Lightning - 9 - The Night District (Patreon)

Lane introduces Trevor to the Castleton "Night District", which I totally didn't base on Final Fantasy 7, hahaha that's definitely - okay fine I was inspired by Final Fantasy 7 Remake's night district. Anyway, some very interesting things happen there!

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Lightning

Ch 9 - The Night District

By H. A. Kirsch

—

After lunch on that unexpectedly momentous Tuesday, Trevor was zoning out after having done more go-fer work around the warehouse. He had intended to practice whatever he was actually doing when he was ‘seeing charges’ while Altius and Lane fretted about with their battery, though the pair’s increasingly energetic and then argumentative behavior as it once again began to malfunction and drain itself made him take his leave so he wasn’t the odd one out in the room.

His usual weariness rushed in and he found himself on the edge of dozing off in one of the unoccupied experimental rooms. He actually did seem to fall asleep, though he was very still aware of his own body and his breathing, and the blue haze of whatever natural charges existed became an entire mist that surrounded him. I’m having a waking dream. This used to happen right after I was struck. He felt as if he could deepen into it by focusing properly, and pull back by mentally turning away, while all of his other thoughts and imaginings swirled around him like a flock of surrounding and yet distant birds. He turned his head without turning his head, and he could see a significant glow over to the other room, as well as some intermittent orange glow as the others experimented-

WHACK!

He jolted awake to a black shape right in front of him. What hit me!!!  Nothing had hit him, though a black leather-gloved fist was planted on the wall above his head where he had sunk to his knees in reverie.

“You wore it last night,” Fitch said, looming down over him. “I can smell it.”

Trevor’s heart pounded, not only from being jolted out of his accidental meditation, and he felt just as helplessly aroused as he had earlier during his bolt-throwing daydream. “Y-your note said to.” He did not look up to make eye contact, and instead looked down. As per usual, Fitch wore knee-high boots, these the rougher and more sturdy ones he seemed to favor at the lab, which buckled up the outsides of each calf.

“Did you finish?” Fitch flexed his foot inside his boot.

“Wh… what kind of question is that?”

Fitch picked his boot up and stepped on Trevor’s squat-bent knee, which meant stepping upon his furry hand. “Did you finish while wearing it?”

Trevor squirmed his hand; Fitch twisted his foot. I’m going to finish right now and then I’m going to cry, he thought. “N-no. I didn’t want to y-yet.”

“What do you mean, ‘yet’? I gave it to you to wear.” Fitch looked around, and swiveled an ear; Lane and Altius were still having an overheated discussion about whether Lane was preparing corrosive acids while testing out his own mind-screwing drugs or whether Altius had dullheaded naffy designs for the grid connections. As fast as their argument had arisen, it turned once more to whether the wire puller could solve their problems. The pair seemed oblivious to what was happening two rooms down. “Wear means enjoy. Wear means practice parading around like a wilted slave dog.”

“You… this Saturday… my…” Trevor said, fixated on the curve of the black leather boot’s instep. Lick it. No, don’t lick it, he’ll tell you not to do it in public. Lick it, it’s just like Marshall. Don’t lick it, he’ll stalk you even more.

“That outfit is for you to wear out. The one I just gave you is for you to wear in. Why are you staring at my foot when I’m talking to you? Don’t act so whipped.”

Oh god he’s going to whip me. Trevor whimpered at the thought.

“I know what you want,” Fitch asked, growled, and then unfurled his tongue over his front teeth. What on earth is he- A wave of slobber overcame Fitch’s pink tongue and rolled off, hung down in a luxurious strand, then broke and landed on his own boot toe with a splat. “Lick it up, or they’ll think I’ve gone rabid.”

Maybe you have, Trevor thought, then leaned his face down and licked. Fitch’s spit tasted sour and meaty. He licked again, and again, and rubbed his lips and whiskers against the leather, until there was no evidence of anything there and his muzzle felt mussed.

Fitch reached out and caressed his snout, and Trevor pinned his head back against the wall out of fear of being struck first. When it didn’t come, he whimpered again, this time out of lust, as he nosed back against the glove leather. Fitch groomed his fur back, then let go and sniffed at his own hand. “You should go over there and use that thing you do to figure out what they keep screwing up. Listening to them yap in circles makes me want to pour that acid all over myself.” The panther then pulled his boot away and walked off.

Trevor very much thanked himself for wearing fairly rough-dress deerskin pants, as there was no indication of just how wet his groin felt on the inside from his terrified excitement. A few moments after the black cat had left, he got up, steeled himself, and went to see Lane and Altius.

“Ahh, where have you been? Lane said you said somethin’ about the battery the other day,” Altius said, standing with his elsap-gloved hands on his hips. He looked ready to plunge his hands into something disgusting.

Hmm. I think I like those- no, he is your boss, Trevor. “I…” Trevor closed his eyes and gazed over at the battery. As before, one of the connection grids glowed blue with static charge, and the insides of the jars churned. “Can I get closer? It can’t possibly be as dangerous as the energizer.” Altius nodded, and he leaned in close to one of the jars, braced on the table, and closed his eyes. The charge inside flowed about between the two metal plates, and made a faint orange magnetic field as well. “That’s… interesting. There is electrical flow just inside the liquid, between the metal. It looks a little like a pool of murky water that’s been disturbed. Doesn’t this acid eat the metal over time?”

“Yes, I’ve had it eat the plates apart entirely when I got the concentration wrong, or when we connected the two output prongs together to see what happened. They grew quite hot, and after all that fizzing, they fell apart inside the jars.

Trevor looked with his regular sight. The plates looked messy with whitish substance, and there was some sediment in the bottom. “If it’s dissolving the plates, where is the metal going?”

“It… dissolves,” Lane said.

Trevor tried to recall some of his Practical Alchemy studies. “It looks like the surface gets flaky. What if it doesn’t all dissolve? What if some of it just stays as bigger particles in the acid stuff? If the metal conducts electricity, then the more of it that dissolves in the acid, the more it will… self-conduct, or uh, self-discharge, I guess? I mean, it’s doing that, I can see it doing that, I’m just making a wild guess as to why. Or perhaps the acid conducts electricity. Do you have a good way to tell if something conducts?”

“Not without subjecting it to an energizer and seeing if the spark can travel. Or, I suppose, using a connite tube and a spare jar. Ahh!” Altius, still gloved, disconnected one of the jars despite Lane’s rush to try and stop him. “These two plates are different metals. This one is th’same as the metal we use for the grid connections, and for that massive cable. Let’s see…”  He stuck the prong from a connite tube into the jar instead of its original plate, and then put the jar at the head of the device. “Now they have the same metal in there, so it won’t try an’ charge back through it. Maybe.” He then touched the other end of the connite tube, and the other plate connection, to the grid output prongs.

The connite glowed dimly. Trevor closed his eyes and could watch the blue charge flow and the orange magnetic field, though it was quite less than when the tube was connected directly, even with one jar missing.

“Well!” Altius grabbed for his notebook. “We shall now find out how to avoid that! Again, boy, you are more than jus’ a pair of hands!”

Trevor looked down at his hands and flexed them, and wished he’d left his elsap gloves on.

—

As Trevor was about to leave for the day, Lane stopped him. “Hey, do you want to have an experience?”

The maned wolf put his ears flat back. “Oh no, what now?”

The hairless cat laughed. “It’s nothing drugged! Well, not exactly. I’m planning to go down to the night district, for a few reasons. And I figured you might want to come along and see what it’s about.”

Trevor looked pensive. “I’m not really into breasts,” he said.

Lane laughed so hard that he choked, and had to spit. “Well, I guess I asked for that one. It’s not just prostitute women. It’s also…it’s a whole lot of stuff. I have a, ahh, delivery to make. And true, I do want to find some entertainment, though it is an entire night market as well. You could have soul cards done, eat something unusual, drink something that glows in the dark, and there are… ahh, there are men there, for hire, as well.”  The cat looked a little sweaty with the discussion, as if uncomfortable, embarrassed, or just nervous.

“I also look like a… Fitch said I look like a feed-store clerk. I don’t have any nicer clothing to wear.”

“I almost forgot!” Altius burst in, walked up to Lane and Fitch, and dropped a small coin bag on each of their heads, then tore back out of the room as fast as he arrived. “Fitch, come get your money!” he then called out across the warehouse, which was followed by a loud panther rowrl and a door slam.

“Oh! It’s payday. Looks like you can buy whatever you want. On that bit of a stipend. And whatever I have left after I allocate some donation back to our effort here. Although I suppose now that Mister Horse is going to throw money at us, maybe I won’t have to do that any more.” He looked momentarily wistful, then shrugged it off. “That’s silly. I’ll do it anyway. So, come with me. Or you can go back to your apartment and smoke dullweed and stroke yourself looking out the window or whatever.”

“I.. what? I don’t do that!” Curse Sayrah why can’t we do this on Saturday after I’ve picked up my outfit from Fitch. Ahh, I will probably be whipped raw after playing slave cabin boy. “Fine. I suppose I should get out more or I’ll grow dull.” If I get dull then Fitch will really have to whip me into shape.

—

Their trip involved Lane going down the block to hire a carriage off the main street that went up and off to the more central parts of town, a process that involved him waving frantically at several different ones that went by before one actually stopped.

The reason for the carriage was not that the night district was far away as much as Lane had luggage. “Don’t worry, this isn’t coming back with us. I practice a little logistics - raw materials come to me in here, I send product back.”

Trevor leaned in close to him as they sat in the back seat of the carriage and bounced down the cobbled streets once they got out of the dirt-street industrial district. “Shouldn’t you be quiet?” He whispered down to Lane’s ear.

“No,” Lane said quietly back up, “Not so much. This sort of thing is not entirely legal and not entirely criminal. The night district exists to allow many things to happen in a consistent place so they don’t happen everywhere all out of sight and with no mind.”

“Huh, we don’t have anything like that back home, although Potterston isn’t very big.”

“It will either grow or it will shrink to nothing - that omni-train rail is going right up past there, once they finish it soon.”

Trevor had never heard of such a thing before that moment, certainly not from anyone in Potterston. Of course not, you dullhead. You specifically avoid everyone and everything and sleep in your - ahh, you only did the soup thing once, didn’t you. “Oh. That’s ominous.” He then squinted. “That’s omni-ous.”

Lane sputtered. “Have you already screwed your mind while I wasn’t looking? Anyway, I am a fan of the night market, and it isn’t just because I’m an unusual cat, and it isn’t because of my little hobby hustle. It isn’t even because I’m horny as all get out, which, mind you, I try to keep inside unlike some people.”

Trevor’s ears burned hot. “Hmm?”

“Petrie.”

Trevor’s ears burned for an entirely different reason. “I wouldn’t mind seeing that Sandy around. Not for her breasts! She just seemed hardy. A lot of the people around here look like they’d fall flat if they stepped on a bug and saw it splat out. At least people who aren’t doing all the tough work where we are.”

They pulled up down a relatively dim and disused street. Once there was no more clop and clatter, Trevor clearly heard the faint whistle of breeze through lines and a few cries of nightgulls. “Are we near the harbor?” He hadn’t been paying attention.

“It’s a couple of blocks over that way.” Lane pointed, tipped the driver, and hauled his black leatherbound case out. It was as large as Trevor’s traveling suitcase, and seemed heavier. “And the night market is just around the corner here. I’m dropping this off first in someone’s back alley, because I am not going to haul it around with me and neither are you. Come on,” he said.

They went further down the alley, which grew dimmer and dimmer as there was only one gas light and it was out at the street. It did not seem safe by any stretch of the imagination, not the least because someone appeared to be sleeping under a canvas next to some crates. Each of the buildings had a cellar down a few steps. Lane kicked a stone down one of them and it hit the wooden door with a bang. “Hey, wotsit,” someone said from the other side. Lane kicked another stone. “Fuck ye’all up and off,” the person yelled again. Trevor put his ears down; Lane perked his up and lifted his brow spots, then kicked another one again. “That’s it!”

Clack, went the latch, and to Trevor’s surprise, another corgi dog opened the door. “Aye ye’all are before time! What,” the dog took out spectacles and pinched them onto his muzzle, “is that?” He pointed to Trevor.

“Hello,” Trevor said, quietly. “I’m his hired muscle.”

“Ack my third leg has more muscle’n yer whole self!” The dog said, then laughed heartily. The person sleeping rough did no more than snore several feet away. “Awright, ye got it?”

“Well if I don’t, Ralph, then I have been carrying around eighty pounds of stones and I’ve swindled myself,” Lane said, and grunted as he went down the stairs with the case. He set it down flat and the corgi immediately opened it up, using another magnet wand like was used to expose Lane’s secret laboratory. Inside were a series of corked and glass-stoppered bottles, along with an array of what looked like fine cigars, nestled in hay by way of a velvet sheet. A piece of wood had been latched down on top of them to keep them from moving about. A note paper was lined with an inventory of the contents.

The corgi seemed unafraid of showing them off to anyone who could see, which at the moment was just Trevor. “Aye, seems right.” He counted them several times over, then consulted a small leatherbound book. He took up a coin bag and handed it over. Then he looked up at Trevor and squinted. His eyes looked comically large behind the lenses. “A Galean!” He then laughed and uttered a stream of Galean nonsense.

“I’m not actually, I mean, I’m a sort of a farm boy, down from Potterston-”

“He’s working with our egglayer,” Lane said.

“Aha! Ye naffy lot and yer whizzy scratch-bolts. Whoop, ah won’t talk of that. Right, about to open up for the night, thank ye’all kind,” the corgi said, closed the case, and dragged it out of view and then shut the door.

“And that’s that,” Lane said, and dusted his half-gloved hands off. “Now, on to some actual fun.” As they walked back out to the street, Trevor noticed that the man sleeping rough had something glinting just sticking out from the canvas.

“Oh no,” he said, and grabbed Lane by the forearm.

“Eh?” Lane turned and looked. Then, he stepped over and kicked the canvas. “Canyk, your dagger’s showing again.”

“Aww fuck what,” the person said, and moved the canvas out of the way. They were not at all a street person, instead wearing a raw black leather ensemble and a black knit hood that exposed a shepherd dog muzzle along with a strange gray symbol on the breast. He was not asleep in the slightest, nor very surprised. “Ey Lane, no problems with that mutt?” If he had been lying on the ground without the canvas, he would have been invisible in the mostly unlit alley - the outfit looked fit for sneaking.

“None at all. You’ve been practicing your snoring.”

“Right then, carry on,” the unusually attired dog said, and pulled his canvas back up.

Lane grinned at Trevor. “Hired security. You wouldn’t believe the amount of coin that goes through Ralph’s shop.”

The business that they’d just gone to the back alley for didn’t seem to come out onto a street they could get to, as there was a wall a short distance back from the sidewalk. That’s the wall I could see next to the harbor! Trevor though.

They went down a little further, and there was a huge gate with two wolves stationed at it, looking bored. A steady trickle of people were heading into and out of the gate, and a few carriages were waiting about for people who were leaving.

“This doesn’t seem like much,” Trevor said, as they walked through the gate. “Just another alley- oh.” The alley intentionally hid the area ahead from outside view. It opened up into a huge market square that bustled with people, lit by gas lights at the edges and all manner of colored lanterns and torches at various stalls. Out around the perimeter were shops and bars and inns, and there were a few small establishments in each quadrant of the big square that were only one story high and had fenced patios on the roofs with people.

“This is just the market, there are a few alleys that go off to the sides. Most of the companion houses are off on those, and some fancier shops around the edges.” Lane gestured around. “As for the market, well, you can buy all kinds of things. There are a couple of tailors and clothing traders, there’s exotic food you won’t get elsewhere - especially if you want to get,” he then gagged slightly, “Caroyan food.”

Trevor had nothing to compare the night market to, except that it was an astonishing melange of people. Workers in simple utility garb, sailors in their heavy boots and braided-off headfur and ruffs, men and women in shockingly high-class attire, more in shockingly little attire, and for once, not one child. The air was rich with incense and spice tobacco, not to mention dullweed and faint whiffs of orangey grace pollen. There were several vendors selling liquors to be had on the spot while wandering around, and one of them - true to what Lane had said earlier - glowed green under its own power. He closed his eyes and saw nothing interesting about it; the glow must have been some other reaction.

“I don’t know what to do,” the maned wolf said quietly. “It’s a bit much.”

“Did you look at what Altius gave you? I think we all got some extra, and the apartments are paid for already. That’s an entire story in itself. Anyway, he must be anticipating all that extra funding. You should treat yourself. Weren’t you complaining that you dress plainly? Look around you - I bet half of these people bought their things here. I like how it… it equalizes things a bit. Of course if you’re extra rich, you can do special extra rich things, though otherwise, everyone is here for a good or ‘bad’ time. There are, however, a lot of pirates and more legitimate privateers - the other entrance into here is from the harbor. I would be a little careful of any group that are is all dressed the same.”

I don’t know if I should tell Lane that Fitch is making me an outfit. Maybe I should have worn the one he gave me for bedroom use. Maybe people would mistake me for a Galean prostitute and give me even more money.  “Hmm. Maybe.”

“Let’s at least wander through everything out here first. I wouldn’t mind some food. I’m partial to the ‘things on a stick’ type of meal,” Lane said, and led the way. Similar to the festival, they soon encountered a Galean barbeque stall, whose proprietor swung a sword out over the walk and several patrons immediately stopped for the ‘handout’. This time, it wasn’t steak, but seasoned lamb. Trevor slipped behind Lane, gripped him around his midsection hard, and hefted him right off his feet. “What are you doing!?” The cat yowled, as he was suddenly up higher than everyone and mouth level with the ‘best meat.’ “Oh!” He quickly snatched it in his mouth and twisted his head to pull it off the sword; just like before, a rousing bit of Galean babble and a few claps.

Trevor set him down and Lane quickly held the meat as he nibbled at it. “It’sno fair if I’m always the one to get it. I’m always taller than everyone.”

“I think you’re supposed to jump, but I’ve never seen anyone who wasn’t Galean do it. They usually just lower it down after a few moments. Look at those,” he said, and pointed to a stall selling shockingly visible cross-sashes and vests. “You could wear that as an emergency flare on a sailing ship.” The aforementioned garments were made of some type of metallic sequin and the slightest breeze made them scintillate in the torchlights.

“I’m not sure I’m that garish,” Trevor said. “I’m not even colorful, I’m just grey.”

“That’s the entire point,” Lane laughed. “Look at me! I’m wearing a green coat and I otherwise look like a worn leather bag shaped like a cat.” Lane indeed wore a green riding jacket, burgundy pants, and his usual dark brown tall boots.

They passed the glowing drink vendor, and Trevor paid up the five coins to get one. It was served in a tall crystal flute, and tasted like the most piney gin he had ever had. He wheezed and coughed after downing it in one slurp like the ermine vendor suggested, then wiped his muzzle. To his slight horror, it continued glowing on his fingertips. “What? It’s still lit?”

Lane gave him the friendly clap. “You should see the latrines after a busy night at the market. You could read a book by the light coming up between your legs. The glow goes right through you.”

Trevor looked even more horrified. “That cannot possibly be safe!”

Lane shrugged. “It’s very popular. The taste really sticks with you on your breath. I’ve seen people sip it while… well. While kissing, openly, and also a little drizzle down below makes it easy to see. I personally think that’s a bit… it’s not quite my thing.”

“That would burn! It’s alcohol!” Trevor laughed.

“That’s what the cloves are for.”

They continued wandering, snacking, and had a round of ales before approaching one of the alleyways. There was a shop there, and they featured what looked like very esoteric riding clothes. “Ahh, I could get a new cloak,” Trevor said, and wandered in.

“Go back in this alley and turn right, and there’ll be a place right there called The Emerald Rapier. I’ll be hanging out in there; trust me, it’s nothing strange. It’s a pub.” Lane then clapped him on the shoulder and went on ahead.

Despite the promise of a new outfit from the viciously mysterious panther, the shop Trevor entered held his immediate attention. Not only did it have several different - completely different - riding cloaks on display, but the attendant was another dark-fur Galean maned wolf. She was much darker than Trevor, so much so that the usual black saddle patterning that rose up the mane was indistinguishable from the rest of her pelt.

“I don’t speak Galean, so you know,” Trevor said right away, to avoid the knowing rush of unfamiliar words.

She immediately stepped up to him and took his hand, held it with her fingers curved beneath his palm, and then pulled it slowly forward and let it rest down onto her forearm. She wore a leather cross-sash and black riding pants, though only heeled sandals. “Forgive this rudeness, but you are abandoned?”

“Huh? Oh, my friend just went around to the corner,”

“No, I hear that, I mean you. You do not speak Galean, and you are dark-furred like me.”

His eyes went wide and his ears grew terribly hot. “Yes, I think… I was adopted by easterners.”

She made a snapping sound and then a soft, high bark. “I hate that Chantries shit that rolled down-hill into our land,” she said. “You want a cloak? I pick one for you. On one condition. I read your heart.”

That’s why he left me here! Figures. Lane is probably allergic to fantasy like this. “I’ve never done that before, but okay. Sure.”

“Come,” she said, and closed the door to the shop, then led him back through a jeweled hanging curtain. He expected something exotic, and actually just found the back area of the shop which was laden with clothing and storage. There was a small office nook, and she took him in to sit down. He sat on a chair across a small table from the other guara, who turned and removed an object from a storage cubby and sat it between them. At first glance, Trevor thought it was a metal sphere, and then his brain felt squeezed as he tried to make sense of what shape it really was as he looked into it.

“You are reluctant and you still said yes,” she said, and took something else out, a short stick of incense the length of her smallest finger, slightly wider at the bottom than the top.

“My uh.. My aunt always told me that fortune-telling was for people who want to believe whatever people tell them, and pay for the privilege.” As he spoke, he heard Helena’s deadpan exhausted voice explaining it to him for the umpteenth time. He then felt a pang of homesickness.

“You won’t pay for this, or for the cloak you want. I won’t steal your money with your eyes closed, either. I do this because it runs in my family.” She opened a hurricane lamp and wafted the incense over the flame, puffed it out when it caught alight, and placed it into the object.

The reason it looked inscrutable was that while it was generally a sphere, the top portion was hollow and had a wide hole at the top, and was concave inside to allow the incense to stand. Looking inside, the incense appeared to float in the air. The entire thing was mirror-polished metal inside and out, so that looking into the top with nothing inside looked as if one was looking at a sphere that was reflecting wrongly. It had no seams, leading Trevor to wonder how someone had created it so cleanly. “What is that?”

“Incense,” the maned wolf said, “and a gazing ball for it. Is nothing special; just fancy metal. No magic, no tricks but how it looks. It looks dazzling. Hold like this,” she cupped it by the bottom portion on either side, “Gently. Look at the incense and the smoke. Do not close your eyes. Listen to me. I will touch you.”

As soon as he cupped the bowl, the Galean lady reached over and held his forearm with one hand the way she had made him greet her, and held the other forearm from the underside. As the incense burned, the smoke sank down until there was a bed of it inside the concave part of the gazing ball. It slowly churned, with whisps of it breaking off and escaping out the top of the ball as the slight breeze from their breath disturbed it.

She spoke Galean, and then paused, and then spoke in Common: “Breathe in the life around you.” Galean, then Common: “Breathe out tension in you.” Galean, then common. “Focus.”  She repeated the meditative commands several times. Trevor quickly felt as if he was going to fail the instruction, as he felt his eyes grow heavy and his mind quickly distant, like he was about to doze off. As if sensing that, she squeezed his wrists to prevent it.

Then, the same thing happened as the other day. He remained aware of his body sitting in the chair, his hands holding the now-warming ball, the glowing incense ember and its hazy sea of smoke, the warm touch of the unnamed maned wolf’s hands. He expected some further vocal command, though she just hummed. The sound took on a strange edge, and soon became a simple, dissonant melody, with a second note riding high above it. How can a person make two sounds at once? Am I imagining that? No, that is throat-singing.

The incense smoke began to boil with blue charges. For the first time since the visions had began, he saw them with his eyes open, and he also saw a strange darkness intermixed. For a lack of words to describe it to himself, it looked like the opposite of blue. Not the color opposite, just the opposite of a blue light; a blue dark. Now that he saw it, he recalled other visionary instances and realized it too was there. Only because it made no sense he had simply focused on the more obvious blue charge. The amount of it presently was quite small, no more than he would see in any cloud of smoke.

What was more significant was the rest of himself. He could see his arms out of the corners of his eyes, and they were becoming blue-dark, while the ball itself was glowing blue-light. The smoke that had been gathered started to hollow out around the incense, moving up and out of the sphere. It then moved away entirely, as if repelled.

The maned wolf let go of his arms and stopped her duo-toned humming. “You are interesting,” she said. “Let go; I am done.”

Trevor let go and there was an immediate spark of blue light between his fingertips and the bowl. Not the charge; an actual small scratchbolt. As soon as it happened, some of the smoke sank back into the bowl. He kept his jaw shut; the other maned wolf had already turned away to grab for something, a metal candle snuffer. She didn’t see that. Did I see that? “So… uh, what, did you read?”

“That was unusual, the ball is meant to contain the smoke just to look entrancing. Maybe you breathed too hard. You almost became dull with sleep. As for your heart…” She pushed back from the table and stood up. “You have power. Power as strength, force, life. Not power as in, a powerful person, a person with power. I hope I am using Common correctly. A strong will.”

“Huh,” he said. Well I always assumed I was a lazy dullhead. “I guess I can be stubborn.”

“That is one way to be strong-willed, yes,” she said. “Come, I sell clothes, you want to buy clothes, I want to give you clothes for free and you are surprised for it.”

This is strange. I expected to hear a story about how I was going to drown in a grain store or become emperor of a new land or something. He stood and followed her back out to the front. On wooden display busts, there were several cloaks of different styles - one with arm sleeves, the rest not; one with the crossed-and-layered patterning common to Galean dress; one with a furred mantle; one with a hood and a lower face scarf; and one with a straight collar and a more cape-like gusset around the shoulders.

“Why do you want a cloak? Let me repeat, why do you like to wear a cloak?”

Trevor immediately recalled Sam needling him about it while they walked around. “I don’t like coats,” he said. Then he thought about Fitch’s work. “Actually, I think that’s wrong. I always had trouble getting them to fit properly, or they would be too close and would itch. I actually have a… a friend making me a very nice coat, presently. Maybe I should have waited until I had it before coming here.”

“You want to hide yourself, but openly. Contain yourself. Free to move as you please, and yet, otherwise, darkness. You are afraid of what you contain.”  The woman looked him up and down. He looked himself up and down as well; his current attire, without his existing outer garment as it was simply too warm to wear it, did not suggest any of those things. Don’t say it to yourself just because Fitch said it, he mentally chided.

“You want this one,” she said, and fingered at the straight-collared one. “It will look good now, it will look good over a coat, it is severe and not ornamented. Try,” she said, and took it down for him.

He slung it around his shoulders and hooked the clasp. He stepped around the room, fished into a belt pocket and took out his coin bag, put it back, brushed the fabric aside on one side, then on both sides. There was a secondary clasp partway down the chest; he hooked that and stepped much more quickly across the room. The cloak transitioned between cape and actual long garment. “I never, ahh, ride actually. I just like the style.”

“This is a big city, few people ride here when they can catch carriage and recline,” she said. “They all still like the style.” She smiled. “Recline in a carriage downwind of a horse’s fart.”

Trevor snorted. “What?” Then he flicked his ears. “I never realized that but you’re right!” He took his coin purse out again, and she shook her head. “I can’t just… you can’t just give me something nice like this.”

“I am not from the part of Gale that has been infected by your chantries. It is a travesty that you would be thrown aside for how you look. You are not a demon. What nonsense. Maybe you don’t know much about our culture, but generosity is encouraged. Focused generosity. Not ‘feed all of the people we do not like so they believe in our gods’, especially because you crush them first into poverty and then feed the gods into them with bread. You, not you the maned wolf, you the people.” She gestured angularly while speaking. “My focus is to read your heart, and see that you are with power, and this cloak will help you feel contained and yet useful. Now go, your friend asked you to come see him.”

She ushered him to the door, unlatched it, and let him out. She left it open, and moments later, someone who had been looking in the windows went in, inquiring if they were now open.

Trevor, now cloaked and confused over the altercation, went to find Lane. He was exactly where described, in a public house named The Emerald Rapier. The wood carving outside suggested drinking, merriment, and flagrant sword duels. The actual reality was very obviously the first two, with a side of suspiciously attractive staff. In addition to the typical bar counter and fireplaces and tables and seat circles, another leg of the room went off down the side and seemed to be made of multiple semi-private booth rooms. Some had a table between two benches, and some had a circular leather-padded arrangement with an ottoman in the center.

Lane was at the bar, with a glass mug that looked like it was full of orange juice. “There you are! And suddenly dashing, too.” He gestured to the bartender, indicated his drink, pointed to Trevor, and put down his coin. Moments later, the bartender - a seemingly female Caroyan who was bright purple with red highlights and wearing extremely little clothing - drew half of a beer into the glass, then poured in the orange substance from a tall pitcher.

Trevor picked it up when given, looked inside, swirled it slightly, and sniffed. It was definitely beer and juice. Lane motioned for him to follow, and they moved to a table at one corner of the big room. “I’ve had the same cloak for a long time, so I thought I’d get a nicer one. The other one was this sort of wool linen. This is very fine.”

“Fancy,” Lane said, and fingered at the material. In the bar’s numerous gaslight torches and the fireplace flames, the material looked shiny, like patterned satin. “Galeans know their fabrics. I like the collar. It makes you look intense. You can’t just droop into it, and if you do, you just look fierce.” The cat lifted his drink and slurped, then slurped around his muzzle.

“I don’t droop into my collar!” Trevor frowned, and then tried the drink. It tasted like musky beer and shockingly nothing like orange at all, but a dark and creamy vanilla flavor. The combination was alluring in almost a savory way. “Do I droop into my collar?” He lifted his shoulders.

“See, there you go, without the cloak you just look like you’re trying to curl into a ball. With the cloak, you look like you’re going to stab me.” Lane was somewhat sweaty, though his pupils were normal, and he was flushed behind the sheen.

Trevor looked around at the crowd. Unlike the night district in general, it was more focused. It was entirely male, and the dress tended towards the more show-off. More than one person had a sword or dagger holster or even a flintlock holster slung around their waist. On second look, perhaps half. “Uh. Lane. What sort of place is this?”

“A bar, there are also small snacks, and then there are those more private booths back there for companion talk, and then upstairs… well, I don’t think they want you going at it down here. You could get it in someone else’s eye.”

“Get wha… that’s disgusting. You’re a naffy pervert,” Trevor laughed. “I guess that explains the female waitstaff.”

“There are a few men. There’s one Caroyan waiter who at least looks male, and there is definitely a male fox. I really don’t go for that thing, but he’s really quite attractive. Why did you ask what kind of place it is? I mean, I thought my gushing about visiting prostitutes to pound some pillows was kind of obvious, I guess I should have said ‘I want to go drink and have some lady sit on my lap and feet me sausages as a tease while she sits on my sausage’, and I mean, in my pants still. I won’t make you watch that sort of thing unless you really want to.” Lane was quite clearly a couple of drinks in already.

“I gathered as much,” Trevor said. “I mean, what sort of people come here.”

“The male kind, obviously.”

Trevor leaned across the table. “You’re avoiding my question.”

“Well, who else struts around town in fold-top boots with a sword, Trevor?” Lane leaned in as well to stage-whisper. “There’s almost never any sort of altercation in here. That Caroyan who did our drinks? She owns the place. If someone so much as pulls their fist back, you will see the most flagrant display of fighting acrobatics in your life. That person will be out on their back in a heap of horse shit before they finish cocking their elbow.”

Lane then pulled Trevor even closer. “Honestly, I didn’t want to say this before when I was also drunk and telling you my life story, but I extremely fancy female Caroyans. Not in a disrespectful way, not at all, not in the slightest. I love feeling their skin and scales against mine. Sometimes, no offense, fur is kind of itchy against my skin and sticks when you shed and I sweat. You being, furry humanids. My second rate would be the slender dogs, like a doberman or rottweiler for example.” He nodded his head over towards one such waitress. She had only a triangular groin cloth and a breast harness, whose wide metal rings allowed for very obvious attention and access to her black nipples.

Trevor found the harness very interesting to look at, not the least because it was the first wild look at something like what Fitch had made him wear. Instead of just leather straps, it was adorned with numerous small jewelry chains that followed her rib line, and a sheer type of cloth that looked almost like an insect netting. The dog herself was also definitely attractive, though he felt nothing stirring except his visual interest when looking at her. The same was not at all true of Lane; he flushed further, purred enough that he drooled and had to wipe his muzzle, and salaciously stared.

That attracted her attention, and she came over to their table next. “Evening there,” she said. “You, obviously have had a couple of drinks. You, need to have at least one more drink.” She gestured to Lane and Trevor in turn. “And I think you are both hungry.”

“I think we would love a drinking platter. Trevor, do you want another?”

“I’m not…” he looked into his beer, which was only one third down, and then quickly had the rest of it, to Lane’s surprised guffaw. “Okay, there, I’m finished with it. I suppose, yes, the same one… whatever it was.”

“The house cream radler? Definitely.” As she turned away, she reached over and deftly curled her fingers and clawnails under Lane’s chin.

“Rrhwrl, this is why I came to get a table, if I stand up now I’ll bang myself on the underside,” Lane hissed, then leaned back in his chair with his arms flung up and wrists behind his back. He should have continued tipping; instead, the table jarred upwards slightly, though his legs seemingly had not hit it yet. “See?”

Trevor felt confused for a moment, then flipped his ears back and whined. “That’s disgusting.”

“It’s my knee!” Lane thumped it upwards on the underside, and then laughed. “Anyway, yes, this is a pirate bar, it’s more that I like the kind of companion women at pirate bars. They’re not so posh. Some of the other places are more like grace pollen dens. That stuff makes me itch and feel rotten the next day, the pillows are always covered in fur, and I don’t know, there’s something about the staff that’s too subservient. That dog girl, I bet you if she’s on a companion shift later, she’ll slap my ass around like I’m a horse who needs to gallop.”

Trevor struggled to put together the various faces of Lane he’d seen. Disaffected the first time they’d ‘met’; arguing hotly with Altius; a mad frantic when the dark horse had showed up for his inspection; and now slightly drunk and two shakes from ripping his pants off with their waitress.

“Ahh! So what about this cloak business?” Lane sat normally and leaned onto his elbows.

“That was something,” Trevor said, and reached for his beer to drink more from it, only to find it empty. “So she wanted to read my heart and gifted me the cloak. It’s some sort of Galean thing? I feel extremely dull about that, like I have no heritage there at all, and all of a sudden I’m surrounded by-”

“Back your horse up, she wanted to read your heart? She was a fortune teller? She didn’t steal your coin, did you?”

Trevor discretely removed his coin bag and rifled through it, eyes wide. “Oh you were right earlier about Altius! There’s extra. Nothing missing. No, she didn’t do anything dishonest. She correctly guessed that I was adopted, I suppose because I don’t know a lick of Galean and look like a fish flopping around out of water. And guessed it was because I’m dark-furred, probably because she was too. Much darker, she was almost black. And then we did the…”

The waitress returned with one more beer for Trevor, and a wooden platter that had small depressions in it like dishes, similar to a game of counting pebbles. They were full of various nuts, cheeses, small preserved meats, and fruits, along with a loaf of house bread.

Lane made a tapping gesture up under his chin, and made nodding eye contact with the waitress. She grinned wolfishly back, picked up a nut, held it in the center of her flatted fingers, and brought her arm up to smack the underside of her other. The nut flew up in the air and Lane entirely failed to catch it with his mouth. It bounced off the bridge of his nose, then fell down to his jacket, and he barely caught it before eating it with a laugh. Then the waitress turned to Trevor, and repeated the same thing. Despite feeling woefully unprepared, he snatched the nut out of the air without hesitation.

“I’ll be back to check on you again, in a little bit,” the waitress said, and while she addressed both of them, she especially addressed Lane.

Trevor didn’t feel too left out; he just felt observant. “Do you think she can tell about me? The waitress, and what I don’t really like…”

“You probably don’t smell like you’re going to rip your pants apart. I saw you ogling her nonetheless, though.”

“I like that harness getup. I wasn’t expecting to see, ahh, her nipples like that. Anyway, have you had a Galean uh, heart reading? You seem worldly.”

Lane shook his head. “I’ve been to other fortune tellers. It’s all a bunch of horse shit, if you ask me.”

“She didn’t really tell me any sort of fortune. She had me, I think meditate for a moment, over this metal ball contraption that filled with incense smoke. And then told me that I was very strong, like I have power, she struggled to explain it in common.”

“You’re powerful! That’s, pardon me, that’s a bit fun. You don’t exude forcefulness, which I’m sure you know.”

Trevor nodded. “I think there was something a bit lost in translation.” He pondered whether to tell Lane about the electrical vision and the scratchbolt. He also recalled the bolt, and that it hadn’t hurt with the start he’d expected; he’d merely felt it, and that the smoke had been repelled by the charge, which the lady tailor had only assumed was because he had breathed hard while almost falling asleep. “In any case, she was adamant at picking out a cloak that matched me somehow, and picked this one, and then just gave it to me. I guess it’s like that meat thing. I don’t want people just giving me stuff! I feel like I’m supposed to earn things, so what, am I supposed to do something now?”

As Trevor spoke, he intermingled it with drinking from his new drink, and mixing the flavor with various items on the snack tray. He tried to stay conscious of Lane’s own tastes so he didn’t simply eat them all up. Lane’s tastes seemed divided between the cheese and meats in particular, and looking at the crowd. Trevor realized that they weren’t merely at a table, but in the corner, with Lane having his back to the wall, so he could look down both the booth corridor and the rest of the bar. The guara scooted his seat around so he was adjacent and could do the same.

“You don’t want to be a charity case? You’ve been one for the last week and days. Those apartments are allocations with the warehouse, it’s part of some business promotion that Castleton does. That’s where the money for the water supply came from, the civics department did it on their own. And where do you think that food comes from that shows up? Stale bread and those cold hand pies? That’s the Sisters of Reservation, they give out food to low class workers and such. Altius basically pretends he has things under control; I am confident, and I am sure Petrie knows for certain as he tends to look into the books as he enjoys that sort of thing, that every moment something is about to crash down around our necks and it isn’t that towering bolt-thrower he concocted. No wonder he went after that stallion. I do wonder sometimes if Altius maybe also finds that type attractive. Look at Fitch. No offense to him, but an erratic black jaguar who wanted to be a pirate and had to be restrained in the brig after going paranoid at sea? Not my first choice of person to build things that can otherwise kill me. He cuts a figure, though. I bet he cuts a lot of things. He certainly cuts leather.”

Trevor listened, and having some of his own idle worries spoken aloud made them momentarily scary. Then they faded into the background; if Lane is aware of what I’m worried about too, then it’s merely a thing to be dealt with, I suppose. Ahh, this beer… “What was this called?” He lifted his beer. “A cream radler? Isn’t a radler fruited beer?”

“I think that orange sludge is some kind of Caroyan citrus fruit mixed with gnell-ox cream and something that removes the acid so it doesn’t curdle into gelatin and cheese,” Lane said. “You know what I do for a hobby, well, I tried to be a bartender at one point, figuring alcohol is just a chemical. It turns out I don’t like breaking up bar fights and wiping up tears.”

The maned wolf nodded along, and looked about the noisy barroom. Should I tell him about Fitch? He brought up the cat. Said he cuts a figure. Altius is inscrutable; who knows what he wants. I wonder if we should even trust him. After all, he’s Caroyan. And he’s aligning with this trading company horse who is obviously rotten, and I guess we hold our noses because there are more rotten smells to be had than a shady horse. A vulpine wandered about the room, clad in the same type of barely-clothed harness wear that the doberman and other waitresses had. Ahh, that must be the fox Lane was talking about. He was flagrantly red and orange, a flawless red fox whose screen-sheer garment panels were as green as the painted wording used in the bar’s signage. He wore leather shorts and fold-topped boots, and had one shoulder of his harness with a sword-deflecting pauldron.

“See?” Lane said, and used his boot under the table to kick Trevor’s chair.

“I do very much see,” Trevor nodded. A small group of four canines all came in at the same time and went up to the bar. Trevor immediately recognized one and it made him ignore the fox for the moment.

They seemed to be all wolves, although one was notably smaller than the others, and had a vicious look on his face due to black points on his cream and gray face. Trevor squinted. Oh, that’s a northern snow dog. More than that, they were all attired similarly. Thigh-high boots with rakish narrow toes and mid heels, ankle and knee buckle straps; long gloves, cuffs flared at the biceps with wrist and elbow straps; loose shirts with neck ruffs and undone lacing; leather vests chained across the front; drop-front brown leather trousers; shoulder pauldrons with an up-collar and metal flat rivets for decoration; tri-roll leather hats. The boots and gloves were all late-sunset red. They all had swords; the most serious of the group had a long coat instead of the shirt and vest, and also had a long-barrel hunting flintlock. They immediately swarmed up to the bar and were greeted heartily by one of the other bartenders, and got a round of beers.

Red boots and gloves. Red boots and gloves. Red boots and gloves. Trevor would have started to pour sweat if he could; instead he panted and looked nervously around, staring while averting his eyes.

That is, that can’t be, that’s - Trevor found his tongue drying out, and he quickly stuck his muzzle into his beer mug. He looked back up; the group was excitedly conversing amongst themselves, and moments later, several harnessed women, all felines, came up to them from out behind the bar after being called for by the purple Caroyan. They escorted the men over into one of the large private booths. As they walked by, Trevor noticed that one of the wolves had notches out of his ear. That’s the wolf who was at Fitch’s apartment! Then, those are the boots and gloves that cat gave me! He gave me pirate gear!

He consumed the rest of his beer to hide his over-interest, though Lane looked where he was looking, and then picked through the dried fruits. Trevor tried to calm himself. “Do you… do you like these?”

“Not much, I’m more of the meaty type,” Lane said.

Trevor munched away, trying to distract himself and give a reason for possibly drooling. “You don’t seem, ah, worried about pirates, but you told me not to go down to the harbor by myself.”

Lane shrugged. “The harbor smells like dead fish and gull shit and you’ll get heckled twice, once by Galeans warehouse traders for being dressed like city folk, once by Castleton roughnecks for being a poor copy of a Galean. It’s all hard, rough, possibly rotten work there. The city doesn’t allow bars and inns in the harbor district, which is partly why there are so many sailors and privateers in here. That’s also why Sharyn’s is in the middle of apartments. Some sort of work safety thing. If you ask me, it doesn’t do anything, but then again, what do I know?” Lane took out a cigarette, then lit it up and blew a cloud of dullweed across the table, then offered it to Trevor. The guara took it and sucked down nearly half. “Oh don’t be like that, what are you doing?”

“That can’t be your only one, and I’m too excited.”

“About what?”

“I’m not sure,” Trevor whined, and lied. “This is all just a lot of new things, I suppose. I was worried when we took your delivery along, and that dog in the alley, I thought he was going to knife us until you explained he was a hidden guard. And then the whole thing with the tailor lady and the funny metal bowl of smoke, and now I’m wearing a fancy cloak I didn’t pay for and you’re about to have some fancy harnessed dog slap your balls around!”

Lane coughed, only partly from the noxious smoke. He also winced grotesquely and bared his fangs. “Not my balls! Ungh! That sort of place is on the other side over that way,” he gestured blindly. “By the way, if you’re into all sorts of flagrant and strange stuff, over that way. Over here, the companion houses are just bars with inn rooms and prostitutes. Over there, you will walk into someone doing blood play.”

“Blood play!?” Trevor nearly kinked his tail at right angles. He tried to imagine what it meant, and nothing seemed to be any sort of play to him. To dissuade himself of the image, he looked over to where the group of quote unquote privateers had settled. One of them - the husky - stepped out of the booth, gestured with his friends, then pointed down the hall and headed further into the building. There were stairs that went up; he did not take them. “And I’ve had two beers and that… that glowing thing. Is there a latrine here?”

“It’s down that way, stay right, go around the corner and it’s the door on the back of the hall. No separators, people were tripping into them drunk so they took them out, so if you have to dump you’ll have to put on a pretty face for the pissers and who’s dumping next to you.” Lane was gesturing where the husky had just gone.

Trevor wrinkled his muzzle, then got up, putting on his best I desperately have to piss face and knock-kneed walk. He truly did have to piss, though he was much more intent on following the dog. Once around the corner, there were but two choices: go into the bar kitchen area which had a cook, one of the other bartenders, and several ladies conversing; or go out into the attached outhouse.

He took the latter door, and wagged his tail as he found the husky having the same idea as him. There were four toilets and a hammered metal trough that sloped and drained out one end somewhere. There was also a harnessed whitetail doe standing at a small counter next to a firebox, which was heating some sort of closed thing that she occasionally added some water to, which steamed up its chimney. That’s odd. Does she watch? That must get interesting.

Trevor went up to the trough and opened his pants, then took a deep breath and tried to concentrate his will on pissing and not accidentally getting an erection. Whatever was happening with the doe and the firebox, it added a pleasant herbal and spiced scent to the air.

“Ooh, balls that’s nice stink, beats the shit shelf on the Jersyee!” The husky groaned a few feet away, sniffing at the air as Trevor did. He then groaned again and very noisily spattered piss all over the metal. Trevor almost laughed at how loud it was, and then did the same. It seemed designed to be loud.

How do I look at him up close without looking at him up close in the outhouse, that’s either going to get me run through with a sword or coughing up his spunk, and let’s be honest it won’t be the latter. Trevor’s piss ran to a trickle and he huffed, then tried again. After another try, the volume of beer took over and he relieved himself hotly. He closed his eyes while doing it, and was surprised to see currents of blue haze, complete with one that seemed to extend up to his cock. He touched his fingerpads to the trough, and the color brightened considerably, enough that he whined and let go. He snapped his eyes open.

“You look like a right highwayman, all cloaked in fancy black like that,” the sled dog said, looking casually and drunkenly over at him, and up and down his brand-new cloak.

Trevor managed to get most of his piss out, and then tucked himself back in before there was much chance to see that he was getting hopelessly erect. Considering the establishment, that probably wasn’t unexpected but having it in his pants versus waving it about… “Hmm? Oh,” Trevor said, and felt a moment of terror. Then, he realized he felt drunk and it withered away. “My eye.”

“Who ran it through? Or izzit just a fakey patch? Don’t feel bad if it is, fashion wins the hearts of men,” the dog said, and didn’t seem to have much issue with going hard. His cock flopped about in his red-gloved hand as he made inappropriate conversation and tried to keep the last drops out of his pants by shaking it.

“A raven pecked it out, and got some of my brain, too,” he said, and when the dog looked aghast, lifted the patch to expose his very present and very uselessly clouded eye. “No, I was hit by a skybolt during a storm. Still got some of my brain, though. Now I just wander about, looking for sullen men to rob, with no morals to stop me.”

“Oy, you’re full of it!” The dog laughed, then turned and clapped him on the shoulder. He got all of the way to the firebox and the doe looked as if she would explode laughing and could barely sustain it. The dog looked down. “Ehh, I’m in a whore house, why put it back in?”

“Oh, you have to. Have a nice steamed towel though, and she’ll enjoy a nice fresh one when you find her. Hands first, they’re piping warm,” the doe said, opened the cabinet above the firebox, and took out a small woven towel that looked flimsy and damp.

What’s this, I can clean my hands? Trevor turned and approached as well, and took a towel. He wiped his hands with it along with the dog, who then also wiped his shaft and made a gleeful face before putting it into his breeches.

“I have a, pardon, but I have a question,” Trevor started to stammer. “Who made your uniform? Your outfit?”

The sled dog guffawed at Trevor’s chest, then turned his head up and continued up towards Trevor’s face. He stank of liquor, and not just musky beer. “What are you calling a uniform, huh? I’m no government man or constable. ‘Tis our band’s colors, for the Jersyee!” He then turned around, withdrew his sword to the wide-eyes of the doe, and put it point down into the floor to lean on it. “Right, who made it, oh some ferocious black cat, what was his name, Pinch or something like that. Quite an outfit, the hide takes a beating and you’d never know it.”

“Please, sir, don’t do that again,” The doe said, as the sled dog tried to remove his sword from the floor and put it away.

“Ahh,” Trevor said, and then they both had to disperse as several other men came for the latrine and gave them nasty looks for taking up space and talking.

Sayrah, that really was made by Fitch! It looks entirely different on them. They look like they’re fixing to go cannonball some poor trading ship and pour sugar liquor down their throats in some leafy cave off a beach. If I wasn’t in a whorehouse I wouldn’t go near those guys.

Trevor returned back to the table where his seat had been moved right next to Lane and was occupied by the dog. As he had insinuated earlier, she was feeding him the remaining bits of cured meat from the tray, and stroking under his chin, while he purred loud enough to be heard over the din. The dullweed cigarette was down to a tiny stub on the table, and his eyes were red-hazed and tired.

“I suppose I lost my seat,” Trevor said, and the waitress looked embarrassed for a moment. “Oh no, that’s fine! My cat coworker here has just been showing me around the uh, this sort of area. I’m still absorbing ahh, the… the air.”

“That’s a fine cloak you have there. Very mysterious,” the doberman said, and flicked one of her splinted ears. The scar from the years-past alteration just ran along a color line. She then dangled the final piece of meat for Lane, and kept him from getting it. “Your friend here says you fancied that tod fox wandering around.”

Lane hissed and she dropped the meat into his mouth and he swallowed it, then grinned. He got out his coin pouch and put several tenpieces on the table. “I think I would like to have some time with you and right before that, maybe you can find that fox for Trevor here.”

“Oh no, that won’t be…you don’t have, uhhm,” Trevor rubbed at his mane.

“You know, he’s very good with massages. You look like you could use one. You don’t have to do more than that. He’s very easy-going. Come on,” she said, and stood up, with Lane following like he was chasing a butterfly. Trevor followed after, and kept his cloak closed, as if he wanted to hide something away like he had made up while talking to the drunk sled dog.

The dog lady momentarily ducked around the corner where Trevor had gone earlier, and returned with the aforementioned fox. Despite his species, he was just a head shorter than Trevor, and seemed much less gregarious than the doberman. They went up the stairs and split into two rooms, Lane offering an intoxicated and wild grin before his door shut.

The fox took Trevor into a room and closed the door. The maned wolf had no idea what to expect, except presumably a bedroom. He found definitely a bed, though also a couch, several mats on the floor, and a surprising number of cushions in some obvious pillow shapes and some very not obvious shapes. There were also a few wooden blocks of different sizes and shapes, all fairly small, as well as a few wooden rollers that had texturing on them by way of layers of cut leather.

“May I ask your name? You can call me simply, ‘fox’,” the vulpine said, and took Trevor’s hand.

“Trevor,” the maned wolf said. He sniffed the air; it had a similar yet not identical scent to the latrine and it emanated from a similar wood stove and cabinet box that also made the room warm in the increasingly cool night air. “I… my friend talked me into this, pressed me into this really, I’ve never done this sort of thing or been to this sort of place. I’ve only been in town for a week, we’re starting a business of sorts,” he babbled.

The fox merely smiled. “I am here to please you, whatever that may mean. If you would like to just sit or lie down, hold hands, embrace and relax, that is more than welcome. If you would like vigorous sex, I can hold my own, although I might make some alternative recommendations depending on just how vigorous. Perhaps your friend mentioned the other side of the night district already. My specialty, which the doberman summoned me for, is massage.” The fox waved his hand over to the unusual items.

“That sounds… easy,” Trevor said. Oh you naffy dullhead.

“I could start as a sensual and erotic massage, or I could start as a deep, intense therapeutic massage. Do you know what you might like?”

Trevor took a deep breath, and sighed, though he also smiled. “I actually think I might like a deep massage. Is that for health purposes? I have been doing a lot of lifting and moving stuff around and such, and I’m not used to the city. It’s quite hilly, and all the stone roads and such. I’m from Potterston.”

“Yes it is, and I am more than happy to oblige. You do need to take off your clothes. If you are worried, you can leave your pants on, though I won’t be able to massage you through your boots. You have no obligations; I will ask if you want to go deeper, more intense, or move along to something more intimate and sensual.” The fox kept his voice low and unhurried, though easily understandable.

This fox is the most professional prostitute I’ve ever… imagined. “I can undress all the way. I don’t mind,” Trevor said, and thanked two beers and one very long draw of dullweed. He took his clothes off and the fox helped sort them neatly out of the way.

“This is a very fine Galean promenade cape,” the fox said, of Trevor’s new acquisition, as he carefully hung it out of the way. “I see you went to Lana’s.” He then arranged several cushions on the woven bamboo mats on the floor. “I will start with you face down, with your back. Also, I have scented steam towels.”

“Oh, like downstairs? I don’t know what you’ll do with them, but yes please,” Trevor wagged his tail.

The fox fetched one towel, unrolled it, and set it on a middle cushion. When Trevor laid down, it was directly under his cock and balls, and the warmth was almost too much at first. This must be how that sled dog pirate felt. Ahh, though. An infinite amount of ‘ahh’.

“Arms above your head, I suggest crossing them for now.” The fox straddled down onto his lower back and helped guide Trevor where to stretch and how much to lift his shoulders. The touch through his fur made the maned wolf quiver and catch his voice a couple of times. “Now, this may be very intense. That means it may hurt in spots. If it is too much, just say so. Your body will tense up before releasing energy.”

“Mm-hmm,” Trevor said, and the fox leaned forward and rolled his fingers at the second knuckle, then started to knead his upper back. Within seconds, Trevor felt like he needed to stretch his shoulders up even further. After several more kneads, his chest quivered and he gasped. “Ahh! Oh, that’s, keep going.” He winced with every press. He’s kneading me like a lump of bread!

“You must roll your shoulders forward often,” the fox said quietly. “Spread your arms out, like you have wings, and start to lift them back.” Trevor did so, and the fox continued kneading, moving from the thickest part at the nape of his neck, down past and ‘under’ his shoulder blades, then down his spine as far as possible.

“I have-nnh! Bad posture, I don’t like to be tall, I think I hunch a lot, said my a-aunt, hnnfh!” Every time Trevor pulled his arms back, the fox pressed and kneaded in a way that tried to push them back to the floor. This is not at all what I was expecting but I’m going to be able to bend over backwards when this is over! The fox brought one fist up to his opposite chest, then used his elbow and bore forward with his weight. “Ack!” There was a muted thump noise, and Trevor felt an immediate twinge and sense of relief. The fox repeated it on the other side after guiding him to roll his head to the other side, and there was the same joint-movement sound that was unsettling yet very viscerally pleasing.

“I’m not going to use my hands for deepness on your rump and the backs of your legs. Instead, I’m going to roll them,” the fox announced, then picked up one of the wooden rollers. He moved off to the side and placed the roller at Trevor’s lower back, then bore down and rolled it far enough downwards to press his tail into his rump cleft. He picked it up, moved the guara’s tail, then continued down his rump, back and forth several times. Trevor had never felt such a sensation and there were moments when it sent jolts down his legs and made him feel as if his hips would tilt.

“This is very nice, Trevor said, and drooled slightly, which he licked up before it could get onto a cushion. “I’ve had a very long day.”

The fox continued down his legs with the roller, then kneaded down the backs of his calves. “I’m going to touch your feet, I’ll try to be firm.” He then started to squeeze at Trevor’s footpads. The maned wolf twitched and huffed, though the warm burn of a footrub quickly won over the hypersensitive tickle.

After the legs, the fox moved to straddle up higher on Trevor’s back and kneaded his arms, then treated his hands to the same deep thumb and knuckle squeezing. “You’re quiet,” the fox said softly.

“I feel like I’m melting, and I’m a bit dull from the evening,” Trevor smiled. “I don’t have to be loud, do I?”

“Only if you want. Over now,” the fox offered, and then helped rearrange cushions as the maned wolf rolled onto his back. “This might feel strange, though it will help you stretch,” he said. The thickest cushion went under his mid back, lifting his ribs. Trevor let out a deep groan at the stretch.

“It’s very quiet in here. I would expect a racket from the other…”

“Clients, customers… men… they build the walls thick for that reason. If you want to listen to people climaxing all night, you want to go to the Dark Palace on the other side of the district,” the fox chuckled. He then got a fresh steamed towel and laid it across Trevor’s groin, and worked at massaging his chest and shoulders, down to his thighs and shins.

Trevor found it almost meditative, and when he just began to daze, the fox did something just intense enough that it made him twinge and tense up. Whenever he did, the fox gently stroked down through his fur and helped him stretch back down and out.

“Now, if you would like, I can give you a stroking,” the fox said, gently petting along Trevor’s thigh. “Or, an anal massage. I actually suggest that, for both health and sensual reasons. You would be surprised how tense you can be inside.”

Trevor couldn’t help but chuckle and turn red in his ears. “I’ve… well, I’ve never really done much with my rump. I guess that means I ought to.”

The fox smiled, and climbed up to fetch a few more things. “This may sound strange, but I can wear elsap gloves if you’d like. They’re extremely slippery with herbal lubrication, and they do make it a little cleaner for both of us.”

Trevor had sat up and was twisting his torso when the fox inquired. He immediately swallowed and his cock twitched. “Hmm, I don’t see why not,” he shrugged. He then watched the vulpine remove and pull on a pair of glistening black gloves that covered almost all of the natural black fur on his hands and forearms. They were thinner and tighter than the ones that Trevor used at work, and he had to partly roll them on. Trevor’s cock did more than twitch, stiffening up enough that it made a slanted tent out of the warm towel. “I… I like how that looks. I think this is a good idea,” he mumbled.

The fox then took a glass bottle and unstoppered it, and poured some slightly cloudy liquid out onto his fingers. He stepped over and half-kneeled next to Trevor. “I suggest lying back on your back, so you can stretch out, though you can move however you like. If you do lie back, lift up one of your knees.”

Trevor stared at the fox’s shiny black hands, and laid back. He pulled his knee up, and the fox gently moved into place so he could brace it back against his side. Then, the vulpine started to gently rub and stroke around Trevor’s pucker. Not even the actual flesh, just the muscle around it, with enough of a press to make him wince slightly.

“Take in a deep breath, and hold it a moment, and then let it out like this,” the fox said, and demonstrated by making a ‘ffffffh’ sound. He then started to stroke Trevor’s ring, and the guara gasped right as he started to inhale. Trevor did as directed, and as he switched from holding his breath to exhaling, he felt himself relax. His cock throbbed further. “Now, in, gently,” the fox said, and started to press his fingertip inside.

“Ahh,” Trevor sighed, and tensed up bodily. The fox then reached up and stroked his centerline up over his ribs and between his pecs, and pressed him back. “Hmm?”

“Imagine you are trying to drop your navel down to your knees. Lie back and reach up.”

“I want to… watch,” Trevor said, and nonetheless did a crunch forward. The tension made him grimace as now he had a finger inside of him, though it also made him feel extremely something. “You’re very handsome. I l-like how you dress.”

“Thank you,” the fox smiled, and let Trevor gently push his finger out, then slowly wormed it back inside. Then, two fingers, the elsap so slick with the slightly cooling lubricant that Trevor was astonished and wide-eyed as they went in. “There are so many privateers who come in here, I thought I’d dress up a little bit. A surprising number of them like me to keep my boots on.”

This isn’t happening this isn’t happening first Marshall then Fitch now this fox whore - Trevor groaned, and reached over to move the towel off of his cock. “I know you said, unnh,” the maned wolf groaned, as he started to sit up again, and reached around behind to move the cushions regardless of what the fox said before. “Not to… flex, but,” he did it again, pulled his other knee up then straightened it out. Meanwhile, the fox slowly moved his fingers in and out, curving and tugging gently upwards. I’m going to piss all over myself, and it’s the most amazing sensation I’ve ever felt. After just a few seconds, Trevor thought he was going to climax and grasped onto the cushion, and yet instead of the burst of euphoric intensity in his cock, a warmth spread out inside of him and his jaw chattered for a second.

“There is some important thing inside of you right, about, here. Is that it?” The fox gently found his pleasure gland and made like he was massaging it as a regular knot in his muscles, though much less forcefully. Trevor made a soft squeal. “You are very, very aroused. I bet you’ve felt it all day. I bet you’ve wandered around the market here, eying people you liked, watching them cavort and holler in the bar downstairs…” He spoke with the same low, dusky, fluid voice he had used all evening. It sounded just slightly menacing, urgent, coercive.

Another tingling wave of tension and warmth blossomed inside of Trevor, and the guara reached up to feel at his face, then over his head. “I’m… I keep…” He breathed. “Please stroke me. I can’t stand it any more.”

Instead of firmly gripping, the fox gently moved his other hand and held Trevor’s cock from underneath. Trevor looked from between his hands, an eye fixated on the gleaming black elsap as it stroked over his ruddy skin and moved the foreskin gently back and forth. “Like this?” The fox said, and stroked his thumb where the loose flesh met the shaft at the ‘underside’, now the topside. “Like this?” He gently rolled the skin up and over the swollen glans, then back down. “Or this?” He let the bare rubbery material bump over the rim of the glans.

That’s just like how Fitch did it!  Trevor let out a fierce whine and gasped, and couldn’t help but twist his body as his muscles squeezed down on the invading fingers, driving that center of euphoric intensity right into them. “Aaaahh!” He clenched his teeth together, and the fox quickly moved his hand enough forward that most of Trevor’s spunk jetted into his gloved palm while his fingers curled around the glans. At just the right moment before another squeezing clench, the fox slid his fingers out and Trevor’s muscles tightened in against themselves and the guara let out another moan. He sighed and relaxed back, ribs arched up again, chest heaving.

The fox stroked his thigh, then got up and went over to the towel cabinet. He took off his gloves and set them in a wooden pail, then brought over three new towels. “You got your muzzle a little, so let me clean that,” he said, and gently started to stroke and massage the fur and whiskers, filling Trevor’s sinuses with the tingly and relaxing herbal scent. “And now your ears. You didn’t make a mess of your ears, it just feels nice, and you have such big ears, I’m sure you’ll enjoy a nice rub.”

What. Trevor felt a tingle in himself and almost started to tear up at the pleasant sensation on his snout; the ear rub and the way the fox announced it sounded too strange though it was even nicer and he chest-growled softly as the fox gently massaged each ear in turn, then wiped them inside. He took the final towel, and gently cleaned off Trevor’s cock, which felt too much though Trevor gasped and twitched through it.

Trevor sat up and rubbed at his face; the fox gently embraced him from the side, leaned his muzzle on his shoulder, and stroked his chest. “Hmm? Thank you. That was very nice.” Every few moments, a wave of warmth and tingling euphoria echoed through the guara, and he reached up to rub at his face and mane when it happened.

“You’re very welcome,” the fox said, and brought his clothes back over.

Trevor dressed lazily, and then fumbled around with his coin purse. “I, uh, I think I paid or my friend paid or something, I’m not really sure, but that was very much worth it.” He took several tenpenny pieces and pressed them into the fox’s hand.

The fox smiled and nodded, then took his hand and showed him out of the room, and handed him his cloak. Trevor felt somewhat embarrassed, although the two patrons and associated staff he passed on the way downstairs paid him no mind at all.

I wonder how Lane’s getting on, he thought, and was about to step off the staircase when another thought pushed in. I absolutely have to shit right now. He turned and went to the latrine, and joined three other men on the toilets. They all seemed to know each other and were having some drunken conversation, punctuated by their production. Trevor was both acutely humiliated and also so entertained that his attempts to stop his own laughter that he coughed to hide, worked with the leftover lubrication to ease the process.

Lane was nowhere to be found downstairs, so Trevor went outside for some fresh air and to see if the cat was waiting there. Hmm, he must still be upstairs. Or he went somewhere else. Maybe he needed more and went to that Dark Palace place. That sounds ominous. That sounds like somewhere Fitch would go. I wonder if Fitch would mind if he knew some fox just fingered me until I finished. I wonder if he’d mind if he knew the fox was wearing gloves and boots when he did it. I can’t believe the fox was wearing that stuff and said something about it. Maybe I attract people like that. Maybe it’s this thing that Lana person was talking about, was that her name? I didn’t catch it, the fox said something… Did she feel me get charged up? She was touching me but she let go when I zapped myself with the metal ball. Sometimes I feel like I’ve gone completely off since I’ve come here, but then didn’t I go off when I got hit by that bolt in the first place?

He wandered into the alley behind the bar while thinking, seeing if Lane was back there for some inscrutable cat reason. Instead, he saw several people, and someone lying on the ground. “Ey’s dead!” “No he ain’t you naffy shit for brains, he’s breathing fine, lookit.” “Don’t step on him!” “Dumb pup always gets shit-faced. Ought to stick his head down the latrine, get him real shit-faced and wake him up!” “Oh come off it, let’s go over to Ralph’s, he has some smelling paste that’ll awaken a dead horse.” “Oh fine.” “Did you say Ralph’s, I’m gonna get some of that other paste, get me pounded flat in the arse by that lizard lady behind the bar.” “You would, wouldn’t you, why not go find some old salty geezer and let him have a go with his peg-leg?” “No one really has peg legs, you just die of a fever if you get your leg cut off at sea.” “For the gods, let’s just stop standing here before that egglayer comes out and kicks our nuts out our eyes.”

Trevor quickly hid himself behind some leftover storage crates and held his nostrils so he wouldn’t wheeze or smell the urine drain from the latrine. The group walked past, entirely oblivious to his presence; it was the privateers from earlier, minus their sled dog, who was drunkenly snoring on the ground.

Hmm, that’s too bad. That’s what you get for going into a bar when you’re already drunk, Trevor thought. Then, he had a mad flash of an idea. His hat’s come off! He checked and checked and checked again, then quickly toed out with his heels up off the ground, nicked the knocked-off tri-roll hat, then secreted it under his cloak.

He went back around to the front of the bar, and there standing out by a grassy spot with a railing was Lane, looking easy and calm and just starting to smoke a cigarette. From the smell of it and the way he took only small puffs, it was just plain spice tobacco. “Aha, there you are. I didn’t see you inside, so I came out for a smoke.”

“I could say the same thing! Except I ahh, had a piss in the alley.”

Lane chuckled. “There’s a latrine you can get to from inside, you know. You used it earlier.”

“That’s true, but the alley is ahh, easier to get to from outside, and it was sudden.”

“A little post-finish piss, eh?” Lane nudged him. Trevor immediately looked down and tucked his tail. “Oh what’s that about?” Trevor was clearly hiding something.

Trevor was not actually embarrassed. Instead, he stepped very close to Lane, nudged him, and then opened one side of his cloak to display, as discreetly as possible, the hat he’d stolen.

Lane’s eyes went wide. “What did you- how did you get that?” He hissed. “And don’t show it off! That’s from those pirate wolves that were here! I don’t know where they got off to, they must be pounding someone in turns or whatever.”

“Actually, it’s from the doggy one, who’s fallen flat in the alleyway. I went back there looking for you, saw them going on about what to do for him, and then they went off. I think they’re going to that place you gave the stuff to, Ralph’s was it? For some smelling paste.”

“Probably going to get screwed out of their heads and then get their tails bent tomorrow by their friend, is what’s going to happen. They’ll have a great time of teasing him for losing his fucking hat! What the hell are you going to do with it? Let’s move on, we ought to get back before we get into more trouble.”

They started heading towards the market exit, with Trevor keeping the hat secreted beneath his cloak. “What am I going to do with it? I don’t know. Dress up like a pirate, I suppose.”

“You? A pirate?” Lane laughed. “Look what good coming to this wretched city has done for you,” Lane slapped him on the shoulder. “I tell you not to stumble around into the harbor and now you’re going around stealing hats from pirates.”

—

Back at his apartment, Trevor was finally able to make good on what he had been thinking the entire way back out of the night market and on the carriage ride home. He immediately undressed, leaving his clothing haphazardly strewn about in his hurry to get out of it. Being milked of his seed by a calm-voiced fox in a brothel didn’t do anything for his overall excitement, and a little extra dullweed only amplified it.

On went the harness and codpiece, and then the tall boots and long gloves. On too went his new cloak, and the black and red tri-roll leather hat, the brim rolled up at the sides and back, leaving a narrow point showing the curls at the front.

Trevor paraded back and forth in front of his mirror, trying different variations of cloak flourishing, shoulders in front of it as a cape or inside of it as a riding cloak. He rubbed at the bulge in his leather codpiece, red hand on black leather, and groaned softly. He stepped up to the mirror and planted a hand on it, leaning in close. “You think you’ve captured a slave dog, Captain Pearson? I don’t think so,” he whispered.

He unbuttoned the codpiece pouch from the harness frame and took his cock in hand, then continued practicing all manner of things to say to Fitch, cock still slick with some herbal lubricant from his adventure at the night district. He held his own gloved hand over his mouth and sniffed at the leather, groaning as he spattered his reflection in the mirror with his own seed.

There, you filthy ass of a cat. I finished while I was wearing it. He grinned in the reflection, grinding the musk and seed into his glove leather before wiping the bulk of it off.