Colours of Fancy


Colours of Fancy

Kit Aram’s morning ritual began in the usual way, by half falling, half stumbling out of bed at approximately 11:30 in the morning (the current time that rays of sunlight would creep through his window and prod at his eyelids). He swiped his glasses onto his face from his bedside table, blinked the bleariness of sleep away, and absently thought that he really should get around to painting over the long scratch he’d left in the wall when he’d rearranged his bedroom furniture last summer.

Scratching his bare chest and yawning, Kit zombie-walked to the bathroom, attending first to the nightly build-up of liquid pressure in his bodily plumbing, then to the familiar rhythms of toothbrush, hot shower, and electric razor. Twenty minutes later, Kit emerged freshly washed, dried, and now reasonably amongst the world of the awakened.

That was when he noticed the trail of red spatters on the floor of his apartment’s hallway, evenly spaced, leading towards a closed door. Kit stared at them, briefly uncomprehending, his mind failing to identify the liquid. That looked a lot like...

Oh no.

“Claaarraaaaaa!”

A muffled noise came from behind the door where the trail led. Kit walked up to the door, throwing it open and striding into the room beyond, adopting his best severe expression.

Sunlight streamed in through curtains thrown wide, illuminating a room carpeted in color spattered tarpaulin, with neat stacks of blank artisian canvas frames piled in a corner. A white-furred vulpine muzzle peeked around the large easel dominating the center of the space, delicate features curving in query.

“Niiine?”

Kit gestured at the floor, raising an eyebrow at his ninetales partner. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

She trotted around the easel, looking down at the floor where he pointed, then back up at him, puzzlement in her eyes. “Nine?” Behind her, two of the eponymous nine tails flicked, displaying a pair of brushes gripped within the dextrous tips. One still dripped crimson.

Aha! The smoking gun!

“You got paint on the floor again, Clara.”

She looked down again, inspecting. She pawed at the tarp, giving a dubious, “Niiiine?”

“No, not here. Out in the hallway?”

“Nine.” She flicked her tails, giving her version of a shrug. Red and blue droplets spiralled into space.

Kit raked his hands through his hair. Sometimes, she knew exactly how to get under his skin. “Yes, I know it’s acrylic, but could you clean it up before it dries, please?”

“Nine.”

“Thank you.” Crisis settled -acrylic paint did clean off the laminate floor easily after all- he moved to step around her and examine the canvas she had been applying her skills to. “What are you working on anyhow?”

“Niiine!” Clara spun sideways, blocking his path and giving him a fierce glare. Kit halted, holding up his hands in surrender with a chuckle.

“Woah now, easy. Have to wait ‘til it’s finished, eh?”

She nodded, and made a shooing motion with a tail -thankfully not one of the ones holding a dripping brush- but didn’t relax her posture until he’d taken a step back towards the door. “Fine, no peeking. Got it." His stomach chose that time to remind him that he had yet to attend to its needs. “Have you eaten yet?”

A nonchalant shake of the head. “Nine. Niine.”

“Sure about that? Did you forget what day it is?”

“Nine?”

“Wednesday?”

That got him another blank stare. And she said he was absent minded!

“Waffle wednesday?”

Her ears and tails perked so quickly, he half expected her to rise several inches off the floor. “Niiine, niinetales!”

“Good. You can come down and give me a hand after the floor is clean.”

“Nine.” A nod, which was followed by a pointed stare. “Niiiine?”

“Yes, I hung up the towels and put the seat down.” She always saw fit to remind him, just for those off-times she used his bathroom for a shower; which generally involved her draining their poor little hot-water tank dry. “Remember to grab your board, please.”  

She let out a series of amused chuffs, her muzzle curving into a mischievous grin. “Nine, taales.”

“Yes, but customers can't. Besides, it lets you tell me exactly what you mean.”

She snorted, awarding him a reproachful look that needed no interpretation.

“I’ll be out for a couple hours, then I can take over in the store for you, and you can get back to...” He waved at the easel. “The current mystery project. Promise.”

“Nine.”

He turned towards the door, glancing once over his shoulder to see her disappear behind the easel again. He must have interrupted her in the middle of a critical part. That made him feel slightly guilty -preventing Clara from exercising her artistic talent was almost a criminal offense- but, putting together a nice breakfast would make up for it.

Hope she didn’t forget what this Saturday is as well... Wonder if Aunty has any new creations? Probably best to go for the pecha cake though. That always had been Clara’s favourite.

A smile crossed Kit’s face as he walked downstairs to their tiny kitchen, and began pulling ingredients from cupboards. It wasn’t likely that the ninetales would forget her own birthday, but she was full of surprises.

The large mixing bowl was already beginning to fill with flour, sugar and other ingredients by the time Clara joined him. Kit looked up and nodded in approval, noting that she was indeed wearing her whiteboard around her neck, with the dry erase marker attached by a string and a magnet so it wouldn’t clatter about. Somehow, she’d even found the time to give her fur a quick brush.  

“Hand me those eggs?”

“Nine.”

“Thanks.”

Cracking eggs was a particular form of art that he had perfected, and he had no qualms about adding a little flourish as the three yolks dropped into the bowl, completely free of shell. He bowed to Clara, ignoring her rolled eyes. “I know, I make it look easy. Wanna get the griddle and table ready? Batter’s just about done.”

She nodded, and soon the rattle of dishes and cutlery joined the homey sound of the ingredients being blended together vigorously. Kit didn’t mind shouldering the majority of the food-making process. He rather enjoyed cooking, and also wasn’t overly fond of long white hairs ending up in his waffles.

With the batter mixed, he began to spoon it onto the waffle iron, fastidiously ensuring that each square was liberally covered. Waffles with bits missing on the edges were hardly waffles at all! Portioning complete, he closed the lid on the sizzling batter. “Alright, keep an eye on that for me, please? I’m going to grab the mail.”

“Nine.”

Kit ruffled her headfur as they passed, earning a disapproving, “Nine!” for disturbing the vixen’s coiffure. He chuckled.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

Outside, the weather was beginning to turn a few degrees towards summer. Kit strolled through the tiny backyard of he and Clara’s unit, humming to himself. A pidgey sang merrily in one of the neighbour’s trees. Kit paused, listening for a moment.

La da de de de de... Nope, doesn’t quite work. Too constant to fit with the rest of the piece.

He shook his head, walking the remaining few steps to the mailbox. It opened with a rusty squeak that made him wince -he really needed to oil that sometime. More importantly, the unfinished portion of his current composition was nearly becoming more of a nuisance than it was worth. If he didn’t figure out a coda to the piece soon, he may need to start over entirely.

Lesse... My ‘Composer’s Monthly’. Bill, bill. Ads. Colour of the month club? Must be Clara’s.

Tucking the envelopes and magazine under his arm, Kit started back to the house, when movement from the other side of the fence caught his eye. He waved, grinning at the golden-haired vision coming his way, dressed in form-hugging jogging gear.

“Hi, Cindy! Nice morning, isn’t it?”

She turned towards him, giving him just a moment to admire the athletic tone of her body before she was fixing him with her blue-eyed gaze. Ruby lips pursed, and she popped one of her headphones out.

“What?”

“I said, hi, nice morning.”

“Oh. Yeah, guess so.” His neighbour glanced away, flipping a lock of wavy hair out of her face.

“Off for a run, huh? Man, I wish I had that kind of dedication. Twice around the block is usually enough for me.” Kit chuckled, while mentally kicking himself. C’mon, idiot, can’t you come up with anything more interesting than the weather and what’s completely obvious?

“Uh, yeah. Look, I’ve gotta go. Bye.” With that, Cindy replaced her fallen headphone, and began jogging away, fleeing further conversation.

Kit rolled his eyes heavenward, calling out in hopes she might hear over whatever music she was listening to. “Alright, nice talking to you! Have a good run!” No response, of course. Seriously, why was it so hard to talk to her? Sighing, Kit trudged back inside, the day’s beauty muted somewhat.  

Back in the kitchen, Clara already had two plates ready at the table with waffles, and she was busily licking the waffle iron clean. It sizzled as her long, heat-proof tongue delved between the grooves, chasing down a final, elusive hint of flavor. She looked up and gave an excited, “Nine!” as Kit pulled up a chair. He smiled, tossing the mail on the table and taking a seat across from his partner. “Looks like one of these is for you, hot-shot.”

Clara examined the envelope briefly as Kit began spreading butter and syrup over the perfect golden squares of his waffle. Just as he picked up his fork, Clara prodded his shoulder with one of her tails, proffering the envelope with another.

“Nine?” On her board, she’d written, ‘Can you open it?’

“Oh, right.” He took the envelope, working his fingers under the corner and ripping the top. She was generally so self-sufficient with her tails, that It was easy to forget that some things were hard to do without opposable thumbs. “There you go.” He handed back the envelope, now minus that bothersome seal.

“Nine.”

“Welcome.”

The next few moments became devoted almost exclusively to the appreciation of fluffy batter, melted butter, and sweet syrup. Clara wiped her board clean with the attached cloth, then leafed through the contents of the envelope as they ate, exclaiming softly at whatever was inside, while Kit began flipping through his magazine. A lot of this issue focused on comparative interviews, alternating between well-established and up-and-coming talent within the field. Pianists, conductors, violinists, and even a pair of saxophone players contributed to the layout. Kit stopped short as he flipped a page.  

No way.

Staring up at him, baby-blues half-shut as she blew a kiss towards the camera, was a high-gloss, close-up view of none other than his neighbour, Cindy, seductively sprawled across the top of a grand piano. Kit felt as if his eyes were about to pop out of his head. Naturally, the photographer had engineered the pose in such a way as to perfectly show off Cindy’s feminine assets, her short skirt riding precariously high on one shapely hip, several inches of cleavage on display as she seemed to not so much lay on the piano, as to make love to it.      

He scanned the page, jumping to the words below the picture. Rising star, the headline proclaimed, would be the understatement of the year if applied to 23-year-old Cindy Walker. We were lucky enough to catch this sensational piano diva mere hours after her signing a contract with symphony producer Gary ‘Bruce’ Hickenson.  

“Clara?” Kit was acutely aware his voice was little more than a high-pitched squeak. “You’re not going to believe this.”

“Nine?” She looked up from writing something on her board. On the table in front of her now lay a small square of vividly coloured paper, beside the torn envelope.

Kit tossed the magazine flat on the table and spun it around, stabbing the page with a forefinger. “It’s her! I never even knew she played, and now I find out she’s the next big thing on the Kanto orchestra scene!”  

Clara’s red eyes moved back and forth as she read the article, simultaneously waving her board at him with one of her tails. ‘You’re going out, right? Pick me up some Cattleya?’ 

“Some what now?” Kit, mouth feeling dry all of a sudden, grabbed a swig of orange juice, mind racing. All the possibilities!

“Nine.” Clara poked the color scrap towards him, her eyes still on the magazine. Kit picked it up, inspecting the square. The entire thing was a soft, purple hue, and the word ‘Cattleya’ was typed across the top in bold letters.

“Oh, I get it. Colour of the month, of course.” Kit chuckled, pocketing the scrap. “Sure, I’ll see if I can find some.

“Nine!” Apparently finished her reading, Clara swiped her board clean and picked up her marker with a tail, writing, ‘Thanks. And this is interesting, but what of it?’

“Think about it! All this time, she does the same thing I do! We have something in common!” He paused, a thought striking him. “Huh, funny how we’ve never heard piano coming from her place. Maybe she only practices at a hall? Seems kinda inconvenient though. I’ll have to try talking to her again later, and ask!” He grinned at Clara, excitement bubbling up and all but boiling over inside him. “This is my chance! I can hardly wait. I finally have something I can talk to her about that isn’t totally stupid! I-”

Clara’s expression had been turning progressively flatter as he spoke, until she abruptly cut him off with a sharp, “Nine!” She erased her board and scribbled frantically. ‘The things you talk about aren’t stupid.’

Kit sighed, resting his chin in his hands. “Maybe, but I always get so tongue-tied around her, and end up saying things that she clearly finds boring. Either that, or she always has a lot on her mind, which wouldn’t surprise me, now that I’ve found out this about her.” He shrugged. “I dunno why, but it’s like there’s an entire galaxy between us, she seems so distant all the time. What do you think?”

Clara gave him a flat look, before scribbling rapidly on her board. ‘It’s probably because she’s a bitch.’

“Clara...” Kit crossed his arms, levelling a stern look at the vulpine. “There’s no call for that. Cindy has plenty of great qualities!”

‘Oh? Name a few?’

“Well, she’s really pretty, and, er,” Kit considered. “She likes wildlife! She has all those bird feeders outside her place. And she’s obviously a great musician.”

Clara’s stare seemed to bore into his skull, though she waited patiently for him to continue his list. When he had nothing to add, she took her time cleaning her board, and writing again in quick, practiced strokes.  

‘Convincing as that was, you should stay away from her.’

Kit frowned, puzzled by this odd behaviour from his ninetales. “Why? What is it about her that you don’t like?”

A pause, then, ‘I see what talking to her does to you. All she’ll do is hurt you.’

Kit thought about that for a moment, then chuckled softly. “Is this because she yelled at you for trying to paint her sunbathing without her permission?”

Clara glared at him. ‘No! That picture was poor anyway.’

“Then why? You act like you know her far better than I do. Why do you hate her so much?”

She huffed, swiping her cloth briefly across the board, then spun it around again. ‘Because she’s a bitch.’

“That language is hardly ladylike,” Kit chastised. “What would your mother think?”

Rapid scribbling. Then, ‘She’d also think she’s a bitch.’

Kit sighed, standing and gathering the plates and cutlery for the sink. “This isn’t going anywhere. You know I respect your opinion, Clara, but I don’t have to agree with it. I’ll certainly take it into consideration, but I’m determined now. I’m going to ask Cindy out later.”

A soft, frustrated growl from behind him. He turned to see his ninetales stalking out through the door that lead to their shop, her posture stiff and practically radiating offense. Kit rubbed a hand through his hair, watching her go. “Yeah, okay, fine. I’ll take care of the dishes. Go ahead and open the shop. I’ll start on my errands.”  

Maybe once he’d come back, she’d have cooled down enough to explain what the real problem was. He couldn’t fathom the source of this intense dislike towards Cindy. Maybe there’d been more to that little confrontation between the two females than he knew? Or, perhaps it was simply a case of people’s personality rubbing the wrong way. Eventually, he’d need to get to the bottom of it.

His lips quirked in a smile. Especially if I do land a date with Cindy. Yes!

~~~

By the time Kit had traversed the eight blocks west to the more central area of Celadon, he was beginning to better appreciate the turn towards summer weather, and consequently, wish he’d worn shorts instead of long pants. A trickle of sweat ran down his spine, making him more conscious of his clinging shirt. Okay, one, how does Clara stand it with all that fur? Two, I really need to consider working out more often, and three, despite being the most awesome metal-fusion band ever, Magnemar, black was not the colour I should have picked to wear today.

He tugged on the hem of his shirt, ruffling the fabric in a mostly futile attempt to air out the muggy heat. Magnemar’s flaming piano logo across his chest seemed to taunt him. On the plus side, they were rumored to be touring again soon. Maybe he’d look at grabbing some tickets, and asking Cindy to come to a show?

Nah, she’d probably think they’re lame. Or maybe... If he was going to daydream, why not make it a good one? God, if Cindy was a fellow fan, she would rise so many points on the awesome scale. He could just picture her in a mosh pit...

Kit was well aware that he was beginning to grin like a madman again, but he didn’t bother to wipe it away. Not that any of the other pedestrians seemed to care, or even notice. Most, in fact, were busy browsing among various kiosks arrayed through the street, which, Kit realized belatedly, was completely closed to vehicle traffic by large wooden barricades, as of the last intersection he’d crossed.

Huh, that’s started already? Cool. Good timing. The spring street festival would be a great place to look for Clara’s birthday present. Later, the street would be bustling, filled more with performers and their assorted audiences, the former dancing or singing their hearts out in hopes of a few bucks tossed their way, and the latter reluctantly parting with that same few bucks. He might have to come back later, and bring Clara along. She had a thing for small curiosities like contortionists and jugglers. Be a good chance to drum up some business too.

Kit merged with the groups of people mingling among the wooden stalls, browsing languidly amongst an array of art, hemp jewelry, tourist souvenirs (Celadon - a rainbow of flowers!), gadgetry that ranged from cheap-looking to downright arcane (as seen on TV!), and myriad trinkets and pokémon related products.

Tinny music from speakers attached to various kiosks clashed and competed along with the coaxing of the stall owners. Kit let the noise wash over him, enjoying the lively atmosphere. The sound seemed to pulse with its own tempo, almost like a giant living thing.

Da dum dum da daaa... No. Too syncopated.  

Aside from a guy offering, “today only,” specials on some fancy remote-control toy flygons -which had admittedly awakened Kit’s inner ten-year-old to clamor for appeasement until he shushed it with a wave of boring adult practicality- little jumped out at him. Poffins, every flavor? A mundane gift, even if it was a surefire thing. Scarves? Pretty, and would certainly set off Clara’s cream fur well, but impractical. She’d never wear it for fear of getting paint on it. Art? Unless it was by one of her personal idols, it was difficult to say what might entrance her.

Finally, he stopped short at a stall offering jewelry, noticing a sign that stated, “Sized to any pokémon, free of charge!” Unlike the other stalls, this one specifically offered baubles for pokémon. Curious, Kit began to explore what they had to offer.

“Hello there, sir, may I help you?”

Kit looked up, then down, to the smiling face of a balding man with horn-rimmed glasses, who was peering at him with the familiar expression of, ‘Please, please buy something.’

“Oh, hi. Just browsing for the moment. Looking for a present for my ninetales.” Kit grinned. “Birthday coming up soon, y’know? Gotta pull out all the stops.”

“Oh, absolutely, sir!” the little man enthused. “Might I suggest a necklace? They’re quite popular, and we have many lovely varieties.” He began picking up various pieces, showing them to Kit in turn. All had adjustable clasps, which appeared to extend quite wide, if need be. Kit winced, thinking how that clasp might catch in Clara’s fur.

“I don’t think so. Perhaps something else?”

“Certainly. Earrings?”

Kit stared. They made those for pokémon? The very thought of piercing Clara’s ears -or indeed, her asking to have it done- was absurd. He shook his head to the negative.

“Ah... perhaps a bracelet would be a better choice? I have quite the selection...”

The man prattled on, his hands flitting about like skittish pidgey as he picked up and put back increasingly more elaborate designs. Kit paid half attention to the litany, his eyes roving the wares as well as glancing at the man’s offerings. Suddenly, a clear plastic box caught his eye.

“Hey, what’s that one?”

“Hmm? Oh!” The man picked up the box, a smile spreading across his lips. The fish had found some bait it liked, so time to yank the line a bit. He rubbed the top of the box, though whether attempting to polish it or caress it, Kit was unsure. “An excellent choice, sir! This one is a set, you see. Ten bracelets, each with a different colour of bauble. The lady can alternate which one to wear, you see, and there can be one to match any other accessory!”

“Uh-huh.” Kit peered closer, examining the jewelry. The bracelets were indeed identical, save for the stones. A simple, black hemp band, with a tie that could be lengthened or shortened. The stones themselves had a halo of transparency at their outer rim, fading to opaque towards the center, where it culminated in a flare of brilliant colour that seemed to leap out at the viewer. Red, blue, green, gold, purple, pink... “How much?” he found himself asking.

“I sell these in my store for 3500. But, for the festival, they’re on for 3000.” The man was rubbing the box again, a gleam in his eyes.

Hooked fish metaphor be damned. It was perfect. “Done.” Kit handed over the money. The man took it with a small bow, squirreling the cash away into a portable register, then carefully filling out a receipt by hand. Moments later, Kit was walking away with a plain white plastic bag, the contents of which would hopefully make for a happy ninetales.

One at a time? Sure, maybe for most pokés, Kit thought, smiling to himself. Clara would be able to take advantage of nine of the bracelets at once, and have one left over for swapping. As an added bonus, they were lightweight and unobtrusive, which meant they wouldn’t hinder her dexterity. Not to mention how the coloured stones would look in contrast to her fur.

Speaking of...

His first objective accomplished, Kit wove his way out of the festival area, and walked the additional two blocks to the art supply store. The place always made him feel like a foreigner, his attempts to articulate what he wanted to the clerks much like flailing about in another language. Did he want it in flat, semi, or high gloss? Acrylic, enamel, oil, or water base? What sort of brush was being used? How about the canvas?

Somehow, he floundered his way through the ordeal in one piece, and was heading towards Aunty’s bakery fifteen minutes later with -he hoped- the paint that Clara had wanted. If it was the wrong type, she would undoubtedly give him one of those penetrating “you’re an idiot” stares, which would quickly be softened by the shake of her head and the vulpine smile that said, “but you’re my idiot.”

Kit felt a brief pang of guilt. At times, it was rather bittersweet that his ninetales was their primary breadwinner. Seeing her talent flourish was an unbridled joy to be sure. Yet, he sometimes felt that he was no more than a burden to that talent, and contributed little to their mutual struggle against the world. In a way, he was almost no different than those competitive league trainers, who pitted their pokémon against one another, then took all the credit.

Soon enough though, that will change.

The bell over the door at Aunty Jane’s Bakery and Confectionary let out a welcoming chime as Kit walked in. Immediately, he was greeted by the scents of fresh-baked dough, chocolate, cinnamon, and enough other assorted delectables to nearly make him float towards the counter. Despite the eye-bending pinkness of the decor all around, it felt far too much like visiting his grandmother’s house for there to be any threat of feeling emasculated in Aunty Jane’s.

“Hello, dear, I’ll just be a sec,” came a rich, musical voice from somewhere behind the beaded curtain that lead to the kitchen -that magical place where the heavenly assortment of baked goods displayed in the glass case were created.

“It’s fine, Aunty, take your time. No rush,” he called back, his eyes roaming over the temptations, all the while mentally swatting himself to buy the one thing -one- which he had come here for. Regardless of the bakery being a relative hole in the wall compared to some of the larger, better known places in Celadon, Kit and Clara were in complete agreement that there was no competing with Aunty Jane’s.

“Is that Kit I hear?”

“Yes, Aunty.”

There came the sound of a metal door closing, followed by clattering pans. Then, the bead curtain was shoved aside around the bulk of a -Kit liked to think plump, though enormous would have been closer to the truth- woman. A puff of flour rose into the air as she clapped her hands together, a delighted smile lighting her already rosy face up further.

“Honeychow! So good to see you!” She reached into the display case and pulled out a pastry, thrusting it into his hands. “ Here. You look like you need a cinnamon roll, hon. Put some meat on those bones. You doing alright? Find yourself a girl to take care of you yet? You really ought to eat more, dear. Lordy, but you look like you’re wasting away just standing there!”

She paused for breath in the onslaught, giving Kit time to both juggle the pastry (which was somehow still warm), and answer, “Thanks, Aunty. I try. Well enough. Not yet, and really I don’t-”

“Oh! But you’re by yourself today?” she cut-in, with all the unstoppable force of a bulldozer. “No Clara? Where is that lovely girl? Not sick I hope. Poor thing! Here, take a couple more of these -one’s for her now, mind!” A pudgy finger waggled at him sternly, and two more cinnamon rolls were thrust into his hands, the first with still only a single bite managed from its delicious golden spiral.

Kit balanced the three while attempting to regain his verbal footing. “Clara is fine too, Aunty. She’s at home managing the shop for a bit. She’s also why I’m here, actually.” Visits with Aunty were always more or less like this -a veritable barrage of conversation, typically coupled with attempts to make him gain twenty pounds on the spot.  

“You don’t say? Well, don’t keep an old woman in suspense now, dear! I’m all ears.” Aunty puttered about as she talked, her dark curls bouncing from beneath her white baker’s cap with each step, her hands aflutter like nervous pidgeys, straightening and primping and arranging. One finger fell on the edge of a picture frame hanging on the wall -a landscape piece Clara had done for Aunty as a gift. “That girl has such a talent, such a talent! You’re certain she isn’t sick, right?” She peered closely at him, as if attempting to sniff out a lie.

“No ma’am, she’s healthy as a rapidash. Her birthday’s coming up soon though, and-”

“Oh! Of course, silly, silly me!” Aunty Jane exclaimed, bustling over to the register and scooping up a pad and pen. “I shouldn’t assume such things. Here you go, dear, take one of these.” A large chocolate chip cookie joined the two and a half cinnamon buns in Kit’s hands. “You’ll be wanting a cake, naturally. Ooh, I have just the thing! That girl does like her pecha flavor, yes she does! You got her something nice, I hope?”

“Yes’m.” Kit popped the remainder of the cinnamon roll into his mouth, and pulled the jewelry box out of his bag, sliding it onto the counter for Aunty to see. “Found this at the festival. Think she’ll like it?”

“Oh, hon, it’s perfect!” Aunty said, tittering. “You do know the way to a girl’s heart, don’t you? Why, if I was thirty years younger and had never met Mr. Bigley, I would’ve been pleased as punch to have a young man like you. Clara’s a lucky girl!”

Heat rose to Kit’s face. “It’s not like... that, Aunty. We’re not... you know.”

She nodded while scribbling on her notepad. “Of course not, dear. Don’t be silly. I wouldn’t imply such a thing! Now, when do you need that cake?”

“Saturday is her birthday. I can swing by on Friday afternoon though if that’s-”

“Oh, no no no, I’ll send Mark on by with it on Saturday, make sure it’s a surprise, hmmm?” Aunty tore the sheet off the pad and tucked it into one of the voluminous pockets of her apron, humming softly under her breath.  

“Great, you’re the best, Aunty.” Kit fished for his wallet, then stopped, his ears perking. “Wait, what’s that you’re humming?”

“Eh? This old thing? It’s just some little tune my momma used to sing.”

“Can you hum it again for me, please?”

Aunty Jane complied. Kit closed his eyes, listening to the melody. A bit of a slower tempo, and the key is off, but with some transposition and sped up slightly...

He knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he didn’t care. It fit! He opened his eyes, barely able to control the urge to hug the grandmotherly woman across the counter. “Thanks, Aunty, that’s exactly what I needed!”

Aunty looked slightly mystified, but nodded, mirroring his smile. “Anytime, dear.”  

“Now, what do I owe you for the cake?”

She beamed at him, waving her arms. “Uh-uh, it’s special for Clara, hon! On the house!”

“Aunty, I can’t possibly-”

“Nonsense! You can, and you will. Now shoo, shoo!” The pidgeys were flapping at him now, trying to blow him out the door with his armful of pastries. “I have work to do, and can’t stand around jawin’ all day, not even with handsome young men!” She winked, even as she turned to maneuver her bulk back into the kitchen. “Tell Clara I said hello!”

Recognizing the battle as one he wasn’t going to win, Kit reluctantly put his wallet away, and picked up one of the paper bags from the counter, stuffing the extra baked goods inside. Aside from the ever-present threat of being bundled off to his own wedding, the one other downside to Aunty’s was that she made him feel like a thief. He’d probably just slip her son something when he dropped off the cake.

Or, perhaps... Turning to go, he took a bite of the cookie, and couldn’t help but smile as he slipped a bill into the ‘Abandoned pokémon rescue fund’ donation jar next to the door.  

Maybe a thief... but an honorable and extremely well-fed one! His fingers twitched, feeling for imaginary ivory. As an added bonus, now he had his coda.  

Now, if only Cindy would share Aunty’s opinion of him.

~~~

Kit arrived back home to find Clara dutifully tending the combination gallery and store the pair of them owned, overseeing a handful of customers who were wandering around, examining the paintings on display. Kit glanced over the three -two men and a woman- but didn’t think any looked to be serious buyers. He walked over to where Clara sat on top of the sales counter, carefully hiding the bag with the present behind his knee as he leaned on the desk.

She looked up at him, and scribbled on her board. ‘Did you find the paint?’

“Yup, got it right here. Hope it’s what you wanted.” He produced the tube, placing it on the counter and front of her, and followed it with the paper bag. “And there’s some presents from Aunty Jane. She says ‘hi.’

“Nine!” Clara dropped the tube of paint, her tails fanning out as she dove muzzle first into the paper bag. There was the sound of munching, smacking chops, then a satisfied purr. She snuffled inside the bag, licking up any remaining crumbs, before withdrawing wearing a pleased expression.

The magical ninetales and the disappearing cinnamon rolls. Now you see them, now you don’t. Kit raised a brow at her, hiding his grin. “Good?”

“Nine.” She erased her board, writing, ‘As always. The paint is fine too. Thank you.’

“Any time. Any sales or almost sales?” Kit jerked his head in the direction of the browsers. One was already on his way out, and pushed through the door as they spoke. Clara shook her head to the negative. “Okay. I’ll be right back, then I’ll take over for you.” He began to head for the door to their apartment, still concealing the bag.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Kit turned to find the woman he’d noticed before standing a few feet away. Her copper coloured hair had been pulled into a tight bun, and the lines on her face gave her a rather severe look that was only slightly softened by her red lipstick. In fact, she rather reminded him a bit of his elementary school principal. “Yes,” he replied, fidgeting, and attempting to keep the bag out of Clara’s vision. “How may I help you, ma’am?”

“You are the owner of this store, correct? And the ninetales?”

The woman’s points were dropping fast in Kit’s opinion, but he kept an amiable expression. “Of the store, yes, not Clara. We’re partners. I’m not her master.”

She didn’t appear to notice his emphasis, continuing to skewer him with her grey stare. “As you say. No matter the case, these works are quite impressive.” It didn’t take much to hear the undertone of, ‘for a pokémon’. Kit kept his teeth from gritting together by sheer force of will. “My name is Martha Ableton, and I am a collector of sorts. However, my interest is more in... originals.”

Kit gestured about. “All of these are originals, ma’am. Prints are in the catalogs by the counter. We don’t bother displaying them.” By now, Clara had hopped off the counter and was padding over to them, her tails swaying. She stopped beside Kit, sitting on her haunches and looking up at the woman -Martha- with mild interest.

“Ninetales?”

“Ah, of course.” Martha barely glanced at Clara. “That wasn’t what I meant, however. I would be in the market for a commission. A piece to commemorate my husband and I’s twenty-fifth anniversary. What do you say?”

Kit shrugged, pointing to the ninetales. “Ask her. She’s the boss.” Okay, maybe not strictly true, but the disgusted twitch of the woman’s lips was oh so worth it.

“And how, do you suppose, I would go about that? I highly doubt your... boss... speaks our language. It seems it would be a rather one-sided conversation.”

“I dunno. She could try using small words if you like.” It slipped out before he could reconsider the choice of words, but he didn’t regret it in the slightest.

“Excuse me?” Martha sputtered. “How dare you! What are you implying?”

Clara was writing something, but Kit beat her to the punch. “Funny thing -pokémon aren’t stupid, you know? This one in particular. You might consider being a little more respectful next time you’re asking something of a stranger.”    

Martha gaped like a stranded fish. Clara let out a series of short, high-pitched yips, which Kit recognized as laughter. She spun her board around, waving it in the woman’s face. ‘Closed. Sorry. Too busy.’

“I see.” Martha’s tone had dropped into winter, and she drew herself up to her full height. “If you are too good for my money, then I shall take it elsewhere. Good day.” She spun on her heel, marching out of the store. Kit expected the door to slam behind her, but instead it merely closed with a soft jingle of the bell. At some point during the conversation, the other man had also left, leaving them alone.

“Nine.” Clara was shaking her head.   

“I agree. People like that get under my skin.” Kit sighed, releasing the anger that had been bubbling beneath the surface. “They see fur and four legs, and automatically assume ‘barely housebroken’.” The contrast was especially stark when compared to Aunty Jane. Most pokémon were as intelligent as humans, so why not treat them as such?  

“Nine.” Clara turned her board around to face him, a twinkle of mischief in her red eyes. ‘My hero.’

“Yeah yeah, I know. I couldn’t let it pass though. Sorry.”

‘No need. It was very sweet. What’s in the bag?’

Crud. Kit waved a hand vaguely. “Nothing important. Just a few guy necessities. Know what? How about I go put these away, then play you the piece I figured out while I was gone?”

“Nine! Niiine!” Clara nodded enthusiastically.

Saved! Kit scratched behind Clara’s ears, earning a purr. “Right. I’ll be back in a minute then.” He made his escape, surprise successfully unspoiled.

A quick trip upstairs, and the bag, with its secret contents, was stowed safely under his bed. Kit took the opportunity to change out of the black t-shirt (with a brief apology to Magnemar), swapping it for a white one featuring an open pokéball apparently spewing a complex math formula (supposedly a tested equation for predicting the capturability of a wild pokémon) and the word, ‘Success!’. A bit on the nerdy side, but it would do, and this was his other ‘lucky’ shirt.  

Ick. It’s gotten stuffy in here. Smells too much like ‘man’.

He moved to his window and threw it wide, proclaiming, “Save us, mighty fresh air!” He nearly bit his tongue as he caught sight of Cindy out in her yard, filling her birdfeeders. Oh god, please tell me she didn’t hear that. The sun sparkled off of her hair, making it look like spun gold as the curls bounced with her movement. She didn’t look up, so maybe he was safe, and that was a view he could watch for a long-

Wait... this is my chance!  

Clara would just need to wait a few more minutes. Kit dashed downstairs to the kitchen, swiping his copy of Composers Monthly off the table as he passed, before bursting outside. He hit the brakes on his doorstep, nervously peeking around the house until he spotted her -back turned to him, thankfully- then strolled casually out into his yard. No sense looking like an idiot running to catch her, even if that was essentially what he’d been doing. He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly self-conscious. Was it messy? He hadn’t checked. He really should get a haircut soon.

Alright, Kit old boy, nice and smooth now. Hopefully, the word on his shirt would be a subliminal message over this entire encounter.

 “Hey, Cindy!”

She turned, a small bag of birdseed in her hand. “Oh. Hi.” She’d changed out of her jogging outfit, and now wore a pair of white cutoff shorts that complimented her lime green summer blouse perfectly. Her eyes seemed to spear him like blue lasers, and suddenly, the fantastic line he’d had prepared was gone in a puff of smoke.

“I uh, was just, you know, reading and uh... is this you?” He held up the magazine, flipping it open to the page with her article. Mentally, he screamed at his uncooperative tongue.

Cindy quirked an eyebrow, glancing at the page only for a second, before turning to fill another birdfeeder. “Yeah, guess so. Forgot about that one. Composer’s something or other, right?”

“Monthly, yeah. That’s so awesome for you! It’s a really huge deal to get featured by them.” Finally, something intelligent out of his mouth, yes!

She shrugged. “Maybe. I dunno, I kinda lost track of all those lame interviews. I remember that photographer was kinda a perv though.”

All those... Kit was momentarily dumbstruck. He would love to have that sort of attention on his music, and she brushed it off like it was nothing of consequence. He decided to try a different tack. “Well, uh, I still think it’s pretty cool. I mean, I never even knew you played. I’m trying to make my way into the scene myself, if you hadn’t guessed.” He gestured to the magazine sheepishly. “An Eisenberg grand, eh? Man, that thing must sound amazing.”

She was examining her nails now, though for what, Kit couldn’t begin to guess. They looked pristine, and now that he was looking at her hands, he could see the long, piano fingers that he’d missed before. “Yeah, it’s pretty good. That one’s my old one though. New one’s way nicer.”    

“Gotta admit, you’re giving me the worst case of piano envy right now.” Kit winced inwardly, giving himself a mental kick. Smooth, idiot, not creepy! Recovering, he added, “I’ve only got an old Matwick upright to practice on. She’s a bit plunky, but holds up well enough.”

“Uh-huh.” The disinterest radiating from her was practically forming a cloud. He needed to salvage this fast. He flashed a smile.

“You know, I’ve never actually heard you play before, which I guess is why I never knew you were, y’know...” he trailed off, words evaporating into the cloud. Warning. Warning. Red alert. Mission failure imminent.  

She shrugged again, pursing those oh-so-fine lips. “I plug into an electric board, so it doesn’t bother anybody. You should really consider getting one.”

“I, umm...” Had that been a shot fired his way? He wasn’t entirely certain, so he pressed on. “Sure, I’ll think about that. But, I’d really love the chance to hear you play sometime, if that’s cool. Maybe we could hang out, talk shop? Perhaps grab a drink, or even just bust out some tunes? I wouldn’t mind getting your feedback on my own stuff too.”

She stared at him for a moment, those blue lasers slicing deep. His chest felt tight as he watched her face, heart hammering. The skin around her eyes tightened minutely, her lips twitching down. Kit could barely breathe.

“Look,” she said finally, her eyes seeming like chips of ice despite the heat, “you honestly want my feedback? Fine then. I’ve heard you play, off and on.” Her fist tightened on the bag of birdseed, several grains spilling out of the opening to fall on the ground. “Sorry, but it sounded boring, simplistic, and predictable. Jazz walks have no place in classical, and you can’t seem to decide if you’re going to be beating on the keys with a hammer or waving at them. Some of your melodies start to go places, but then never resolve. And for the love of god, get your fucking middle C tuned properly.” She spun around, took a step, then paused, turning back over her shoulder. “Also, no, not interested, and I have a boyfriend.”

With that final, venomous stab, she was gone, stalking back into her unit. The magazine tumbled from Kit’s fingers, unnoticed, as his eyes followed her retreating back. At least, until the door slammed behind it.

Huh, he thought absently, floating through the sudden black hole Cindy’s wake had left inside of him. Guess that’s a ‘no’ to dinner and a movie, then. The big ‘Success!’ on his shirt seemed to mock him.

His gaze trailed down to the fallen birdseed on the other side of the fence. A pidgey had flown down, and was already cleaning up the seed. Kit considered shooing it away out of pure, targetless spite, but didn’t have the energy. Somewhere down there might be a few remaining scraps of his dignity, and his tattered heart.

~~~

The store was still empty of patrons when Kit trudged back inside, utterly devoid of emotion. Strange, that such a rejection would leave no pain, or even anger. Perhaps those would show up later, like metaphysical bruises. Yet, for the moment, he floated within a void.

“Nine?”

Kit couldn’t meet Clara’s gaze, and ignored the question in her tone. The part of him that even acknowledged his ninetales’ concern was locked away, protected from all harm within the void. It wasn’t safe yet for it to come out. He moved, almost dreamlike, to the back of the store. Only a single thread bridged that gap between himself and the outside world. Not emotion, or even coherent thought, so much as silent need.

Play it.

Kit sat at his piano, automatically going through the practiced finger exercises, limbering up his hands. Outside the void were hurtful things. Boring. Predictable. Beating the keys. Only words. They had no place within his bubble of safety. He closed his eyes, feeling the ivory beneath his fingertips, inhaling the faint scent of the wood polish he used to keep his old friend looking her best.

A tap on his arm. A concerned, “Niiine? Niine?” Clara was trying to get him to look at her board, but now was not the time. Kit pushed the intruding tail aside and opened his eyes.

Begin in A minor. 3/8 time. Da da da da daa da dum, da da da dum, do da da dum...

He began to play. Notes fell from his fingertips with every stroke, at first like a cooling rain, then as a thunderstorm. Vaguely, he heard a soft gasp from Clara, but he didn’t -couldn’t- acknowledge her. He was awash in the river of sound, following every whim of that unstoppable current. The music was a stream, a waterfall, a sparkling path through the void. Kit dove, and dove, deeper, always deeper...      

And for the bridge, a small variance -perhaps a full arpeggio with a diminished seventh. Avoid middle C.

Time had no meaning. The music was existence and life. He had no thought of mistakes, or of how others might receive the piece. Improvised segments wove themselves between established melodies, some old, at least one new. The structure fell into place as naturally as if he had been playing the composition for years. Kit played, his vision filled with the black and white of the keys, the motion of his hands. He played, and felt the void filling with the sound like a balloon, its edges wavering, fragile. Kit played on.

The void burst, vanished. Kit’s hand fell, more from gravity than from propulsion, striking a single, climactic chord. It rang out for an endless moment, and with it, Kit’s awareness came rushing back, emotion and thought alike. The note died away, leaving silence in its passing. Kit slumped, exhaling long and slow.

It fit. All of it. It finally fit.

Suddenly nervous for reasons he couldn’t explain, Kit straightened and shook out his hands. He turned to Clara, who was now seated on her haunches beside the bench. A quick motion he almost didn’t see made him blink. Had she just pulled a tail away from her eyes? It was hard to tell, what with the way she stared at him now, red orbs soulful and unblinking, a studiously neutral set to her muzzle.

“So, uh... what did you think?”     

Clara shook herself, then snatched up her board and began scribbling. When she turned it around, Kit first saw, partly wiped away at the top, ‘What’s wrong?’ So, the thing she’d been trying to show him previously. He ignored that for the moment, reading lower, ‘That was one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever done, but it sounded so sad. Why?’

Something inside Kit -a tiny thing that he couldn’t define- broke. He buried his face in his hands, throat tightening, all the subdued feeling crashing free at once. His shoulders shook, the urge to let loose nearly overpowering, but he would not cry. He would not!

Well, this is a new low. One rejection, and here I go breaking down like my best friend just died. I really, really need to get out more.

“Niiine?” It was soft, full of concern. Kit couldn’t look up, too ashamed at letting his partner down to meet her eyes. All he needed was one chance -one bloody chance- to be the strong one in their relationship for once. To prove that he could step up and be a point of stability like she always was for him. Instead, here he was, practically blubbering like a ninny over a girl he’d never really had much chance with in the first place. It had nothing to do with Cindy, really. Or, at least, she was only a tiny portion of the real issue, one that had been festering for some time, and which today’s encounter had simply ignited.

It took Kit a second to realize he was chuckling. Quietly, forcing the laughter past the lump in his throat, but the utter stupidity of the whole thing had worked its magic. He raised his head from his hands, blinking away the moisture blurring his vision, a final, hoarse guffaw escaping his throat. He swallowed hard, the tightness in his throat clearing. The air felt cleaner, somehow, as he drew in a deep breath, and at last looked at Clara, the tiniest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m sorry. You really liked it, huh?”

She was staring at him, wide-eyed, her board dangling forgotten from her neck. Hesitantly, she nodded, though her expression was wary. “Niiine?”

“Yes, I’m alright, I promise. I’m sorry,” he repeated, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. At least no customers had wandered in during that little... episode. Had he seen someone acting the way he just had been, he likely would have been the first to call the boys in white.

Clara scooped up her board, writing, ‘Okay, but you’re going to tell me what that was about. Now.’  Her expression was the one he’d learned long ago not to argue with as she probed him with that ruby gaze. Not that he had any intention of deceiving her. It was time to clear the air.

"I finally did it. I saw Cindy outside, and worked up the nerve to go talk to her. Ask her out." Kit shook his head, recalling the contemptuous curl to Cindy's mouth. "She turned me down, and said some... things."

Clara didn't need to say, "told you so", it was written all over her face. However, all she wrote was, 'I'm so sorry, Kit.' A pair of soft, warm appendages settled on his shoulders, squeezing gently. That part did surprise him, though he wasn't about to complain. Clara didn't often show affection quite so directly, and Kit welcomed the comfort.

"It's fine. I honestly don't know why I had such high hopes." He chuckled, though he felt little humor. "Actually, that's not quite true - I do. You know how long it's been since I went on a date, let alone had a serious relationship?"

"Nine?" She wrote, 'School?'

"Right. Four years ago. It was when you were still with Mom and Dad, before I got into that dorm that allowed pokémon. Her name was Jennifer Hodgkin, a cellist. We went out a few times, then she told me that was it -she didn't feel any spark." Kit shrugged. "We stayed friendly enough, which was good, since we had classical theory together, but I guess I kinda turned introvert after that. None of the other girls seemed to acknowledge my existence."

‘You had stronger feelings for her though.’

Kit nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. I think a lot of that time was me trying to let go. She hooked up with some bassoonist. Seriously, a bassoonist?!” This time, there was genuine amusement in his wry laugh. “It’s in the past now though, and it’s there to stay. Today had just been going so well, I ended up trying my luck with someone out of my league.” He shrugged. “Live and learn, huh?”

“Niiine!” Clara’s ears flattened, and her tails whipped about so fast, Kit ducked instinctively. Clara spun her board around, the word ‘No!’ written in thick, angry letters. She shoved it at him pointedly, causing him to hold up his hands in surrender, then spun it and wiped it clean again, adding, ‘You’re out of her league.’ The word ‘her’ was underlined several times.

Kit raised a brow. “You think so? Some no-name hack, who mooches off of his pokémon for a living, compared to someone who’s apparently set to be the next Eisenberg?”

Clara’s eyes narrowed in concentration, her scribbling taking some time before she turned the board back around. ‘Yes! It doesn’t matter how talented or pretty or rich and famous she may be. She’s a poisonous bitch, and she doesn’t deserve you. You’re kind, funny, talented, and smarter than you give yourself credit for.’ 

A warm feeling sparked somewhere in Kit’s chest. His eyes were beginning to twitch again. He would not cry, dammit! Looking away to hide it and blinking away the urge, he laid a hand on Clara’s shoulder, steadying himself with her warmth. “Thanks, Clara. You’re right, I shouldn’t be too hard on myself after one letdown. There’s plenty of fish, and all that.” At the corner of his vision, he saw Clara’s tails flick spasmodically. But, when he turned to catch her eye, her expression was fixed in a neutral mask. She wiped her board and began to write once more.

‘For the record, you’re also not a mooch.’ She waved the words under his nose, then flipped the board around with an evil grin on her muzzle. When she turned it back, it read, ‘Who else would make such a great waffle slave?’

“Why you sneaky fox you�” Kit mock growled, giving her a playful shove. “I think I have more talents than waffles, thank you very much!” He looked over her shoulder as she began to write frantically, barking yips of laughter.

‘Certainly. Brushing my fur, buying my paints...’  

Shaking his head, Kit rose and walked away, grinning despite himself. “Nope! Not reading the rest of that, thank you!” He made a shooing motion towards Clara. “Off with you now. I promised I’d take over when I got back, so you can head back to your mystery project if you like.”

“Nine!”

“Yes, I know, I’m the best.”

“Nine. Niiine.”

“Sure, but that’s what I heard, and you can’t prove otherwise.” Stepping behind the sales counter, Kit reached beneath and pulled out the sci-fi novel he was currently working his way through. Space battles made for a good time killer when there weren’t customers to see to, and would also help to sponge away any lingering tendrils of self-pity. He heard Clara leave through the door leading to their living quarters, and glanced up to see the door closing on the sight of her fan of silken tails.

And so are you, Clara.

~~~
  

With the weight of the unfinished composition no longer weighing upon him, the remainder of the week flew by for Kit. The pair of them attended an evening at the festival, taking in the exotic, once-per-year sights, and coming away with a few extra cheap trinkets, much to Clara’s delight. Otherwise, the ninetales spent much of her time working in her studio, leaving him to mind the gallery, and busy himself with touching up his piece or practicing new arrangements whenever the shop was empty of customers. He even managed to book himself a slot in an upcoming talent show, which, once he told Clara the news, his partner assured him he would win.

Saturday dawned bright and warm, promising an excellent day for sun lovers all around. Kit awoke earlier than usual, only to find Clara already holed up and painting away when he looked into her studio. A certain intensity to her expression warned him not to interrupt, so he quietly closed the door and crept downstairs in full ninja mode. He could be as stealthy as any ninetales when he wanted!

A knock on the door shortly after breakfast sent Kit leaping to answer, lest Clara come down to investigate. He threw the door open, startling Aunty Jane’s teenaged son Mark, who stared at Kit with his mouth agape. He held a medium-sized cake box, and was dressed as though he were on his way to the beach.    

“Heeey there, bud! Guess that’s for me, thanks!” Kit said, grinning and seizing the box from the teen’s dumbfounded grip.

“Um, wow, were you like, staking out the door or something?” Mark asked, absently adjusting his backwards ball cap. “Or do you like, jump out at your mailman too?”

“Or something,” Kit agreed. “Tell your mom I said ‘hi’!” He shut the door on the gawping boy, and glanced furtively about. Not a single cream-furred tail in sight. Success! He popped up the lid of the box and inspected Aunty Jane’s creation. As expected, it was a dream in the form of a pastry: round, multilayered, and coated with Aunty’s famous ten-berry whip topping. Around the edges, pecha berries nestled atop lacy chocolate squares, and the center held a marzipan oval that read ‘Happy Birthday Clara’, in elegant script.

This’ll make for a happy fox. Closing the lid, he stored the prize carefully in the fridge, camouflaging it with lettuce, a jug of milk, and several condiments. Clara might still stumble across it, but she was going to have to work for it! His first ninja mission complete, Kit snuck back upstairs to wrap Clara’s present.

The door to Clara’s studio remained closed when Kit emerged from his bedroom once more, which suited his purposes just fine. She would come down when she was ready. Until then, he would open the shop for business, and pretend there was nothing out of the ordinary. Just a typical Saturday, no suspicious boxes in the fridge, nothing special happening.

Morning had rolled into afternoon by the time Clara came down to join Kit in the gallery, wearing a self-satisfied look and sporting several multicolored splotches of paint in her fur. Kit took one look and whipped out the grooming comb, holding it up high like a trophy.

“Fear not, noble vulpine!” he declared in an overly dramatic voice, striking a heroic pose. “For I bear the trusty blade Dirtbane, with which I shall strike down the foul demons of uncleanliness which beset you!”

Clara stared back at him for a moment, then burst into yips of amusement, shaking her head and picking up her board. She wrote, ‘You’re such a dork.’ and plucked the comb from his fingers with a tail, still chuffing softly while she began to groom out the flecks of paint.  

“Alas! The fox mistress has doth slain me with my own blade! Woe that I did not bathe before taking up the sword which is death to all filth!”

Clara erased all the words but ‘dork’, which she underlined several times, though the twinkle in her eyes betrayed her true thoughts. Kit gave her an elaborate bow, accepting the brush back from her after she teased out the final stubborn blotch.

“So,” he said, dropping the theatrical act, “did you finish it?”

‘Yes. I think it’s my best work to date.’

“Great! Want me to bring it down and put it in the window?”

‘Later. It needs time to set.’

“You got it, boss!” Kit snapped a salute, earning another round of amused yips. Just then, the shop’s bell rang, signalling the arrival of customers. Both he and Clara sobered, greeting their guests -a middle aged couple- and the next few moments were spent discussing several of the pieces on display.

As the day wore on, Clara began casting furtive looks at Kit whenever she thought he was distracted. He pretended not to notice, turning away from her to hide a grin as she grew steadily more miffed with each hour that slid by. She certainly hadn’t forgotten what day it was, but his feigned ignorance seemed to be working. By the time they finally locked the front door of the gallery at six, he was set to burst from the contained glee of his secret.

“So, you hungry, girl?” he asked, studiously casual as he tallied up the register. They’d made five sales today, including two originals! That alone was enough to make their rent for the next month, and an achievement worth celebrating.    

“Nine.” She wrote, ‘What did you have in mind?’

“Oh, I thought it might be a good day to break out those fish-fillet steaks from the freezer. Maybe roast some potatoes. Sound good?” Fish was one of Clara’s favourites, and he’d splurged a little on a Rage trout, all the way from Johto. The excited “Niiiiine!” he got made the expense worth it.

“Alright.” He walked with Clara to the entrance of their apartment, and flicked off the lights of the gallery behind them as they stepped through to the kitchen. “Why don’t you go relax upstairs, and I’ll take care of it. Won’t be more than half an hour.”

“Niine?”

“No no, it’s fine, I’ve got this.” He made a shooing gesture at her. “You deserve a break. We did well today.”

She eyed him with a hint of suspicion in her ruby gaze. But after a moment, she nodded and acquiesced, retreating upstairs to her own bedroom. Kit immediately set to work fulfilling his promise. A little lemon, butter and garlic, and the fish and potatoes were set frying and baking respectively. He added in some mushrooms and asparagus in a separate pan, spicing them with pepper and Ember Island chili -another favourite of Clara’s.

While the veritable feast cooked, he set out their finest plates (a gym leader collector’s set he’d bought at a thrift store, featuring the prized pokémon of each of the Kanto leaders) and removed the cake from its box, placing it on its cardboard platter in the center of the table. He completed the setting with a glass of cola for himself, and a bowl of pecha juice for Clara. Though her talents were many, drinking from a glass was not among them, amusing as her past attempts had been.

If this doesn’t surprise her, I might as well give up ninja mode for good.

True to his word, the food didn’t take much longer, and he arranged the plates with as much artistic pride as he could before adding them to the table. After taking a brief moment to admire his handiwork, Kit stepped to the stairs and called for Clara to come down.

Kit waited with barely subdued impatience at the bottom of the stairs, listening to the soft padding of Clara’s footfalls coming closer. The moment she poked her nose through the kitchen entry, he welcomed her with an elaborate bow, ignoring her amused yips and ushering her inside.

“Most honored and beautiful lady, come, please, partake in the great feast!” Kit intoned. He executed what he figured to be a half decent waltz step and pulled a chair out for Clara, then sketched another deep bow. “Only the finest for such times of celebration. I trust that these humble efforts meet with the lady’s approval?”

Utter silence. Then, soft, padding footsteps, followed by the nearly inaudible squeak of Clara’s marker. Kit looked up to meet Clara’s ruby gaze mere inches away, freezing him where he stood. She shoved her board in front of his face, forcing him to straighten up to read it.

‘It’s lovely, Kit. Thank you.’

“I-”

Before he could speak, she reared up, her forepaws landing on his chest. Kit cried out, grabbing the table for balance as two-hundred-odd pounds of fox bore him backwards. Clara didn’t seem to notice his distress, nuzzling her forehead up beneath his chin, a deep purr rumbling in her throat. Warmth suffused him from head to toe -part from the heat radiating from Clara’s furry body, and part from a mix of speechless embarrassment and shock.

“Niiiiiiinnne,” Clara crooned. Something hot and wet tickled his throat, making him swallow nervously. What had gotten into her? The way her body pressed against him felt too snug to be accidental, and if he wasn’t mistaken, there was a certain spice in the air that had nothing to do with the fish. It was at once exotic and familiar, setting Kit’s racing mind ablaze.

Attract? No. She never mastered that move. Did she? 

Just as Kit began to consider what his hands could be doing instead of holding him upright, the moment shattered as abruptly as it had begun. Clara dropped back to all fours with a breathy, “Taaaleess,” leaving Kit breathing hard and smoothing his rumpled shirt. Bashful confusion burned merrily in his cheeks, making it impossible to look his partner in the eye. He couldn’t remember when he’d last been that turned on.

“Been practicing, have you?” he mumbled, giving up on being surreptitious and adjusting his now uncomfortably tight pants. “You haven’t done anything like� that� since you were a ‘pix.”

“Nine?”

“Yeah.” He stepped away from her, shoving his glasses back up his nose and scratching the back of his head, still avoiding eye contact. “You used to curl up on my chest every chance you got, remember?”

“Niine.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her nod.

“That wasn’t all though,” he continued, walking around the table and dropping into the other chair. “You had the worst case of separation anxiety that first week. Attached yourself to me as well as you could.” He picked up his fork, prodding disinterestedly at his food. “I couldn’t even take a shower without you wanting to follow me in. At least, until you learned that it meant getting wet.”

Irritated now, Kit stabbed the fork into his fish, tearing off a flaky chunk and shoving it into his mouth. Of all the things, why had he brought up that? Way to go, Kit. Nice choice in steering this conversation to less awkward territory. Silent seconds crawled by, punctuated only by the spicy flavor filling Kit’s mouth. If nothing else, at least he’d cooked the fish right.

Clara’s board slid across the table, coming to rest beside his plate. He didn’t want to look. He couldn’t deal with more rejection right now. Couldn’t she see he just wanted to be left alone? He-

“Nine!”

Against his will, his gaze slid to the board.

‘I’m sorry,’ it read. ‘I remember too. I just thought you’d forgotten what day it was.’ A tail snaked across the space between them, lifting his chin. Their eyes met, those ruby depths pinning him in place.  

“How could I forget,” he mumbled, swallowing. “Happy birthday, Clara.” The silken fur of her tail-tip felt electric against his skin. Unwilling to entertain further dangerous thoughts or urges, Kit jerked away from the touch, staring down at his plate. What was wrong with him tonight? Had Cindy’s rejection turned him into some desperate loser, who saw inappropriate context in the most innocent of gestures?

The fork trembled in Kit’s fingers. He speared more fish, though its flavor now seemed dull and unappetizing. He didn’t want to be ‘that guy’. If he didn’t manage to pull it together, he risked offending his best friend. Besides, she was out of his league. It didn’t matter that she was a pokémon, she-

Stop that!

Kit bit the inside of his cheek, hard. Stupid, stupid Cindy, and this goddamn hard-on that refused to go away, and now he’d made Clara’s birthday dinner all quiet and awkward! He stole a glance over at her. She was watching him, her eyes half-closed as she chewed, an odd, contemplative expression in her vulpine features. Their meals were never this silent, yet she seemed content.

A tail curled around the bowl of pecha juice, drawing it closer. Her muzzle dipped, her pink tongue darting out to lap at the sweet liquid, all the while her eyes fixed on him.

Lap, lap, lap.

The potatoes Kit tried to swallow stuck in his throat, making him gulp noisily. Why was she staring like that? Thinking to distract himself, he grabbed his glass and took a swig of cola, only to chug it down too fast, leaving him sputtering.

Clara jerked up, letting out a concerned, “Niine?”                

“Fine,” Kit wheezed, waving her away. “Went down the wrong way is all.” He coughed out the rest of the ill-timed drink, and straightened, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. God, if there was an award for, ‘best way to look like an idiot’, he would surely be the annual lead nominee. His appetite gone, he shoved away his half-finished plate and got to his feet. “Almost forgot,” he said, avoiding Clara’s gaze. “I’ve got to get something from upstairs. Hang on, I’ll be right back.”    

“Niine?”

“Not really that hungry.” Ignoring the puzzled look on Clara’s features, Kit made his escape, dashing upstairs to his bedroom. Once safely inside his lair, he sank against the wall, sighing in relief.

Get a grip already!

Straightening, Kit walked into the bathroom and turned the cold water tap on full blast, removed his glasses, then ducked his head underneath the stream. The shock made his scalp tingle, his nerves protesting the abrupt change in temperature as his hair quickly soaked through. Pulling back with a gasp, he shook his head, sending droplets flying every which way, before grabbing a towel and vigorously drying off.

Better.

Unwanted libido now under control, Kit adjusted the hem of his pants, put his glasses back on, then walked back into his room and retrieved Clara’s gift from beneath his bed.

Okay. Activating ninja mode in 3, 2, 1�

“Hee-ya!”

Kit kicked open the door and strode back downstairs, determined to make up for his earlier behaviour. Real life might lack save points, but he’d be damned before he’d ruin Clara’s birthday.

He marched into the kitchen to find Clara licking her plate clean. She looked up as he entered, giving an enthusiastic, “Niine!”

Point to team Kit. The ninetales liked the fish.

Kit flashed her a grin, his confidence slowly on the upswing. “My lady, might I have the honor of presenting to you a small token, in honor of this most illustrious day?” He bowed, holding out the wrapped box.

Clara yipped in amusement, arching a pair of tails out to claim the gift. She set it on the table, and tugged at the ribbon with her teeth. It fell apart with little effort, the wrapping paper following -he’d taken great pains to ensure she’d be able to open it without help- exposing the plain white box beneath. She worked the lid off with her tails and laid it aside. Her face lit up, her ears perking.

“Niiiine!”

“You like them?”

“Niine! Ninetales!” She nodded vigorously, raising the lid of the smaller plastic box and withdrawing one of the bracelets. She held it up, the blue stone catching and refracting the light like some mystical amulet of power.

“I figured you could wear them around your tails, if you like. Though, they can be sized down for your paws too.”

“Niinetales.” She shot him a look that said, ‘I know that, silly,’ and slipped the pendant around her middle tail, sliding it down until it cinched snugly about the fluffy appendage, approximately eight inches from the tail-tip. She raised it up over her back, eyeing the dangling stone with a gleeful grin.

“Easy now, it’s not like I’ve given you the One Ring,” Kit said, chuckling.

Clara shot him a disparaging look, picking up her board and writing, ‘Dork.’

“Hey, but at least a dork with good taste, right?”

“Nine!”  ‘Yes. They’re beautiful, Kit. Thank you.’ She dropped her board and padded towards him, her ruby gaze holding that same smoulder he’d noticed earlier.  

“Woah there, dark lord Clara, let’s not forget about Aunty’s cake, huh?” Kit backed away from the advancing vulpine, desperately hoping the warmth he felt in his face wasn’t showing in his cheeks. It certainly felt like it was generating enough heat to fog his glasses. There had already been more than enough awkwardness tonight. No need for him to create more.

“Niiine.” Clara glanced over her shoulder, then back at Kit. She picked up her board, writing frantically, her brow furrowing in determination. She spun the board around, waving it under his nose. ‘It can wait. I’m pretty full anyways, and I have something I want to show you first.’

“Oh? What is it?”

“Nine!” Turning, Clara padded over to the stairs, glancing back at him and gesturing with a tail for him to follow. “Niiiiine.”

“Alright, alright, keep your shirt on, I’m coming!”

That earned him an exasperated eye-roll, but falling into step behind her served to appease the fox. They climbed the stairs, Kit following behind Clara’s bouncing fan of tails, with a firm lid on his speculation for the time being. She led him down the hall to her studio, looking over her shoulder a final time and giving a nod of approval before opening the door with one of her tails.

“Nine.”

“I’m getting invited into the mysterious inner lair? My my, this is a special event.”

She didn’t deign to respond, instead trotting around to the easel set in the middle of the canvas draped room, and sitting on her haunches in front of it, her tails swaying slowly about her. She looked at the painting, then over at him, and gave a short nod.

A prickle of anticipation made Kit’s fingers twitch. Clara’s art was always impressive, and the first look at one of her new pieces never failed to be a unique and special joy. What fantastic images had she conjured forth this time?

Kit stepped over to join her, turning to take in the front of the canvas� and froze. His jaw worked, but no sound came out. His gaze locked on the painting, any will to look away sapped completely. Even his heartbeat seemed to have slowed, aiding the ball of ice forming in his belly.

This has to be a joke.

“Nine?”

Kit barely heard the question, his attention captured entirely by the image. It wasn’t the colours -vibrant purple background, swirling like mist, surrounding figures of blue and cream and tan. He noted absently that she’d even managed to incorporate that new cattleya colour of hers. It wasn’t the details -defined strands of fur, fabric that looked ready to touch, skin smooth and soft. It wasn’t the sheer awe at the plain talent and artistry before him -a level of skill he could never hope to achieve. It wasn’t even the identity of the two in the painting.

It was what they were doing.

“Nine?”

The two subjects of the painting were instantly recognizable as himself and Clara, right down to the awkward poof of his hair that he always had trouble taming, and even a paintbrush curled delicately in one of her tails, its tip stained crimson as it sketched a heart in the air above their heads. Their eyes were closed, noses inches apart, her black canine nostrils seeming to quiver with delight. His hand rested on the back of her head, drawing her to meet him. But, the shock which had hit him like a thunderbolt lay in the delicate meeting of human lips to vulpine muzzle, a subtle hint of pink and white suggesting the forbidden.

“Nine?!”

The rising panic in Clara’s tone snapped Kit from his stupefied trance. He turned, the gears in his brain whirling and skipping as he tried to compute the facts. Clara was staring up at him, her tails curled in on themselves, her ears flat. There was an odd, expectant look in her eyes, but all that was written on her board was a large question mark. She didn’t need to clarify. He knew exactly what she was asking. Only, it didn’t make any sense.

“Are you�” he trailed off, swallowing to work moisture back into his mouth. “Uhh, is this, y’know, for real?” He forced a laugh, shaking his head. “It’s not, is it? That’s a good one, Clara. Had me going there. Great work as always too.”

“N-nine. Niine.” Her voice trembled, and she shook her head violently. Swiping her board clean, she quickly scribbled, ‘I’m serious!’

The words hit Kit like a brick to the head. The logic of what he was seeing refused to parse. Tab A did not fit into slot B. What game was she playing?

“Clara, I�” Kit fumbled for words, looking away and scratching the back of his head. His own meanderings from earlier in the evening came rushing back with a vengeance. He looked back at the painting, staring at the expertly rendered depiction of a cross-species kiss with a mixture of awe and trepidation. How was he meant to respond to this?

“Niine?” Clara’s calm demeanour was disintegrating before his eyes, her tails lashing the air, the one holding her marker shaking as she wrote. She held up the board, her writing crude and sloppy in comparison to her usual penmanship.

‘Well?’

Kit found his voice. “Clara, I don’t know if I’m� I mean, if we’re�”

She was backing away from him now, board and marker dropping from her grip, a look of betrayal in her ruby eyes. Before he could stop her, she turned, dashing for the door, her board bouncing forgotten against her chest.

“Clara, wait!”  

       

She was already gone, her trailing fan of tails disappearing through the door. It slammed closed in her wake, the harsh sound reminding him of a prison movie he’d seen once. That particular prisoner had been on death row, but Kit felt like he could sympathize to a degree.  

Oh hell. Now I’ve really stepped in it.

Without a second thought, Kit ran after his partner, the fog of shock clearing away. He could still barely believe what had happened, but if this was the reality he’d been handed, he’d be damned if he was going to let it slip away. He needed to fix this. Now.

Following the sound of canine footsteps thudding on the stairs, Kit dashed down the steps three at a time, landing in the kitchen with a loud thud. His heart soared when he caught a flash of cream fur, and he straightened up to see Clara fumbling with the round knob on the front door, letting out a soft, frustrated growl as it slipped in her grasp. She’d always had trouble with that one, and as a result, usually let Kit open it for her, or otherwise went out through the gallery, which had a lever latch instead.

Yes! Thank you, lack of opposable thumbs!

“Clara,” he called out, walking towards her, “wait, please.”

Her frantic motions ceased, her tails settling into a slow undulation. She didn’t turn around, however, and her voice shook as she let out a short, sharp, “Nine.”

“I know, I know. I’m an idiot. And a blind idiot too.” Kit sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he considered. There was only one way to fix this that he could see. He couldn’t claim to understand the why, but that truthfully didn’t matter. He stepped closer to her, kneeling to bring himself on equal height with her and reaching out to tap her gently on the shoulder.

“Clara, look at me, please?” She didn’t, her posture stiff and unyielding. Undeterred, Kit pressed on. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I honestly didn’t mean to. I was surprised, and confused, but that’s a poor excuse. I should have figured it out a long time ago, shouldn’t I?”

“Nine.” A slight tremble remained, but she turned her head, looking back at him from the corner of her eye.

Kit blew out a long breath, sitting back on the floor and resting his chin in his hands. A thousand possible responses whirled in his mind, but he opted for short and sweet. “Clara, putting all of that aside, there’s only one thing I can say. Maybe it’s sudden, but I guess that doesn’t matter so much now, given what’s already been said tonight. I love you, too. How could I not, for that matter? I don’t understand why you love me back, but it doesn’t change what I’ve come to realize. Even if I am a slow learner.” He mentally kicked himself. Was it too cheesy? Did that matter when it was the truth?

Slowly, she turned to face him, hesitantly meeting his eyes. “Nine?”

Now that the words had started, they tumbled from his lips in an unstoppable flow. He felt oddly lighter, the lump of ice in his belly melting away as he began to see what he’d been overlooking for so long. “Every time I need someone to be there for me, I have you. You laugh at all my dumb jokes, and you believe in me even when I don’t believe in myself. I don’t think a day has gone by where you haven’t managed to make me smile about something or other, and I can’t imagine where I’d be right now if we hadn’t bought this place together and opened the gallery.” He chuckled softly. “Probably on the streets, trying to get by as a busker or something.”

“Nine!”

Kit grinned. “See? That’s exactly what I mean. You’re always ready to defend me, and you won’t let me beat myself up over my shortcomings. What more can a guy ask for, huh?” He shook his head, both unable and unwilling to wipe the stupid grin off his face. “We’ve been together for what, five... six years now? I guess what I’m trying to say is, there’s no one else I’d rather have spent that time with.”

Clara’s face lit up, a joyous, “Niiine!” leaving her throat. She lunged forward, nuzzling his chest, butting into him hard enough to nearly knock him over backwards.

“Whoa, easy there!” Kit flailed, catching his balance by grabbing onto Clara’s shoulder. “Note to self: the affections of a happy fox can be dangerous.”

She pulled back slightly, a vulpine smile curving her muzzle, her eyes half-closed as she gazed at him, a soft, almost purr rumbling in her throat. Kit’s nose twitched, catching a whiff of that same mysterious, spicy scent he’d smelled before. It reminded him vaguely of cloves, with perhaps a hint of cinnamon. Alluring, in an exotic, instinctive way. Heat flushed Kit’s cheeks at the realization that his pants were beginning to grow uncomfortably tight again. Was it something Clara was doing on purpose, or was it unintentional?

Just as he began to fumble for what to say next, Clara picked up her board, and wrote, ‘What does this mean, then? For us?’

Kit frowned, considering the question. “I dunno yet. I don’t see why there has to be any grand ‘change’ in what we already have, y’know?” He shrugged. “I always thought love was more flexible than not. It’s not like we have to get married or anything like-” he cut-off, eying her warily. “Wait, that wasn’t what you were thinking, was it?”

“Nine, nine!” Clara yipped in amusement, and wrote, ‘Of course not, silly. Besides, isn’t that illegal?”

“Probably. Heck, what we’re talking about probably is too, for that matter.”

Her eyes narrowed, her tail moving in quick, slashing strokes across her board. ‘Does that bother you?’

“Nah. You should know me better than that. We’ve been best friends since you were a kit, Clara. When have I ever seen you as less than an equal? Hell, if anything, you’re the one wearing the pants in our relationship.”

She yipped, her muzzle curving upwards again. ‘Better believe it!’ She pulled the board back, sobering as she added, ‘But, I want to be more than friends. If it’s alright.’  Her tail shook slightly as she held up the board, making it difficult to read the words. 

Kit chewed on his lower lip, considering the best way to answer. “I’m certainly not opposed to the idea. Though, you’ll have to forgive a bit of skepticism on my part.” He met her eyes, gauging her reaction. “I guess I just don’t know what you see in me. I barely even help pay the bills around here. You’re smart, pretty, and talented. It’d be easy enough for you to find a better prospect.”

“Nine!” Her ears flattened, and she scribbled frantically on her board, her unoccupied tails churning madly. ‘Stop that. You’re always so blind to your own qualities!’ Erasing the board, she continued, ‘You’re funny, caring, more talented than you think, and most importantly to me, genuine and confident. Remember how shy I was as a vulpix?’

Kit smiled, thinking back. “Yeah, you were, weren’t you? You’d always run to hide behind my leg whenever we met someone new, and I’d have a heck of a time coaxing you to come with me to anywhere with a crowd.”

‘Yes. You’re the one who taught me to have the confidence I have now, Kit.’ More erasing, followed by rapid scribbling. ‘That alone is enough to make me love you. I realized that a long time ago.’  

Her eyes fixed on his, sincere and aflame with a new emotion he’d never witnessed in her before. His face felt incredibly warm under the intense scrutiny, and he let out a nervous chuckle. “Geez, you make me out to be quite the saint. Do I get a cool patronage too?” He placed a hand on his chest, pointing the other at the ceiling. “Kit Aram -the patron saint of waffles!”

She rolled her eyes, swiping her board clean and writing, ‘Dork. I’m being serious here!’

  

“Fine, fine,” Kit held up his hands in surrender. “I get the point. I’m a nicer guy than I think I am.”

“Nine.”

“And still a dork, yes.” Glancing down at her board, one of the things she’d written previously jumped back to his head. His curiosity piqued, along with a prickle of nervousness. “So, uh� how long have you known?”

‘At least two years or so,’ she wrote, smiling in that distinctly feral way as she showed him the words. ‘Long enough to work up the courage to tell you. Does that change anything?’  

“Hey,” Kit said, grinning back and laying a finger gently on the tip of her nose. “Change is scary, but that’s a change I think I’ll get used to. I may be a bit slow on the uptake at times, but I’d be a real idiot to turn down a catch like you.”

“Niiine!” Clara surged forwards, board forgotten as she pressed her body to his in a heated embrace, her luxurious tails waving and fanning out behind her like a supernova of cream fur. Kit found himself clinging to her shoulders again, this time to hold her close, his fingers digging into the abundance of her plush coat. The whiteboard crushed against his ribs -mildly uncomfortable- but he barely noticed. His heart thudded a frantic timpani tempo in his chest, scaling into eighth note timing at the feel of Clara’s hot breath on the back of his neck. The pebbled texture of her tongue dragged across his nape, leaving a warm, slick line that made him shiver.

Score another point for cheesy lines.

Silken fur whispered across his cheek, and then her nose was pressed to his again, her smouldering crimson eyes mere inches away from his. Kit swallowed hard, reading her intent, even through the steam building up on his glasses.

“Clara�”

“Niiine,” she crooned, her tails swirling. The scent of cloves and cinnamon wafted into Kit’s nostrils, stirring his arousal.

Don’t mess this up, don’t mess this up, don’t mess this up�

Her lips pressed firmly into his.

It felt a bit awkward at first. Her long, wide tongue easily dominated his, working its way into his mouth in quick, greedy laps. He had to tilt his head to the side to accommodate her, submitting to her eager exploration. A fang grazed his lip, drawing a gasp from his throat. The rapid strokes of her heated tongue left him wanting more, leaving traces of the spices from dinner, and another flavour he couldn’t quite put his finger on to prickle his tastebuds.

Finding a need for air, Kit pulled back with a gasp, still clinging to Clara’s shoulders like a drowning man. “Wow,” he panted, looking at her incredulously. “You trying to win a race or something?”

Her expression wilted. “Niine.”

“Hey, it’s fine, we’re both learning how to do this. Just remember, we’re in no hurry, right?”

“Nine.”

She still looked dejected. Only one way to fix that. Kit leaned in, planting lips to muzzle.

This time, she seemed more inclined to allow him to take the lead, allowing his tongue to slip between her fangs and caress her own appendage. Kit closed his eyes, revelling in the exotic sensation of sharing such an intimate gesture with his partner. The differences in anatomy were truly irrelevant. Who cared if she couldn’t speak human language, and had a tendency to shed? Love was love, and both of them had found in the other something they greatly desired.      

 

Man. What was I thinking? Cindy doesn’t even come close.

Their inevitable separation came with mutual sighs, Clara’s long tongue darting out to clean the thin strand of saliva connecting their lips. Kit caught his breath, suddenly aware of the sharp contrast between the hard, cold kitchen floor he was sitting on, and Clara’s warm, luxuriously soft body. Not to mention other hard things that were making their presence uncomfortably obvious.

“Niiine,” Clara crooned, her eyelids half-veiling in that oddly seductive, come-hither way. Stepping off of Kit, she moved towards the stairs, one of her tails finding its way around Kit’s wrist. Despite the pillow-like cushion of fur, her grip might as well have been iron, tugging him to follow, ready or not.

“Hey now, isn’t it a bit early for bondage play?” Kit said, forcing a laugh as he was half dragged, half stumbled to his feet. The look she shot over her shoulder snapped his mouth closed on further protests, especially with the tail that ‘accidentally’ teased across the front of his pants. “You have a point. But, at least let me put the cake away? It would be a shame to let Aunty’s fine pastry go stale now, wouldn’t it?”

Clara huffed, but stopped at the foot of the stairs, releasing his wrist and flicking her head towards the table. Kit took the hint, and hastened to stow the cake back into its box, then into the fridge. With mission save-the-birthday-cake complete, he allowed himself to once more be corralled by myriad creamy appendages, and tugged along up the stairs.

During the brief journey, Kit’s gaze took that inevitable meander, allowing himself for the first time to see his partner not merely as a friend, but as a beautiful potential lover. He found the ride along the curve of Clara’s well-muscled flank a surprisingly pleasing one. Something in the way she rolled her hips, swaying that fan of tails like the hypnotic spell of a mentalist. The middle pair flicked up, affording him the briefest teasing glance at the hidden landscape below -creamy white down cradling a hint of alluring pink. Had that been accidental, or� No, the soft, feral chortle he caught proved that theory wrong.  

Funny, he thought, abstract notions floating up unbidden from somewhere beyond the emotions and hormones, How quickly one’s perspective can change. It was hardly the first time he’d seen Clara’s backside. It wasn’t as though the ninetales wore clothes, and she hardly made any special effort to hide her ladyparts -though admittedly those tails tended to do a remarkable job on their own, naturally providing her with a degree of modesty.

Before she’d evolved, and shortly after, he’d needed to help her bathe too. At least, until she learned to control those dextrous extra limbs to the degree that she could shower unaided. But, it was truly the context which changed everything. Seeing her in this new light, with thoughts that Aunty would probably box his ears for running through his head, Kit couldn’t seem to pull his eyes away from that tempting area of his friend’s anatomy.

Ferals have such a simple view on these things, compared to us.

It wasn’t jaded pride, like some night club stripper whose body was their livelihood. Nor was it blissful innocence, like a child on a beach who had yet to learn the differences between boys and girls. It was a certain indifferent confidence. Yes, they were naked. What of it? So what if strangers could see their naughty bits? They would display them, hide them, and use them as they chose, and that was that. Silly, human societal objections could stuff any complaints in the most uncomfortable orifice available, thank you.        

“Nine.”

The low purr snapped Kit from his daydream. Clara’s tail flicked out, pulling down the handle of the door in front of them. Her bedroom, Kit realized, with a touch of shock. Swinging the door open, she led him inside. He was rarely allowed within her private sanctum, even more so than her studio. Only when she asked him to help her vacuum or change the sheets of her bedding (even ferals liked to have it washed once in a while, it seemed). He’d always respected her wishes, giving her the space she needed -which, he now understood, might also have been her way of keeping a lid on any temptation she might have felt to bare her feelings to him.

The inside was quite spartan, modified to fit the needs of a feral species. The light in the small adjoining bathroom (also designed to be poké friendly, lacking only a shower) was the only illumination, giving a soft glow across the low, wide bed and the chest of drawers with attached mirror which held her personal effects. On the cream coloured walls, several of her older pieces hung -personal favourites of hers which she hadn’t wanted to sell- along with a print by one of her idols; a half-blind milotic who painted with brush in her mouth.

The entire room bore the soft scent of her. Not any kind of artificial perfume, but a gentler version of that cloves and cinnamon aroma that Kit had begun to equate with Clara. It had probably been there all along, but it had taken tonight’s events for him to really take notice of it. Context once again displayed its almighty power over perspective.  

Gotta ask her when she learned how to pull off such a great Attract. Dunno if-

“Nine.” Simultaneously, the grip on his wrist and waist were released, and a firm shove tumbled him forward onto the bed, a stifled yelp escaping him.

“Hey!” Kit complained, rolling over in the gentle caress of foam mattress and thick cotton blanket to face her. “No fair using so many limbs at once. I’m at a severe disadvantage in that department.”

“Nine.” Clara shot him a smug grin, two more tails snaking down to the hem of his shirt. She gave a sharp, meaningful tug.

“Alright, alright!” Grumbling, Kit shucked the shirt, tossing it to safety on Clara’s dresser. Gingerly, feeling as vulnerable as a knight removing his armor, he pulled off his glasses, folded them, and held them out to her. “Here, could you put these up there too?”

“Nine.” She took the eyewear in the delicate grip of a single tail, and tucked them securely on top of his shirt. All the while, her gaze never wavered from his exposed body. The cool of the room prickled on his bare skin, and he was acutely aware of the hot, ruby eyes zeroed in on his pale, hairless chest. Without his specs, everything beyond a few feet turned blurry and indistinct. Which only served to highlight the beautiful, aroused ninetales in his near-vision, barely containing herself while waiting for him to disrobe.

Ignoring the burn in his cheeks, he leaned down, tugging off shoes and socks, and throwing them aside as well. He glanced up, taking in Clara’s rapt attention on his actions; the eager sway of her tails, her muscles poised in readiness to pounce. He swallowed hard.

“Clara, umm, before this goes any further, I�” Kit fumbled, torn between his own rioting hormones, and the frantic urging of his morales. “I know I’m not opposed to this, but this is really the last chance to say no. Are you sure you want to take things this far so soon?”

Clara fixed him with a penetrating stare. Slowly, deliberately, she nodded, picking up her board and scribbling, ‘I’ve been ready and waiting for this for years.’  She shoved it under his nose, making sure the point was clear (and that he could read it in his half-blind state), before yanking it back and adding, ‘So hurry up and strip!’  This came with a devious grin, her gaze dropping to his waistline, her tongue flicking out across vulpine lips. Kit’s heart skipped a beat.  

“Guess that answers that question,” he mumbled. Reservations now cleared, he slipped his fingers into the waistband of his jeans, and unzipped. Denim and cotton came away together, tossed aside before he could think too hard about his actions. Goosebumps rose on his legs, the thin veil of blond hair doing little to stave off the abrupt chill. Kit kept his eyes on Clara, gauging her reaction.

“Niiine.” At some point during his own loss of clothing, she had chucked her writing board aside -her own version of stripping- and now she advanced on him, a gleam of unmistakable lust smouldering in her gaze. A firm paw hit his chest, shoving him back onto the bed with commanding force. Fuzzy hips straddled him, covering him in warm, creamy fur. With a long, satisfied sigh, Clara settled down, effectively pinning Kit in place, and trapping his bobbing manhood against her belly. Before he could so much as question her intentions, he found himself presented with a mouthful of ninetales tongue.

Huh. Guess she liked what she saw.  

The two of them swapped saliva, a low, resonating purr humming against Kit’s tongue. Soft, moist heat rubbed across his sensitive flesh, stealing away whatever spare breath he had to give. His skin felt on fire wherever it touched her fur -which, at the time being, was most of his front. But, it wasn’t the sort of fire that scorched, but the kind that invited, welcoming him to arch and cling to her lithe body even tighter. Kit happily indulged, bracing himself against the spring of the mattress and hunching his hips, thrusting into the silken fur of Clara’s belly. She whined into the kiss, and pulled away, trailing a line of moisture between their mouths, which she promptly slurped away.    

“Nine�”

“Yeah, me too.”

Her muzzle curved upwards, and abruptly, she rose, allowing him a moment’s freedom, and also a blast of what seemed to be appallingly cold air rushing across his belly, making him shiver. Clara’s tails swayed, hypnotic and sensual. Her hips rolled, lowering her hindquarters into position above his straining pole. She met his eyes, searing him with the sincere love he saw within them, fuelled to an inferno with lust.

“Nine.” She dipped down, finding his tip and sliding it delicately into place at her blushing flower. Sweltering heat swept across his tingling flesh, laden with the erotic aroma of her arousal. Her muscles tensed, poised to plunge both of them into ecstasy.

“Clara�” Kit’s hands linked behind her neck, gripping and massaging. “I know I’m your first, so it’s okay to take it slow, alright? I know it’ll probably hurt at first, and-”

“Nine!” Fierce determination flared in her gaze. Her hips jerked, and she brought herself down on him with a wet, muted slurp of finality. Kit gasped, his words torn away from him like so many poorly composed notes.

Tight, spongy walls bore down on his buried shaft, shooting tiny rockets of delight up his spine, while streams of hot feminine honey soaked his pulsing member. Lines of fluid dribbled down their flush union, running over his sac and dripping onto the bed. He couldn’t be certain amongst the haze of incredible sensation, but some of it felt a tad thicker, perhaps a touch hotter. He looked up, and caught the screwed-up grimace in Clara’s expression an instant before it smoothed, replaced by grim determination. She eyed him, daring him to comment, adding a roll of her hips that drew a grunt from his throat. Kit shook his head.

“Silly fox. You always did have a stubborn streak.” For a moment, he merely held her close, enjoying the pleasure of searing velvet muscles squeezing his endowment, despite the pang of guilt at the discomfort his partner must have endured. Gradually, he felt her shudders die away, the lines in her brow smoothing. “Has it stopped hurting yet?”       

“Nine.” She nodded, though he saw the faint tightness around her eyes, belying her statement. Before she could take it upon herself to prove it to him again, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and threw his weight sideways. Clara let out a startled yip, caught off balance by the maneuver, and had no choice but to accept it as Kit rolled them over, nearly slipping out in the process. She huffed, shooting him a glare, to which he replied with a sheepish grin.

“Hey, I may be a dork, but this is one area I’ve had a little bit more experience.”

“Nine!”

“Oh� sorry.” He shifted his knees, moving them off of the two tails that he had inadvertently been kneeling on. They twitched, flicking up and smacking him on the backside in a scolding manner. “Okay, very little. Still, will you let this dork show you a good time?”

She grumbled under her breath, but nodded slowly, wiggling into a more comfortable position, settling onto her back. Her tails splayed out like some bizarre fluff-beast of their own, surrounding Kit on all sides. Careful not to step on them again, he slowly eased himself forward, placing his hands on either side of Clara’s reclining body and inching himself back inside her awaiting sex. In unison, they let out long sighs of mutual pleasure.

“Better?”

“Niiiine�”

Grinning, Kit began with an easy tempo, feeling his way rather than watching himself plow her folds. He refused to give into the baser instincts, those that cried out for him to rut her like some lust-crazed fiend, to care for his pleasure first and foremost. His eyes locked on her face, adjusting his angle a few degrees whenever she tensed, and pausing to pay extra attention to those areas which coaxed a purr or an appreciative groan. In a way, it was almost like composing a song; finding those notes which complemented the melody, and altering those measures which sounded out of sync.

And baby, don’t we make beautiful music together.

The rhythm of smooth strokes created a gentle, yet incredibly erotic beat of its own. There was the quiet, liquid percussion of throbbing flesh sliding across slick, accentuated by the odd clench of powerful muscles. Heavy, staccato breathing splashed with groans and feral vocalizations formed the chorus. The rush of heated blood in his ears, the rapid thud of his heartbeat, the swish of fur� Together, it was a symphony of carnal expression, and one the pair of them shared in equal measure.      

“Niiiiiine.” Clara’s needy whine tugged at Kit’s deeper self, a communication passing between them that was both non-verbal and understood on every sensory level. Her forepaws rested on his shoulders, pulling him down to lie atop of her, crushing their bodies together as her lips found his once more. He didn’t resist, shuddering in the mutual embrace of limbs and mouth. An aura of heat spilled over the skin of his back, silken fur brushing along the skin of his rear, tickling its way down his spine. Her tails, he distantly realized, wrapping up from below, leaving only his legs exposed from the strange tangle of skin and fur.  

The tempo sped up, their coital bond resonating with that which had existed between them for years, their hips moving now in unison. Kit’s thrusts ground into those unbelievably soft vulpine petals, driving himself in as deep as it was possible to reach, stretching her wonderfully squeezing passage around his girth. They groaned expressions of affection into each-other’s mouths, their tongues dancing a tango more frantic, more inflamed. Clara’s body shuddered, reacting to Kit’s fingers on a hidden nipple, the quick tweak granting some new flare of ecstasy.

Gasping for air, their lips separated out of pure necessity, only to jam together again the moment they’d caught their breaths, the roaring bonfire of their shared passion throwing any thoughts of more sedentary union to the winds. Kit’s throbbing member tensed, marking the beat of copulation, splashing pre into the mix of sexual fluids every few thrusts, heralding the oncoming crescendo.

Beneath him, his beautiful lover arched and moaned, returning his eager thrusts with wild fervour. Sweat rolled freely down his spine and chest, mingling its salty tang with the spicy perfume of Clara. The heat surrounding them surely ran hot enough to burn anyone foolish enough to come near, and the fleeting thought of setting fire to the bed flashed across Kit’s passion-fogged mind.

Meh. Still be worth it.

Wrapping his arms tight about her chest, Kit ceased to hold back, throwing himself into a frenzy of rigourous, animal hunching. Clara cried out, lustful joy colouring her voice as she tilted her head back, declaring her pleasure to the unseen sky. Kit’s teeth bared, a fierce pride in his lover’s delight infusing him, appealing to his sense of virility. His own climax wouldn’t be long, he knew, the familiar drawing tight of his balls and the sensation of inevitable release building higher in his loins. His hips bucked, rocking Clara against the mattress, shaking the bed. He was hers, now, and she was his. Pure, unadulterated joy swelled in his chest at the thought. He’d never been alone, not truly, but now, he knew.  

Kit’s hands dug into the fur of Clara’s lower back, bracing his wild thrusts. Any second now, he’d no longer be able to hold back the torrent of his own peak. He’d be damned if he didn’t get her off first! Growling along with her, he hilted himself inside her on every powerful stroke, grinding deep into her mound, rolling his hips upwards to stimulate the erect nub of her clit. She yipped and shuddered, the ecstatic sounds rising with each meeting of their trembling bodies, blending with the susurrations of dishevelled fur across flushed skin.

Kit rested his chin on her shoulder, crying out as needle sharp fangs dug into his in return, pricking the skin, colouring pleasure with a touch of lust-fuelled pain. He drove himself home with a touch of extra force, quivering on the brink. A long, feral moan that rose into a howl rewarded him. Around his pistoning shaft, Clara’s sopping walls clenched firmly, squeezing in rhythmic pulses. A veritable torrent of steaming juices squirted free, splashing his crotch and thighs, rapidly cooling even in the super-heated atmosphere surrounding them. Kit let out a satisfied grunt, even as sunk himself in to the hilt one final time.

Ha! I win.

The orgasm rolled over him like an orchestral sonata, ropes of creamy seed jetting off into the mysterious, rippling depths of the satiated female he was lucky enough to share this intimate moment with. As if from far away, he felt the fangs retreat from his shoulder, a long, contented sigh wafting past his ears. Kit closed his eyes, drifting into the hazy epilogue of release, his twitching length offering a few more powerful spurts, before ebbing into a beading trickle. Spongy walls massaged and suckled his over-sensitive manhood, milking him dry for every last drop. Every muscle in his body fell limp, his energy completely drained.

Below him, Clara shifted, another long, happy sigh breezing across his cheek, followed by the lazy lap of her agile tongue. Warm lines of blood trickled down his shoulder, and her tongue quickly found them, cleaning them away and soothing the sting of the puncture with an apologetic snuffle.

“S’okay,” Kit mumbled, his brain feeling muzzy, the urge to simply pass out encroaching on all of his urges to fight it off and enjoy this moment longer. “Makes sure I know who I belong to, right?”

“Niine!”

Kit chuckled. “Yeah, I won’t forget.”

“Nine.”

She settled, shuffling a bit, letting out a soft grunt. Kit got the hint, and rolled onto his side, slipping his leg between her hinds, and keeping his softening length embedded inside her for now. There would be a mess to clean up down there later, but, it could wait. The warmth and luxurious sensation of fur on skin was quickly lulling him, overpowering his will to stay conscious.

“Niine.” It was a soft, nearly whispered statement that he nearly didn’t hear. The trailing tongue across his forehead, however, ensured the point came across as she settled down with him, their limbs entwined in a maze of skin and fur. A heady, aromatic blanket covered them -the scent of their love-making, and the intimate caress of that kitsune fan.  

“Good night, Clara, and happy birthday. I love you too.”

     

~~~

Kit drifted gradually upwards through the haze of half-consciousness, tugged rudely away from pleasant dreams involving his newly acquired paramoure. He blinked his eyes open, cracking a yawn and moving to stretch, but found his motion oddly restricted by fuzzy bonds. Clara’s muzzle nudged against the curve of his throat, a soft, sleepy purr escaping her, her eyes still squeezed tight.

Kit looked down, and saw that three of her tails had managed to wrap themselves around his calves, while another pair coiled about his waist. He grinned to himself, reaching down and gently peeling away the restraints. One of the hazards of sleeping with a ninetales, he supposed. Those extra limbs took up more space than one might realize. Now freed, he rolled carefully away from her, mentally activating ninja mode. It would be terribly bad manners to wake the lady, after all.

Phew. No need for sheets or blankets either. Wonder if trainers catch fire types just as a tent-warmer? Definitely beats a space-heater.

After retrieving his glasses and slipping them on his face, he padded to the door, slipped out and down the hall to his own room. He ducked into the bathroom first, to both release the incredible amount of night-time build up into the wilds of the sewer system, then to ply a washcloth across the worst of last night’s messy areas. He’d have a proper shower later. Perhaps even with Clara. Wouldn’t that be an adventure?

Ablutions taken care of for the time being, he threw on a faded Burst’n’Boom t-shirt (seriously, how long had it been since they put out an album?) and some loose shorts before heading downstairs. Coffee, yes, that was the order of the moment. And eggs!

I wonder how long I’ll have before she wakes up? Knowing her, probably not much time. If he wanted to give her breakfast in bed, he’d need to hurry.

Unless�

Grinning like a fool, Kit opened the fridge and pulled out the cake box. The pastry inside looked and smelled just as perfect as it had the night before, and somehow a little more so. Perhaps it was the morning sun streaming in through the kitchen window. Kit slipped it from the box onto a plate, then got out a knife, a fork, and two smaller plates.

The coffee maker was next. He prepped it with fresh grinds, their scent sharp in his nose, then flipped the switch with the usual incantation.

“Oh mighty Kornig, please bestow upon us your gift of caffeine!”

Leaving the pot to percolate, Kit gathered up cake and accoutrements both, and headed back upstairs. There were no candles on the cake of course. Asking a fire-type to blow out candles was much like asking a mantyke to fend off an angry luxray. Not only was it an impossible request, it was a bad idea all around. Especially indoors. Surrounded by combustible objects.

At least mom eventually got the smell of smoke out of the couch.  

As he juggled open the door to Clara’s bedroom, he was greeted by the lovely sight of his ninetales just rolling to her paws, blinking sleep from her eyes, appearing for all the world like a fantasy princess awaking from years of enchanted sleep. She looked at him as he walked in, tilted her head to the side, and gave an inquisitive, “Niine?”

“Morning, gorgeous,” Kit replied, walking over and setting the cake down in front of the bed. “I figured that there was no way to have bacon and eggs ready for you by the time you woke, so I brought up the next best thing.”

“Nine!” Clara chuffed amusement, her tails swaying in that slow, sensuous arc Kit remembered so well from the night before. “Niiine.”

“I know I didn’t have to, but I did anyway. Go on, give it the first cut, and make your wish.”

Her muzzle curving upwards, Clara delicately picked up the knife, and neatly cut the cake. With another tail, she slid her board over to her from where it lay on the floor, and rapidly scribbled something. She placed the knife down and picked up the board, showing it to him. Kit read the words. Then he read them again. It felt as though she’d crammed all the warmth and light of the sun inside of him with a simple phrase, and he wanted to be sure he’d read it correctly. As a matter of fact, he had.

The board said, ‘It already came true.’