before things get out of hand and I end up with a magical cam show or something, I explain the situation, “So, you want Nya’lah’s help, hrrrrrr?” a smirk slithers across her lips and her eyes become fiercely predatory.

I feel like I’ve made a mistake letting her know about the mission, but my only other option is jumping back to the Returns Agency myself and getting the assistant magician to cobble together a location spell, which could take a while, and may even require some of the cyber-canine in advance to actually work.

“I mean...” God have mercy on my soul, “...if you have any idea on how to track the damn thing, or where it might be drawn to?”

The orb cuts off.

I have a bad feeling about this-

The window shutters to my room burst inward and Nya’lah launches herself at me.

“Mrrrrr... a little getaway just for us!” She purrs in my ear, nibbling affectionately at the lobe like a normal cat might your fingertips, “Nya’lah will help you find the beast, but first...”

DEFLECTION!!! DEFLECTION!!! DEFLECTION!!!

My mind races at how to defend against anything below the belt... but the look in her eye is so intense I feel like I’ll be gobbled whole no matter what I do.

Her ear twitches.

Maybe...?

“If you’re going to pounce on me like this, you better be ready for the consequences...” This is going to be a dangerous test of my own resolve, and a fine line to tread on having her not just jump my bones anyway.

The warrior astride me, pressing us both into the chair I’m sat upon, seems to bristle with excitement. I push the point before she can try to take the reigns, “...I would be an unworthy mate if I didn’t test the limits of your ability first!”

My heart is pounding.

I can barely hear my own words over the pulse in my head.

With all the bravado I can muster I trace lines across the small of her back, up her spine, behind her ear, and down her cheek and neck. Both my hands working together to over stimulate her feline senses.

It works a charm.

She can’t focus on one spot long enough to know how to react.

Trying to press into my touch and flinch away from it at the same time. Only to be pushed back into contact by my opposite hand. Her grinding and gyrating impossible to ignore, but thankfully, as it turns out, she doesn’t have much stamina for this kind of treatment.

Nya’lah has to spring from my lap to shake off the stimulation and preen herself to calm down

 “Hnn... hnn...” she’s actually panting, “If you’re finally acknowledging Nya'lah's intent, hnn… then I suppose I can show off for you a little first, n’yes?”

It worked! It worked! Thank fu-

The enormous sigh of relief that wants to come out is stifled by both needing to play this cool and the shock at realising she isn’t just fooling around.

I bite my lip and try not to look like the cat who got the cream... don’t want to give Nya’lah any more ideas than she has already. I need her help and if she’s this determined, she’s bound to try to collect on my debt.

Worth it?

I shake my head at my own tantalised thoughts.

The crossroads in my brain between instinct and reason losing out momentarily to impulse control.

As flattered as I am, never having experienced this level of interest from anyone, I just can’t shake the feeling that cat ain’t right. That and she's at least half a foot taller and several pounds of pure muscle heavier than me. I would lose instantly if she got serious.

By the time we’ve both regained our composure, there’s a slight smell of sweat and pheromones to the room, as if some unmentionable deed had already been done.

“Mrrrrr... what deed would you have Nya’lah do?”

Me. NO!

She eyes me steadily, that predatory intent I felt on the first day in Animal Control having smouldered and caught ablaze, while I scream at my own carnivorous undercurrents splashing up again.

I stamp on my own toe.

I really need to go on a date and get this out of my system...

“I wish to test your senses, to ensure you are as keen a hunter for prey as you are my heart...”

Talk about over egging the pudding, but she’s the more classical hero personality type that big words and big actions really work for, I feel.

Not like Meganie, who’s needed a softer touch, and would shy away from such bombastic behaviour.

I explain to Nya’lah the situation, and she is already champing at the bit to leap from my window to hunt down the hound, but I stop her with a little emphasis on our problem, “If the robot dog looks like a zombie to these people, then a feline warrior bounding through the night will be seen as a demon, and the same witch hunt will happen focusing on possession instead of the undead.”

I lean back in my chair like Chris, looking to the ceiling for an answer.

An all too familiar laugh floats across the room and focuses on my lap, again, “N’yo-ho-hoo! And what is this?” she stares openly at my...

“It’s not what you think!” I panic and sit up straight. The chair bangs to the floor as I cross my legs, “it’s called a codpiece, it’s part of my costume-”

That’s it!

It’s past closing for all the shops and stalls, and Meganie is out for the count so we can’t call a retrieval straight away, so...

“We should get to bed...” as soon as I say it, I can tell I’ve messed up.

Fixated on the protrusion of my clothing, and now on my words but not intent, Nya’lah’s mind is back in the gutter, as if it had ever left.

I shake my head and stand my ground to dictate terms, “...don’t get your hopes up. You haven’t proven yourself yet. We need to not cause a panic, so not just stealth but subterfuge is required. I know you can slink and hide like a shadow, you've stalked me enough, but I need you to hunt in plain view of the world. At my side. Where I can see your prowess first hand!”

A mix of emotions run through the catgirl’s features, lust lingering throughout the parade of pouting rejection, then vexation, and eventually egotistical acceptance.

“But before that...” I lead her to the bed, get in fully clothed to remain armoured against any acts she may attempt in the night, and encourage her to settle next to me with a pat, “...we need to be up early, so…”

Nya’lah snuggles under my arm, pawing at my chest, fangs showing as she grins, purring away like a traction engine, then extinguishes the candle at our bedside with her tail.

Her eyes glowing in the dark, eerily, with what little light there is left for them to reflect, fixed and unblinking on my face.

I forgot cat’s eyes do that!