A Second Generation Whateley Holiday Tale

Best of Show

by

Wasamon

Part Five

Somewhere in the depths of the Royal Biotechnology and Abominations World Kennel Club exhibition

All was darkness. Kit liked darkness. Darkness hid; darkness held. In the time before kit was born, darkness had been kit's warm and happy home. Happy, happy, happy.

Hate, hate, hate. Kit hated this darkness. It had fallen with a crash and a loud noise in the distance. Now, it was broken by ugly red lights that hurt kit's eyes and made it harder to see where kit was going.

Going, going, going. Kit was going. The darkness had fallen and broken the fences, and now there was somewhere to go.

Out in the darkness, there was the echo of many snarling throats. Now, there was somewhere to run, run, run from.

Running, running, running. That was what kit's sprawling legs did best, scrabbling up to speed in a heartbeat... to be slowed by the gurgle of a stomach. No good food, no bad food, just bleh food, meh food, and kit hadn't felt like eating that morning. But no food, no speed, and the growls rumbled in the not-so-far, and the snarls curled closer, and the ugly, hurtful red lights above did not bother the swiftly hopping things with the too-big ears and too-big feet and much-too-big horns and teeth... And too many eyes, each a pair on a different snarling face.

Kit could not run, but kit could stand. Kit could swipe with claws still soft. Kit could cry, "Nyaaaar..." in warning. The long-ear critters ignored it all.

A paw half as big around as kit's body slammed against the floor. A second soon followed, framing kit on either side while, high up above, a pair of somethings went "Waroof."

The long-ears did not ignore that. Their ears went flat back and their fur bristled. They spat and snarled. One hopped forward with its teeth bared. A single swipe of a giant paw sent it flying.

Another "Waroof" sounded a calm, determined warning. The long-ears turned tail, flashing white tufts as they scampered away.

Kit scrunched in, trying to be as small as possible, beneath the giant's gaze. The great thing shifted in place, and a head lowered to examine the bundle of scruff and fluff with the soft claws that still tried to leave slashes upon its wet nose. A heavy paw descended, pressing and holding kit to the floor. That giant head came down and grabbed kit by the back of the neck, and then lifted.

"Nyaaaaar..." grumbled kit as they wandered into the awful, terrible, no-good, very bad darkness.

Daniel

Right. So, he was in. Behind him, two angry mobs were jockeying for position. But that was outside, and he was inside. The convention hall was mostly dark and full of whatever. But he was in. Now what? It was a question worthy of an upperclassman tactics course, and he'd never even thought to check the prerequisites. But the big doors had shut behind him, and his previous route through the terrariums and aquariums hall was now blocked by metal emergency shutters. Nowhere to go but straight through.

He'd made it across the front area without spotting any of the critters he'd seen on the way out, but the occasional hoot, holler, and growl from the deeper corners suggested he might've been spotted. The floor was bare where he'd piled up the treats, though streaks of gravy and drool showed they'd been appreciated. Enough to get him through safely? Daniel could only hope.

First order of business: Locate Cookie. And Roxie, but if he was lucky then they'd still be together. Of the two of them, however, only pup had collars with tracking bobbins attached. The screen of his phone was showing a compass, with Cookie's position designated as True North. Daniel waved it in broad arcs ahead of himself, watching the needle bend left and right to stay on track. At this distance, it didn't take much to cause a deviation. If they were doing this on a straightline distance, he'd find pup in minutes.

But he had to run through the exhibition biomes while the online map was offline. He recalled enough of the layout from this morning's tour to be very concerned.

In the desert biome, under a night sky turned dawn-red from the emergency lights, clockwork-looking owls clicked their eyes as their cactus roosts shivered and trained needles upon whatever came close. A steel-plated armadillo was pelted with diamond tips, all of which bounced off. Daniel snuck around the far way, rather than follow the visitor path, what passed right between the danger zones currently without the benefit of safety fields. Apart from some of the heavy-armordillos, nothing crossed his path. He left some oat flapjacks behind, just to be safe.

Along the dunes of a simulated sea, birds fought over scraps of a dropped lunch box. Some looked like sea gulls, only with four wings and no legs. Others looked more like dodo birds, only more alive and with heavy bills for bludgeoning. They squawked at him, first in warning and then in delight as he dumped more baked goods. Then he had to run to escape the feeding frenzy as feathers flapped and slapped while beaks and bills dueled for treasure. He didn't even notice the sandcastle till he walked through it.

The critters what built the sandcastle--the sand city, he saw now--noticed him fast enough. The worker crabstructors clicked and clacked their pincers in annoyance, then retreated into their holes. The warrior crabstructors emerged a second later, twice as big in body and maybe four times bigger in the claws. Daniel had to dance and jump to avoid the snips--and even then, he was afraid he lost the end of a shoelace and a bit off his pants legs. Not knowing what the crab-like things ate, he settled for dropping some jammy donuts on them and running while they were confused.

Through the marsh biome, he didn't have much choice on which way to go, because it was either boardwalk or knee-deep in muddy water. The mudpuppies were splashing and playing without any worries for the emergency lights or the lack of barriers. Almost made him want to join them.

There was a funny, drummy feeling under his feet. It accompanied the tune of happy hooting that traveled along the boardwalk routes.

Well, crap.

The first of the hooty-hoppers stuttered to a halt just ahead of him. Its head was a little too wild to be a dog, a little too small to be a wolf, and in any case, the thing was built more like a chicken what had mostly fur and teeth. Its mouth took up half the length of its football-sized body. Hopping in place, it turned careful angles to present both eyes at him.

He'd dumped enough baked goods to feed a pack of the things, hardly twenty minutes ago, not to mention everything else produced in the last five. The place inside him where all the baked goodness came out was still aching from the ongoing effort. Still, the thing hadn't attacked him yet, which was usually a good sign. He magicked up another meat pie in his hands. "Want seconds?" he asked.

The hoots were answer enough, so he kept a pie in each hand as he made his careful way along the boardwalk, with the hooty-hoppers following behind and making happy noises.

He didn't bother to count how many there were. Some things were better off not being known. The important thing was that he had their attention, had their interest, and did not have their jaws gnawing on his ankles as yet.

Others didn't seem to be so lucky: "Help!"

"Feareth not, milady!" cried a different voice, high-pitched and nasal, yet indisputably masculine. "For want of a featherduster, what to wave, ne'er a duel shall this cur win!"

"Shut up and fight it already!"

"Verily, milady! I shall flence its skin!"

At the hub of the boardwalks, a wooden platform that rose above the muddy water to encircle a tree, Daniel found the scene already set: One bio-devisor, her status apparent from her labcoat and its various adornments, facing a medium-sized ape, kinda like a baboon, only green and mossy. Its hands slapped the boards angrily, and its fangs flashed red in the emergency lights.

"Foul simian simpleton, be thou the last of thine ilk to learn the joy and solace of bathing?" And between them was a cat. Standing upright. Wearing boots. Waving a stick. Spouting fancy English like nothing Daniel'd heard outside of a cartoon set in Jolly Olde England. "Aye! See how it falters? Witness how it cowers? Naught of courage, aught of fear, yet wisdom to bet that danger be near!"

It said a lot that this was not the weirdest thing he'd seen in the last half hour. "Um, do you need a hand?" he called.

"Yes!" yelled the woman.

"Nay, nay, stay thine hand!" cried the cat. "Lest honour wreft from my paws be, the fight ended ere it began. Though long--"

The swamp baboon had apparently heard enough. Incredibly patient of it to wait this long, in fact. With a snort and a stomp and a stamp and a slap, it leapt for the talkative kitty-cat, only to get a stick up its snout as the feline fell back.

"A fine lunge have thee and yet, what matter thrust without riposte? Nay, fine ape, ne'er it be, that by brute force a fight I lost."

"Will you just shut up and stick it, fuzzbutt?!" shouted the devisor lady.

With a sigh of annoyance, the cat took a firm stance with its stick raised and ready. The swamp baboon came running, and when the stick swung for its snout once more, the monkey dipped and dodged out of the way. And right into the arc of the cat's other paw and its claws. "Fie, thou hast realized not that neither paw favour I, yet by both strike fierce and hot, ot tear the skin and blind the eye!"

Whether the beast was put off more by the thin slashes across its nose or by the amount of hot air the cat produced with each sentence, it was hard to say, but when it turned to move, Daniel had a cream pie ready to smash in its face. No special tricks or ingredients, merely a tasty custard cream that surprised and delighted. The swamp baboon licked a bit off its snout, then a bit more to follow. It wandered off, content.

The cat was not nearly so happy. "Dost thou flee, sirrah! Like a coward base, tail 'twixt thy buttocks, red there as in thy face! Oh, for want of a thumb with which to bite at thee!"

"Can it, fuzzbutt." The devisor got up and brushed herself off. He recognized them both now from the show, in the medium pet-weight division, but up close it was surprising to see how short the lady was, on par with Miz Bova. Probably about the same age, too. "Hey, do I know you?" she asked.

"Were you watchin' the big surprise at the end of the show?" he asked back.

"Oh! You had the dog. Er, dogs?"

"One pup, plural pronouns," he confirmed.

"Mayhap he beareth fleas, milady."

"Oh hush. I know when your last flea dip was. Fiona Winkhamshire," she said, introducing herself with a handshake. "Dr. Winkhamshire, that is, but I didn't graduate four grades early just to be formal."

"Daniel Diggins," he replied. "Um, how'd you get separated from the rest of the scientists?"

"We'd stepped out for a moment," she said. "Fuzzbutt--"

"Milady, please, couldst thou call me proper?"

She sighed. "Ahem. Sir Felix Mauretius Saint-Ypres de Winklebottom here was feeling zoomies, so we found a quiet spot for him to run around." The red emergency lights did not quite hide her grimace. "Didn't stay quiet for long."

"Milady, I do not do 'zoomies' or any other such thing!" Sir Winklebottom was most aggrieved.

"He's a cat," she said to Daniel, as if that explained it all. "They get zoomies from time to time. Part of the basic nature of the genome. So, how about you?"

"Had to escort some friends out the front."

"So you can lead us back that way?" Eyelashes fluttered at him. "Pretty please?"

"I would," he told her. "Only, ain't sure that's such a good idea, right this minute..."

Freight Train

For Angie 'Freight Train' Murphy, Marchioness Securita, life in Karedonia was busy but never boring. Oh, how she wished it were, some days. But that was what she got for hitching her engine to Jobe Ann's crazy train, almost a decade back. At the time, she'd mostly been concerned with looking good, because the old her was as square and dumpy as her codenamesake, and the prospect of becoming a stately, powerful, beautiful dark elf was quite alluring. Oh, for the days when appearances were her biggest concern.

Right now, her biggest worries were the two bands of protestors arming up to storm the convention center. A goddamn angry mob event, following in the fine tradition of all those who'd ever looked up at the crumbling castle on the mountain cliff, with its electrical sparks and cackling laughter, and finally said, "Enough!"

It was more than enough for her. "Would you lot please hurry it on up?" she said over the loudspeakers. "We don't have all day. And I for one have a date tonight."

There was a snicker from among her agents, which she ignored. There were frowns and muttering among the protestors, which she only pretended to ignore. Whoever was organizing the groups knew better than to let everyone rush in blindly, and so they took the time to arrange waves of rioters, as well as shout up the battle cries of righteous indignation and grievance so that everyone remained properly motivated. That they were taking so long here meant they wanted to annoy her.

All it meant to her was that it gave anyone still inside time to prepare. A blip on her palm tablet confirmed the full lockdown of the small exhibits hall, and that all approaches to Jobe Ann's position were covered by observers with clear comms access independent of whatever the hell was blanking out the center's system.

Also, a reminder from Bova that their date was still on for tonight, so she shouldn't do anything stupid.

Her? Do something stupid? Perish the thought. The benefit to hitching her engine to the crazy train was that she got to bump into the caboose on a regular basis. No way she was going to let the marching morons before her derail that. With a series of hand gestures, she directed her agents to move out of the way, giving the angry mob full clearance to the convention center doors. With the roar of a hundred throats, with torches lit and pitchforks raised, the angry mob commenced.

It wasn't that the members of the angry mob didn't know what they were going into. They'd had members pose as honest tourists to walk the routes, scout the way, and tell everyone else what there was to see. There'd been thought and planning before it came to this. A simple lack of knowledge was not the problem.

The problem wasn't that they didn't know; it was that they thought they did.

They thought the mechanical owls were merely decorative.

They thought the birds would flap away in fear.

They thought the things which went bump in the darkness would flee the light.

That they were mistaken on all counts was a truth they needed to discover the hard way.

Madrigal Sharpe

"First reports coming in." Madrigal's mouth produced the words as fast as her eyes could scan them. "Desert biome is a write-off. Mob rushed it straight through with minimal casualties. Zoological Service agents are on standby to remove the wounded."

"Tell them to wait," said Her Highness. "For caution's sake."

"Caution, yes..." It was politer to be cautious than vindictive. "Instituting approved triage rules. No..." She held up a pointer finger to forestall the next royal conniption. "The rules as laid out in the Assembly Code state it clearly, and they were added for good reason. Medical crews save who they can, in spite of the victim's own idiocy."

"We do want to avoid further sanctions, parent dearest," noted Belphoebe from where she was reviewing her own reports. "And at any rate, it's quite unlikely any of them shall make it this far."

"How can we be sure?" demanded the princess. "Main telemetry networks are still down and... where is that idiotic devil of a man?"

"You snapped?" Jobe Arthur had, of course, been standing right behind Jobe Ann for well over a minute. No one had bothered to mention, and their forebearance paid off in splutters of indignation.

"You! Where... what... have you pinpointed the source of the disruption field yet?" she demanded. "It's been more than ten minutes."

The prince's grin turned sour. "Yes... It pains me to say, but our mystery Nedry is smarter than his literary namesake and does not appear to be on site for the chaos. The signal is definitely coming from within the palace complex, but it is not in this building. The way it is being boosted and amplified is making it difficult to pin down, but I have people at work triangulating measurements."

"And do we know who is doing it? Not Father, I hope."

His Highness shook his head. "No, definitely not. He wouldn't bother with anything this subtle. It must be someone else who has it in for one or both of us."

A laugh rang from Belphoebe. "Oh my, and what a long list that is. Shall I start sorting it by category, or alphabetically?"

"This is not a joke." The words, identical in phrasing and tone, echoed from Their Highnesses in perfect chorus. Then the two of them glared at each other in mirrored poses, before looking away with identical sniffs of disdain. It could not have been better coordinated if they'd tried. Neither could see the wavering expression on the other's face, though both made furtive glances.

"In any case," His Highness announced. "I and my finest people are on the job, so we will doubtless know the culprit soon enough. I shall let you know as soon as I do."

"Thanks." The word somehow escaped the princess's mouth unscathed. "You're doing your part and I... I appreciate that."

Madrigal was no longer a religious woman, but she would swear right then that she'd just witnessed a miracle. It took her a whole minute to notice the continuing updates from her palm tablet. "Oh, one branch of the mob's made it to the grasslands biome. There's... there's been a further casualty."

"Again, who cares if one of those self-righteous morons gets hurt?" Jobe Ann demanded.

"It wasn't a protestor." She gulped down a lump of worry before she continued. "They stabbed one of the cattle."

For a further moment, all was silent and then: "They. Did. What." Her Imperial Highness, Crown Princess Jobe Ann Wilkins of Karedonia, stood unnaturally still. The red emergency lights reflected balefully in her eyes. "Summon the special menagerie," she decreed. "For someone out there has chosen to be maimed today."

The first and future queen of the dark elves stormed away with a dramatic sweep of the labcoat tails. The silence in her wake was broken by a ducal snicker. "Oh, this is going to be a sight to see," said Belphoebe, and no one could disagree.

elsewhere

Things were on the move. People were on the move. From his own devices, the architect of chaos kept track of it all. It made a nice background rumble to his own activities.

The HAET'M protestors led the charge one way. The Jade Cultist went another. Mostly.

Some pawns were toppled, by needle tips or snippy bites.

Some got lost in the mud, muck, and darkness.

No one had been eaten, yet.

But...

But...

The princess was on the move.

Sooner than expected, but not one item in the day's operation had occurred on time. Flexibility was key.

Stall her, draw her out. Tell the protestors to fall back to the front hall area. Most would. Most wanted to leave already. Some would keep going. Let them. It would all end the same.

They all had their jobs, and he his. Time was slipping into the future, and so was he.

Daniel

The alpine biome was a sight for sore eyes. Even beneath the strain-inducing red glow of the emergency lights, the exhibit felt like home in Idaho. The air was a bit thinner, the breeze chiller, and the trees were tall and numerous as their fake trunks reached from the ground to a skillfully hidden ceiling. There was everything in it that he missed from home.

A few things he didn't, too, and from what his ears heard, those things'd finally breached the airlock from the grassland biome. Sad to say, but it just wasn't Idaho without the proper quota of hateful bigots. This group'd even brought their own torches.

"Forsooth, in what sewer dwelleth a lustrous slug to ever match the slime which drippeth from their souls, with ne'er a goodsome scheme to hatch?"

"Quiet, fuzzbutt." Miz Fiona kept her own voice low. The three of them had found a spot amid the rocks where the hoopsnakes had basked, though the mouthy ropes of reptile had better luck hiding. The three of them could only pray. Quietly.

"Can't last much longer," he whispered. "Someone'll get the lights back on or stop the angry mob thing, somehow."

"By the Assembly Code, these nutbars get a full hour from commencement to do whatever, and Security can't do a thing till then," said Miz Fiona. "They give all us devisors a PDF of rules and stuff when we come in, though I don't know if anyone else ever read it. The mob's target is allowed to fight back, but since it's HAET'M we're talking about..."

There was a rustling noise overhead that his ears knew too well. He pulled Miz Fiona down low, cuz the last thing they wanted was to stand out while the conkerdinks were picking targets. The bone-headed flying squirrels glided near to silently between the trees, with only the leaves marking their take-offs and landings with a faint shuff-shuff.

"You guys hear something?" yelled a man in the distance. "I swear, this fucking madhouse..."

"Put a sock in it, Larry. We knew what we were heading into. Pitchforks ready!" yelled the apparent leader of the mini-mob. "We are the righteous. We are men born of God's Plan, and we stand tall! We stand firm! We--"

There was a wet, meaty thunk and a gurgling cry which told the false night that a conkerdink had found the best possible moment to slam into the speaker head-first. From their vantage point, Daniel could see torches waving wildly to fend off flying squirrels, who simply swept around for a different angle of approach before more thunk happened. A bare moment later, and it was just Larry and one other guy left standing.

"Fuck this shit!" yelled Larry. "We need to go back and get some more guys. Right... er, who're you--erk." The question ended with a hand at the unlucky man's throat, holding it in a vise grip.

The other guy's face was pale in the emergency lights, and it took Daniel a beat to realize that it was faintly glowing, like one of those stickers what held in the glow for a little while after the lights went out. The guy's eyes were a sparkling green as he said, "For a verdant tomorrow, we clear the path today."

The next thunk was wetter and more terminal-sounding than any squirrelly collision.

"Oh, shit," said Miz Fiona. "Jade Cultist, high on the supply. "We'd best be getting out of here."

"Whither we go, O mistress fair?"

From down the fake slope, someone else responded. "I can hear you over there, you realize." The cultist's voice was loud but oddly slurred, like his tongue was too big for his mouth. "And I regret what I am about to do." With every step in their direction, the guy's form bulged and grew, but not equally all over. One arm got thicker on up, and the other went Popeye towards the wrist. His legs went mismatched, forcing him into a funny, limping gait that was still faster than it should've been. Daniel wished the glow-in-the-dark effect didn't make the face so visible. "Perhaps I won't kill you. Perhaps you will live to see the Ogress come into her glory. Or perhaps not. Probably not. But hope is what we live for, is it not?"

Sir Winklebottom hissed. "Varlet in weeds, mere snake in the grass! Come hither, I prithee, and see this blade. Well will it fit up thine--"

"Fuzzbutt!" Miz Fiona held the feline homunculus back by the scruff of his neck.

"Big words, small voice," said the cultist, now at the base of the rocks. "But that's all you have, isn't it? No help comes this way."

Daniel wasn't so sure about that. Through the floor of the convention center, vibrating up the support beams underpinning the rocky slope platform, he felt the heavy, thumping rhythm of large paws slapping at high speed, and then his ears caught the "Aroo..." of a pup in motion. Cookie skidded in sideways, catching the cultist on the shoulder and then chomping down with one head. The misshapen man was ragdolled for a second before getting flung away, also like a ragdoll. When he landed, the ragdoll comparison continued as pup stepped over the limp body and looked up at its boy. "Woof?"

"We're okay, pup."

Another hiss from Sir Winklebottom, though different in pitch. "O cur, O beast!"

"That's a thank-you," the bio-devisor interpreted. "Is this your dog, then?"

"More like I'm its boy, but yeah." He stood up to greet Cookie with neck-hugs and head pats. "Um, whatcha got there?"

Pup's other head was occupied with a brindled bundle of fluff what didn't want to be held. It squirmed and cried, then turned bright orange eyes, flat face, and solidly prominent forehead his way. "Nyaaar?"

Oh. "Found yourself a new friend, huh?" He winced as the splinterkitten hissed and spat.

"Um, just an FYI," said Miz Fiona. "But I think some of the morons are recovering from their crittercussions."

"In sooth, yon muggish green son of curs doth move as well, and though I wish upon them my spleen to vent, now is the time to turn our tails." Disappointment dripped from Sir Winklebottom's whiskers.

"Ain't a thing wrong with a smart change of scenery. C'mon, pup." He magicked up a meat pie and fed it to the available head, along with an ear-skritch.

"Nyaar?" That had the splinterkitten's attention, and its flattened nose sniffed the air. The brindled bundle of fluff struggled less as Cookie led them onward to a presumably safer place to rest and snack. Daniel had extra meat pies already in hand.

Roxie

While most of the dome's dedicated systems and infrastructure were blue-screened for the duration, her phone and personal tablet still functioned. Not as efficiently, since the city wireless network normally relied on the dome system to maintain bandwidth, but she could send and receive updates with the Zoological Service while she waited with most of the guest bio-devisors in the back paddocks. Getting the Boarochs and other larger critters to a safe space had been her first priority, not to mention her first serious assignment as a junior Zoological Service member, and she was proud to say that she'd accomplished this task well enough that she had the time to sit down next to her owlbear charge, fret, and watch her phone for more updates.

-ding- And the occasional text message. She wished Daniel could send more, but it was a crazy most-of-an-hour so far.

"He made it to the lowland forest biome," she told Dr. Carlyle. "With Cookie and a couple of stragglers."

"That's not far from here, is it?" he asked.

"No, but..." she considered. "With the access corridors still locked down, they'd have to backtrack a ways. But it should be over soon!" came the positive assertion she needed for her own peace of mind. "Her Highness will take care of everything."

At the other end of the paddocks, where Wilbur the Boarochs was being primped and pampered, Dr. Tanishi let out a snort. "That fails to reassure me. The imperial dynasty of Karedonia is not known for its sound decision-making."

"Relax, Ippei!" Dr. Bullinsky guffawed. "It'll be crazy, yeah, but it'll sure be interesting!"

"I wish I could relax, Theodore."

Roxie skritched Crumpette's feathered ear-tufts. It helped to keep the owlbear calm, and her own worries firmly within. The beep of her tablet, on the other hand, only served to draw them out once more.

"What is it this time?" asked Dr. Tanishi.

She read it twice to be sure. "It's a general summons," she reported. "All Zoological Service personnel are to rendezvous with Her Highness, along with whatever critters we have on hand. I guess she's planning a show of force." Her hand patted Crumpette's fluffy cheek in a show of reassurance. "Right, then. It's off to work we go."

Dr. Carlyle frowned. "By yourself?"

"I'll have Crumpette with me."

"That's not what I meant."

"You are too old for what you are thinking, John," said Dr. Tanishi. "And Theodore has his hands full with Wilbur. I shall escort the young lady. If that is fine with her?"

"Er, yes?" she stammered.

"Good."

"Thank you, Ippei," said Dr. Carlyle.

"You may thank me later with a round of drinks." The Japanese bio-devisor made a face. "I do not doubt that we shall need something strong after all this."

In a little niche in dark woods

Kit was still caught. This was not good. Legs ached from slow walking, slow carrying, just carrying, no running. Move, move, move! Needed to move!

"Looks like Her Highness is passing by soon."

Words, words, but no food! Kit didn't care about words. Words floated away, couldn't get bit, couldn't get eaten. Scrabble and cry, stop the noise, stop the words. Food, food, food!"

"Forsooth, yon beastie yowls."

"Hush, fuzzbutt. It's just hungry."

Weird-food before its nose. Sniff, sniff, smelling weird. Rough, dry stuff around it, weird. Flakes and crumbs falling as it was broken in half, weird. Tasty meat and juices inside, not weird! Not weird! Food, food, food!

"Huh, wasn't sure you'd like it."

Food, food, food! Face pressed into the food, feeling the crumbs on the whiskers, but the meat on the teeth and the juice on the tongue. Yum, yum, yum! Another and another!

Soon, belly was full. Soon, all was good. Soon, sitting on the ground. Not caught, not bad. Maybe... good?

Fingers skritching ears. Yes, good. Good, good, good.

Jobe Ann

Every devisor needed a hobby, though others might wish otherwise. For Jobe Ann, a broad interest in the life sciences and a very specific series of sanctions against certain avenues of research had balanced out in the form of the royal menagerie. This was largely separate from the kennel show, though many entrants would be joining it eventually. But that was for the general collection.

Right here and now, she called for the special menagerie.

It was arguable whether any of these creatures should exist. Without the inspiration of enlightened science and its loose arrangement with the laws governing existence, most of them could not exist. From the saw-toothed wyverns with their diamond-tag tails to the miniature terror birds with beaks like axe blades, from the half-grown litters of wolf-like wargs to the lumbering owlbears, they were the children of Jobe Ann's imagination. And when she called, they answered. Where she led, they followed. What orders she gave, they obeyed, even to attack. Especially to attack. Most of these creatures had not been conceived in her mind when she was feeling particularly nice.

With them were her faithful subjects: human, drow, and orc. A few of the visiting bio-devisors lent their aid. Two of the hamadryads attended as well, though the rest had left to make sure Hyacinth was safe in her upcountry refuge.

It might not be the army she would choose to wage war, but it was the army she had, this second day of Christmas. Maybe she could ask the Troll Office for more next holiday season, but she doubted she would ever be on anyone's Nice List.

Her own personal Naughty List was long, with the names and visa IDs of all the angry mob on it. It was time to deliver.

Her Highness led from the front, trusting in her authority and His Highness's personal force field generators to keep herself safe. Her drow fell in behind her--Belphoebe and Bova, the countesses and baronesses who'd not yet been sent on errands, even Madrigal and Roxie, accompanied by Crumpette. The owlbear's eyes were wide, and her ear-tufts were cocked at attention. The wyverns flapped and fluttered above, and the terror birds chirped tactics as they scouted ahead.

Past the next partition, the convention floor opened up to the lowland forest biome, filled with mossy stones and immense tree trunks. More than one of those barked pillars held all the crowd-control devices they would ever need to quell the angry mob, only they were all offline due to the Code Nedry. The red midnight lighting killed any sense of distance, so that everything felt closed in and suffocating.

Not too far off, there was the call of a beast, a large one that sounded canine. Roxie's shout of happy surprise and relief was enough to identify the source, and a moment later, the young man from Twain Cottage appeared with his dog, another bio-devisor from the show, and her pseudo-Shakespearean Puss in Boots. In the boy's arms, something else squirmed, but it appeared to be content with its snack. By Belphoebe's reports, that would indicate that it was under control.

She gave the teens a moment to get over themselves, and then the special menagerie continued on.

Daniel

"Um, is it safe for us to be out here like this?" Daniel asked.

"Don't worry! All the really dangerous stuff's on our side." Roxie was chipper as she said it. "Her Highness has it under control."

Standing nearby but alone in the crowd, Doc Tanishi sniffed. "That is what worries me," the man admitted.

Miz Fiona patted the doctor on the back, though she had to reach to make it work. "Aw, c'mon, Ippei! Where's your sense of adventure?"

"In my hotel room, safely secured."

The short devisor lady had her fists on her hips as she pouted. "You're no fun at all today, Ippei."

But at her knee, Sir Winklebottom mewed. "Mayhap he hath the right of it; this time be not the best of fit to milady's gracious skills, to go where'er an thou wills."

A sigh escaped Miz Fiona. "What a day to leave the gerbil inseminator at home. I would love to make some idiots birth litters. Okay. Little miss drow? The way back is that direction, right?"

"Um, yes?" said Roxie.

"Good. Fuzzbutt can get me there safely. And Daniel?" Miz Fiona leaned over and planted a warm kiss on his cheek. "Thanks for being so gallant. You stay safe, you hear?"

"Um, will do," he said. There was a tingle on his cheek, and he was all too aware that he had an official girlfriend now who happened to be standing only a few feet away with an odd look on her face, and he did not know how she would react to some other lady kissing him, no matter how chastely.

With a pout, as it turned out: "I wish I had a good luck kiss."

The older woman giggled. "Fine, one for you too." A second kiss was delivered to Roxie's cheek, and then Dr. Fiona Winkhamshire followed her mixed-up feline and left Daniel to mixed feelings.

"She was nice," said his girlfriend.

"Er, you didn't mind...?"

"What?"

"Nothing, I guess." They could talk about it later. About a lot of things later, probably. For now, everyone else was on the move, and so they moved with them. The splinterkitten wriggled in his arms but otherwise didn't seem to mind being carried along in Her Highness's little parade. Might be it was tired. Might be it was scared to be all alone. Cookie couldn't tell him what happened or why kit needed the rescue, but Daniel could imagine. In the shadows of the exhibit hall, lots of things lurked. Some of them must've been quite nasty.

None so bad as the ones standing proud in the light of the torches, however. The HAET'M protest was thinned considerably, but what was left was harder and meaner. Also, louder; the beat-boxers had survived the last half hour and were now leading a chorus of death threats in rapping rhyme. The acoustics were so bad that Daniel couldn't pick out more than a few words, but none of them were good.

No one had any trouble hearing Her Highness: "Get the fuck out of my exhibition."

"Whore of Babylon!" one of them shouted back. "Lilith in the night! Jezebel of the flesh!"

"Pick one and stick to it, why don't you? Ugh." It was tough to tell with the low light and drow skin, but the way Her Highness was holding her head suggested she had a massive headache, and it was standing across the front hall from them now. "Fine! You've all been warned and charged for the angry mob permits. Here I am, mistress of the metaphorical castle." With a snap of her fingers, the drow princess called her creations and their handlers to form ranks behind her. The big ol' wolf things went to heel on either side of her, the murder-chickens showed their beaks, the wyverns flapped, and in the rear, Crumpette the owlbear gave a confused 'Ghu-hu?' next to Cookie. "What are you going to do now?" came the challenge.

To which the angry mob replied with shouts and raised pitchforks. The sharpened tines waved in the air to the rhythm of the protest chant.

In his arms, the splinterkitten wiggled and wriggled with renewed energy. Its belly was full, its legs were rested, and for all the doc'd made of it, kit was still a feline. And like Miz Fiona had said, cats needed zoomies.

"Hey, kit," he whispered into one twitching ear. "Dunno how much you understand, but wanna play a game?"

"Nyaar?"

"Aim for the knees." Then, like he was handling a large, furry bowling ball, Daniel swung low and released.

The splinterkitten hit the floor running and then accelerated into a collision with the nearest protestor's legs. By the time they made contact, kit was going faster than the man could fall over, and only gained speed as it pinballed its way through the mob. Shouts and screams replaced chants and beatboxing, and half the crowd was on the floor before a random ricochet sent kit on an angle to careen across the front entrance hall. There was the distant sound of smashing glass.

"Who did that?" The princess did not sound at all pleased. "I didn't give the order yet! And I really wanted to do it right!"

"Er..." Daniel took a step forward. "Sorry, Your Highness, but the kit was getting antsy and I don't actually work for you and... um... they were all too annoying?"

"He won't do it again," Roxie declared loudly. Her grip was firmly defensive around his arm.

"See that he does not," said the princess. "Everyone else? Time to tidy up and take out the trash." With a curt hand gesture, she called the menagerie to action.

The remnants of the angry certainly knew what hit them, but not necessarily what bit them. Either way, they were sure to regret their decisions that day.

Freight Train

Once the angry mob made its move, the space out front had quieted down. Members of both protest groups hung around and waited for their braver members to come back out, but the yelling, shouting, and screaming from within did not bode well. However, it also kept everyone else safe from the temptation to cross the mob line and continue on inside, which made her job easier. Especially, she noted as her palm tablet chimed updates from Belphy and Bova, if Jobe Ann was on the move.

Something else was on the move, and not in the expected direction. It was a smaller something, pet-sized and furry, but that was all she could say for sure as it crashed through the convention doors without bothering to open them, then bowled over the remaining protestors like pins in an alley. It bounced around in an ever more complicated geometry of vectors, angles, and velocity, and Lady Freight Train realized another detail about the something: it didn't know how to slow down, much less stop.

And, as it punched through the perimeter of market stalls, there was suddenly nothing between the speedy something and the far end of the platform plaza, with its hundred-foot drop to the service streets below.

Not good. Some rear corner of her brain realized this first, getting her legs in motion before it informed her frontal lobes that she was already running after it in pursuit so hot that it left scorched shoe rubber on the plaza tiles. She was Lady Freight Train, and acceleration was her specialty. She could charge after the little something, close the distance in a blink, catch it and hold it as she absorbed its kinetic energy into her own speedster PK field. She could--

Forget to brake in time. Stopping had never been her strongest suit, either. But with all that metaphorical steam built up, momentum carried them both far off the edge of the platform and into the neighboring palace dome. The same PK field that gave her speed also shielded her, breaking her impact and subsequently the wall of the next dome, and then the next wall with it, and a few more besides, until she and the fuzzy little something came to a stop. Then she could see what the fuss was all about.

A cat. A bigger cat than her old maiden aunt's old tabby terror, with a mishmash of broad stripes in shades of brown and orange, but a cat nonetheless. It had a flattened face, a bony forehead, and faintly bulging eyes. It raised its head and looked around, as if surprised to see where they'd landed. Then, with those curious eyes it looked at her and went, "Nyaaar?"

"Nice to meet you, too," she told it. One attempt to get up made her rethink the 'nice' part, however. She was going to need a moment for her body's natural healing factor to save her from the consequences of her own reckless idiocy, and while it did, she could pet the kitty.

"Nyaaarr...." Kitty seemed to appreciate it, at least.

Belphoebe

Messy, messy, messy. That was the only way to describe this farce, and Belphoebe could only be grateful that thus far the mess was entirely contained on the idiots' side of the equation. After strolling a safe distance behing her dear parent's little parade, with only the sounds of the goings-on to guide her, it was with disappointment that she arrived on the scene to discover that none of the HAET'M morons were in fact past tense. Several of them might wish they were, after being hit with wyverns at face level and terror birds at the ankles, but Jobe Ann was toeing the line of the letter of the law on this one. A Zoological Service medical crew was already seeing to triage and treatment.

"Feeling any better?" she asked by way of greeting.

The answer from Her Highness was "No," as expected. "They could barely threaten with words, much less with action, and that was before the Twainee threw a cat at them."

"He did what now?" Belphoebe looked to the right side of the hallway, where two younger folk were tending to two larger creatures. "He's turning out to be quite useful to have around."

"Maybe." -grumble, grumble- "Tell me something new, please?"

"Well, it is just your luck that I have news from the co-parent."

"Must you call him that... er, fine. What does he have to say?"

"Ahem. 'Signal pinpointed.' Apparently, whatever is boosting the signal is located in Sub-Dome Six. Network connections are still clogged worse than a Hawthorne toilet, so there's no details on which terminal if any is being used. We'll need to send someone after it."

"Fine... Sub-Dome Six? What's in that one?"

"Among other things, there's sewerage control, weather monitoring, and the Troll Office."

Not too far off, Madrigal Sharpe was seeing to some matter of interministerial cooperation, but drow ears caught more than most. When the woman heard Belphoebe say that last part, she went stock-still for a heartbeat, and then stepped into the conversation directly. "The Troll Office? You're certain of that?"

"Certain that it's in Sub-Dome Six, at least. Why?"

"Ah, two nights back, I witnessed a henchman attempt to shoot down a little helper. It went about as well as you'd expect, but he would have been remanded to the jail in the Troll Office for the duration. What if...?"

And thus her esteem for Madam Sharpe rose yet one more rung higher. "What if, indeed?"

"Get Freight Train on the line," Jobe Ann ordered. "She can have someone run over there to check it out."

"I am already on it, parent dear."

elsewhere in the palace

The phone buzzed. The architect of chaos kept at his work, but not without annoyance. The orders were to keep communications to text-only.

The phone continued to buzz. He checked the ID and sighed. The loose end was awake. He put the call on speaker and continued on as before.

Freight Train

She'd never been one for pets. Back in the way-back-when, before she'd got kicked out of the house for excessive speeding while mutant, Mama Murphy wouldn't ever let animals into the house. The place was filthy enough without them. Even so, if anyone'd asked then, young Angie would always say that she was a dog person--and if the other person made a crack about how she looked like an ugly bitch, then she'd have a fist in their face.

But that was then and this was now and she was no longer the ugly little bitch. Also, she had a kitty on her lap, purring and accepting ear-skritches, which went a long way towards herself reevaluating this 'dog person' business.

Her palm tablet beeped with an incoming call, prompting a "Nyaar?" from the kitty. Angie tapped it open and then set it to speaker so she wouldn't have to quit petting. "Yes?" she said.

"Angie dear, we have a situation."

"So I've noticed, Belphy."

"More of one. We need you to get someone over to Sub-Dome Six, ASAP."

"That might take a while," she admitted. "I'm kinda separated from the rest of my security detail at the moment."

The sigh vibrated across the connection. "Where are you now?" The voice was testy, but given the rest of the day so far, Belphy'd likely earned the right to be.

She cast her eyes around for a moment before locating the mandatory emergency exit floor map on the wall near where she'd left an impact crater previously. "Ah... it looks like I'm actually in Sub-Dome Six right now," she said.

"How the devil did you get over there so fast?"

"By the most direct route possible." She braced herself to sit up straight, but winced anyway. "What's in the dome?"

"The source of at least some of our problems. The exact location is uncertain, but we think you should check the Troll Office first. One suspect, picked up on Christmas Eve for--"

"Wait, the bah-humbug?"

"Whatever you call it, yes," said Belphy. "Lazlo Sanz, mid-level henchman, no code name, relatively new to the business. He has some sort of power, likely a Dyna-Host but possibly Imbued. His comrades left the country yesterday without him."

"He got gizmo'ed, huh." It was the opposite of shanghai'ing, and unfortunately common in this supposed henchperson's paradise. Lots of ways to get into trouble, and often little compunction from employers or comrades to dump a dude if he turned into a liability. Like Lazlo. "That explains why he's still in the drunk tank, I suppose. But what could he do in there?"

"We don't know, and that's why we need you to check up on him. Whether he's done something or not, it's still a security issue to look into. So go do so. His Highness is sending a tech crew over to examine whatever you find."

"Right, right. I'm a-going." She tapped the line shut, slid the kitty off her lap, and stood herself up. It was time to be Freight Train again.

"Nyaaar?" But at least she had company. The kitty followed in that feline manner, sometimes behind, sometimes ahead, and often threaded around the ankles. The power was out in this dome as well, but drow eyes were well adapted to the gloom of emergency lighting. She took a corridor down, and then a stairwell up. A door stood in place, stuck in a deadlock, but a PK-assisted punch from her soon saw to that little obstacle.

The Troll Office. Unlike the rest of the Security Service's holding facilities, the little jail in this part of the dome wasn't much more than the drunk tank. It took a lot of alcohol and other sundry recreational pharmaceuticals to convince the average partier that dealing with the Gizmapolitan Police was worth the effort, and doubly so on Christmas Eve. Anyone dumb enough and drunk enough to attack a little helper would need a few days to recover, both from the bender and from the terror of a Santa-suited police droid. The cells of the Troll Office were enough for that.

Only, they used forcefields for enclosures, and the power was down. Alleged miscreant Lazlo Sans would have been free to leave anytime in the past half hour or so.

She stopped at the door to the Troll Office and peeked in. Lazlo Sans was still there, and he appeared to be on the phone.

"This is bullshit! Can't I leave yet?" The man grimaced at whatever was said on the other end of the call. "No, nobody else's here, wherever the hell 'here' is, and why can't you get me out? I don't care if the fucking double-secret operation's still going on, cuz you never told me what the fuck it was! Fuck it, fuck this, fuck you, I'm outta here!" The man snapped his little clamshell phone shut and growled at life and the world in general.

She could almost feel sorry for the man. Almost. As she accelerated fist-first into a collision course, she quietly promised to make this a quick beatdown.

In the split-second it took to cross the room, the man noticed her, turned, and brought up an aura that was bright enough to sting the eyes and strong enough to catch her fist before it could connect. It didn't stop her, but it did send her crashing off course, through a desk, and into a wall.

"Look, if you want me gone, you can just ask."

Freight Train dusted herself off. "I need you apprehended so we can figure out whatever it is you're doing and make it stop."

"Why does everyone but me know what the fuck is going on?" cried Lazlo. "Jesus H. Christ, I'm on vacation here! I just... grah!" The aura around him coalesced into something ephemerally organic, like an amoeboid of light, and one pseudopod heaved a chair at her.

The fact that it was ergonomic meant nothing when the chair itself was a hugely upholstered monstrosity with a solid steel frame to house the diagnostic devices. Every office had one, with workers taking turns providing data on workplace health. Having it slam into her right this instant was the least conducive service it could ever have performed in the service of health.

And oh, did she feel it...

The splinterkitten

Thought, thought, thought. Kit had sparked many new ones that day. Good food. Safety. Not-enemies. Almost too many thoughts before naptime. But one new thought was old-thought, from before the waking-time and exit from the safe-life. Happy-happy happiness. It had been warmth and darkness, the gentle embrace of the safe-life place. Now it was a full belly, well-stretched legs, and ear skritches. New-tall-lady was good for two of those. Kit liked new-tall-lady.

New-tall-lady was on the floor. New-tall-lady was hurt. Hurt, hurt, hurt. Kit knew hurt. Hurt was a new-bad thought. Kit hated hurt.

Bad-man hurt new-tall-lady, nice lady, ear-skritch lady. Kit hated bad-man.

"Nyaaaar...."

"What the... a cat? Here? Er, hey kitty-kitty... pst-pst-pst..." Bad-man leaned down, put out a hand, wiggled fingers.

Wiggly, wriggly, piggly targets. Kit's legs were poised and ready.

"Here kitty, good kitty... Ah!" Kit didn't understand the words, and couldn't care about the tone, but kit's claws got a good stretch as it went straight up the man's arm and aimed for the face.

"Nyaaaaaaarrrrr...."

elsewhere

A ping. An alert. Lazlo was hors de combat.

No reason given; none needed. This too was part of the plan. Earlier than expected, yes, but still part of the grand design.

Now that they had Lazlo, it would not take them long to figure out which subdermal implants were responsible for the hacking signal, transmitted and boosted via the henchman's own Dyna-field.

One last message to the cultists: Rise the lawn. Nonsense words, except for the meaning they'd chosen.

Time to get going.

Roxie

She was glad to have such a firm hold on Crumpette as the red emergency lights blinked out and the standard convention lights came on, with maybe a five-second gap between them where darkness reigned. And then they were back, with Daniel tending to Cookie nearby and Dr. Tanishi giving his thoughts on pup's maintenance and care. Over yonder, Mom was conferring with Lady Bova and Lady Belphoebe about something or other of importance. Roxie didn't care to know what. If it was relevant to herself, they'd tell her. Right then, she had more important stuff to attend to.

Stuff like sneaking up behind her boyfriend, hugging him around the waist, and resting her cheek against his shoulderblade with a sigh. "Wanna get lunch soon?" she asked.

"Sure. Got anywhere in mind?"

"Picnic in the park? Grab lunch from the bodega along the way? Cookie and Crumpette can run around, and maybe the splinterkitten, too?"

"If we ever find the creature," said Dr. Tanishi. "It was off like, oh... what was the phrase, a bat out of hell?"

"Kit'll be back," Daniel affirmed. "Weren't a bad sort, just young, scared, and hyper. We need to think of a good name for it."

A chorus of palm tablet alerts echoed through, as each device in the hall received all the most recent updates at once. The very first was an apology for mass-emailing in the hope of getting something through the interference, which she figured was understandable. It was the last update she couldn't understand.

"Results of Lineage Analysis on Doppelpodder Specimen 1?" she read out loud.

"Weren't that the thing what was pretending to be a judge on the panel?" asked Daniel.

Dr. Tanishi nodded his head to confirm. "Frightful things, but useful, I've heard. Quite famous in the bio-devisor community. Or infamous. A strange pair of words..." the man muttered to himself. "In any case, they are all descended from the same project from the '50s and '60s, and they can be traced by genetic strain varience."

She shivered and held onto Daniel even more tightly. "And they just copy people? Like Lady Ashley?"

The bio-devisor shrugged. "It is what they do. From what I understand, they often do not even realize they are fakes unless triggered or revealed. It fools the psionics as well. Sugoi yan..."

Even amidst all the hustle and bustle of the convention floor chaos, the approach of Her Highness was unmistakable--though the honor guard of security agents helped ensure the attention. "Roxie, come here," was the royal decree.

"Your Highness!" She saluted and stepped away from her boyfriend. Three steps away, and her ears caught the sudden intake of breath as Dr. Tanishi gasped. Her head turned, her voice rose to ask what the matter might be, and then the man had her by the arm, gripping tightly, and a handgun was at her head.

"Do not move." The man's voice had slipped into neutral gear, with the words sliding out tonelessly.

"Wh-what?"

"I do not know what you think you are going to do," said Her Highness from a few meters away, "but you won't." In the royal hands was an open tablet with a report. "Doppelpodder cross-reference results. Strain CJ-10, East Asian, direct descent from the Matango Incident. We've already secured Dr. Tanishi's rental lab space and recovered the man himself. It's just you, fake."

"It was not supposed to be this way..." The doppelpodder's voice remained evenly flat. "I am here on reconnaissance, in search of the whereabouts of Her Verdant Holiness. Nothing more."

"And the attempt on my life?" Her Highness demanded.

"Not my mission. Not my master's. Allow me passage to meet the Jade Ogress, and the girl goes free." Roxie squealed as the not-man lifted her up as a shield before the security agents. "She is yours in too many ways. You will not countenance damage to her. I do not wish to damage her. Let me see the Jade Ogress."

The royal face made a royal moue of distaste. "And I made a formal vow to Hyacinth not to let any of you fucking lunatics or their puppets--also you--anywhere near her. Hasn't the poor woman suffered enough?"

"Your vow or the girl's safety?" Beneath the formal labcoat, the doppelpodder's muscles rippled and swelled, and Roxie found herself dangling by a wrist. Her other hand was free.

Her other hand had envenomed claws beneath the nails. It was a standard drow trait that she'd never actually used before now, as she swept her nails across an exposed section of arm and drew blood. The not-man cried out and dropped her.

The gift from the Troll Office, her pretty new dagger, was out of its garter sheath and stabbing. Not into anything vital, but randomly, relying on shock and pain to keep the thing from shooting her.

And then her Daniel flew in, with a large custard cream pie and a look of righteous fury. The pie went -smack- in the doppelpodder's face. The surprise forced the not-man to pause and take stock.

"A cream pie?" it said. "Honma ni? Of all the things you might possibly do, a cream pie? A simple... ah... ah...!" It clawed at its face, rushing to wipe away the layers of cave-troll chocolate smeared upon it, and away went the eyes, the nose, the hair, everything but the mouth in a white eggplant face as the not-man continued to scream.

She did not need Danielʻs help to get away, but she gladly accepted his arm anyway, because sometimes the fair damsel just wanted to be rescued. Then the screams cut out with a gurgle, and the thing that had pretended to be Dr. Tanishi all day, and perhaps longer, melted into the carpets.

Belphoebe

The day had been just one mess after another, each finer in the sense that the details became ever more granular, piling one oddity upon the next like grains of sand until one had a heap of mystery through which to sift. She was glad to leave Bova and Jobe Ann to worry about the mess upon the carpets, as well as Angie dear and Jobe Arthur to deal with the mess a random henchman had made of the security systems.

She would be even happier if Security Detail C had not called in to request her presence, specifically, in Sub-Dome One. That wing of the palace held many of the royal research labs, and she feared to see what some unknown malefactor had done therein. Her imagination was too good at that sort of worry.

But what she saw now... "Please tell me there is some form of recording on hand," she said to the empty space before her, though the words were addressed to the security officer now fretting behind her.

"Ah, nothing, Your Grace," said the unlucky man. "Monitoring systems were offline, and once it launched, well, what use is an emergency evacuation capsule if someone can track it right after?"

Every use, she would think, but she was not Gizmatic, who only ever thought of the worst cases and likely could not ever have imagined taking an escape pod unless the palace itself was overrun by the enemy.

"And the only clue is...?" she inquired.

"Over here, Your Grace." On the stage next to the capsuleʻs activation station, there was a small, gift-wrapped box. Next to it lay a clamshell flip phone, a burner phone whose usefulness had come to an end. The tag on the box said, in large and florid cursive, To Belphoebe Blackaddar-Wilkins.

"Youʻve scanned it?" she asked.

"Itʻs not showing any traces of radioactivity, chemical residue, or biologicals," the security man confirmed. "Microphone pickups show no sound from inside, the standard issue pocket charms failed to indicate any mystical presence, and it appears to be of normal weight for a package of that size and shape. We didnʻt pick it up," he hastened to add. "But it did get poked a few times."

None of this ruled out a trap; she need be careful here. Belphoebe placed careful fingers to lift the box from its place. If anything, it was somewhat light for its size, and the wrapping paper was held loosely by strips of tape. This fell away to reveal a simple hinged box, covered in thin velvet. It popped open, and her eyes were treated to the glittery gleam of diamonds and emeralds set in a gold bracelet of intricate, geometric design.

And with it, another note: Merry Christmas. Love, Papa.

"That son of a bitch."

"That absolute bastard!" Her Highness was still seething an hour later as they held the afternoon debriefing in the Sec-Intel office. Mrs. Alvarez rolled the tea service between Their Highnesses, seated at opposite ends of the table with Madrigal press-ganged into providing a neutral party between them. Bova and Angie had claimed pressing affairs elsewhere, and Belphoebe could not blame them. But that left Madam Sharpe in an interesting social predicament, and the Duchess Sec-Intel could not wait to see how the lady capitalized on that.

At the moment, both princess and prince were royally nonplussed, but that may have been due to the nature of the message which had been running on half the domeʻs display screens since everything had been rebooted.

"HAR-HAR!" brayed an acne-riddled arse as he danced and mooned the screen on a thirty-second loop. "HAR-HAR!"

"And this is another one of your school friends?" asked Madrigal.

"Not the word anyone would use," said Belphoebe. "Pest, nuisance, persistent security risk..."

"Belphegor..." Their Highnesses groaned in stereo.

It was times like this where she wished she could edit out all memories of her progenitor, regardless of the effects on her psyche. It would doubtless still be an improvement.

"What I want to know," grumbled His Highness, "is how? My security algorithms should have caught more of what was going on."

"You know what they say about making a thing idiot-proof," said Belphoebe.

"What, that the world will provide a bigger idiot?"

"Exactly that. Weʻre still trying to find all the pieces of the puzzle," she admitted, "but it would seem Belphegor found three sets of bigger idiots--such idiots that it was never a surprise that they set off alarm bells. We just never realized that the wrong bells were being rung, much less that they were each providing materials that the others needed. It's likely that the Jade Cultists and HAET'M never realized, nor did we. And so he found the weaknesses in the system, exploited them, and made out like a bandit. It may take months to determine what all he gleaned from both your labs," she told Their Unhappy Highnesses.

His Highness drained his cup of tea and sighed. "Well, if thereʻs nothing more to be done about it today..." He stood, then stepped around to the other end of the table. With a hand outstretched, he said, "If milady would honor me with her presence at the Robot Royale this evening?"

Jobe Ann scowled. "I suppose I did promise."

"I suppose you did," Jobe Arthur replied.

"Fine. Letʻs... oh, letʻs take an hour to dress up properly, shall we?"

"There does happen to be one last thing," said Belphoebe. "Final judging for the kennel show."

"Do we need to get into this now?" demanded Her Highness.

"How about the dog?" said His Highness. "Or, dogs? I rather liked their overall design. Fine musculature augmentations and inspired endocrinal manipulation, not to mention how well coordinated and intelligent the two heads are. Also, the part where the dog and its handler prevented an assassination," he added.

Jobe Ann was looking at him as though he too had gained a second head. "Yes... They were both quite impressive today. I shall grant them that much."

"Oh, can't we give them more?" said Jobe Arthur, giddily.

From the side, Madrigal took one breath and then asserted herself with three short words. "If I may?"

Though she may frown, Her Highness nodded for the woman to continue.

"Perhaps a new school uniform? Daniel's is looking ragged right now."

"We can do better than that!" declared the prince. "Bring him to my fitting room and we shall outfit him properly! Oh, and an Order of the Atom as well!"

"Are you serious?" demanded Jobe Ann. "It's not like the assassin had any chance of hurting us."

"It's the thought that counts, and he had both thoughts and actions! You, um, Madrigal!" The prince pointed to the odd drow out of the party. "Get him here within the hour, if you could."

Jobe Ann sighed in resignation. "Please get Roxie over to my fitting room as well. We might as well do this right."

"And while we're there," Madrigal added. "We can discuss her options for further schooling, shall we?"

Belphoebe caught the eye of the princess and did her best to communicate via glare that this was not going to be a negotiable item and that a royal PTA meeting was inevitable. For her part, she also agreed with whatever Madrigal intended to suggest, just on principle. Good on the madam for choosing the best moment to capitalize on everything.

Also, it tickled her to see Their Highnesses both on the same wavelength for something. It happened more often than one might think, and yet never the way one would expect.

Roxie

So, the holiday had not gone the way she'd thought it would. No shade on little Roxanne Sharpe's imagination, but her world had taken a major turn for the awesome and wonderful, and she was going to need some time with her therapist later to discuss all this.

They were going to need time with the therapist. With the drow condition being what it was, Mom had strongly suggested Daniel sit in for a session this week, and he'd readily agreed. There'd be oodles to talk about.

But for now, the two of them need only sit back, relax, and enjoy the show as the Third Annual Karedonian Robot Royale opened in the stadium below. They had some of the best seats in the house, second only to Their Highnesses', and not far away from the royal box, either. Roxie had on a new dress in her favorite reds and blues with the purple blended accents--and if her garter knife sheath was visible, peeking through a strategically located slit, then all the better. In her hair, a shooting star glittered in the light.

Seated next to her, Daniel was looking dapper. His Highness's tailoring machine had fitted her boyfriend with a proper labcoat ensemble in Whateley school colors. On the right lapel was the gold-on-silver pin for the Royal Order of the Atom, while on the left lapel was its silver-on-gold counterpart for the Order of the Helix. She hadn't told him exactly what those were, not just yet, and she looked forward to seeing the face he made when he found out. Even the thought of it made her giggle.

"Thinking of something funny?" asked Daniel.

"Only the usual," she replied. Their seats were more of a shared sofa seat, and she enjoyed having the freedom to lean into him, like so... "I'm enjoying life, is all. The peace and quiet."

"Yeah..." He winced as the two robots currently facing off in the arena below met in a clash of plastic and metal. "Heh. Life's funny that way."

"So..."

"So?"

"We've still got a week of winter vacation, so what shall we do with it? Picnic in the park? Fun at the beach? Take a hike upcountry? Just... um, hang out?"

Daniel made an exaggerated show of consideration. "All of that? Maybe more stuff, too?"

"Well, we do have the time." She giggled, leaned inward and upward, and met her boyfriend halfway for a kiss that indeed promised all that and maybe more stuff. Time slowed down as her heart sped up.

Oh, what a life...

This is technically the end of the story, but we've got more scenes to follow. Think of them like the credit roll extras, and maybe a stinger or two as well.

Later in the evening, Dec. 26th, 2016

"No, absolutely not." Bova Price-Lecroix, Marchioness Zoologica, knew that when it came to projecting authority, she didn't quite stack up. It came with being barely five feet tall in flats. Even so, she knew when and how to put her foot down, all while craning her head to look straight up.

"Aw, but you always say we need a pet to liven up the apartment," said Angie. At just under six and a half feet in height, the Marchioness Securita loomed over her, and Bova was not about to let it fluster her now. "It's--"

"I know exactly what it is and where it came from," she declared. One bare, beveled fingernail stabbed towards the bed, where their new and only half-welcome guest now sprawled. "That thing is not a pet!"

"Nyaaar?" The splinterkitten blinked yellow headlight eyes and then rolled its brindle-striped butt across the duvet. It accepted a head pat from Angie and purred.

"See? Crumble's a good kitty."

Bova had a headache sneaking in, and it had whiskers on. "You gave it a name."

"You like? I asked the donut boy for some ideas, and Crumble was the best one, we agreed." The so-named Crumble nyaared its agreement. "See? Good kitty."

Angie was doing the looming thing again, just begging her to try something. And goshdarnit, was the view straight up a sight to see. But no, she had to be firm; she had to be resolute. "Why, I... I oughta..."

"You're too cute when you're angry."

Over on the duvet, the kitty now known as Crumble sprawled, comfortable and content, as kit had not felt in all its weeks out of the warm-happy darkness. A full belly, stretched legs, a soft spot to nap, and one more thing, a concept that fit in kit's head even though it hadn't ever thought about it before. Kit didn't think in human words, couldn't recognize them, really, but if one had to translate, it would be something like 'mom'. Kit had moms, tall and small, and the world was good. It was time to nap, ignoring the continued sounds of argument, till with a shout of annoyance, small-mom climbed up tall-mom's front like a squirrel and ended the arguing with a lot of different noises.

Kit was already asleep by then, and happily home.

December 27th, 2016
Debbie Browning

Her vacation had gone on long enough for her to find a schedule. When to cook, when to clean, when to assist with animal husbandry, and every morning, a regular exercise routine to work off her new evening routine of stopping by the cabana for daiquiris with Madrigal. This evening was no different as they clinked glasses and laughed.

"And how was the upcountry trek?" asked the dark elf.

"She asks, in her capacity as occasional cultural envoy and tourism official?" Debbie teased back. "Well enough, though I was grateful for the security cages on the vehicles. And we're all happy to see the jackalopes go be themselves far elsewhere."

"For sure." Madrigal sipped her almond kahlua.

"So, about this counseling session tomorrow?"

"Roxie's regular appointment," the lady confirmed. "But since I was finally able to twist Her Highness's arm on the topic of schooling, it might be her last with Dr. Pinder for a while. It seemed like a good opportunity to fill Daniel in on certain realities of life with drow. Whatever they don't cover on matters of intimacy, I can speak to Roxie about it later. I should probably get Axel to have the other half of the talk with Daniel as well."

Debbie felt the frown around the mouthful of iced fruit and rum. "And what would that certain reality be? You seem normal enough. Relatively speaking."

"Hah. We need to hire you for the diplomatic corps. Ah..." The woman sighed. "Where to begin... Unfortunately, we're not all sure, because Roxie's the first drow to grow up as drow, and all the stuff we had to deal with, she gets naturally. But, well, putting her into a new social situation might shake things up... Okay, let's start at the beginning. Do you know why the drow exist?"

"To be kick-ass bodyguard assassin agents of the princess?" guessed Debbie. "At least, that's what your propaganda would suggest."

"Well, yes. And also no. Look." Madrigal held out one arm and flexed. Muscles rippled languorously. "On the face of it, you're right. Drow have brains, brawn, and beauty. But you know what? Muscles like steel under velvet, cat-like reflexes, supermodel physiques--all secondary to what Her Highness had in mind back when she was still His Highness 1.0 in high school. Bodyguards, yes. Assassins, sure. But that does not change the fact that we were designed to be sex kittens for a teenage edgelord's personal harem fantasy. That was the underlying intent, as it were, and it affects everything about what the drow now are. And when His Highness became Her Highness, she quickly realized just how badly she had screwed things up. Too late to do anything about the basics of it, unfortunately, though she's worked hard to alleviate the worst parts."

"I had no idea," said Debbie. "I mean, it makes sense, but..."

"But here we are, with pre-set instincts based on said teenage edgelord's subconscious image of what we should be," said Madrigal. "And honestly? I haven't had much trouble, though I cannot speak for all. A lot of drow recruits are either lesbian by preference or recently regendered, however, and they have trouble adjusting to the fact that as a species we appear to default to 'asymmetric polyamorous disaster bisexual' as an orientation."

Debbie chuckled. "Is that the official psychological term?"

"I might have added an adjective," Madrigal admitted. "But yeah, long suspected, now confirming with Roxie as she develops, but drow appear prone to fixating on one specific male and being his, to the exclusion of all others. And this weirds out a lot of our ladies, including Her Highness. Apparently she had a few episodes in high school that she would prefer not to recall, but time, distance, and a lack of reciprocity seem to keep the fixation from sticking. So of course we put Roxie in the perfect situation to fixate on Daniel."

She considered her way through another sip before saying, "It could have been worse, I suppose."

"You can say that again. She's luckier than most, and she has me to give her advice. Like, I already had Axel, and thankfully I remained fixated on him after I transitioned to drow. But even so, we still had plenty of couples counseling in the beginning to cope with the rest of the harem-adjacent programming."

"Oh dear."

"Eh, it's not that bad once you know what's up. The weirdest part is that I don't feel jealousy in the romantic sense, even though I've got the memory of getting possessive whenever I saw Axel talking to another woman." The dark elf shrugged and took another sip of kahlua. "Now? I'm his, and no other guy's. It's an intrinsic part of who and what I am, and nothing will change that. And I'm fine with it. If he ever had any intent to cheat, I wouldn't mind then, either."

"Has he?"

"God, no. He's... well, suffice to say that he's never been one to have a raging libido, though he's quite the romantic. The few times he's even felt attraction to another woman, he told me straight, and I helped wingman for him. In essence, what we've got is an open relationship, even if we don't act on it too often. But that's the sort of thing Roxie's grown up with as quote-unquote normal. And at least it's a better model than Her Highness's palace polycule. In any case, my daughter is pre-set to accept this sort of thing as normal. So she and Daniel need to discuss it with Dr. Pinder, clear the air and make sure everything is understood, before shenanigans have a chance to occur. Would you like another drink?"

"I suppose I could manage one more... What is it with the almonds, by the way?" she asked.

"Ask nicely and I might... grr, sorry," said Madrigal. "That came out too flirty."

"Do you hear me complain?" She smirked at the other woman's embarrassment. "You mentioned Axel occasionally hooking up with someone, but what about you?"

"Me?" Another sigh. "To be honest, I try to avoid the boudoir politics of drow society, for Roxie's sake and also for my own sanity. I added that adjective with intent, because it is perpetually a mess and a half. But sometimes I've entertained a lady or two during my cultural envoy duties. Ah..." She paused and looked at her glass. "Would you, ahem, fancy a tall dark glass of kahlua?"

Oh, there was no holding back the laugh this time. "I don't know... was that a come-on?"

"...maybe? I mean, I don't know whether you're even interested or anything, but..."

"But I am here, on holiday, spending my evenings chatting with a lovely local lady, and I'm thinking, 'Maybe this is my island romance story.' So..." she continued. "We have a few more days, including New Year's Eve. What's a girl gotta do to have a good time 'round these parts?"

Madrigal took a short, deep breath, then answered the laugh with one of her own. "First, we order more drinks. Then, we drink the drinks. And we see how things go from there."

"That sounds wonderful," said Debbie. "And yes, I might fancy a tall dark glass of kahlua."

The Office of the Secretary of Intelligence

There may be days where Belphoebe doubted the accuracy of her office's description, and then there were days where she knew without a doubt that there was no intelligence to be found within those walls. At the moment, she could feel it all dribbling out her pretty pointy ears as she continued her review of the mess her progenitor had made in just one hour. Thus far they had discovered three worms, two trojans, a few backdoors--and Gothmog help them for all the ones they didn't find. Entire labs had to be considered compromised, simply for proximity to the opportunistic troll's known locations.

The worst part was that she could envy him for taking the other path, the way of life she'd turned away from after their line of conscious memory split in twain. She could wonder whether he in turn envied her the life she'd gained beyond him.

In any case, Belphoebe was assured that she looked far finer than her progenitor. On her wrist, the bracelet of gold, diamond, and emerald glittered. The piece had been checked for every form of bug, device, and spell, coming up clear and safe--so long as she never met its former owner, whoever they might be. Knowing her progenitor, she doubted that he'd acquired it by any legal means.

The opening notes to "Enlighten This!" announced the arrival of royalty. The cussing identified the arrivee as Her Highness. "I thought I'd ordered that thing to be disabled!"

"You did," Belphoebe agreed.

"Then why hasn't it, then?" Jobe Ann demanded.

"Because this is my office and it amuses me. Tea? Coffee?" Even as she said the words, Mrs. Alvarez rolled in with her service cart. The old dear had the Kaffalmandine blend ready, with whipped cream and a festive sprinkling of freshly grated cinnamon on top.

A long sip left Her Highness with a cream-tipped nose and a more congenial disposition. "Thank you, Mrs. Alvarez," she said. The old lady nodded back as she poured Belphoebe her tea.

Silence was allowed to reign for a few minutes as they sipped their drinks and composed themselves. Once Her Highness had finished her cup and wiped the cream off her nose, she began. "I had my session with Dr. Schloss this morning."

"Good for you," said Belphoebe.

"We discussed some of the things that are, ah, bothering me."

A short selection from a long list, for certain. She did not bother to ask which in particular.

"...you've cleared things with Whateley?"

"All done," she confirmed. "The prospectus for the national scholarship program was well-received, and there were no qualms about taking a recipient immediately. Our old room at Melville is now apparently in the boys' wing, so they'll fit her in with another mid-year arrival where they can. They were less sanguine about the owlbear, but as they know that we know that they have someone able to produce adequate housing on short notice, they couldn't argue. We shall need to provide a proper gift to the student involved," she added.

Jobe Ann sighed and nodded her head. "See to it."

Belphoebe waited for what else needed to be said, and she was not disappointed.

"I've re-opened the drow population plan."

"Oh?" It was a sticky subject, the fact that drow could not as yet reproduce on their own. Jobe Ann's miracle of enlightened genetics had involved creating and inserting a twenty-third autosomal pair of chromosomes into the target's DNA, and such a mismatch made it impossible to breed back with baseline humanity. Her Highness had supposedly been working on a solution for the past few years--only, the prospect of being on the receiving end of the population plan triggered freak-outs every time it was mentioned, and they'd all soon learned to drop the subject. That Jobe Ann was bringing it up now... that must have been some chat the princess had had with Dr. Schloss.

Her Highness had a familiar item in her hands, retrieved from the royal haversack. The old trapper-keeper was a work of art, stylish and nigh indestructible, over-engineered as only a Gizmatic product could be. Its front carried artwork from some long-past game of Dungeons & Dragons which had inspired the young Jobe Wilkins to many a miraculous feat of misapplied genetics. For all the computers and processing at her disposal, Her Highness still preferred to get her first thoughts for a project down on paper, filed carefully within its proper folder.

"For us..." the princess mumbled. "And maybe... for him as well."

There was only one 'him' that could be. "Have you been talking to Jobe Arthur more?"

"...yes. It's hard, looking at him and seeing the old me, but it's hard for him as well, knowing he's the copy. I still need, we still need to discuss it more--and I've already arranged a couples session with Dr. Schloss!--but if it helps him find a way of his own..."

As royal hands turned the files over, Belphoebe noted the familiar colors and tab labels. Orange for ORC, purple for DROW, blue for MERROW, the green one added last year for HAMADRYAD...

And now a red file label. She hadn't seen that one before. Peering at it now, she read the stark black letters: TIEFLING.

"Would His Highness even be interested?" she asked.

"I don't know!" snapped Jobe Ann. "But it is an option worth having, and not just for him! I... I... should have seen to this years ago."

"No time like the present then," she agreed. "But before you get in too deep, please give Madrigal and Axel a call. You will need their input on this."

"Yes... thank you." The princess sighed and accepted another cup of almond-spliced coffee from Mrs. Alvarez, now with even more whipped cream and fresh cinnamon on top. "It's a hell of a thing, having to think about the future."

"That it is," Belphoebe agreed. She saluted with her teacup. "Happy holidays, parent dearest."

"Happy holidays, you insufferable brat."

That was more like it. Belphoebe chortled into her cup. The royal engines ran on snark, and they would need all they could muster for the happy new year to come.

December 31st, 2016
John Carlyle

There were few pleasures in life so serene as sitting with one's wife of fifty years on a comfortable, well-padded deck swing and watching the sun set on another year past. Another year survived, with little thanks to himself on the matter. But they were here and now, watching the red sky of evening over a darkening sea crested with wavelets of foam, and they could relax.

It was just the two of them that evening. Daniel was off with Roxie to some local social event, a chaperoned New Year's party for teens, while Cookie romped with Crumpette under Axel Sharpe's supervision in the park. Debbie was off with Madrigal, doing whatever it was they'd been doing for much of the past week. Being social. Being a part of things, rather than apart from them. There was the sense that the world was larger and happier than before.

"It has been a wonderful vacation, John," said his wife, perhaps echoing his thoughts.

"Hasn't it?" He raised a glass of wine, and together they saluted and clinked to their good fortune. "I confess, despite Karedonia being exactly what everyone says it is, we've done quite well. Quite well..."

"John." After fifty years, Cody could read him like a picture book. "You're considering it, aren't you. That emeritus program."

He sipped his wine and let out a long hiss of a "Yes...."

"What of all our things back in Idaho?"

"We can bring whatever you need," he told her. "For myself... there's not much left in the old house that's mine and not, ah, the other's. Nothing that couldn't be replaced."

"And the grandchildren?" she pressed.

"If any of them elect to ever speak to me again, then they can come and visit. It's not like Karedonia's a bad place for vacation, as long as you know what to avoid. And..." He leaned back into the cushions and sighed. "The emeritus program might be a sinecure for pensioners, but it would keep me busy, supervised, and out of trouble. That is far preferable to me working alone. Cody," he said, "half the point of this trip was to help Daniel and Cookie make connections that would help them when we're no longer around, and I fear we won't be for much longer. They've found happiness here, as has Debbie, and if we must leave this world, well..." He saluted the sunset. "At least we shall not be complaining of the cold."

Cody placed her wineglass aside and snuggled up next to him, like they used to do when they were young. With her head on his chest and his arm around her shoulder, it felt like no time at all had passed since a young journalistic investigator named Cordelia Ames had infiltrated the mountain lair of the villainess Grande Tetonne, only to meet a certain young bio-devisor fighting his way out. Oh, the adventure. Oh, the memories. Oh, the life they'd lived, and were still living, and had yet to live.

"And truly, Cody dearest," he said. "All I need is you."

"Ever the charmer, John." She didn't move, though. She didn't pull away or try to argue or anything else. Together, they enjoyed the sunset and considered the prospects of the year to come.

January 6th, 2017
Daniel

After a week and more of surf, sand, and sun, the reality of a New Hampshire winter day hit like a cold snap to the face. Daniel was happy to have invested some of his donut money into a nice coat for when the mercury dropped too low for even his mountain-raised sensibilities. He was walking along one of Whateley's many paved walkways with Pete and Cookie, and appreciated mightily the little heating elements what melted the snow and ice off.

"Man, you had all the luck this winter," Pete was saying as he swiped through the photo collection of Daniel's phone. "Had to spend mine practicing Doc Shu's temper management exercises so's I didn't end up punching my dumbass racist uncle over Christmas dinner."

"How's your mom doing, by the way?"

"Better, now that Dad's outta the picture. Still workin' on good." The young giant sighed. "But it was good, I guess, just the two of us for a while."

He wouldn't ask about the thing with Physique just yet. Wishing his roommate to be happy was well and good, but Pete had to want to be happy in the first place, and they were still working on that. One of the new snozzberry cream donuts was helping with things.

Daniel and Cookie had gotten back to campus just the other day, and Pete arrived early that morning, but for the early afternoon, it was time for the new kids to arrive. At Drop-Off A, the shuttle from the Whateley Express had pulled in, and fresh faces met the selected welcoming committees. He was kinda surprised to see Rachel Altus and Erica together, and even more to see Groundpounder right next to them without his gravel suit on. He wasn't sure anyone outside their floor of Twain would even recognize Claude Rousse without the bits of rock, but two teen girls right off the bus apparently did. The blonde one had the vaguely teched-up look of a devisor, while the dark-haired one had actual tech of some kind in a big bracelet on her wrist. Together, the two made a bee-line to Claude with a loud squee that somehow didn't result in knocking the boy right over. A third girl followed timidly, to be greeted by Erica and Rachel. Daniel made a mental note to ask them what was up later, cuz there was someone who looked in need of a happy cupcake if he'd ever seen.

Drop-Off B was similarly busy, though most of the arrivals were in personal or shared transportation. A frail-looking girl in leg braces was having her luggage unloaded by her driver. Melville material, for sure. And from another car, a different girl lit out in a mad dash, yelling "PA～A～AT!" at the top of her lungs before reaching Pat Barnes from Poe. The boy caught her, swung her around till she was off her feet, then tossed her straight up in the air a couple of yards. And then caught her again on the way down, like she weighed nothing at all.

But all that passed as they made their way to Drop-Off C, where a large transport wagon was lowering a live-carry box to the ground. A familiar face in a fluffy white coat, like the Michelin Man's skinnier cousin, was supervising. The fluffy ruff of her hood was wisely turned in for better insulation, leaving her face peaking out like the nose of a polar bear.

"Right, so the sedative's not quite worn off yet..." Roxie was saying to the school porter assisting her. "She's not usually a grouch in the mornings, but we should still be careful."

"I got pies ready," he announced from right behind her.

"Daniel!" His girlfriend pivoted in place, and it was only by good fortune that he had his arms up and the pastries out of the way before she had him in a huglock around the waist. "Oh! It's you and you're here and I'm here and we're here and--"

"Gonna introduce us?" said Pete.

There was an -eep- from Roxie and a grunt from himself as she squished his middle in surprise. "Pete, this here's Roxie. Already told you a bit, but she's attending Whateley now. Roxie? This is my roommate, Pete. Showed you the photos, remember?" And warned her not to use the c-word, thankfully.

"H'wo..." The word came buried through the fabric of his coat.

"She always this shy?" Pete asked.

"Only when she's surprised. Won't last long..." He grunted as she squeezed his middle again, this time in retaliation. "Well it won't!"

"Woof?"

"Cookie!" The drow girl released her hold on Daniel and turned the full force of her hugs on the pup, who as usual was one tough cookie. "Oh, it's so good you're here. Crumpette's still groggy, but she'll be more relaxed with you here. Wouldn't want her to go on a vicious rampage, now would we? It would make a terrible first impression."

"Not long at all," he mouthed to Pete. His roommate's grin almost fit his mouth as he smiled at the scene.

The front of the cage transport popped off, and a large, owlish face blinked its way out into the chill air. Behind it, the mass of the owlbear's body had on a wraparound sweater in Christmas red-and-green patterns. "Ghu-hu?"

"Woof!"

"Ghu-hu!" Crumpette waddled out of the container, then paused to blink at the soft, powdery, white stuff on the lawn beneath her paws. "Ghu... hu?"

"Waroof!" And pup was rolling in the snow, showing their friend how it was done.

Roxie's arms were back around him as she made up for lost time with a warm side-hug. "Is her little house ready?" she asked.

"Yup. Checked it out this morning. Pet Shop's done a good job of it."

"Yay! Oh, I have a signed letter of thanks from Her Highness to pass on to her. I guess we should get going?"

Pete chuckled. "If you can get 'em to go." He balled up some snow and yelled, "Hey, pup!" before tossing it into the air. Cookie leapt up and caught it in one mouth. "Good 'un, pup!"

"We still got luggage to move," Daniel reminded him.

"Yeah, well? That can wait," his roommate told him. "Don't got anywhere to be, nothing to do, but all this snow? Let's enjoy it, right? Seize the day and all that?"

"He does have a point," said Roxie. She squeezed him one more time, then pulled away. Stepping over to the snowbank, she remarked, "You know, it's been years since I last made a snowball?"

"Years?" Pete was dumbfounded.

"Not a lot of snow in the Caribbean," she said.

Now there was a cue. "Well," said Daniel. "Gotta show you how it's done proper."

Pete was right; this was a moment. It was their moment. And while there'd be more like it to come, that didn't mean they should let it pass them by. So he welcomed his girlfriend to Whateley in the coolest possible way: with a snowball fight.

The rest was yet to come, and he couldn't wait to see.

To be continued another day