User:JonBuck/Tall Tales

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{{#ifeq: User |User| Tall Tales | Tall Tales}}[[Title::{{#ifeq: User |User| Tall Tales | Tall Tales}}| ]]
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The registration line extended all the way out the hotel's front doors, filled with nervous newbie furs shifting nervously to from foot to foot--paws and hooves alike. The horses had all congregated in an ad hoc herd, forming a lump in the middle of the line. Closer to the front, Jerome Slater and his fellow whitetail Tara Janssen, kept watch on them with one eye. There was an amazing number of humans mixed in.

They were, of course, completely oblivious that the "anthrocon" they were attending had actual furries. The so-called Reality Distortion Field saw to that. Most of the furs were like Jerome and his girlfriend, only having changed two months ago. This "convention" was more intended as an information session for new furs than for humans to roam around in. But it still had a public face to maintain.

Tara flicked her ears nervously and stayed close to Jerome. Close enough that she could gently grasp his tail and fidget with it. "There's wolves here, honey," the doe said.

"I smell them too," the buck replied. As a human he would have stood tip-toe to see over the people in front of him. But since he was half a deer, he was already as tip-toe as he could get. Whatever was holding up the line had delayed registration for almost an hour. "Move your tails!"

The pudgy male raccoon behind the table looked in his direction. "We're working on it." Merely human ears could not have heard him over the grumbling crowd, but Jerome could rotate his to focus in a specific direction. He leaned over to tap on a keyboard with claw-tipped hands. "Almost there. Keep your fur on."

"This is a lot bigger than I expected," BD said. The female lynx waiting in line behind the two deer wore a rather typically male outfit--a polo shirt and slacks. After two months she spoke with a clipped Canadian accent tainted with a little New Englander mixed in. "But the newbie distribution tends to be uneven, from the data I've seen. Maybe there were more in this area..."

The young human woman behind her tapped the feline on her shoulder. "Are you from Canada? Whereaboots?"

BD reflexively folded her arms across her breasts. Unlike Jerome and Tara, her sex had changed as well. But due to the Reality Distortion Field the woman still saw a short, goateed man dressed in the same outfit BD was wearing. The woman had a Canadian accent as well. "Edmonton," BD said.

The lynx swallowed awkwardly. Thankfully, the line started moving before she needed to reply, interrupting them as the Canadian girl started rummaging in her purse for a pair of cat ears.

Once started the line moved quickly enough. Jerome and Tara paid their fees, then stood aside to wait for BD to get her own. The raccoon was one of a half dozen furs--and one human--behind the registration tables. He took one look at BD and put a little sticker in the upper left corner, and gave her a separate pamphlet. "Have a good time, Mister Derringer," he said, hopefully so other furs would hear it.

The sticker--which looked like a hollow square--identified as a gender-changed fur. Considering how many humans mixed in with this crowd, this convention was going to be very difficult for BD. In her everyday life people still treated her like the man she had been, because that's what humans saw.

Furries, though, saw her as she now was and would likely react to her as such. Even after being changed for fourteen months, she was more nervous about this convention than the new deer were.

Jerome motioned for the lynx to follow. BD padded behind them as they looked for a hopefully more private space for a moment or two. The three of them were already sharing a hotel room. They ducked into an unused conference room. "You going to be okay, Brandon?" Tara asked.

"Never seen so many other cats before," she said. BD took a cell phone with larger buttons out of her pocket. "Wonder if DL is here already. No offense, my dear deer, but I need to find that support group that's coming together."

Tara's ears drooped a little. "I've tried to help, haven't I?"

Brandan nodded, holding the phone up to her tufted ear. "Er... yes. A little too enthusiastically, to be honest. I'm just not ready for the really girly stuff yet." Her ears perked as someone on the other end picked up. "Ah! Hey there, Derek... You're in the lobby? I didn't see... oh. Oh my. I'll be right there." BD looked apologetically at the two deer. "Pardon me. I'll catch up with you two later, okay?"

"Fine with us," Jerome replied. Tara nodded her agreement.

In just a few minutes the area outside the empty conference room became crowded with dozens of furries. Many had wrinkled noses, and the odors hit Jerome like a hammer. It was more than the "con funk" that he'd read about. It was the sheer volume of animal musk that pervaded the air, mixing with each other. Add human sweat and attempts to use Febreze on the whole thing, and the deer felt like gagging. It was only the sight of several other pairs of antlers that took his mind off.

The antlers acted like magnets, drawing the eight of them together. Jerome felt his heart to thump in anticipation. He had emailed some other deer the past few weeks, but now he could meet them in person. Elation and a little anxiety simply drowned out any instinctual responses. Three other whitetails, a mule deer, and two elk. Five men, three women. It was the elk's massive antlers that really caught everyone's eye.

Everyone started talking at once, the three females--Tara, another whitetail, and the elk cow--quickly hived off into their own little trio. The men quickly exchanged business cards, shook--and sniffed--hands. Jerome was absolutely overwhelmed. Suddenly here was a group he could talk to.

"Okay, forehooves up. Who here bought a convertible?" James the elk said.

Two raised their four-fingered hands. "I have a sunroof in my RAV4. Puts a kink in my neck, but it keeps me in the dry when it rains," Jerome added.

"Adaptation is hella expensive for us," Peter added, ears a-flick. "Could be worse. Could be a giraffe. Or have horns. At least we'll drop these in a coupla months." He sounded like he was from Minnesota. "I just take the bus until then, hey."

Aaron the mule deer pointed his thumb back towards the chatting female cervines. "And then we'll look more like them," he said with a snort. He looked at the business cards he'd collected from everyone. "Diverse group, ain't we? Sorry I didn't have one to give you guys. I'm just a college student." Cocking his ears, he gave the impression of a smirk. "Any more does around? Ah figure as long as our lives've gone all furry I might as well enjoy meself."

"There's at least twenty of us signed up for the deer SIG," Jerome said. "Should be a few more around."

The one stag who hadn't spoken yet was somewhat effeminately dressed with a circle on his nametag. Correction, "her" nametag, Jerome thought. Mary Pickens.

"Just call me MP," he said glumly. "I hate to think I've drained all the conviviality out of this group..."

"Convi... what?" Peter said.

"It's great to meet all of you. It really is," MP continued. He seemed close to tears. "But it's even harder to have this happen to you when you have young children and a husband. So just... bear with me?"

"Okay. No problem," James said. "Meet again for dinner? When's that group meeting thing?"

"Tomorrow at three." Jerome looked at the program. The book was a fancy one, with color art that he suspected was actually drawn from life. There was an invitation-only newbie meeting in the Main Ballroom that evening. Then the various Special Interest Groups--SIGs--were scheduled over the three and a half days of the convention. Canines, felines, cervines, equines, rodents, and others. Strangely, no birds. There was a betting pool on whether they were going to show up at some point. There were always a few new species reported every year, as the number of furries doubled.

"I'm glad I'm not a dolphin," Aaron said. Those were the newest ones, and were proving to be a nightmare to both themselves and to furries. There were isolated reports of people aboard ship seeing naked people swimming around far out to sea. Modern mermaids. "See you bucks and does later."

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"After you, Dr. Janssen." Jerome politely opened their hotel room's door for the doe. The duo were fortunate enough to both work at the same suburban college campus in Rhode Island. It had made the past couple months bearable, especially with BD around to explain things.

"Watch your head, dear," she said, more out of reflex. "Wouldn't want you to snap any of those wonderful tines of yours."

Jerome chuckled, ducking as they walked through the door. "I thought this would be harder to get used to. Physically, I mean. Instead I'm thinking about relaxing and cudding lunch."

"If we're going to be in here for a while I should get a shower. And you know how long it takes to dry off," the history professor said. She started to unbutton her blouse.

There were times when they both wondered just how much deer instincts affected them. It was October. It was the height of the Rut. The two anthro deer were both unmarried and single, and their sudden romantic relationship had caused a bit of a stir at the university where they both worked. They had spent nearly every night together since the change. Tara had even helped Jerome peel off his velvet. What a night that had been! And the shared experience had only made the two of them closer.

The fact that she found his ten-point antlers quite attractive was evidence enough of new instincts. But Tara said she just didn't care.

The doe stripped down to her fur, carefully laying her clothes on the bed they were to share and giving him a wink.

This wasn't the first time he'd seen her in the nude. Like him, she had two sets of nipples, one over the other, though her breasts were otherwise fully human. And like him, the change had actually improved her physique. If she were human, she'd be a lingerie model. Jerome nodded in gratitude. "Thank you kindly. You smell divine."

"The real trick will be not slipping on the floor," she said. Concrete, blacktop, and especially tile and linoleum, were a hoofer's worst nightmare even with the "ghost shoes". Tara clicked her nails together. "Oh, I forgot something."

She bent over, tail flicking up, and groped for the kind-of-there slip-ons and socks. Each shoe reappeared after she went through the motions of removing it. "I don't understand; if we have ghost human feet why do we leave hoof prints and slip all over the place?" the doe said, voicing a common hoofer complaint. "I’m off to shower."

Five minutes later Jerome was still munching through lunch a second time when BD entered with her friend. The buck licked his nose and sat up, sliding off the bed as the two gender-changed furries entered the room. "Hello in here!" BD said. "Are we interrupting anything?"

"Just kicking back a little before heading back down," Jerome replied. He looked at the female coyote who had come in with the lynx. She had a rather rangy physique, but was quite "blessed" in the breast department. What really set her apart was the women's clothing she was in. To humans she would've appeared as a crossdresser. "I don't believe we've met?"

"Derek Lowe," the she-coyote said. Her ears were dropping a little, and a hot funk of embarrassment emanated. "Can I sit down for a few minutes? I've had a bad half hour. BD thought since her room was closer..."

"No problem at all," Jerome said, gesturing at an easy chair. "Take all the time you need."

"I'll head back to your room and get you a change of clothes," BD said. DL willingly handed over her card key. "Back in a few minutes."

Jerome introduced himself, then sat back down on the bed. The coyote whined a little, burying her muzzle in her handpaws. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" she said. "Too soon..."

I'm not going to ask. I think I can figure out what happened, Jerome thought.

From inside the bathroom the water was shut off, with a bump from the plumbing. When Tara came out of the bathroom her rust brown hair--the same shade and texture as her fur--was damp and plastered to her shoulders. Fortunately she had brought her own towels, which meant her torso was covered enough. She had obviously overheard the conversation. "Nice outfit, honestly," she said to the coyote.

"I'm glad someone thinks so," DL whimpered. The cinnamon-colored coyote sighed. "I was already a coyote from '06. Now I get this on top of all that two months ago! It's almost too much to take. So I figured that If I was going to be a girl, I might as well dress like one. I honestly didn't think that would be a problem here. Guess I was wrong.

"You're Tara? BD's talked about you. In all honesty, I mostly dressed this way for comfort. It only ended up looking girlier than I thought." She cupped her handpaws around her breasts. "These... these things get really annoying after a few hours of bouncing, so I found a bra that fits. But the RDF does funny things when you wear one. And around here it seems worse."

The doe nodded. "I'll take your word for it. Jerry, hon, can you pick up my clothes and hang them in the bathroom? I'll just wait in there to dry out."

The doe was dry and dressed by the time BD returned with a change of clothes. "I wish we had some way of seeing how clothes actually look on our human images," the lynx said. "You said that humans could see your breasts?"

"Somehow," DL said. "Out of the corner of their eye. Some guy kept looking at me, turning his head, then straight back, then turning it again. I don't see how it could be anything else. He was looking right at my chest. He definitely saw the bra. That's what caused the problem in the first place."

"Do you think he saw the fur?" Jerome asked. "Or anything else?"

"Doubt it. I think an anthro coyote would've provoked a different reaction."

"Like screaming in terror?" Tara said dryly. She looked back at Jerome. "Let's head down to the Dealers' Den and wander around a little, dear."

"We'll follow you down in a few minutes," BD added. "There's someone else I want to introduce you to before dinner, okay?"

"Nice meeting you, DL," Jerome said. Tara echoed the sentiment. The she-coyote lolled her tongue and waved at the deer as they left the hotel room.

Halfway down the hall, Tara snorted derisively. "I just don't understand that at all."

"What's that?" Jerome said.

"It's not like she's huge. She has a very nice figure. I guess it's that stupid distortion thing that's making everything so complicated. I wonder why the human image doesn't change to female to match?" the doe said.

"Not going to matter in a few more years. There'll be enough of us. BD, DL and the others will just have to tough it out like the rest of us."

Tara snorted again. This felt like an argument in the making. Tara was determined to make a lady out of BD, even encouraging her to pick a female name she liked. But the prospect of another newly female to shape in DL seemed to make her feel frustrated instead of challenged. BD was unflappable enough to humor her, but lately her patience was wearing thin. Thankfully she was heading back to Canada in a couple of weeks and wouldn't have to put up with it much longer.

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No birds, no reptiles, no fish. The Dealers' Dean was like a Audubon Guide to North American Mammals on two feet. Easily two thirds of the furry species originated from there, with a healthy amount from the other continents as well. Along with numerous horses, there were domesticated cats, various breeds of dog, even a cow or two. A leonine couple caused a bit of a stir. A third of the attendees were humans. And some of them wore fursuits.

"This is so surreal," Tara said, repressing a giggle at someone walking around in a rather elaborate fox suit. His so-called "furless lackey" was anything but, and a vulpine herself. The red vixen had to work even harder to repress her giggles, but couldn't resist a very human smile. "What goes on in people's heads?"

There were already some furs in high places in various businesses. On a computer screen a commercial for a French orange juice soda played over and over again. What drew Jerome's attention was that one of the stars was a doe. Tara poked him in the ribs. "You've got a real doe right here, bucky boy," she jibed playfully.

"I'd like to see you in a denim dress like that," the stag said, giving her a little lick on her nose.

"I'll have to make one, then."

The commercial was filled with all kinds of sexual imagery. The too-thin (to Jerome's thinking) yet muscular grizzly bear dancing with the shapely doe. The doe pulling a "Splash Dance" with the orange drink. The oddities were a female octopus, and anthro flowers. It took a few viewings to take it all in. "I think that might be a little too racy," Tara said. "It isn't all about sex. It's about finding a chair that won't put a kink in your tail. It's about being picky at the salad bar. It's about looking for those grippy rubber cloven-hoof boots I was reading about on the listserv so we don't fall on our faces on concrete."

Strangely, only about a third of the artists were other furs. The real showcase wasn't the art, at least for the furs. It was themselves. And most of them were newbies, marveling at their own bodies. There was no doubt others were still out there, hiding from the world and themselves, but there were crews of experienced furs who knew how to find them. There was nothing worse than being alone with this. Especially if the victim was like BD had been the first few months.

After her change she had been dancing around madness, until she was picked up by a fur while wandering around in well-below-freezing wind and snow, dressed in only shorts and a tee shirt. The lynx's winter coat had been more than enough to shield her from the elements, but everyone else perceived a crazy man about to get frostbite. BD had shown the deer newspaper clippings about a huge feline pawprints found in the snow, too. It was eventually dismissed as a hoax because it was clearly done by a biped. But the local fur had figured out what was going on.

"Time for the meeting," Tara said, tugging on her lover's elbow. Other furs were starting to drift in the Main Ballroom's direction for the invitation-only event, laughably called "Orientation". As if the last two months hadn't been.

No humans allowed.

Jerome and Tara were two of the first to arrive, with one of the cougars checking their invitations. He politely didn't smile, and gestured at a number three on his nametag. Three years since his change! There were only a tenth as many furs the day he changed compared to Jerome.

All the plastic chairs inside had a unique design that accounted for tails, large and small.

The first to enter the room behind them was a pack of half a dozen wolves. The whitetails' ears perked up at that, and the two species watched each other carefully for about fifteen seconds before a pair of cougars pushed the canids all the way inside, and also looked at the deer. Jerome and Tara started to edge towards an exit. But then a half dozen deer came in behind all the predators, including James the elk. "Is there something wrong?" he said, ears a-twitch.

Thankfully two of the convention organizers came in. A mare and a fox. The pony-sized horse woman whinnied to get everyone's attention. "Okay! Rule One!" she said. The pony-woman had a fiery red mane and reddish fur. "Mix it up, people! I don't want this room to segregate itself by species, or by predator-prey! We're not going to let our new world become some Kevin and Kell shithole where predators try and eat prey, and the prey shoot back! Mix it up, everyone!"

Who could resist a commanding tone like that?

Jerome and Tara soon had a pair of wolves on one side, and a skunk on the other. The female skunk's enormous, bushy tail looked like it'd be a huge liability on a windy day. "It's lighter than it looks," she said.

"I should hope so," Tara replied. "I'm happy with my flicky tail, frankly. But it's hard to take care of."

"I don't mind keeping your tail brushed," Jerome said, putting his arm around her back while watching as a menagerie come in. There were hundreds of chairs, and new furs were flying in from all over the eastern seaboard, or even across the country to come stay with friends. He counted at least a dozen pairs of antlers--whitetail, mule deer, elk, and even moose. There were females he couldn't see, though he could smell them. My antlers are a huge bother already. I can't even imagine...

The buck lip-curled and held his doe a little closer, eyeing the competition.

"Getting awfully fragrant in here," Tara said, covering her own nose.

"This won't take long!" the pony-woman said. "Okay. I'm Red, my colleague here is also Red. So just call me Shetland, 'cause that's my breed." There was some snickering in the crowd. "Yes, I'm that Red Shetland. The comics were based off of me. I'm also the first horse anthro.

"It's no stretch to say you're all a confused bunch. Well, I was the third folks. That year it was just two foxes, me, and probably some poor schmuck in Asia or Africa. It was sheer chance I even met another fur that year.

"Well, here we are. One million! And a whole herd of horses!" She got some whinny-whistles in response. "And I bet all of you are wondering, just what the hell is going on? Why is this happening? Why are we all furry half animals?"

"Hell, yes!" someone shouted back.

"We've all gone fucking crazy!" a gray vixen opined. "It's just a mass hallucination!"

The Shetland interrupted. "The bare fact is that even after twenty years, we still don't know. Not a single clue. We're only just starting to get enough furs in science to even think about looking into it that way. So until then, all, your guess is as good as mine."

There were many more opinions, one after another. "Wrath of God!" "No, gift of God!" "Or Gaia!" "Microscopic magic pixies!" "What, you mean nanotechnology." "Basically, yeah." "Ever read The Stand? This is like Captain Tripps!"

"Actually, we're living beings in a simulated universe within a post-Singularity cloud of computronium," said someone else in a very reasonable tone of voice.

Jerome stood up to see who was talking. It was another whitetail buck. "Say that again?"

"It's a kind of computer virus. A furry virus," the unnamed stag continued. "The Reality Distortion Field is a kind of antiviral measure to keep the society within the simulation space from breaking down into complete chaos. It's giving us time to adapt, see?"

"So, what? You're saying we're all stuck in the Matrix?" said the fox up on stage.

The stag shook his head. "No. We have no physical bodies. But the kind of computers we're talking about are so far beyond anything we know, there's no significant difference between us and a real person. The simulation is just that good. I'd hesitate to call it a 'simulation' at all, frankly. But the physics model here is getting bent by the virus. Go read Accelerando by Charles Stross, and I think you'll get a better idea what I'm talking about."

"Um," said Shetland. "That's actually less far-fetched than others I've heard, folks. And I've heard a lot. I've come up with a lot worse. Thanks for your input. Anyone else?"

"What a load of horse shit!" someone shouted from the very back of the room.

"Red Shetland" perked her ears. "Oh, really? Do you have a better explanation?"

Jerome could see people quickly moving away from the speaker. "I came here for a fucking cure, you horsecock-sucker! I don't even know what the hell I am!" the angry man continued, storming up to the front of the auditorium. He smelled like he hadn't bathed since his change, and wore a tattered pair of shorts and shirt. He was surprisingly short, but had very large, dangerous claws.

The organizers were prepared for something like this. A polar bear and a pair of wolves joined Red on the stage. The angry furry growled, and it didn't sound like a canine.

"Wolverine," the skunk-woman sitting next to Jerome said. "I recognize the coloring. They're a nasty piece of work. I'm sure that's not making things better. Damn, look at those claws!"

"There is no cure," Shetland said calmly, maneuvering so her bodyguards were between her and him. "We don't even know the cause. I thought I made that clear."

"Fuck you!" He snarled, then tried to pounce.

What ensued was an on-stage fight, four against one. Bear, two wolves, and lion all trying to keep the wolverine from hurting anyone. People immediately started to leave the room, even as more leapt up on stage to restrain the angry desperate man--or former woman, now that Jerome saw his clothing. Because as the cussing continued, he broke down into sobs. "Oh shit... oh shit... oh shit..."

The hotel manager had walked inside during the fight. "Do you want me to call the police, Mrs. Watkins?" he asked the pony. He seemed to squint, some uncertainty in his voice. He looked at the restrained wolverine. "Is that, um.... woman threatening you?"

"We're not going to press charges," Shetland said. The wolverine no longer needed restraint. He was curled up in a whimpering ball of misery. "I know a rough time when I see one."

The manager put his fingers against his temples, as if he was getting a huge headache. "As you wish, but let me know if you change your mind. I'll let you deal with this in the meantime. I'm going to get a Tylenol."

The former woman was taken aside with a couple other mustelid volunteers, while everyone else started talking all at once. Shetland let this go on for a few minutes before she called for attention. "And that's another unanswerable question," she began once the room was quiet again. "Why aren't we all like him? Sorry... her, rather. Why aren't we running around, tearing our fur out, begging scientists and doctors for a fucking cure?" The stag who had raised his hand earlier did so again. Shetland motioned for him to speak.

"Antiviral measure. It's protecting our psychology. Tweaking it so we don't go tossing ourselves off of bridges--most of the time," he added quickly. Suicides and madness were more common among isolated furries. Jerome thought of Brandon's experience in Edmonton again.

"It's hard. It's really, really hard," Shetland said. "And those of us with a double-whammy like our transgendered have it harder than the rest of us. Remember that, folks.

"We're going to spend the last twenty minutes or so just meeting one another, exchanging information. Feel free to show off anything about your new selves you feel proud of, or just think is neat. And keep in mind that we're going to add a full million to our numbers in just ten months. If you want to volunteer to help out newbies at next year's furcon, let the organizers know. Those of you with medical questions, please see Dr. Clay's panel with the vets tomorrow. Thanks, everyone."

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After the meet-and-greet ended, Jerome tried to find the buck who had spoken earlier, but the man and his distinctive drop-point antlers had gone. He and Tara met up with the other deer as everyone shuffled out, leaving the auditorium smelling like a zoo. Jim looked a little stunned as the eight of them went looking for someplace more private. "Sat next to this huge white tiger," he said nervously. "He kept licking his chops."

"Where was he from? India?" Peter asked.

The elk shook his huge-antlered head. "Canada, believe it or not. Guess being a native species isn't a hard-and-fast rule..."

There was a banner overhanging the entrance to the convention area advertising the inexpensive breakfast buffet. Jim's antlers caught in it, and tore it away from its nails. It fell down around Jim's head and nearly Jerome's as well. "Shit! Get this thing off of me!"

Peter and MP each gave a yank on their respective sides, only to tear some very large holes through the vinyl fabric. They had only just gotten it off of him when the hotel manager game up. His eyes were red, watery. The man was in the middle of some kind of allergy attack. "What is going on here? You people will have to pay for tearing down that sign!"

The elk obviously couldn't point the human to his antlers and explain that the banner was too low. Jim ground his teeth in evident frustration. "I'll do it, sir. It was my fault."

The manager sneezed. "We've put up with far too much vandalism from you people already! Someone's brought pets, and when we find out who they're going to get tossed out on their ear! We have health codes to worry about."

Standing behind him was one of the housecat furs, his triangular ears and magnetically green eyes full of smirk. He was in a tank top and shorts, tail-tip lazily swishing his dander towards the allergic human. Jerome glared at him, ears folded back, until the cat retreated enough so that the manager could breathe again. Damn, that's rude.

"Who would bring a cat in here?" the manager was saying imperiously, apparently to himself. "And how did the cleaning staff miss them?"

"I'm sorry about the banner," Jim repeated.

"Come with me to the office. We'll get this squared away," the human replied. "Someone your age should know better!"

Once they were gone, Jerome approached the tabby. "That was rather cruel, you know."

The cat-man gave him a nasty look, grinning smugly like only a feline can. "So what. I was worse than he was before I ended up this way. Mind your own business, venison."

That got the attention of the others. The cat had fourteen eyes, seven pairs of folded ears, and roughly thirty-five points staring him down with Hard Looks cervines used to challenge other males. The tabby cat wrapped his tail around his waist and shrugged. "Fine. Whatever. Smell y'all later."

"Useless guttertrash alley cat," Peter muttered, snorting angrily, smacking his fist into his opposite palm. "I oughta..."

"Rise above it," MP said, though he smelled as pissed off as the rest of us. "There's assholes everywhere. Even among ourselves."

"Let's go back to the room, Jerry," Tara said, wrapping one arm around Jerome's waist. "After all that, I need a break before lunch. We could call room service."

Unfortunately when they arrived at the room, there was a plumber. The large man glared at the two faux-humans as they walked up. "What did you people do to that drain? This is the third one I've had to unclog on this floor!" he growled. If Jerome didn't know better, he'd say the man was a wolf or dog of some kind. But he was evidently in some pain, the way his forehead was wrinkled. "I found dog hair in the room down the hall! You people are crazy if you think you can hide animals from us!"

He stared. He blinked. He stared again.

He stumbled back, colliding with the cart that carried his supplies, yelping.

Tara bleated in surprise, then left Jerome to see if she could help him. The stag wasn't so sure he wanted to. Something felt wrong about this. Very, very wrong. When she got to him, the man wasn't unconscious, but he was staring at her like she was an alien. "What the fuck?" he said. "What the fuck are you!"

"Jerry..." the doe said, backing off again. "What's going on here?"

The plumber groaned, shutting his eyes again. When he opened them, he held both palms to his temples. "Argh... I must have hit my head, folks. Sorry... been strange like that all day. Seein' things."

"Oh? Like what?" Jerome asked.

"Hell. You'd think I was crazy. Thought I saw a couple deer on two legs, like on some of those drawins' downstairs. Gotta admit, it's kinda allurin' in its own way. But... I think I'm going to take the rest of the day off." He slowly got to his feet again.

"You do that, Mister," Jerome said. He and Tara looked at each other, the librarian tugging his girlfriend's elbow. Once they were out of human earshot, he spoke again. "Did what happen what I think happened? Did the Field break down there for a moment?"

"We need to talk to somebody, right now," Tara said. "Let's go find one of the Convention organizers."

There were hotel maintenance people all over the place. Unstopping drains, vacuuming mysterious "foot" prints off of carpet. Jerome grumbled when he saw them. "Somebody did that on purpose. What are they trying to do? Break the field intentionally?"

"It may have worked, darling," Tara replied.

"There are so many of us here. Remember the hotel manager at the presentation? Headaches. We need to find somebody, now."

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Astringent odors filled the hotel, with the plumbers working overtime and the cleaning staff openly glaring at the convention-goers. Down at the registration tables there were only a couple humans working, one of whom looked up from her work organizing the few leftover badges. Tara fished one of the convention's program books out of her purse, and Jerome wondered how they dealt with the transgendered furs. "We're looking for Vince, or Ronald, or PD, or someone. It's urgent," she said.

The black-haired woman shrugged. "They went to some meeting about ten minutes ago, I think. Or maybe they just went on lunch break somewhere. I really dunno."

"What about your colleague?" the doe said.

"He only just got here. I'm sorry, but I really have no idea. They were trying to negotiate some more conference rooms. This place's turned out way too small."

We noticed, Jerome thought.

"And it smells like a damn zoo in here. Jesus," the newcomer said, waving the palm of his hand in front of his nose. "You know, I kind of like this furry stuff. I'm a fox myself. But using real animal musk is just over the top."

Jerome flicked his tail in agitation. "Do either of you have a cell phone number?"

The woman shrugged. She was looking at both of them closely, turning her head left and right, like she was trying to see the image in one of those "Magic Eye" posters that were so popular ten years ago. Her mouth made a little "O" of surprise, and Jerome wondered if she had seen them for what they really were, if only for a moment. But she didn't scream. Her only reaction was a beatific, satisfied grin. "Here. Let me help you two find them."

"We can do that on our own," Jerome said, backing away a little.

"I don't bite," she said, still grinning. "My husband might, though. He's a fox."

"Hey, I'm a fox," the other guy said.

"Not yet," she said. "Maybe next year." She looked at the two deer. "Come with me, my dear whitetails. Tell me what's going on. Barry, it's been quiet, so you can hold the fort by yourself for fifteen minutes."

The twentysomething frowned. "Don't leave me alone here, Becca. I barely know how this system works."

"I think I know where I can find Vince. No sense in letting these to wander around aimlessly." Becca did the "magic eye" look again before standing up and coming around the table. "C'mon."

She led them to an empty conference room and shut the door behind her. What was amazing wasn't that this room was empty, but the joyful expression on her face. "You're really deer! My God! My husband is going to yelp for joy!"

Oh, shit. Another one, Jerome thought. He wasn't sure what to do now. "Can you still see us as we are?"

"Only if I look out of the corner of my eye. This distortion field thing my husband talked about is fighting back," she replied. "You know, not all of us still-humans are oblivious to this. It was damned obvious that something was wrong with my husband a couple years ago. He was leaving pawprints everywhere. And all that shed red fur in the drains. And he spends like an hour with a hairdryer. The smells--you know how foxes reek, right? All sorts of things..."

The woman stumbled through her words. Jerome had to interrupt her. "Look, we absolutely need to find the con organizers, okay? Please? We think there are so many furries here that it's straining the Field."

"The Veil?" the human woman said. "Yeah, I can see that. I've had a raging headache ever since I arrived here. But I truly don't know where to start looking. There's rumors that someone snuck into the con with a hidden camera, though. I think they caught whoever it was and took them for a talk. Try the third floor conference rooms first and I'll keep looking for a cell phone number."

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The number of furs wandering around with their portraits--their real ones--drawn on their badges was a little amusing, given the circumstances. Even more amusing were the fursuiters. Jerome and Tara rode the elevator with one and his companion. The sound of very heavy panting came from inside the wolfish head. "Help me with this, Farah," said a muffled voice within. The faux paws reached and removed it...

Revealing a panting, sweat-soaked mouse. "Damned cooling system failed! Help me get out of this thing."

"In here, Vera?" Farah said. She was a human, and the voice inside the fursuit was masculine to the furries. "But you're not..."

"I've got underthings on. But I'm dying in here! Dying!"

The faux-female, faux-wolf shed the costume as if it contained the Sahara. Sweat matted his-her fur against his body--and the glaring presence of a bra stuffed with soggy tissue paper was an odd thing indeed. He was quite muscular, for a mouse. "I'm never wearing that thing again," Vera said in disgust.

"And after all that time you spent making it," Farah said, standing in front of her friend as the deer moved to the opposite side of the elevator. She took off her jacket and wrapped it around Vera's shoulders. "Don't you two stare, now! We're lucky the room is right across from the elevator."

"We won't," Tara reassured. The elevator dinged the third floor. "We're going out now. Good luck."

"I'm not much of a wolf anyway." the mouse said sullenly as the doors closed. "And I should be at..."

For some reason they put Con Ops on the third floor. Jerome recognized the odor of the raccoon from the registration tables, but it was faint and unfocused. The hotel's air conditioning was at full blast, freshening the air but inconveniently masking personal odors. Normally the deer could determine who had been somewhere and how long ago. Now the best Jerome could do was "maybe ten minutes, or a half an hour." But there were other, fresher smells. Worried smells. With an edge of near-panic. Sharp, like a knife.

"Do you think they know?" Tara asked.

"We'd better act as if they don't," Jerome said, looking at the German Shepard standing outside the closed doors. The stag nervously approached him. "Hey. We have something important to tell these guys," he said firmly.

The dog regarded them with suspicion, but opened the door. "I have a couple deer out here with something..." he said.

"It is about the Field?" a tense voice answered. "If it is, send them in. This shitstorm can't get any worse. With more info we might be able to cope. We're going to need help to spread the word anyway."

About what? Jerome wondered. He licked his noise, and discerned another panicked scent-note. Human, this time. Female.

Con-Ops was a darkened room filled with a half dozen computers. The room was crowded, with a large polar bear bending over near the far wall, with a human standing next to him. "The sedative is helping, Dr. Clay," he said. He turned his head left and right. "The Field is flickering in here. I can easily see that bearish face of yours." He looked over in Jerome's direction. "And his antlers." And a tigress. "And her stripes. You still fade-to-human, but... more slowly."

"What about us?" said a familiar voice. Jerome hadn't seen BD, nor been able to discern the female lynx's odors among the others in the packed room. "She came in the door with that camera-purse of hers. She didn't even scream, you know. She just sort of folded over..."

"If she had made any noise, Brandon, this situation would be far worse," the polar bear said. "What's the word, Dr. Frasier?"

"Excuse me," Tara said. "I hate to interrupt, but we have something important... um, maybe not as important as this, but..."

"The Veil's breaking down," said a female red panda with a red badge that meant she was Con Security. "Where, this time?"

"Fifth floor. One of the plumbers," Jerome said.

"Ah. I see. Thank you, both," she replied, jotting down the information. "That's six in the past two hours," she said gravely.

"Don't rush me, PD," a squirrel snarled. If a rodent could look angry with those teeth, he managed it. "All the other hotels in town are booked up! We're stuck in here."

"Then we're going to have to spread out," she said. The transgendered panda wore overtly feminine clothing--one of those slick red Chinese silk dresses with an embroidered dragon on it. "Let's get the SIGs to meet in restaurants. Spread the word that furs should find other hotel rooms, if they can."

"Didn't anyone anticipate trouble like this?" Jerome said.

The panda glared at the deer, then glanced at his nametag. "We've never had so many furs in one place before, Mr. Slater. Never! Nobody thought the Veil was this fragile. We were hoping it'd break down for certain humans, like Dr. Frasier here."

"And I'm curious what's on that tape!" said DL's voice from the very back. "Can someone get out of the way and let me in? I'm feeling a little weird, myself."

"Let the young lady in," Frasier said.

The coyote-woman apologized as she slipped past the two deer, nodding at them as she went. "That camera of hers was on me for like two minutes! How is she?"

"Resting comfortably," Dr. Clay said.

Frasier--an iron-haired man who was in his early forties--stared openly at DL. "Aren't you supposed to be a man?"

The coyote's tone of voice turned from curiosity to astonishment. "Why? Aren't you supposed to see me as one?"

There were a few other transgendered furs packed into the room. There was really no way to fit anyone else in it. Ten formerly male or female people pushed their way to the front, demanding to know what he saw. BD folded her ears back. "I don't mean to snap, but can you please be a little more clear, Doctor?"

"Um... do you have a sketchbook? It'll be easier if I just draw what I see."

Jerome recognized the name now. Frasier was an accomplished--and popular--furry artist because he could see furs for what they really were. Jerome wasn't sure what kind of trick that required, but the woman down at the registration table also seemed to know it. Frasier picked up DL's sketchbook and sat her down in a chair, while Dr. Clay attended the sedated woman.

"Clear the room," PD said. "We need some space. Thanks for the information, Mr. Slater."

BD looked at him, worry in her eyes at the image taking shape on Frasier's page. "I'll give you a call once I know what's going on here, Jerry, Tara. But I suggest you go back to your room for now, if you can."

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