JP Rooney's wasn't a bad place to work. The borderline schlocky décor inside the sports bar suited Sean Frost's tastes very well. He lived only a few blocks away, easily walkable in good weather. Hyannis was a traffic nightmare in summer. Sean rarely left the Cape during the busy season anyway. Twelve hour shifts from one in the afternoon to one in the morning will do that to a person.
Besides, just trying to get across the Sagamore Bridge was a nightmare in August, in either direction. It was an order of magnitude worse now since the state decided to remove the rotary.
Sean ventured out into the sultry Monday afternoon from his cool one bedroom apartment. With the thunderheads building to the southwest he expected the weather to turn nasty before eight. "That's going to scare the tourists away..." he muttered with a sigh. Crowded bridge or not, there were fewer tourists this year, even with gas hovering around two dollars a gallon. There was just so much going on, from the continuing anarchy in Africa to oil prices see-sawing wildly between twenty and sixty dollars.
A twenty year old Chevy Caprice pulled up beside him on the left as he walked. "Sean! Why the hell are you walking to work in this soup after being sick? Get in here!" Mike Dane leaned over and opened the passenger door. Sean realized his white dress shirt was getting more sweat-soaked than he wanted, so decided to accept the offer, though it was only a couple more blocks.
"At least loosen that tie," Mike continued. Dane was about fifteen years Sean's senior, and a semi-regular at Rooney's. Like everyone else this summer he was minimizing his driving just to save money. His love of large cars meant in cooler weather he was more often around town on his electric scooter. The large man regarded Sean with some concern. "I've never understood why Chuck insists on that getup." He gave Sean a rather curious, and a little confused look. "You're looking better. Finally over that funky summer flu?"
"Yeah. I feel great! Got over the dregs last night." White dress shirt, black slacks, a red tie, and black armbands on the upper arms to keep the sleeves from moving around too much while mixing drinks. The owner of the bar, Chuck Polinsky, thought it gave the place a "classy" air. "I think the uniform looks pretty good," Sean said. He turned two of the vents on him and cranked the air conditioning to full blast. "Thanks for the ride, Mike. I see you got the AC working on this jalopy."
"Shuah thing," he said in an affected New England accent. He wasn't a local, just someone who had retired young and settled in his vacation house on the Cape. The man didn't own a car newer than 1991, and all of them were Fords, Chevys, Oldsmobiles, and Pontiacs. He bought older cars and restored them to working condition as a hobby and probably had contacts with every junkyard in the Northeast for parts.
When he was finished getting them running again he'd donate them to some charity, then start anew.
"So, how's that Honda of yours holding up?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.
"Mike, it's four years old. There's nothing wrong with it," Sean insisted for the sixth time. "Really, I can't afford one of your land yachts."
The older man smirked. "Got my hands on an '84 Honda Civic CR-X. You know, the one that got almost seventy miles per gallon on the highway? Fifty five in the city? It just needs seats and a new headliner. Nothin' to sneeze at even if gas drops to a dollah."
Sean felt speechless. "You said you'd never touch a Japanese car!"
"Yeah, I know. But money talks and I could still sell this car for three times what it'd get last year, even with the price drop. Everyone still remembers the shortages and six dollars. Seventy miles per gallon, Sean. And I'm giving you first shot at it. If you can come up with a thousand bucks, it's yours." Dane stopped in front of the bar.
The bartender's hand hovered over the door handle. A grand was still a lot of money, especially since this tourist season was so sparse. He had an emergency fund he'd have to use some of in order to buy it. He could easily use his one credit card, which didn't have a balance right now. "Can you give me a couple of days, Mike? My Civic is already pretty good on the mileage and it's almost paid for."
"I should have the parts to fix 'er up in about four days. Let me know by then, okay bud?" He extended his hand.
Shaking Mike's hand was always a strange experience. Sean thought he felt more hair than there was, and that man had a strong grip. He'd seen the older mechanic lift car parts by himself that Sean wouldn't have done without one or two other people. The cars he drove actually creaked when he sat down. "I will. Thanks again." He pulled on the handle and got out of the Caprice.
As the bartender walked around the front end, Mike rolled down his window. "Say... you didn't feel anything odd getting over that flu, did you?"
"Like what?"
The man shook his head. "Never you mind. I'll be in for the Red Sox game tonight with some friends, bud. See you then." He drove off.
Sean watched him go and shrugged. Mike and his friends were always a little weird anyway.
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The sports bar was divided into four large rooms, each of them with a half dozen 50" HDTVs. They were devoted to various sports, depending on what was in season. Baseball, basketball, football, soccer, horse racing, hockey, the Olympics, NASCAR, Formula One, the Tour de France. Whatever people wanted to see, Chuck Polinsky would oblige. Each room had its own fully stocked bar and held about forty people.
Sean entered through the back door and headed for the break room next to the kitchen to clock in. The chefs and their staff were busy prepping for lunch. Sadie waved at him as he'd walked in.
A few minutes remained before the bar opened. Since daytime was generally quieter than the rest of the day only two of the four rooms opened. Sean could already see his fellow bartender at her bar, taking her usual inventory of spirits and liquor. Before he did the same thing there was an important errand to take care of. He went upstairs to the office and knocked on Chuck's door before opening it.
Chuck Polinsky was in his mid-forties, but you wouldn't know it to look at him. He had a runner's physique and competed in the Boston Marathon every year. "You're looking better, Sean. Over that stomach flu?"
"It pretty much evaporated this morning, Mr. P. I feel great! I just wanted to pick up my paycheck before I started work," Sean said.
Polinsky leaned forward behind his spotless oaken desk, scrutinizing his employee from head to toe. Sean Frost was an American Mutt. One quarter Chinese, with the rest spread among Irish, English, and Italian ancestors. The results were an unlikely mix of slightly Asian facial features and a slight build. "You sure you're feeling like yourself? Everything's where it's supposed to be?"
"Never better, sir."
Polinsky combed his fingertips through his iron gray hair. "Uh... I hate to say this, but there's been a mix-up with the payroll company. We're working on straightening it out, of course."
"Mix-up? What do you mean by that?" Sean replied worriedly.
Sean's employer handed him an envelope. The bartender stared. "Who the hell is Serena Frost?"
"Your sister?" Chuck quipped with nervous laughter.
"I have two brothers. What did ADP say?"
"It'll probably work itself out pretty quick," Polinsky said. He looked very nervous now, nostrils flaring. "I'm sure she'll be along... soon."
"She has my address and employee number. I'm going to rip ADP a new one," Sean snarled.
Tapping his fingertips on his desk, Polinsky pondered what to say next. "I'm glad you're feeling better. You're one of my best employees. But if at any time today you start feeling strange, or you start seeing things--I had that flu a couple years ago--feel free to leave your post and lock yourself in my office. Okay?"
"Um, okay. Thanks boss."
"Remember, Mike and his crew are in the Red Sox Room today. They've rented the whole place this time, so it's just going to be you and Tracy out there this afternoon."
That was clearly a dismissal. Sean nodded and headed back downstairs.
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Most of the bartenders at Rooney's were women--they tended to get better tips. Tracy was a graduate student at Wood's Hole Oceanographic Institute. She had wavy light brown hair that always looked perfect, and smelled a little of sea salt after her excursions out to see. She normally wouldn't give Sean the time of day, but when he entered and told her they'd be working together today, she actually seemed shocked.
"You sure you're feeling okay?" she asked him in a sisterly tone, nostrils flaring like Chuck's had.
"Yes, I'm fine! Except my paycheck got screwed up. Some girl with my last naaa..." There was no pain. And its absence was one of the things that he would remember most. But he started coughing, and when next he spoke, his voice had changed pitch and timbre. "Some girl with... with... What the fuck?" Sean's hand flew to his throat.
He found no Adam's Apple. And his voice no longer resonated. "What... what do I sound like?" he stammered.
Tracy put her hands on his shoulders. "You're going to be okay, Sean. You'll be fine. Just don't panic, and just let it flow through you."
"Let what flow through me!" he shouted. He spoke with a woman's voice. "I'm having some sort of relapse. This is hella strange laryngitis..." He stared at his co-worker. "Are you wearing heels or something?"
She let him go and dashed upstairs. Just in time for the dam to break. He felt a tightness in his groin, a growing pressure in his hips. Everything started happening at once, too fast to think straight. It was all he could do to stay upright by grabbing hold of the brass rail on the side of the bar.
"You left him in the middle of the Change?!" Chuck shouted from above. "Get down there, woman!"
There was a moment, a brief moment, when the two creatures who reappeared distracted Sean from twisting sensations from his body. An anthropomorphic coyote and a female (definitely female) cougar stood there in Chuck and Tracy's clothes, mouths agape. But the image flickered and then they were both standing there again. "Is that it?" Tracy said. "Where's the rest?"
"I don't know, but it fits with what I've read on the boards," Chuck said.
The twisting sensation slowed, then vanished, leaving only a strange buoyancy behind. Sean stared down at the view, and with slender fingers and polished nails, loosened the tie and unbuttoned his shirt halfway. Then all at once his new body slammed his senses with its bulges, curves, breasts, a singular absence, and breasts. Even his slacks had been replaced with a skirt, like what Tracy wore. "Um... I... I'm a woman? How? Why... the..."
"Catch her if she faints, Chuck," Tracy said.
"No, I'm okay. Really. I'm fine!" Sean insisted. In fact, she felt fantastic. She turned around and removed some of the bottles from in front of the mirrored backing behind them, and had a look. Her hair had lengthened down to her shoulders, and the girl looking back looked like the sister Sean had never had. She put her hands on the sides of her breasts and smushed them together. "Ow!"
"Is she going to stay human?" Tracy said.
"I don't know," Chuck said. He flickered again.
Sean suddenly felt a little dizzy. Overwhelmed with dissonance. "Um... You mean I'm not... I wasn't seeing Wyle E Coyote standing where Chuck is a second ago?"
"I'm going to be straight with you, Sean," Chuck said. "That paycheck wasn't a mistake, and we knew this was going to happen to you this morning. Mike was shocked as hell when he saw you walk out of your apartment a male human. I was expecting to have him bring you here, er... different. Sort of like you are now."
"Only sort of?" Sean stammered, staring at the girl in the mirror. Not the girl. Herself. The girl whose name was on the paycheck. "I'm Serena Frost?"
"ROB thinks of everything these days," Tracy said. She'd briefly gone into the break room and retrieved a denim purse. She handed it over, giving Sean another feline flash. "This is yours. Check your driver's license, everything. As far as the paper trail's concerned, you're Serena Frost."
Sean's license did show a slightly younger woman than the one in the mirror with the ubiquitous unready expression on her face. Same birthdate, everything. "That still doesn't answer my question! Why am I a woman!"
"For the same reason I'm a man. Or male, at least," Chuck said gravely. The middle-aged man tilted his head. "What do you see when you look at us? Tracy and myself."
"Like you always are, what..." There was that flicker again, lasting much longer this time. If Sean's back wasn't already against the bar she wouldn't fallen over backwards. Suddenly gaining a pair of breasts and ovaries didn't matter any more. The people standing in front of her were unquestionably still Chuck and Tracy. Aside from the almost cartoonishly human eyes, there were a couple of furries standing there instead. As the glimpses before, a coyote and a cougar on two legs, looking like they'd evolved that way. "Holy shit! You're animals!"
Sean fumbled for one of the bottles she'd removed from the shelf. Some Jose Cuervo tequila. "I need a drink."
Chuck-the-coyote took the hard liquor out of her unresisting hands. "Talk, first. Then drink. You're not done changing yet, and I have a lot to explain.
"And I'm going to start with..." He visibly girded himself. "Two years ago, my name was Cynthia. And I don't expect I'll be her ever again."
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Sean listened for an hour as Chuck explained how the world worked now, beneath the surface. During that time she paid little attention. Between her own new body and the continually arriving furries, everything felt surreal. Like stepping into a Disney cartoon, or maybe that creepy rabbit movie Watership Down she'd seen as a child. When a horse-man wearing Mike's dingy flannel shirt and cutoff denim shorts entered, she gaped. "Holy... No wonder!"
He had dusky reddish fur with a black mane and tail, and white feathering over his hooves that had been trimmed back around his hands. He carried himself like Mike, and suddenly a lot of odd habits had an explanation. Like the odd handmade shoes he'd taken to wearing last year. "You're a horse!" Sean sputtered.
"And you're a woman," Mike replied. "And still human? What's up with this, Chuck?"
"I don't know what's going on with her either," Polinsky said. "But we're just waiting for the other shoe to drop. But her paper trail is all taken care of. I double checked everything I have access to."
"What do you mean by that?" Sean said.
"What he means, Serena, is that you'd better start thinking of yourself with that name," Mike said. "You're Serena Frost. Your birth certificate, tax records, credit history, even photographs, every damned thing will show you as a woman. I think it's God's way of telling people like you and Chuck to move on with your lives."
"Whoa. Hold the phone," Sean said. "That doesn't make any sense. If God or whatever can erase all the physical evidence of being a man, why can't he make me think I was always a woman? It'd make life easier!"
The coyote lolled his tongue. "I don't think ROB likes being so... direct. He doesn't alter memories directly. I bet you're feeling pretty good right now, right? Not feeling any panic? Can you look at your face in the mirror and think of that reflection as your own without feeling strange about it? I'm betting you can. I did."
Mike had pulled up a chair and was sitting in it backwards, his tail swishing behind him. He nodded in agreement. "You were pretty well adjusted when I met you, Chuck. You're not exactly an effeminate guy, either. I mean, look at this place."
The new woman gestured for the men to stop. "Whoa, just wait. If I'm going to be Serena, fine. Honestly, looking at you two I'm more scared of walking out of here with rabbit ears than a pair of breasts and all the rest." She smiled brightly. "I can't really explain why but... I know it's going to be different. But that's a good thing. It's not like I was looking for this, but here I am. Serena Frost. And I'm going to find out just who she is. It'll be fun."
"How very glib," Tracy said dryly. Her tail tip swished under her skirt. "Say that again in a year and I'll believe you, 'Serena'. Until then you're still a man in a woman's body." Her ears folded back. "She is going to change again, isn't she? I've never heard of one happening before the other unless they went furry the year before. Never changing sex first. It's freaky seeing Sean like this."
Then I'm a man in a woman's body, Serena thought, mentally shrugging. She scooted out of the booth. "You know what? I'm going to go into the restroom and do jumping jacks with my shirt off. If I start changing into a mole or something I'll shout. Leave me alone for a bit, okay?" she huffed. "I have to pull my thoughts together. Because when you get down to it, I'm not supposed to be a woman and you all aren't supposed to be whatever the hell you are."
Tracy's expression softened. She walked up beside Serena. "Look, I didn't mean to come off so pissy. You're not always going to feel so positive. And there's the slim chance you'll change back next year anyway. If you have any questions, just ask."
"Hey, I can answer 'em, too," Chuck pointed out. The coyote shifted in his seat. "Um, maybe. It's been a while."
More furries were entering. Some of them were obviously new to their forms. It was definitely time to get out of line of sight. Besides, there was the little matter of bladder relief she hadn't felt like mentioning to them. Serena headed for the staff restroom.
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It wasn't her bladder. She just didn't want to feel like she was the star attraction when the next part of the Change hit.
Serena locked the door behind her. The staff restroom was unisex, kept as clean as possible in a place like this. It smelled like pine Lysol and Windex. She kicked off her shoes and yanked off her socks jut as the pressure had become too great to ignore. She dropped her skirt to the floor, followed by panties, but aside from unbuttoning the shirt all the way and loosening the tie, left it on. She wasn't wearing any bra.
The female face in the mirror was already distorted, taking on a triangular shape, like watching Michael Jackson's transformation in "Thriller". The pressure between her buttocks revealed a growing nub of a tail.
So, what's it going to be? Gorilla? No, they don't have tails. Monkey? Mole? Cow? What? she stared at her reflection, sad that the human girl she had only just become was about to vanish beneath a furry shell.
Her fingertips sprouted claws that quickly tucked inwards, enveloped into a hand that developed pinkish pad-like surfaces over her palms and fingertips. Tan-gold fur sprouted over them, irregular black sports emerging on the backs. Distinctly feline paws.
The lights flickered and went out, but the restroom was only dark momentarily before a harsher, battery-powered emergency light came on, illuminating Serena from behind. She probed her mouth with her tongue and found growing canines, top and bottom. Her entire jaw began to shift and push. Serena's ears didn't so much rise as her forehead shrank to meet them as they came up. Her already-black hair remained bound neatly into the ponytail the first change had given her.
Serena's tail extended, longer and longer, as the light from behind silhouetted her slender waist and prominent hips. Her breasts were even a touch larger now. As if the idealized human figure she'd only just gained wasn't enough.
There was commotion from outside, growing voices, and an oddly high-pitched one that only sounded vaguely human. Someone knocked on the door. "Uh... Serena? Are you okay in there?" said Chuck.
"Oh, I'm fine. Just turning into a catgirl. With spots," she said, as if it meant very little.
"Cheetah? Leopard? Something like that?" he said.
I need a drink. Really, really need a drink. "What happened to the power?"
"Don't know yet. But we have a very interesting visitor. I think she's going to cause a stir, even more than you have. Need a few more minutes to finish up?"
The transformation squeezed almost the last of the humanity from Serena's face. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. They glowed green back at her from the mirror. Some kind of leopard, but none she was really familiar with. Serena pulled her panties and skirt back on and made an attempt to button the shirt up, only getting partway before hooking one of her claws in the fabric and almost tearing the silk. She decided it was enough to pull it over her breasts as much a she could and keep her tie between them.
When she opened the door Serena found the entire Red Sox Room full of furries in various states of undress, near-panic, transformation and shocked amazement. PJ Rooney's had somehow become a kind of furry triage. Every local who had changed had flooded in just before the power outage. Chuck looked completely overwhelmed, the coyote wrung his handpaws with concern, claws clicking on the hardwood floors as he went from victim to victim, trying to touch base with everyone like a good host. He rushed over to his employee. "Let me button up that shirt for you. We've got kids in here. And I mean goats. Go open the rest of the bar when I'm finished, will you? I swear you're setting some kind of record for adjusting to this. I'm not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth."
"She's not a horse!" Mike whinnied from across the room, where he sat between four other equines, including a male and female pair of zebras. He towered over even those equines. "And she looks great!"
Chuck carefully buttoned up her shirt. "You're kind of tight in the bust here. I think you went up a cup size or two. You were pretty modest before, honestly."
"What the hell am I?" Serena muttered. Half the room was clustered around someone near the kitchen. Someone with blue skin and... No wonder nobody was talking about her any more. "Is she a dolphin?"
"Having trouble talking, that one," Tracy said, slinking over. She gave her sister feline an appraising look. "Clouded leopard. Welcome to the feline side, sister. We'll have to have a smug-off at some point, but right now I'm having a harder time with another transgender. If you're already so well adjusted, I think she could use your support."
Her charge sat at a two person booth under one of the Budweiser light fixtures and a half dozen autographed pictures of 2004 Red Sox players. She was short, stocky, but curvy and quite well endowed. Somehow her hair had been tied up in braids, each neatly tied at her neck. She had a wide white stripe down the top of her muzzle, starting at her nose, white cheek ruffs, and small triangular ears. She looked up at Serena. "Leopard, right? You have splotches all over you," she said glibly before going back to giving her breasts a careful squeeze with her beclawed fingers. "And I think I'm a badger."
The leopardess extended her hand. "Sean Frost. Though now I guess I'm Serena. That's what it says on my license. I'm a clouded leopard. Don't ask me anything about them since I really haven't a clue."
"I haven't looked at my driver's license yet," the badger replied. "I don't even wanna know. Frankly, the tits are a sideshow. I feel like I'm in Kung Fu Panda, don't you?" She snorted and looked around the room. She covered her nose with one hand and made a sour face. "Smells like an effing zoo in here."
"I didn't catch your name?" Serena said, extending her hand again.
"Oh, right. Bernard Voss. Of course, now it's probably something like Bernadette or Bridget. I've got a purse now. An effing purse! You should see what my apartment looks like now. Scared the shit out of my roomie this morning! He saw me as a chick right away. Even my bedroom looks like a chick lives there. It's like the Universe up and decided I'd look better with tits. And a stubby tail. And fur. And look at this face!" She let go of her breasts long enough to tap the sides of her muzzle. "So much face!"
She had obviously just tossed on whatever clothing was close at hand. A tee shirt that was a size too small and a pair of khaki shorts. Correction. A khaki skirt.
"Um..." Serena took a seat across from her at the booth. She reminded herself that women normally sat with their legs together. But she had no idea what to do with her tail. She curled it around her waist and fumbled for something to say. Everyone who wasn't clustered around the dolphin was off in their own little worlds. The room had begun to go quiet. Serena spoke softly. "So, who did your hair?"
"My roomie. Last night. Before the tits," Bernard replied ruefully. "I had a Bob Marley thing going. He said it looked femmy. Now it really is girl hair. Tracy said that this 'Random Omnipotent Being' made me a female me. I have no idea what that means. It's not something I ever thought about before.
"Honestly, I don't feel like running around in a panic. Guess I need to find out what kind of girl I am." The badger picked up her purse from the seat beside and handed it over. "So, tell me the bad news, Sean-Serena. Bridgette or Bernadette?"
Much like her own, the purse was well-worn and seemed lived in. She fished out the wallet and flipped it open. A black girl was on the photo. "Neither. You're Brooke."
"Fine. I'm Brooke and your Serena. God says so, and I ain't going to argue with Him." Brooke leaned forward and whispered. "Kung Fu Panda, I tell you." "You know, that was a really girly thing to ask, Miss Kitty." She smirked. Clearly that was more a gentle poke than an insult.
"Are you okay?" Serena asked.
"No. I'm just talking to keep my mind off of you-know-what and floating on this buzz they told me about, hoping it doesn't wear off before I'm used to the tits and ass. I'm just glad I'm not alone. If I start talking your kitty ears off, let me know."
Serena noticed Sadie and a couple of the waiters--they were also furries, but it had to be them in those uniforms--moving through the now-quiet crowded room. Sadie was a skunk, and she had actually covered her huge tail in an all-over hairnet. Rosa, the waitress, was a white mouse, and shorter than she appeared before. Not counting her ears, maybe five feet tall. Frank was an affable husky, gray-white with a curly tail.
With everyone quiet, Chuck jumped up on one of the tables. The coyote raised his hands for attention. "Okay, everyone! Since I'm the host here I think I need to say hello. I've got some news about the power outage, too. It's not looking too good outside the Cape, frankly. This year's Change isn't running as smoothly as we hoped.
"First, anyone who's had, ahem, gender issues this morning, we're opening up the Patriots Room after this. Getting really crowded in here."
"No kidding?" Mike said from his growing herd of hoofstock. Horses, deer, and the rest had clustered around him. "Smells like a zoo in here, bud."
Chuck laughed with a low bark. "I know, I know. And there shouldn't be so many of us in one place. Frankly, I didn't expect nearly this many. We'll break up shortly so we don't put too much strain on the Veil.
"Anyway, to sum up. This year's Change isn't happening all at once. Before the power went out I got word on the web that it's happening over several hours. We didn't expect this. And there's a lot of tourists here on the Cape..."
"No kidding?" a goat-man said dryly. His wife was a red squirrel, and their children were both goats. "I want to know is who I've got to knock on their ass to change us back! I'm not going to start eating tin cans!"
Serena's new friend leaned forwards. "And if I hear anyone start singing that stupid 'badger badger badger' song, I'm going to use these pretty new claws of mine," Brooke said, brandishing them.
"The Federal Government knows about this and gave us a bunch of handouts. There's Sleeping Sickness Hotlines you can call and get all the information. And there's instructions on how to access confidential forums. The short of it is that sometime this year President Hutchinson is going public with this. They'll need your name and contact info to make preparations."
"Dude, have you even looked at the TV the last three months?" Brooke said. The media was on a "What if the World Went Furry?" binge. The Discovery Channel had already shown several "What if humans had evolved from X animal" programs already. "That wasn't CGI, was it? And why didn't they show something so I'd know what'd happen if I got ti... if I became a woman?"
Someone who wasn't as tactful spoke up. "Shit, man. It really sucks to be you," he said.
Serena couldn't see him, but from where he stood Chuck did. "That could be you next year, bub. I'd start reading up on how to buy bras, if I were you," he said, only half kidding. The coyote looked around the room. "Are the Meads here somewhere?"
"They wanted a room to themselves and the baby for a few minutes, so I sent them up to your office," Tracy said. "I hope you don't mind, Chuck. She has a baby to nurse."
"No problem, Tracy. We'll break for an hour anyway. It's getting hot in here." Chuck said. "Dinner's on the house, everyone. I encourage you to share notes with the more experienced furs. Serena, I need to talk with both of you. Your lives are even more complicated than everyone else's now."
"No shit!" Brooke replied, loudly, standing up and jiggling her breasts. "To all the ladies in the room, how the hell do you live with these? I could use some help here." Clearly meant as a joke, the comment only got some nervous laughter in response, and a good number of uncomfortable looks. "Tough room," the badger grumped before following Chuck and Serena into one of the currently unused rooms of the sports bar.
"Look, Chuck, I really need to head back to my apartment for a few minutes. Pull myself together. Get a good look at this new anatomy. That sort of thing," Serena said.
"I'm still planning on opening tonight, if the power comes back on. You'll need another uniform because that one's a little mussed up." The coyote looked thoughtful. "The way things are going lately ROB's been very thorough. It wouldn't surprise me if you found your entire wardrobe feminized. It happened to the clothes you were already wearing. But if you don't have another skirt, or you don't want to wear one, I think I've got some slacks your size. And Tracy said she has a spare pair of pawshoes."
"I can answer that question. You should see my closet. It's all chick stuff now." Brooke said. "Yeah, I wouldn't mind stretching my legs either. I think I need to go mess with my roommate's head some more and try and squeeze these goddess-like jugs into a bra."
"We're opening at seven tonight. If you want to call in sick, you don't have to come in. Otherwise, I hope you feel adjusted enough to come to work. Everyone's going to see you as a woman now, Miss Frost. Think hard about what that means. We'll have that talk when you get back."
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With the power still out Serena heard a number of gas-powered generators. Rotating her ears around she was able to pinpoint where they were very well. The air smelled strongly of sea salt and rotting fish. Not a pleasant combination. The streets were mostly empty, with only a few die-hard tourists out in this heat. Brooke fluffed out her shirt and folded her muscular arms over her chest. "Aw, hell. I walked over here thinking they'd be able to cure me. Do you think they can see us? Just how good is that Veil thing anyway?"
"I don't know, but I don't think people are going to be looking at my tail," Serena said, watching a couple of young men across the street. They had paused to watch the two new women. "Maybe after it comes down they will. Guess they were right about humans not seeing us."
"Oh, they see us," Brooke said, discomfited. "I don't know what's worse. That they can't see us as furries, or they actually see us as females. This just gets weirder by the second."
The duo started walking. "What the hell am I going to tell my landlord? Where do you live, anyway?"
"We're already going the right direction. It's a house, actually. I'm just here for the summer. Hell of a vacation, huh?" She chuckled weakly. "So, have you peed yet?"
Serena stopped in her tracks. "That was rather blunt."
"I'm serious, girl. I'm thinking hard about this practical crap. It's not like I'm trying to wax poetic about suddenly having tits and how amazing being a woman is. I've been one for what? Two hours? Less? I'll probably wake up a week from now and scream," she stopped and clapped both hands to her breasts as if for the first time. "'Oh my God! I'm a woman!' or some shit like that. Of course, that's what it says on my driver's license. Maybe I have always been a badgergirl and I was crazy before. Butterfly dreaming he is a man or a man dreaming he's a sexy furry chick and all that. Ha!"
She went on and on like that through the entire walk to Serena's place. Brooke liked to talk. The leopardess wondered if she'd been a chatterbox as a man, or if there were some mental adjustments. All the while the few people on the streets watched the two barefoot girls in bewilderment.
They were only halfway there when the lights in the shops flickered back on. Serena saw an opportunity to get a word in edgewise. "Oh, good! The air conditioning should be back on in my place now."
"Good! This fur is murder in this heat. Are badgers supposed to sweat? Or is that a holdover from our human forms?" Brooke said. Before she got off on yet another tangent, she saw where they were walking. "Wow. You live here? It's like something out of Coraline."
The apartment building was a huge refurbished Victorian house. Every apartment still had its own kitchen and bathrooms. The landlord/owner had her own. Unfortunately the elderly woman was outside, covering her plants with plastic sheeting. The skies in the west were darkening quickly and the wind had picked up. "If you've got anything on your balcony, Serena, you'd better bring it in. We've got a severe t-storm watch," she said, not looking up. Then she paused and made a show of looking confused. "Oh dear. What did I just say? Oh dear. Where did that name come from?"
Mrs. Bailey was in her mid-seventies and very worried about going senile. There was simply no way to hide it. "That is my name now, Mrs. Bailey."
The befuddled old woman looked up. "Oh. Are you Sean's sister?"
"In a way..." Serena replied. When that woman found that all her rental records were under that name, the leopardess was afraid she'd have a heart attack. "In a way, we're closer than that."
Mrs. Bailey, wearing her wide-brimmed straw gardening hat, gloves, and holding a rubber mallet, stood up and gave Serena a sly look. "You do look related. It's in your face. Anyway, did Sean give you a key?"
"I have one."
"Oh, good. He's been sick lately and I guess he called you to help out where he works?"
"Actually Sean turned into a woman this morning and she's just trying to make the best of it," Brooke said glibly, gently patting her friend on the shoulder. "Happened to me, too. I don't think I've ever been so confused! At least we turned out cute. Cuddly, even."
Serena snarled to herself. Brooke, I'm gonna... But instead of getting mad, she decided to get even. "We both went furry, too. She's a badger and I'm a clouded leopard."
Maybe she was going senile. Or maybe she just had a strange sense of humor. Perhaps the Veil was weak for her to begin with. For a moment Serena was afraid the old woman would faint, or scream, or laugh, or shout for help. Anything but what she said next. "It's a small world, isn't it? I'm not going senile, girls. I can see what you are. This Veil of yours never worked for me. Plus, my granddaughter changed as you did this morning. When I remembered you got sick too I was just waiting for the shoe to drop. By the by, your rent's past due, Serena."
It was always due in the middle of the month rather than the end. "I still have to deposit my paycheck, Mrs. Bailey. I'm just... you can see me?"
In response, her landlord took her by the hand then pressed into the pad on the palm. Serena's claws extended neatly. "You're a woman now, yes. But don't forget you're a cat also. You're going to have to decide if one change is more important than the other. You'll eventually have to deal with both, I think. Take it in small bites. You have the teeth, Miss Pretty Kitty.
"The way I see it, as your elder it's my job to help smooth things for you youngsters. Frankly I don't expect I'll live long enough to change myself. Now, if you don't mind I could use some help with my flowerbeds. I'd throw on something for yard work, if I were you. Soil's bad for silk."
Amazingly, the only obvious differences in Serena's apartment were her wardrobe and some of the pictures on the wall. As she doffed her skirt for a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, Serena felt like she'd just been played. Only when she was finished staking down the covers over the flowerbeds surrounding the Victorian apartment building did she head back upstairs.
Hot, sweaty, and panting as they finished just ahead of the approaching storms, Serena fought an urge to lick her dirty handpaws clean the whole way.
There was no way the girls were going anywhere until the thunder stopped.
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"Breasts. Boobs. Jugs. Funbags. Dumplings," Brooke said, looking at the ceiling while sitting in front of one of the two window air conditioners. "Tits. Mammaries..."
Serena had just come out of the bathroom, having finally gotten a good look at herself in the fur. She'd had enough of breasts for now. "Brooke."
"Melons. Airbags."
"Brooke..." Serena folded her ears back in annoyance.
"Thelma and Louise. The Twins."
"Brooke! Stop! Look, I know you're obsessed about your breasts and all, but there's more than that going on here," Serena huffed from across the room at the other bay window. "Forget you're a woman for now, okay?"
"That's like asking Ted Striker if he'll ever get over Macho Grande. You're no fun, Serena," the badger replied petulantly, hands on her hips. Outside the rain came down in torrents, running in rivulets down the window sills and pounding on the roof. "Look, I've used all these words before. I'm just getting a kick that they actually apply to me now." Brooke sighed at her new friend's glare. "Okay, fine. But what else is there?"
The clouded leopardess raised her hands, palms forward, and flexed her fingertips. All ten claws emerged, hooked and obviously sharp. "Right now I'm wondering if they could drag me off to jail for concealing deadly weapons." She raised her lips in a mock-snarl. "And what about these? My entire body is a deadly weapon!"
"And I'm a giant badger chick on two legs. I've got claws, too," Brooke pointed out. She pulled on the corners of her mouth, revealing carnassial teeth of her own. "I'd rather think about the girly bits. I have no idea how to live with being half animal. How we're actually going to live in with a vast number of different species. I don't care if we can still interbreed. We'll still divide ourselves up, like in 'Planet of the Apes'. It's scary, Serena. As women we know where we stand in society, more or less. I'd rather start with what we know. I don't like the idea of inventing social norms as we go along."
Serena considered that. "Are you worried we'll screw things up?"
"What makes you think we haven't already? Look, have you looked at the way our numbers are growing? It's exponential! There just isn't enough time to do this without massive upheaval. We'll be lucky if we don't start eating each other." The badger frowned at the window air conditioner. "When was the last time you put coolant in this thing?"
"Huh?" Serena said, taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. "It's like five years old. I got it after I moved in here after college."
"Well, replace it. You're making the other unit do all the work. I do HVAC repair and maintenance for a living. I have no fucking idea how I'm going to explain this to my boss, but I'd rather tell him that I pulled a Kafka and woke up a woman one morning than the rest of... this." She spread her hands apart. "Tits before tail for me, girlfriend."
"You know, you don't talk like a repairman. Sorry, I mean woman."
Brooke chuckled and scratched an itch on her lower jaw, then combed her fingers through her cornrows. "I majored in social work and sociology, then I found out just how little money there was in the profession. So I apprenticed and learned how to repair heating and air conditioning systems. I'm making sixty dollars and hour and there's always work at this time of year, even in this shitty economy. You?"
"I like mixology. I'm hoping this new nose helps, frankly. There's nothing better than a perfect martini or Bloody Mary. I'm going to start my own bar somewhere, once I can get a business loan."
Raising an imaginary glass, Brooke toasted. "You'll make a great businesswoman. That is, when you're not hunting down small mammals to feed your cubs. Vodka's going to be hard to come by."
"You're so cynical," Serena said, shaking her head. Outside the rain was letting up and the weakening cold front wrung out the remaining moisture. There had been no hail, just a lot of rain and some gusty winds. The power had even stayed on. Of course, now the air was completely saturated and it was near 90 degrees outside.
Serena went back to her closet. It did look like a woman lived in this apartment now, but only barely. There were a few small touches here and there, but whatever supernatural being had made the changes had only put out minimal effort. She was going to have to buy her own bras. Aside from the work uniform skirts, everything else had simply been resized to fit with a bit of lace or a few ruffles added.
"You're going to have to buy tampons," Brooke said from behind the door. "You're going to need them."
Serena packed the bartending uniform in a hangar bag she used for weather like this and dug out something casual. Shorts and a polo shirt that fit rather snugly around her breasts. Buying bras, maybe a dress or two, was a given. First thing tomorrow a trip to the pet store was in order. She flexed her claws again, hands and feet. "I'm going to need some really good clippers."
Clean uniform in handpaw, and feeling like going to work was just the thing to keep her busy enough to take her mind off, Serena grabbed her car keys and drove herself and Brooke back to JP Rooney's.
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By the time she arrived back at work most of the new furries had broken up, going back to their homes or motel rooms, with the tourists wondering if they should try and salvage any of their vacation. The dolphin had a big problem. She was from Florida and loudly insisted there was no way she was going to swim all the way south. There were other furs there in staff uniforms. A shocking number of them. Serena only recognized them by their nametags. The majority of the waitstaff and bartenders were female. Serena felt like an unwilling turncoat.
"Looking good, Serena," Tracy said. She was the only other feline, and her friendly tone of voice was a surprise. "That outfit looks better on you now."
"It's the same old stuff I usually wear," Serena replied. "Just shrunk to fit."
"I know. And you fill it out better. But, no bra?"
"I wasn't supplied with any. Besides, I don't really need one here, do I?" the leopardess pointed out. Since she'd been hired eighteen months ago Chuck had been moving the place in a Hooter direction without losing the formal sharpness. Tight silk blouses and shorter skirts were showing up in the uniform wash now. "Besides, I'm just one of the girls now, right?"
"You're about to get some intense 'on the job training' in that, Serena darling," the cougaress said. "Frankly I think you should go home and do those jumping jacks you talked about earlier."
Serena and Tracy had never spoken much. Not out of dislike per se, just huge indifference. She hadn't been Sean's kind of girl anyway, and they'd never shared more than a few polite words in the months since Serena had started working there. Her human ghost had worn glasses and had a supermodel's body. The reason was obvious now, since Serena shared that "benefit" of the Change.
"I'll be fine, really," Serena insisted. "I'm more worried about accidentally scratching somebody than showing off my breasts."
"Both of those are weapons, in their own right. Let me clip your claws for you at least," Tracy said. "They still leave scratches through the Veil. Be damned careful, you hear me? And I have a pair of paw-shoes you can borrow." She fished some claw clippers out of her purse.
More of the other employees were coming into the break room now, watching the two cats curiously. The humans were obviously wondering who the new girl was, while the furries--a good two dozen of them, mostly women--nodded more politely with only a few smirks.
"Chuck asked me to help you with the grooming," Tracy said. "Once I'm done with you, head to his office. It won't take that long. I don't intend to explain what or how I'm doing. I just need to get you presentable for the bar. You'll be my partner tonight in the Red Sox Room." She tapped her partner on the chest, claws retracted. "Remember that human girl you were earlier. That's what people are going to see."
After all that the cougaress said no more. In the dressing room Serena found the skirt was more practical than the slacks, and cooler anyway. Once she was finished Serena obediently went upstairs to Charles Polinsky's office.
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If Serena had to choose a single word to describe Tracy, that word would be precise. Before every shift she spent an hour inventorying every single bottle displayed behind the counter, making sure she hadn't been shorted. She never needed a jigger/pony cup to measure out portions. Patrons were never shorted, and always got precisely the cocktail they asked for. Her human ghost had a porcelain, untouchable beauty that made her very popular, despite her cocktails' mere technical brilliance.
Before the doors opened Tracy helped Serena straighten her blouse and dust off some imagined piece of lint. "They're not going to be looking at your face, you know," she said.
"You don't need to tell me what men are like," Serena replied. "I'm just going to do my job. So what if I'm a woman now?"
"I'm not going to lecture you. I'm sure you already got an earful from Chuck."
The leopardess flicked her ears. "Boy, did I. Brooke is still up there talking with him. She's really curious about what it's like to come from the other direction." The indecipherable look Brooke had given her as she had headed back downstairs bothered the new woman. She'd only known the badger for a few hours, after all. Not nearly enough time to know that much about her.
She did seem oddly enthusiastic about life as a woman. For Serena, at least for now, would deal with that later. She was more worried about the rest of the sports bar's furry staff. The majority of the thirty people working here were furries, or knew they were working for one. Except for Sean and two others, who had been kept in the dark, since they normally didn't let anyone in on it unless they figured it out for themselves.
Serena felt like a complete idiot for not noticing. It explained so much. Oh well. If you dwell on hindsight too much you don't see what's about to smack you in the face, she thought as the Hostess opened the doors.
The nervous mood of the crowd of regulars and tourists slammed into her. Serena was totally unprepared for the sensory assault. Being able to read the crowd was very important. There were a surprising number of locals who frequented JP Rooney's. And they made up a larger percentage than usual during this tourist season. Today, Serena swore she could smell their worry. It flowed off of them in waves.
"Remember, you're the new girl. So try to act like one," Tracy muttered. The cougaress smiled ferally. "Remember, you're a huntress, not prey." Somehow that wasn't a very reassuring statement. But it was the most friendly tone of voice Serena had ever heard from Tracy. "We're quite a pair, at least our human ghosts are..."
She couldn't say any more or the patrons would overhear. The first to make it to the barstools were obviously a pair of tourists. They both ordered Guinness, then demanded to view the Cubs game.
For the next two hours until she took her break, Serena barely had time to think, let alone respond to anyone ogling her chest. And they obviously were. During one of the few moments of quiet, Tracy whispered, "If you want to go home, be my guest. But you're doing better than I thought you would, for a newbie who got a double-whammy. I think half a dozen guys made a pass at you. You handled them well."
"I wouldn't say that. I just plain ignored them. I was paying more attention to the mood in here." Serena rested her hands on the bar and raised her ears, turning them to listen to snatches of conversation. And the smell. Even the numerous furry employees and miasma alcoholic fumes couldn't obliterate the nervous human odors. Nobody was saying anything, though. There seemed to be less disruption than the previous year's Change, but only because of more secure energy supplies and the already depressed economy.
Serena swished her tail in agitation. The crowd was tense. As if they have already figured out what was happening to the world, but nobody wanted to say anything, for fear of being right. Several of the TVs were on commercial, with the now ubiquitous furry imagery. The clouded leopardess's tail was long enough to curl it up and over her shoulder. She absently started playing with the tip. It needed a brushing.
Tracy gave her a nudge. "I know it's fascinating and feels strange right now, but it looks funny to humans."
"Would you prefer I play with my breasts?"
To Serena's surprise, Tracy actually laughed. But with that, the lull was over and they were back to making cocktails.
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August 28, 2009
There were mice in the kitchen. Serena could smell their droppings, but they had eluded her for a week now. Her body's natural pose for a pounce wasn't too comfortable. Her breasts got squashed and sore after a while, so she tried a crouch, tail lashing behind her, lights off, curtains drawn. Around the apartment she rarely wore more than a thin camisole and a pair of boy-short panties. Even with both air conditioners running it was too hot for a furry. She normally slept in the nude, with no covers, spread-eagled. Air conditioner number three was on order. Brooke had promised one at a huge discount, once the trucks started rolling again.
"Come on you little..." Serena growled, scanning the kitchen floor. Then she started to feel like a cartoon cat waiting for the mouse. But what would she do when she caught it? She was big enough to swallow it whole, bones and all. But that thought repelled her. Maybe she could learn to make mouse stew? Like that guy in that movie Never Cry Wolf Brooke kept talking about. Serena got to her feet again. Ick... just... ick! I'm going to the grocery store.
The World Health Organization and the CDC had declared a Pandemic Alert, like the swine flu earlier in the year, though that one had quickly fizzled. Somehow her gender change had kept her out of the hospital, because God or whatever had basically altered all her records back to the birth certificate that now read Serena Kayla Frost, October 8, 1982. Whether she would have to wear a medalert bracelet was still up in the air. She preferred to go without that kind of stigma. That everyone saw her as Serena, family and friends included, was enough stress.
Even the photos on her hard drive showed that human female now. As for her parents and other family, they still remembered Sean. And they weren't taking the Change well.
"Give it time," Chuck had said. "It's a greater shock to them than yourself. My mother still doesn't accept the 'loss' of her daughter."
Serena had awoken at an early hour for her. Nine in the morning, since she needed to run several errands she'd delayed since one trip to Target with Brooke and Tracy to fill out her wardrobe. Tracy had been very helpful, explaining how bras fit and which were most comfortable with furry breasts. The two felines spent a lot of time together both during and after work. Last weekend Tracy had driven them up into Boston to window shop on Newbury Street. There was little else they could do, unfortunately. The world had shut down for almost ten days and was only now returning to some semblance of normal.
Tracy was leading her gently into womanhood, only moving as fast as Serena was comfortable with. It was the strangest friendship Serena could think of. Mutual indifference had been blasted out of the water. They were the only two felines on JP Rooney's staff, for one thing. Then Serena had asked Tracy point blank if it was because she was a woman now, also.
With her characteristic precision, she had answered yes. "No offense, but we had nothing in common before. I mean, nothing," she had said a week before. The bar had been closed (to humans, at least) during the national shutdown.
"I get a pair of ovaries and suddenly we're inseparable?" Serena had replied without malice. Having friends was a good thing.
"Look, Serena, I've never been able to relate to men. It's a personal failing. Some women can read them like an open book, but I just lack the skill. So once you became a woman also, something clicked in me. I can't explain it," was her apologetic reply. "You're a fascinating woman to be around. I honestly enjoy showing you and Brooke the ins and outs of being one. Frankly, you already act more feminine than you realize. I'm liking what I see. Maybe it's the hormones."
It was better to let bygones be bygones, they had decided. Between the cougaress and Brooke, Serena had plenty of new friends to get through these tough times.
As for the old friends? A problem to solve later. Maybe they'd all change sex, too. Serena admitted she'd get a real kick out of that. And her friendship with Mike hadn't changed at all. She had spent one of the days of the shutdown helping him with a 1986 Cadillac Fleetwood for a fur in Boston.
Besides, being an anthropomorphized clouded leopardess was proving to be a much bigger problem.
Problem number one, grooming. While she didn't have the stereotypical feline aversion to water, humid New England summers were not conducive to drying off after a shower. While shaving her legs was certainly not an issue, most furries had retained some percentage of their sweat glands. This kept them cool, but made their fur matted and smelly if they stayed outside for any amount of time. There were solutions to that, though. Serena was about to get her fur thinned out.
Serena put on a cool almost-backless halter top with a built-in bra, and a short denim skirt borrowed from Tracy. She hated it having to expose so much "skin" as humans would see, but it was strictly for hot weather comfort and not showing off. Skirts were cooler and didn't need modification for her tail. She shouldered her purse when her cell phone buzzed inside. Fishing it out from next to the lint brush, she flipped it open. It wasn't anyone on her calling list, but she answered with her full name rather than her initials. "Hello? This is Serena Frost."
"Miss Frost. Hello there," came the friendly male reply. "I'm Richard Sobel with the Boston Globe. I've learned that on the first day of the Sleeping Sickness outbreak a group of previous victims of the disease gathered at your workplace. There were also several people there who had freshly recovered from that illness on that very day. Could you comment on that?"
Shit, she thought. Somebody must have spilled the beans somewhere. "Have you tried contacting my employer, Mr. Sobel? You should really speak with him."
"Did you contract Sleeping Sickness, Ms. Frost? If so, what variant? I understand there are several dozen types with various animal side effects. Some are blaming this disease for the swine flu outbreak earlier this year, as there is a porcine variant."
"I really don't have time right now, Mr. Sobel. I have errands to run and a twelve hour shift ahead of me," Serena said, trying to be firm.
His tone of voice changed immediately. "I understand, Miss Frost. I'll contact you another time." He hung up.
"Okay. That was way too easy." The last thing she needed was some Intrepid Reporter poking his nose into her life. There had been rumors of real furries and especially the transgendered types flying around for years. Impossible for the government to contain. Twitter had been down for almost a week because of "server overload" but was back up again. She took a moment to smooth out her skirt.
There was another good reason for the skirt, and for that she was thankful. The now-yearly decay of the Veil was continuing apace, and many furries had some very difficult-to-explain clothing modifications in addition to the weird shoes they had to wear. She knew that there were large numbers of furs in the media, but it was a sword of Damocles over everyone's head. The government planned to go public with this in a little less than a year, but...
There was no place on Cape Cod discreet enough for the grooming she needed. She grabbed her purse and headed out to the Honda CR-X Mike had given her. Unlike her Civic SI hatchback, this one had seats modified for furs, with a tail hole in the back. Mike actually had a strong business in modifying vehicles in that regard, in addition to giving old cars "reFURbishment" as he'd called it. It ran well, and since gasoline had temporarily jumped back up to six dollars a gallon during the shutdown, seventy miles per gallon came in very handy.
After a thirty minute drive she arrived in Plymouth, her windshield-mounted GPS giving its stilted directions to the groomer's. It was somebody's house, and impossible to miss. There were cars parked up and down the street, and at least a dozen furries standing on the front porch. I'm glad I made an appointment, Serena thought.
The majority of furs ended up some species native to the continent. Serena's Chinese ancestry had made her what she was, since her species was native to southeast Asia. Those waiting included several deer, a tabby housecat, a bear, two rats, and another badger. This time male, so it couldn't be Brooke. Serena parked, then drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Chuck had told her point blank that "licking yourself doesn't constitute a bath" and said that unless she wanted her hours cut, she needed to come here.
Serena nodded hello to the others waiting out front, and headed inside for her appointment.
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"I am never, ever going back there," Serena complained to Tracy during their dinner break. Upon entering she'd discovered why everyone waited outside in the muggy heat. The indoors had smelled like her grandmother's living room, full of clashing sweet odors from vanilla oil and simmering floral-fruit potpourri. It was like stepping inside of a fruitcake. The women running the grooming service were a trio of Veil-free humans in their mid-50s and completely unaware that their clients had far better noses than they did.
They were friendly at first, complimenting her on her new spots, gorgeous hair, and stunning figure. "Then I introduced myself using my initials, like the other transgendered furs do. They gave me this astonished look, and their demeanor changed instantly." Serena paused and folded her ears back and took a hungry bite out of her hot dog, scissoring it savagely with her carnivore teeth. "I'm never doing that again. I've never been so patronized!"
"I've done all my own grooming," Tracy replied. She wrinkled her nose at the cloying strawberry odor that surrounded her friend, pausing to take a sip of ale. "What happened next?"
Serena described the assembly line nature of the grooming in the basement. Clothes off, then a ten minute soak-and-scrub in a modified hot tub in the back yard. Next, the excess water was toweled off. Then came the MacGyvered dryer setup. A half dozen pet dryers on a shelf did the job in fifteen minutes, but left her all frizzed out. She'd needed help to brush herself down enough to fit back into her clothes. "That strawberry flea shampoo is horrible. It's going to take weeks to get rid of it," Serena grumbled. "But here's the worst humiliation. The absolute worst."
The leopardess stood up, then leaned forward with her hands on her knees. "They gave me a look like I was a six year old girl and said, and I quote," she switched to a cutsey tone of voice. "'You're a pretty kitty! Yes you are!'" Serena snarled. "It's like they thought I was some kind of pervert because I am what I am now. It cost me seventy five bucks!"
Tracy groaned. "What a waste. If I'd known you were going I would've invited you over to my place. That shampoo is pretty ripe. I'm sorry they were so insulting."
Serena picked up a breadstick and broke it in half before devouring it and patting Tracy on the shoulder. "Don't apologize. It's not your fault, Tracy. But I'm never going use my initials again. I don't want anyone--or anyfur--to know I was a man before August 17th. I just don't want the baggage. So from here on out I'm Serena Frost, just like my birth certificate says. I'd rather be thought of as a just another catgirl than endure that kind of prejudice again. And I'm not even going to try and act feminine. I'll just do what comes naturally." She poked her tawny friend's shoulder and gave it an affectionate stroke. "Besides, I have a good teacher for the girly stuff."
The other feline nodded. "I think you're on the right track. But Serena, there's no pressure here, even from me. You don't have to act like a pink feminine flower anyway. You'll pick up what works for you." She checked the clock on the wall. "We'd better get back down and reopen the bar. It's heavy down there tonight."
Since they worked such long shifts the bartenders all got ninety minutes of break time during the day. There were four full bars in the building, and there were normally three open at the same time. It was now just after nine in the evening. The two cats had taken one of the later dinner breaks. The sports bar was as crowded as Serena had ever seen it. Chuck was overjoyed and had called in additional help. The only issue was supplies, since not everything was back up and running yet.
"How much rum did we have left before we closed up?" Serena asked. Rum-and-Cokes were very popular tonight.
"One bottle of Bacardi and two of Captain Morgan," Tracy replied. "I think we can persuade more patrons into the highballers. It'll keep them from getting rowdy anyway. That is, if we use the right kind of persuasion." The tawny cat smiled, then undid the top two buttons of her blouse.
Serena smirked. "Here I thought you didn't know how to read men."
"I don't, really, but I know how to make them read me the way I want them to. A little more cleavage, the right tone of voice, and you can talk them into almost anything. Just watch out for the girlfriends. We'll get an earful."
Since three quarters of the bar's patrons were men anyway, there wasn't that much danger. Serena chuckled and did likewise, going one button lower, and the cleavage limit Chuck would allow.
There was a familiar face waiting when they returned. "Brooke!" Serena exclaimed in relief, giving the female badger a hug from behind where she sat on the barstool. "Where have you been for three days? I've been worried."
"Oh, here and there," Brooke said. "Rum and Coke, if you please milady."
The patrons here were all dressed casually. Tank tops, tee shirts, baseball hats, on the men, and summer dresses for the minority of women who frequented the bar. Brooke stood out in her stereotypical little black dress. Her hair had been redone from cornrows to a rather fancy hairdo with a silver comb holding the weave together. There was an obvious masculine odor mixed in with her normal scent.
"Give me a couple minutes, okay? Let me get these barhounds satisfied and we can chat," Serena said.
It was actually starting to quiet down a little now, since all four bars were open. Serena had spent part of her lunch hour counting her tips, which had gone up by fully a third over before her Change. There weren't many orders to fill. The clientele were too busy watching their games, or had a pleasant buzz on.
"You've been to Frederick's," Tracy observed, eyeing the deep neckline with heaps of cleavage and short hem. "And with another fur."
Serena picked up Tracy's meaning. "You went out on a date? Isn't that a little fast?"
Brooke's expression lacked enthusiasm as she stirred her highball glass of fizzing cocktail. She hadn't touched it yet. "I figured that if I was going to bite Eve's apple I might as well eat the whole thing. Yeah, I found this guy--an otter--and we... uh... we..." she looked askance at Tracy. "I think I know too much, too soon now."
"Oh dear. You wouldn't be the first to go that far so soon after a Change, Brooke," Tracy said. She turned to Serena. "Can you handle the bar by yourself for a while, sis? I think I need to play Big Sister for a while."
The leopardess stared at Brooke, who looked very embarrassed and couldn't look at her in the eye. The dressed-up badger sucked up half her drink in one go before Tracy went around front and led her away for a woman-to-woman chat.
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They still hadn't returned by ten, but after the early rush people were starting to filter home. From where Serena stood, she could see the Hostess at the front door. She was cleaning off the bar when one of the female patrons nudged her. "Get a load of Clark Kent," she said.
A tall man with conservative brown hair, wearing a dress shirt and a fedora had entered. He scanned the diminished crowd, then caught her eye. A flash of recognition crossed his face. He removed his hat and approached the Red Sox Room.
Who the hell could he be? Serena thought. There was no sense in pretending she hadn't seen him. So when he sat down on an open barstool she just smiled. "So, what'll you have, mister?"
"Miss Frost, I'm Richard Sobel," he said.
Serena didn't back off. There was a strong possibility he could see through the Veil. "Okay, Mr. Sobel. That's me. How did you know what I look like?"
"I Googled your name and found your account on Flickr," he replied.
All those pictures were public. Vacation photos, mostly. It made sense that her account name and any photos of Sean would have been changed also. Still... "That... is really crass, Mr. Sobel."
"Call me Rich, please," he continued in a voice that dripped with honey and a note of apology. He didn't make any comment about her appearance, oddly enough. "This isn't about the story I called about earlier, Miss Frost. It's more a personal matter. Can we talk somewhere private?"
"Let me think about that," Serena replied, repressing a growl. "Are you going to sit there looking at my chest or buy a drink?"
Sobel actually blushed. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm driving so I'll just have a regular Coke."
Chapter 1 
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Chapter 1 
