SpicySpaceSquid
Chapter 233 - Horses, Goats, and Basements VI
Sylvia stifled a laugh as she watched her pet knock persistently on the old wooden door. The frosted glass panes that adorned it were hard to see through, but the pair could clearly make out a bright light shining within. Someone was inside, sitting at the front desk and working on some task or other.
“They’re ignoring us,” said Claire, with her eyes narrowed.
“Well yeah, silly! The sign says they’re closed!” said the fox. She was trying her best not to laugh on account of worsening the qiligon’s already sour mood—an endeavour that saw a minimal amount of success. The occasional giggle squeezed its way out of her throat, with each eliciting a miffed twitch from the cushion beneath her.
“I’m going to break this stupid door down if they keep pretending not to hear us.”
“Uhmmm… I’m not really sure that’s the best idea,” said the fairy. “Wait! Aren’t you a rogue? Can’t you just pick the lock or something?”
Rogues not named Claire had the tendency to avoid direct confrontation. Stealth was key to their operations, and lockpicking was an important skill in which their kind was particularly well versed. It was the dexterity stat that drove one’s ability to perform the necessary feats of fine motor control, and the lyrkress had far more than was required. It only stood to reason that she had the means to excel at the basic class function, but while she had gathered, from the various plays she had seen, that picking a lock constituted sticking some sort of object inside its key hole, she had no idea how to get past the mechanism. Filling it with ice didn’t quite seem to do the job, and neither did crafting a mold to perfectly fit its interior. This too prompted a giggle from her hat, much to her frustration and dismay.
She was on the verge of giving up and snapping the door’s hinges when she heard a pair of feet approach from the other side. The lock was undone and the knob twisted a moment later, revealing a less-than-enthused woman with large bags under her eyes. She had pale, almost unhealthy-looking skin, a full head of curly brown hair, and an almost humanoid body with the legs of a chicken, the tail of a dolphin, and a pair of large, leather wings hanging off of her hips.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asked, her arms crossed. They seemed to function as a second pair of pinions; there were countless large feathers growing out from the otherwise human limbs.
The lockpicker, who had risen to her feet before the woman opened the door, tilted her head innocently. “Knocking.”
Sylvia nearly broke into a laughing fit when presented with the blatant lie, but somehow choked it back with both her front paws holding her snout shut.
“Last I checked, knocking did not involve trying to pick the lock,” said the siren lady.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Claire.
“Oh, for the love of the gods…” The clerk took to cursing at first, but her expression softened when she glanced over the animals. She lowered her face, rubbed her eye bags, and massaged the bridge of her nose before stepping out of the doorway and ushering the group inside. “Fine. Come in.”
It was difficult to determine the woman’s role at a glance. Her clothes were embroidered and generally of too high a quality to belong to an average employee, but she didn’t quite seem to be the owner either; she had let up far too quickly for someone that supposedly dealt regularly with outlaws. Looking around, Claire saw no immediate signs of her shady dealings. It was a normal pet shop. The puppies and kittens that sat in the glass displays were excited to see the visitors. The tiny, newly hatched tuberi lazed about in a warm, candle-lit corner, while birds of all shapes and sizes sat in the cages hanging from the ceiling.
“Wow! This place is super neat,” said Sylvia. She began to drool as she floated over to a fancy fish tank and stared at its terrified occupants.
“No eating.” The fox nearly reached into the glass, but a force dragged her back to her usual position before any of the exotic fox bait could find itself swimming in acid.
There was a staircase at the end of the nearest aisle, sporting a sign claiming that the supplies and feed were kept on the second floor. Claire was immediately gripped by the urge to explore it, but the clerk, who had closed and locked the door behind her, exuded a silent pressure that demanded the lyrkress’ attention.
“So? Which of them is sick?”
The statement was met with a silent tilt of the head. The bewildered moose blinked, first at the clerk, and then the manatee already being examined with a candle and a tongue depressor, before finally speaking aloud. “Sick?”
“Sick, injured, whatever,” said the bird-fish.
“None of them are sick or injured,” said Claire. “Why would they be?”
“Why else would you be bothering me in the middle of the storm?”
“To shop.”
The feathered fish once again pinched the bridge of her nose. “I should’ve just kept the door shut.” She took off her gloves and shoved them into her overalls’ front pockets before making her way back over to the desk. “Be quick about it. Get whatever the hell you came for and get out.”
“Well uhmm… about that…” Sylvia stuck out her tongue and scratched the back of her head. “We’re not actually here for anything specific.”
“Then get the hell out!” The clerk pointed to the door as she buried her face into her forearms and groaned a dozen complaints before suddenly snapping to attention. “Wait. Did the fox just talk?” She looked at Claire first and the speaker second.
“Mhm! I’ve been talking this whole time,” said the vixen.
“Must’ve been the mushrooms. How many times have I told that damn old imbecile not to cook everything he finds?” The grumbling vet walked over to the counter, grabbed a tiny flask labeled Schizoaway and drained its contents. She shook and shuddered as soon as it slid down her throat, her frame glowing orange as the medicine worked its magic.
“Hey! That’s rude as heck!” cried the vixen. “I’m not imaginary!”
The siren glanced at the fox before checking the vial’s label and flipping it over to ensure that it was empty. “I guess not,” she said, with a hand pressed against her temple. Her eyes slowly shifted across the room and settled on the other two pets. “Can they talk too?”
“Huh? Of course not. Why would they be able to talk?”
“Why indeed?” She fell forward on the desk and buried her face in her arms. “Please leave. I have too much work on my hands to be dealing with this right now.”
“Once we’ve finished browsing,” said Claire, from the other side of the store. She was staring into one of the terrariums, her eyes focused on a less metallic, dumber-looking Boris with two tails. Both lizards joined in on the spontaneous activity. The cow-mounted weapon stared at the tiny iguana in the box, while the much smaller lizard focused its eyes on the reflection produced by the blade’s glimmering surface.
“What kinda work?” asked Sylvia.
The bird-shark breathed a sigh. “Every kind. More of it than you could possibly imagine.” She lifted a fat stack of documents out from under the table and plopped it on the counter. “It’s tax season, we have to do inventory, and there’s an upcoming audit. Not to mention all the sick animals that I have to take care of, day in and day out.”
“Mmmmnnn… That doesn’t sound very fun, but I can help if you let me eat all the fish in that tank.” The furball pointed at the first display that had grabbed her attention.
“Very funny,” said the vet. “How about you leave now?”
“It wasn’t a joke! I was being serious!” cried the fox. “And stop trying to kick us out! That’s just mean!”
“It’s not mean, it’s warranted. If you’d like me to be mean, I can call the town guard and have you thrown out.”
“I would suggest calling the two downstairs instead, if they were awake.” Having walked a full circle around the store, Claire returned to the counter in a slightly better mood.
The siren flinched. “W-what are you talking about?”
“The ones watching the funny animals. Like the things that keep making snorting sounds,” said Claire. “Don’t play dumb. I can hear them.”
The vet twisted her face, somewhat perplexed. “Of course you can.” She grabbed another flask, labeled Antinapitis, and tucked it into one of her pockets while walking out from around the counter. “Stay here.”
Her leathery waist wings trailing behind her, she walked to a particular spot right beside the largest fish tank and gave it a good old kick. It took her a few tries to displace the floorboard and uncover a large green hatch.
“Dad!” She twisted it open to reveal a gentle slope that led into a wide, underground corridor. “There’s someone here to see you!” Surely enough, both the guards, who were sitting against the walls where the ground flattened out, were sound asleep.
“Just a second!” said a voice, from further in the bunker.
One of the armed men snapped awake upon hearing the exchange. “W-w-w-w-whazzat!? Are we under attack!?” He leapt three feet into the air, and jabbed his trident into the ceiling as he blubbered a train of half coherent words. He tried to brandish his weapon when he spotted the unfamiliar face, but it was stuck in the wood and refused to budge when he pulled.
“Oh, for the love of…”
The men underwent an immediate change when sprinkled with the desk-lady’s potion. The one that was already awake suddenly turned lucid and composed himself. He even seemed to, for whatever reason, grow a beard. It didn’t quite seem to fit his aesthetic, given that he was a floating jellyfish, but it certainly did aid in identifying the location of his face. Once calmed, he stroked his beard with one tentacle while easily removing the trident from its prison.
His partner went through a far more drastic transformation. Leaves and flowers sprung from the wilted bush’s branches to form something that vaguely resembled a face. The greenery was crafted into a moustache, while the whites and oranges that made up the floral petals were turned into his features. Like his partner, he was fully alert, and for whatever reason, playing with his beard.
“We don’t pay you to sleep,” said the vet.
“You don’t pay us at all,” said the bush-man.
“Yeah, but I’m the one that reports to Old Garm, so how about you shut the fuck up?” After leading the customers inside the underground area and confirming that a man had rounded the corner, the vet walked back up the slope and closed the hatch behind her. “Knock when you’re done. The owner’ll be with you in a second.”
The triton in question rolled himself down the corridor, with a lamp in one hand, and his wheelchair’s tire in the other. He was not lame or crippled, but rather simply lacked the legs that his daughter happened to possess. As a merman, he could easily replace his fishy tail with a pair of land-limbs, but his kind was generally not fond of using their feet. The lack of buoyancy left them feeling awkward and uncomfortable, save for when they were at rest.
“Hello, hi, welcome, sorry for the delay,” he said, as he wiped the blood off his glasses. “Mind showing me your emblem before we begin?”
Claire tilted her head. “Emblem?”
“Yes, your emblem.” The triton frowned. “The one that lets me know if you have someone vouching for you.”
The incline of Claire’s head was changed by exactly three quarters of a degree.
“Okay, how about this…” The slightly wrinkled merman crossed his arms. “Who told you about this place?”
“Oh, oh, I can answer that one!” Sylvia stood up and raised a paw. “It was some tiny horse lady! She said there’s lots of weird animals and probably thought we’d have fun!”
“I see…” He seemed to take a moment to ponder. “And your relationship to this horse lady is?”
“None of your business,” said Claire. She glanced at the two guards and crossed her arms. “Now show us the merchandise.”
The man looked between the girl and the guards before shrugging. “Fine, guess it can’t hurt for you to look,” he said. “But any funny business and you get a spear in the back.”
Not bothering to respond, Claire silently followed the man as he wheeled down the hall. They skipped the first intersection, which seemed to lead to something along the lines of an office with few people inside of it, and walked to the far end of the corridor. On the left was a large open room filled with a number of cages, while the right had a hall featuring dark cells instead.
“Browse all you want,” said the man. “Prices are on the collars. Non-negotiable, unless you manage to get your hands on an emblem. Now if you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of dealing with another set of customers. Have one of the guards grab me if you want to make a purchase.”
Nodding, Claire wandered down the hall on the right and turned her eyes on the cells within. The first was where all the snorting had come from. It contained large, rotund mammals covered in tiny hairs. It was difficult to say how intelligent the goblins were. Some of their subspecies were at least somewhat sentient, but all of the individuals present behaved exactly like pigs. They even had elongated, cylindrical noses strapped to their faces and tiny tails pinned to their rears.
“Uhmmm…” Sylvia pressed a paw against her chin. “What the heck?”
The next cage was hardly any better. It contained nothing but a small whale dressed in a set of fancy robes. She appeared to conduct herself as would a high class courtesan, greeting the lyrkress with a bow before breaking into an interpretative dance. But not even this was as egregious as the third, which contained a whole pack of big-butted goats, which according to the sign at least, were known for being violently affectionate.
“I think we’re in the wrong place,” said Sylvia. “This seems a lot more like the kinda thing that’d be up Al’s alley.”
“Definitely,” agreed Claire. She briefly glanced down the other hall before turning back the way they came.
And it was right as they made this turn that the store’s owner emerged from his office with two customers in tow. She looked around for a place to hide, but there was none. She couldn’t even manage a transformation in time; the other guests’ eyes had been on her since the moment she spotted them. Both familiar faces had already greeted her and bowed their heads in deference.
Just seeing them filled her with the urge to hit something or other, but she kept her calm, smiled, and had her pet speak a controlled greeting in her place.
“Lord Pollux. What a surprise. Whatever might you be doing here?”
“Good afternoon, Lady Augustus.” The marquis began by placing his hand on his chest and bowing. The teenager standing behind him offered the same greeting, albeit without anywhere near as much composure.
Like his father, the boy had a head of fiery red hair, bright green eyes, and a fairly muscular frame. His mane was even longer than the older man’s. The unfettered tresses extended so far that they would brush against his equine frame each time he took a step. It was an incredibly messy style, but it worked well with his wild demeanor.
“I just happened to be in the midst of purchasing a prize for my son.” The old pervert continued after flashing a brief smile. “You see, he just came of age the other day, and this was the prize that he requested.”
It was difficult to say, judging from the relative time of a centaur’s birth, if he was to be considered an adult. Whether he successfully completed his ritual hunt was the deciding factor, and while those that were older were certainly more likely to have succeeded, the year count itself ensured very little. Technically, Claire had never gone on such a ceremonial outing, nor had she participated in any other event that would have branded her an adult, but her people would have readily considered her as such regardless. Warriors were typically thought of as responsible for their own well beings.
“How exciting.” Claire turned to the teenager and offered the least disgusted smile she could. “Congratulations, err… Critee - ohs? Critios!” The fox speaking in her place clapped her paws together. “Your father has left many a tale in records of Cadrian an…tiquitae? And I doubt not that his valour will find itself ignited again in you.”
“T-thank you, Lady Augustus.”
The teenager flushed as he stole a thousand glances at her ears. He tried to hide them, but was largely unsuccessful. Even if she hadn’t noticed, it would have been obvious from the way that he flushed and fiddled with his fingers every time he dared to raise his head.
“Y-you’re looking very lovely today,” he stuttered. “W-w-wait, I don’t mean that normally means that you don’t, it’s just I uhmm… sorry.”
It was not their first time meeting, nor his first time breaking down in front of her. It was precisely how they had behaved at every single banquet they had both attended, for as long as she could remember, but annoyed as she was, she did not blame him. Her ears were practically divine, after all.
“Thank you, Critios.” The fake smile she offered only served to fuel his nervousness. His face was red as a rose; it took him everything he had just to meet her eyes for an instant.
She, however, was the only one smiling. The fox in her arms had a much more annoyed look on her face, and it was precisely upon seeing it that the boy turned white. Eyes wide, he ran over to the marquis and grabbed him by the hand.
“F-f-father, I think we s-should l-leave,” he said. “I’d r-r-rather not make a-any purchases.” He then bent over and whispered to the triton. “S-sorry, we’ll be back later. Please keep the goats reserved. We’ll pay extra.”
“Well in that case, I suppose I’ll have to let you go,” said the merman, with a knowing smile.
“T-thank you,” whispered the teen. He took a series of deep breaths as soon as the other man was done speaking, and stood back up to his usual height whilst half shouting his words. “L-lady Augustus! W-would you like to accompany us back to the m-m-manor?” But when he opened his eyes and looked down the hall, he found no such individual anywhere in sight. “Lady Augustus?”
“She left while you were hyperventilating,” said his father.
“Oh…” The red-faced teen slumped his shoulders. “At least this means we get to buy the goats.”
To his dismay, however, returning to the cage led him to discover that the well-endowed antelopes had somehow lost their most defining features.
SpicySpaceSquid
Chapter 233 - Horses, Goats, and Basements VI
Sylvia stifled a laugh as she watched her pet knock persistently on the old wooden door. The frosted glass panes that adorned it were hard to see through, but the pair could clearly make out a bright light shining within. Someone was inside, sitting at the front desk and working on some task or other.
“They’re ignoring us,” said Claire, with her eyes narrowed.
“Well yeah, silly! The sign says they’re closed!” said the fox. She was trying her best not to laugh on account of worsening the qiligon’s already sour mood—an endeavour that saw a minimal amount of success. The occasional giggle squeezed its way out of her throat, with each eliciting a miffed twitch from the cushion beneath her.
“I’m going to break this stupid door down if they keep pretending not to hear us.”
“Uhmmm… I’m not really sure that’s the best idea,” said the fairy. “Wait! Aren’t you a rogue? Can’t you just pick the lock or something?”
Rogues not named Claire had the tendency to avoid direct confrontation. Stealth was key to their operations, and lockpicking was an important skill in which their kind was particularly well versed. It was the dexterity stat that drove one’s ability to perform the necessary feats of fine motor control, and the lyrkress had far more than was required. It only stood to reason that she had the means to excel at the basic class function, but while she had gathered, from the various plays she had seen, that picking a lock constituted sticking some sort of object inside its key hole, she had no idea how to get past the mechanism. Filling it with ice didn’t quite seem to do the job, and neither did crafting a mold to perfectly fit its interior. This too prompted a giggle from her hat, much to her frustration and dismay.
She was on the verge of giving up and snapping the door’s hinges when she heard a pair of feet approach from the other side. The lock was undone and the knob twisted a moment later, revealing a less-than-enthused woman with large bags under her eyes. She had pale, almost unhealthy-looking skin, a full head of curly brown hair, and an almost humanoid body with the legs of a chicken, the tail of a dolphin, and a pair of large, leather wings hanging off of her hips.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asked, her arms crossed. They seemed to function as a second pair of pinions; there were countless large feathers growing out from the otherwise human limbs.
The lockpicker, who had risen to her feet before the woman opened the door, tilted her head innocently. “Knocking.”
Sylvia nearly broke into a laughing fit when presented with the blatant lie, but somehow choked it back with both her front paws holding her snout shut.
“Last I checked, knocking did not involve trying to pick the lock,” said the siren lady.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Claire.
“Oh, for the love of the gods…” The clerk took to cursing at first, but her expression softened when she glanced over the animals. She lowered her face, rubbed her eye bags, and massaged the bridge of her nose before stepping out of the doorway and ushering the group inside. “Fine. Come in.”
It was difficult to determine the woman’s role at a glance. Her clothes were embroidered and generally of too high a quality to belong to an average employee, but she didn’t quite seem to be the owner either; she had let up far too quickly for someone that supposedly dealt regularly with outlaws. Looking around, Claire saw no immediate signs of her shady dealings. It was a normal pet shop. The puppies and kittens that sat in the glass displays were excited to see the visitors. The tiny, newly hatched tuberi lazed about in a warm, candle-lit corner, while birds of all shapes and sizes sat in the cages hanging from the ceiling.
“Wow! This place is super neat,” said Sylvia. She began to drool as she floated over to a fancy fish tank and stared at its terrified occupants.
“No eating.” The fox nearly reached into the glass, but a force dragged her back to her usual position before any of the exotic fox bait could find itself swimming in acid.
There was a staircase at the end of the nearest aisle, sporting a sign claiming that the supplies and feed were kept on the second floor. Claire was immediately gripped by the urge to explore it, but the clerk, who had closed and locked the door behind her, exuded a silent pressure that demanded the lyrkress’ attention.
“So? Which of them is sick?”
The statement was met with a silent tilt of the head. The bewildered moose blinked, first at the clerk, and then the manatee already being examined with a candle and a tongue depressor, before finally speaking aloud. “Sick?”
“Sick, injured, whatever,” said the bird-fish.
“None of them are sick or injured,” said Claire. “Why would they be?”
“Why else would you be bothering me in the middle of the storm?”
“To shop.”
The feathered fish once again pinched the bridge of her nose. “I should’ve just kept the door shut.” She took off her gloves and shoved them into her overalls’ front pockets before making her way back over to the desk. “Be quick about it. Get whatever the hell you came for and get out.”
“Well uhmm… about that…” Sylvia stuck out her tongue and scratched the back of her head. “We’re not actually here for anything specific.”
“Then get the hell out!” The clerk pointed to the door as she buried her face into her forearms and groaned a dozen complaints before suddenly snapping to attention. “Wait. Did the fox just talk?” She looked at Claire first and the speaker second.
“Mhm! I’ve been talking this whole time,” said the vixen.
“Must’ve been the mushrooms. How many times have I told that damn old imbecile not to cook everything he finds?” The grumbling vet walked over to the counter, grabbed a tiny flask labeled Schizoaway and drained its contents. She shook and shuddered as soon as it slid down her throat, her frame glowing orange as the medicine worked its magic.
“Hey! That’s rude as heck!” cried the vixen. “I’m not imaginary!”
The siren glanced at the fox before checking the vial’s label and flipping it over to ensure that it was empty. “I guess not,” she said, with a hand pressed against her temple. Her eyes slowly shifted across the room and settled on the other two pets. “Can they talk too?”
“Huh? Of course not. Why would they be able to talk?”
“Why indeed?” She fell forward on the desk and buried her face in her arms. “Please leave. I have too much work on my hands to be dealing with this right now.”
“Once we’ve finished browsing,” said Claire, from the other side of the store. She was staring into one of the terrariums, her eyes focused on a less metallic, dumber-looking Boris with two tails. Both lizards joined in on the spontaneous activity. The cow-mounted weapon stared at the tiny iguana in the box, while the much smaller lizard focused its eyes on the reflection produced by the blade’s glimmering surface.
“What kinda work?” asked Sylvia.
The bird-shark breathed a sigh. “Every kind. More of it than you could possibly imagine.” She lifted a fat stack of documents out from under the table and plopped it on the counter. “It’s tax season, we have to do inventory, and there’s an upcoming audit. Not to mention all the sick animals that I have to take care of, day in and day out.”
“Mmmmnnn… That doesn’t sound very fun, but I can help if you let me eat all the fish in that tank.” The furball pointed at the first display that had grabbed her attention.
“Very funny,” said the vet. “How about you leave now?”
“It wasn’t a joke! I was being serious!” cried the fox. “And stop trying to kick us out! That’s just mean!”
“It’s not mean, it’s warranted. If you’d like me to be mean, I can call the town guard and have you thrown out.”
“I would suggest calling the two downstairs instead, if they were awake.” Having walked a full circle around the store, Claire returned to the counter in a slightly better mood.
The siren flinched. “W-what are you talking about?”
“The ones watching the funny animals. Like the things that keep making snorting sounds,” said Claire. “Don’t play dumb. I can hear them.”
The vet twisted her face, somewhat perplexed. “Of course you can.” She grabbed another flask, labeled Antinapitis, and tucked it into one of her pockets while walking out from around the counter. “Stay here.”
Her leathery waist wings trailing behind her, she walked to a particular spot right beside the largest fish tank and gave it a good old kick. It took her a few tries to displace the floorboard and uncover a large green hatch.
“Dad!” She twisted it open to reveal a gentle slope that led into a wide, underground corridor. “There’s someone here to see you!” Surely enough, both the guards, who were sitting against the walls where the ground flattened out, were sound asleep.
“Just a second!” said a voice, from further in the bunker.
One of the armed men snapped awake upon hearing the exchange. “W-w-w-w-whazzat!? Are we under attack!?” He leapt three feet into the air, and jabbed his trident into the ceiling as he blubbered a train of half coherent words. He tried to brandish his weapon when he spotted the unfamiliar face, but it was stuck in the wood and refused to budge when he pulled.
“Oh, for the love of…”
The men underwent an immediate change when sprinkled with the desk-lady’s potion. The one that was already awake suddenly turned lucid and composed himself. He even seemed to, for whatever reason, grow a beard. It didn’t quite seem to fit his aesthetic, given that he was a floating jellyfish, but it certainly did aid in identifying the location of his face. Once calmed, he stroked his beard with one tentacle while easily removing the trident from its prison.
His partner went through a far more drastic transformation. Leaves and flowers sprung from the wilted bush’s branches to form something that vaguely resembled a face. The greenery was crafted into a moustache, while the whites and oranges that made up the floral petals were turned into his features. Like his partner, he was fully alert, and for whatever reason, playing with his beard.
“We don’t pay you to sleep,” said the vet.
“You don’t pay us at all,” said the bush-man.
“Yeah, but I’m the one that reports to Old Garm, so how about you shut the fuck up?” After leading the customers inside the underground area and confirming that a man had rounded the corner, the vet walked back up the slope and closed the hatch behind her. “Knock when you’re done. The owner’ll be with you in a second.”
The triton in question rolled himself down the corridor, with a lamp in one hand, and his wheelchair’s tire in the other. He was not lame or crippled, but rather simply lacked the legs that his daughter happened to possess. As a merman, he could easily replace his fishy tail with a pair of land-limbs, but his kind was generally not fond of using their feet. The lack of buoyancy left them feeling awkward and uncomfortable, save for when they were at rest.
“Hello, hi, welcome, sorry for the delay,” he said, as he wiped the blood off his glasses. “Mind showing me your emblem before we begin?”
Claire tilted her head. “Emblem?”
“Yes, your emblem.” The triton frowned. “The one that lets me know if you have someone vouching for you.”
The incline of Claire’s head was changed by exactly three quarters of a degree.
“Okay, how about this…” The slightly wrinkled merman crossed his arms. “Who told you about this place?”
“Oh, oh, I can answer that one!” Sylvia stood up and raised a paw. “It was some tiny horse lady! She said there’s lots of weird animals and probably thought we’d have fun!”
“I see…” He seemed to take a moment to ponder. “And your relationship to this horse lady is?”
“None of your business,” said Claire. She glanced at the two guards and crossed her arms. “Now show us the merchandise.”
The man looked between the girl and the guards before shrugging. “Fine, guess it can’t hurt for you to look,” he said. “But any funny business and you get a spear in the back.”
Not bothering to respond, Claire silently followed the man as he wheeled down the hall. They skipped the first intersection, which seemed to lead to something along the lines of an office with few people inside of it, and walked to the far end of the corridor. On the left was a large open room filled with a number of cages, while the right had a hall featuring dark cells instead.
“Browse all you want,” said the man. “Prices are on the collars. Non-negotiable, unless you manage to get your hands on an emblem. Now if you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of dealing with another set of customers. Have one of the guards grab me if you want to make a purchase.”
Nodding, Claire wandered down the hall on the right and turned her eyes on the cells within. The first was where all the snorting had come from. It contained large, rotund mammals covered in tiny hairs. It was difficult to say how intelligent the goblins were. Some of their subspecies were at least somewhat sentient, but all of the individuals present behaved exactly like pigs. They even had elongated, cylindrical noses strapped to their faces and tiny tails pinned to their rears.
“Uhmmm…” Sylvia pressed a paw against her chin. “What the heck?”
The next cage was hardly any better. It contained nothing but a small whale dressed in a set of fancy robes. She appeared to conduct herself as would a high class courtesan, greeting the lyrkress with a bow before breaking into an interpretative dance. But not even this was as egregious as the third, which contained a whole pack of big-butted goats, which according to the sign at least, were known for being violently affectionate.
“I think we’re in the wrong place,” said Sylvia. “This seems a lot more like the kinda thing that’d be up Al’s alley.”
“Definitely,” agreed Claire. She briefly glanced down the other hall before turning back the way they came.
And it was right as they made this turn that the store’s owner emerged from his office with two customers in tow. She looked around for a place to hide, but there was none. She couldn’t even manage a transformation in time; the other guests’ eyes had been on her since the moment she spotted them. Both familiar faces had already greeted her and bowed their heads in deference.
Just seeing them filled her with the urge to hit something or other, but she kept her calm, smiled, and had her pet speak a controlled greeting in her place.
“Lord Pollux. What a surprise. Whatever might you be doing here?”
“Good afternoon, Lady Augustus.” The marquis began by placing his hand on his chest and bowing. The teenager standing behind him offered the same greeting, albeit without anywhere near as much composure.
Like his father, the boy had a head of fiery red hair, bright green eyes, and a fairly muscular frame. His mane was even longer than the older man’s. The unfettered tresses extended so far that they would brush against his equine frame each time he took a step. It was an incredibly messy style, but it worked well with his wild demeanor.
“I just happened to be in the midst of purchasing a prize for my son.” The old pervert continued after flashing a brief smile. “You see, he just came of age the other day, and this was the prize that he requested.”
It was difficult to say, judging from the relative time of a centaur’s birth, if he was to be considered an adult. Whether he successfully completed his ritual hunt was the deciding factor, and while those that were older were certainly more likely to have succeeded, the year count itself ensured very little. Technically, Claire had never gone on such a ceremonial outing, nor had she participated in any other event that would have branded her an adult, but her people would have readily considered her as such regardless. Warriors were typically thought of as responsible for their own well beings.
“How exciting.” Claire turned to the teenager and offered the least disgusted smile she could. “Congratulations, err… Critee - ohs? Critios!” The fox speaking in her place clapped her paws together. “Your father has left many a tale in records of Cadrian an…tiquitae? And I doubt not that his valour will find itself ignited again in you.”
“T-thank you, Lady Augustus.”
The teenager flushed as he stole a thousand glances at her ears. He tried to hide them, but was largely unsuccessful. Even if she hadn’t noticed, it would have been obvious from the way that he flushed and fiddled with his fingers every time he dared to raise his head.
“Y-you’re looking very lovely today,” he stuttered. “W-w-wait, I don’t mean that normally means that you don’t, it’s just I uhmm… sorry.”
It was not their first time meeting, nor his first time breaking down in front of her. It was precisely how they had behaved at every single banquet they had both attended, for as long as she could remember, but annoyed as she was, she did not blame him. Her ears were practically divine, after all.
“Thank you, Critios.” The fake smile she offered only served to fuel his nervousness. His face was red as a rose; it took him everything he had just to meet her eyes for an instant.
She, however, was the only one smiling. The fox in her arms had a much more annoyed look on her face, and it was precisely upon seeing it that the boy turned white. Eyes wide, he ran over to the marquis and grabbed him by the hand.
“F-f-father, I think we s-should l-leave,” he said. “I’d r-r-rather not make a-any purchases.” He then bent over and whispered to the triton. “S-sorry, we’ll be back later. Please keep the goats reserved. We’ll pay extra.”
“Well in that case, I suppose I’ll have to let you go,” said the merman, with a knowing smile.
“T-thank you,” whispered the teen. He took a series of deep breaths as soon as the other man was done speaking, and stood back up to his usual height whilst half shouting his words. “L-lady Augustus! W-would you like to accompany us back to the m-m-manor?” But when he opened his eyes and looked down the hall, he found no such individual anywhere in sight. “Lady Augustus?”
“She left while you were hyperventilating,” said his father.
“Oh…” The red-faced teen slumped his shoulders. “At least this means we get to buy the goats.”
To his dismay, however, returning to the cage led him to discover that the well-endowed antelopes had somehow lost their most defining features.
