When Faisand returned the next morning, she noticed a mood of brittle gaiety in Demarle, who greeted her at the door with a hug and the words, “We’ve been busy! Magarce got a make-over. You gotta see her. Magarce, come show Faisand!”

From upstairs, on the balcony where Daucery’s breakfast had been interrupted, came a cry of, “What, now?”

“Well, didn’t you put on one of the things you got? Like that little dress?” called Demarle.

“No, the vest and pants!” came the kittenish voice.

“So come and show her! I remember those.” said Demarle, and turned to Faisand. “After we dealt with the gun thing, she suddenly wanted to go out, and since she’d earned a lot of money, we went clothes shopping…”

“Excuse me,” said Faisand. “Dealt with the what?”

Demarle opened her mouth, but no words of explanation made it out before the explanation was rendered needless.

Magarce appeared on the balcony, her petite chin held high, and she cut quite a figure as she leapt for the wooden pole that served as a feline staircase, and clambered down it. She wore a black leather vest that only loosely covered her small, perky breasts, and her descent illustrated the stretch and flexibility of the skimpy, tight gloveleather shorts that wrapped her furry rump. She wore a red scarf, but wrapped around her head rather than her neck, and she had a shiny bracelet on her left wrist.

And, in a brown leather holster that was also clearly new, the shiny gun that Faisand had hidden from her so recently.

“Oh, no. Oh, no, no…”

“Let me explain!” said Demarle.

“There is nothing to explain. What have you done?”

“It’s just that she can’t be a bodyguard without… well, you saw her! She couldn’t beat that guy.”

“Be fair!” said Magarce, quickly appraising the situation. “On the way back here, I got jumped by a guy!”

Demarle glanced at her, ears a bit flattened. “That’s not really true. I was right there. The guy jumped at us, but it was to hug another guy behind us…”

“So you admit the guy jumped us?”

Faisand’s expression was stricken. “Oh, Demarle, Demarle.”

“Don’t be too harsh with me!” begged Demarle. “It made sense at the time!”

“Listen! I’m going to keep you guys safe.” said Magarce. “It’s the most important thing. We’re not messing around here. You don’t understand how dangerous the world can be.”

She said this with a conviction that hinted at the terrors she had experienced, the uncertainty that she’d had to tolerate, and as she did, her expression became grim and deadly, as if she was staring unwavering into the abyss and not blinking or cowering. She wasn’t staring at an abyss, however- having identified the problem, she was staring down Faisand, and it was like the mirror image of their first meeting. This time, it was the tiny gamine feline who stared with confidence and appraisal. This time, it was the aging courtesan whose gaze showed a creeping haunted look, the gradual realization that her plan was a fantasy and that her world hung by a thread.

Faisand looked down, and bit her lip gently. She didn’t say “Oh, Demarle” again. It might not be taken well.

Faisand, after all, did understand how dangerous the world could be.

She headed for the balcony, quickly and silently calculating what the most suitable manner was, for the situation. To act too upbeat might arouse suspicion, but behaving too woebegone could arouse resentment- she padded for the wooden pole in a manner that might be described as ‘moping’, but shook it off and scaled the pole, pausing at the top to favor Magarce with a look that carefully expressed moderate crankiness and concealed the fear.

She was so busy trying to modulate her response that, for a moment, she missed Magarce’s small action, and the fear flared in her eyes as the tiny maniac scampered towards the pole, coming after her. She’d backed up several paces in a panic before she registered that Magarce had handed Demarle the gun and scaled the pole without it.

Magarce rushed up, and clung to Faisand with a childish hug. “Don’t be that way! Don’t! I promise, I’ll be good. I swear!”

Slowly, Faisand’s arms went around the smaller feline. She didn’t trust her words for a minute. Then- “I’m worried for you…”

“I just need this to be safe! I promise I won’t shoot anybody’s drink anymore. Really.”

“I would like you to feel safe!” said Faisand. “It’s just…”

“I’m sorry! I know you didn’t want me to have it.”

“I wish I’d never bought the thing.” said Faisand, hopelessly.

“But thank goodness you did!”

Faisand heaved a deep sigh. “Could I persuade you to leave it in the…”

“No!” replied Magarce, with a hint of panic. “It’s important! I can’t be defenseless! Somebody could get hurt!”

Faisand glanced down at Magarce. “She’s doing better. She’s sleeping now.”

“Who?” blinked Magarce, and then before the look of disappointment could settle onto Faisand’s face, “Daucery! That’s who. She’s doing better? Oh, good!”

“Can we visit her?” called Demarle, from below.

“Perhaps tomorrow,” said Faisand. “I’m sure she’ll be sleeping for a while, and she was very woozy when she was awake.”

It was breakfast time, even if the morning lacked tall ginger cats groggily pouring coffee. Faisand had napped lightly while attending Daucery, and found herself too unsettled to sleep further. She joined Magarce and Demarle for breakfast, her muzzle tightly shut against comment when she saw Magarce reclaiming the gun.

“Are you feeling better, dear?” she said. “I know you had a hard time with my special guy, but our wealthy visitor seemed to enjoy you.”

“I liked it.” said Magarce reflectively. “I really won through. I mean, it hurt a lot, but I didn’t show it.”

“He’s rather observant…”

“I liked it a lot.” added Magarce, her tailtip flicking about playfully.

“Be careful!” said Demarle. “We can’t have you land in the hospital as well!”

“No, it’s okay! I can handle it. When I was… doing other things, I had a lot of big guys, sometimes really rough, you know? It was like that except not mean. I did like it.”

“Remember, it’s not just about whether you like it,” chided Faisand gently. “It’s about whether the guy likes it.”

“These expensive clothes say that one guy liked it…”

“I hope you didn’t spend everything you had, dear. You must put some aside for emergency.”

“She did!” said Demarle. “Well- more like she couldn’t possibly have spent it. Whatever you taught her, it really made an impression.”

“I didn’t even use any of that, but please can you teach me more? Faisand?” said Magarce.

Faisand studied her. “Will you leave my gun outside the room, then? It still worries me.”

“…if you’re with me. And if you say it’s okay. And if I can get at it if I need it…”

“I doubt I’ll get a better offer than that.” said Faisand. “Very well. What do you know of positions?”

Magarce earned a point by her prompt reply. “Not as much as you?”

The elderly feline’s eyes twinkled. “Perhaps not. After breakfast, shall we run over some of the more effective ones?”

“With a guy?”

“If a suitable one shows up, I suppose. It might not suit just anyone, so don’t plan on that.”

“What’s a suitable one?” asked Magarce.

“Detached, perhaps distracted, a wolf of the world, priding himself in his technique. Your rich fellow was almost the right sort, except he’d have to be in the right mood, or he’d become impatient and entitled.”

Magarce thought back, remembering the guy’s attentiveness and curiosity. “I think he was in the right mood. Where is he now?”

“He won’t come out for that, dear. He visits us so rarely. Take your chances with walk-ins. We really can’t chase after them, not even that one.”

It was a quiet morning, a bit rainy. Nobody came in, while the felines finished their leisurely breakfast, clambered down the wooden pole, prepared themselves for the business of pleasure- this latter, handled in varying ways. Faisand absentmindedly wriggled in much the way she’d used to impress Magarce, her tail flicking about. Demarle jumped on her bed, and then startled Magarce by doing a handstand on it- the fat white fluffball kept providing surprises, unexpected strengths and softnesses. Brittery, who’d joined breakfast late, prowled about, her tail flicking abruptly as if hit by static, swinging her arms and clasping her hands, giving the impression that she sought to break some personal or house record or other.

Magarce sat on Demarle’s bed, paws tucked under her, and watched all this with quick, nervous eyes, and still nobody came in, for minute after minute. “Do they not like the rain or something?” she asked.

“Sometimes the sleazy ones like the rain.” chuckled Demarle. “Ah!”

A figure moved outside, and the white fluffball bounced off the bed and padded towards the door to greet it. It proved to be a generic-looking Runge, who ducked quickly in through the door.

“Is that a…”

“Ssh!” said Faisand.

“Good morning!” purred Demarle. “Nasty and cold out there, isn’t it?”

“That’s for sure.” said the guy. “But I’m out of it.”

“Perhaps we can help warm you up, hmmm?”

“Brittery.” said the guy. “Do I really need to say more?”

“Tery!” called Demarle, but the little black sensualist was already prowling toward her quarry, with a hip-swinging slink that expressed total confidence, and the guy had eyes only for this spectacle. She reached him and flowed up against him with a throaty moan that hinted at being a snarl, and her arms wrapped around him and stroked his back, heedless that it was wrapped in a coat and soaked with rain.

“Oh yeah baby… take me away.” breathed the guy, and his tongue lolled, curling up at the tip.

“My pleasurre…”

They disappeared down the hallway into one of the back rooms, and the remaining Nerre looked at each other.

“Well,” said Demarle, “at least we’ve got our soundtrack…” as a lewd moan seeped through the walls insidiously.

“Well, was he a sleazy one?”

“Very likely not.” said Faisand. “Sleazy is for streetwalkers and amateurs. Sleazy can’t really afford our pay scale…”

“Am I an amateur?” said Magarce.

“Absolutely.” replied Faisand without batting an eyelash. “You’re barely able to take on Runge in safety, and you rely on your body and desires…”

Magarce bristled a little. “Compared to what? I mean, what am I supposed to be relying on?”

“His.” said Faisand, and Demarle nodded, and Magarce stared, completely confused.

“She’s right, you know.” said Demarle gently. “It’s not about whether you are getting your jollies…”

“More accurately, that’s a part of it unless there’s something wrong with him,” said Faisand, “but you have to be able to step outside your ego, to see things from his eyes, so you can play to that…”

Magarce kept looking puzzled. Faisand and Demarle exchanged a glance.

“Or, failing that, we can show you some of the positions I mentioned.”

Magarce lit up. “Sure! Can Demarle show me?”

Demarle’s eyes twinkled. “Why me, little hellion?”

“You’re big and strong, and you like other girls so much I bet you’ve got a strap-on dick!”

Faisand snorted with suppressed laughter, while Demarle grinned and said, “You win…”

“Maybe we should show her some bail-outs.” said Faisand. “After what’s happened to Daucery, and considering her small frame, it might be urgent.”

“And with my strap-on it’ll make it easier to show, since it doesn’t knot.”

“What good is that?” teased Magarce, following Demarle over to a cupboard built into her bed, and then ooohed, for the white fluffball produced a thick, flopping rubber dick, already fastened to a harness. Magarce inspected it more closely, because it didn’t meet her expectations at all.

“What’s the matter with it? Does it get hard?”

“Nope.” said Demarle.

“What good is that? Get one that’s hard as a rock!”

“Nope.” said Demarle. “Needs to be flexible. Look what happened to Cery. Toys should have some flex, especially big ones like this.”

“What’s with the shape?”

“Ah.” said Demarle, seemingly embarrassed. “You were looking for more Runge shapes? Sorry… give me a chance with it, you might change your mind…”

“And this color?” said Magarce. It was a sort of peach-toned pink, and she’d expected Runge scarlet.

“Hey, cut me some slack, okay? You’re hurting my feelings.”

“Huh?”

“Demarle means,” said Faisand, “that this is her dick. Don’t be so critical. Seriously, dear. It’s the color of her flesh, it’s harmonious with her body, I understand her body image extends into it when she wears it…”

“You’d understand that better,” said Demarle, “if you let me play with you more often!”

“Poor darling… but listen, Magarce. Try it. I promise it has its merits even if it’s not Runge-style. It is a rather bountiful Nerre penis, that is Demarle’s, and not everybody experiences it. For instance, she won’t make love to male clients, even if they are bisexual, so we don’t mention it to them, please remember that.”

Demarle glanced down, abashed. “I like girls…”

“Have you fucked Runge girls?” asked Magarce.

That got a wicked little grin. “Once. Poor thing got upset and I had to let her rest. I told you, they need to have some give to them.”

“Upset for what?”

Faisand explained. “Male Runge swell up, but the females cramp up behind that- and, well, look at our fat boy!”

Magarce looked again. Yes, the thing was Nerre-style, and it was indeed a fat boy, easily as bulky as any Nerre Magarce had ever seen, tapering thicker and thicker to the base. It was a very butch, dominating penis, and Magarce wriggled a little looking at it- while also being disturbed in a way she didn’t think she’d ever experience.

You didn’t see much of that on the Nerre homeworld of Ause, because the Nerre found females taking on male role confusing and unsettling. Females were to direct and entice and goad on, but having one also wielding the dick- it flirted with disturbing realms where too much liberty was being assigned to the penetrator, so lesbian Nerre didn’t tend to get butch.

Demarle sounded smug. “She tried to tie, poor thing. Really hurt my ears with the yelping. They can’t handle locking down onto something as thick as my cock-base, they freak out…”

Magarce gulped. This was a peek into why the fat white fluffball had fled Ause. She was the very image of the scary Nerre lesbian- wearing a dick like a dauntingly aroused male, but with the boldness and initiative of the desperate female. Males didn’t take her predatory attitude, after centuries of social training, but she felt more able to exhibit the hunger of the feline female- only, with a massive erection and a redirection of intent. Magarce wouldn’t have believed she’d picked up any of the Nerre attitudes toward such things, after rebelling against them so violently. And yet, she had.

Demarle’s smile only grew wickeder. “I’ll only put part of it in you. I promise.”

“Lies.” chided Faisand, reminiscently. “Filthy lies, Mister Shovey.”

“Come on.” purred Demarle. “You never had a man like me.”

Magarce trembled- and then shook herself. “…yeah! Wow. You’re, like, illicit! You’re like breaking the rules!”

“She likes you, Mister Shovey.” teased Faisand.

“Oh yeah, rules, right.” said Demarle. “Okay, more zoning stuff, remember how you can be unclothed on the balcony because it counts as a hallway to a bathroom? And I can be naked down here because it counts as my bedroom?”

“Um, yeah?” said Magarce, staring at Arle’s dick.

“Well, remember that, and here’s another detail. Before you take your clothes off and let me at you, you need to be fully on my bed. Don’t even put a paw on the floor, okay?”

“What happens?” blinked Magarce.

“It’s just zoning stuff. We don’t want any fines. If you’re on my bed, getting done, you get to be naked, but unlike me you’re not allowed to run around downstairs undressed. You never know when somebody’s watching…”

“Yeah, through the monster huge window!” said Magarce.

“Through the monster huge window, yes.” said Demarle, strapping the flopping bulk to her pelvis. “That’s what it’s there for. We just need to stay safe in case some jerk has a bad day and calls in a complaint, or a cop needs to work on his quota…”

Magarce didn’t listen. She pulled off the scarf on her head, removed the bracelet, stripped off the vest to reveal her small, perky breasts.

“Hey… hey! Up on the bed, quick, come on!”

She started pulling off the tight gloveleather pants, but before she could get far, Demarle physically dragged her onto the bed and heaved an exasperated sigh. “What are we going to do with you?”

Magarce nuzzled the bedspread with the side of her chin, eyes shut, rump thrust playfully upward.

“Do you think,” said Faisand, “we can teach her some points?”

Demarle tightened her straps, yanking on her cock speculatively to gauge its fit. Her tail lashed. “What do you think we should teach her?”

“She’s hunkering down properly- we’ll teach her how to roll out. You know, if you get too vertical and the guy shoves down into you too hard? If I’m not mistaken, this is what harmed Daucery. We’ll show Magarce what to do.”

“So you want me to do her a little too much?” said Demarle, her eyes a little too bright and eager.

“Oh, Arle…” tsked Faisand. “Don’t be so gleeful about it.”

“But it’s for a good cause!”

“Even so.”

“Faisand?” said Magarce, looking up and pausing her licentious wriggling. “What’s going on? What exactly do you want me to learn?”

“I’m going to turn you over to the tender mercies of Demarle, this time with a dick.” said Faisand. “We don’t usually let her use it because she gets too excited, but in this case it’s to teach you a technique. She will get you vertical, which is likely what harmed Daucery, and we’ll show you how to roll out of it.”

“Roll out means what?”

“Stick your butt way up, like we do when we get very excited- that’s right- Arle, you stay back for now! Now, notice how you tend to want to cling to the bed with front claws, your arms forward?”

“Yeah…” said Magarce, holding her lewd pose as Demarle watched, with her tail flicking in a predatory fashion.

“Well, this is the lesson, dear. If your lover is Runge-sized, or a terror like our Arle, he could do you injury if his response to that position is to cram down into you as hard as he possibly can. If your body can’t get out of the way, that is- but in fact it can, and it will, if you’ve learned to roll out.”

“You keep saying that! What do I do?”

“Take your arm- let’s say the right one- and try to reach under the left one, instead of clinging. It will feel awkward, but we want your shoulder to begin to tuck under your body… yes, that’s good… lean your head, make it follow… now, tumble forward over that shoulder!”

Magarce teetered for a moment, in that peculiar and awkward position, and then did exactly what Faisand asked, tail over head in a little furry somersault, ending up on her back looking up curiously at Faisand. “And I’m supposed to do that?”

“You do that if you need to. You’ve got to keep a level head. We do have a tendency to go mad for deep penetration, but you’ve seen where it got Daucery. Was she in the position you were in, when she was hurt?”

“Yeah…” said Magarce.

“With her paws out front clinging to the bed, and her rump stuck way up in the air? And did the fellow get very, very shovey?”

Magarce stared at nothing. She wasn’t really used to thinking back over the disasters that broke out in her life like a stubborn rash, and doing it brought on that haunted look. “He just about doubled up on top of her. She screamed but it was different, and she stopped moving but he wouldn’t stop pushing. And she kept going, not good not good not good…”

“Well, it’s not.” said Faisand crisply. “This is why we learn to be responsible. I do trust Arle not to be quite as bad as that, but you must learn to not enter positions you can’t get out of, and you must practice. You can’t give yourself over completely to instinct. You know how back on Ause we have that bit of protocol- laux venste ai aillelier mairau?”

Magarce looked blank, and the ears of both Faisand and Demarle went back.

“…my god.” said Faisand. “What sort of life have you led, that you didn’t learn that?”

“A wild one?” suggested Magarce. She thought it sounded vaguely familiar. “What’s beyond screams? I think it was in some class or other?”

“You could say that.” said Faisand, helplessly. “I’m stunned, really- we come to Runge worlds to get away from all that, but I’ve never met any Nerre who failed to learn it in the first place. Laux venste ai aillelier mairau… girl, surely someone has said it before they fucked you, to put it bluntly?”

“Yeah…” said Magarce.

“Well, what did you do?”

Magarce tried to remember, treading nervously into the minefield of memory that she usually tried to permanently avoid. “I think I said, shut up and fuck me!”

Faisand snorted with laughter, though she rapidly got control of herself again. “That is the gist of the response, certainly… that phrase, ‘may I take you beyond the scream’, is idiomatic. Really, I’m amazed that you… anyhow, it’s a permission. It’s about agreeing ahead of time that if the two of you go mad with passion and someone is bloodied or sprained, this is agreed to. It is the highest level of Nerre intimacy, but it belongs on Ause, not here. Though Daucery apparently doesn’t believe it.”

“Even on Ause they try to weasel out of it.” said Demarle, looking cranky, the huge rubber Nerre cock dangling from between her legs.

“They weren’t bargaining on you, dear.” said Faisand dismissively. “Anyhow, you see my point, Magarce?”

“What’s that?”

“You can’t grant aillelier to Runge, because you can’t let them fuck you too roughly. Especially you- if they could injure Daucery, I shudder to think what they’d do to you, you’re miniscule. And you will learn how to break from any position, to protect that miniscule body, so that it can be enjoyed more responsibly on into the future. Do we understand each other?”

Magarce nodded. “So… you want me to do that flip again?”

“Not exactly.” said Faisand. “Not yet. It’s perhaps against my better judgement, but I want to let Demarle ravage you, and I want you to keep your head, while she loses hers. Or pretends to- we’ll see.”

“I don’t!” protested Demarle.

“You do. I’ve had to roll out from you twice, back in the day. But it’s just as well you think that, because this girl might be able to stand much less of it.” said Faisand. “Anyhow, Magarce, you’re to go along with it, up to the point where she begins to hurt you and be too shovey… not a word, Arle, you know you will!”

Demarle stared, affronted, at Faisand, who appeared quite serious. Magarce licked her lips. “And then, I roll out, like you showed me? When she goes TOO deep?”

“Yes. You can get in another position to finish up, one that’s less dangerous. But we’ll start in one of the positions where you otherwise couldn’t get out of the way, and she’ll work up to it. Are you ready?”

Magarce’s eyes gleamed to match Demarle’s. “Ready!”

“Well then- assume your position! I will score points based on the elegance with which you roll out.” said Faisand.

“Wait!” blurted Magarce. “How deep is too deep? I mean… when am I supposed to bail out?”

“Use your judgement. If you’ve got one.” said Faisand. “If you haven’t, let’s just say you’d better roll out before she puts you in the hospital next to Daucery.”

Magarce glanced back at Demarle, her eyes wide, and the fat white fluffball looked abashed for a moment- but her tail flicked with telltale agitation. Magarce sensed a vibe very familiar to her- that piratical hunger, from an unexpected quarter. No- from the first, she’d known that Demarle was lusty and voracious, the unexpected part was the massive Nerre-style penis, and yet somehow it really did suit her.

Perhaps this one could ring her bells in ways only the Runge had accomplished.

Magarce dropped into her cheek-nuzzling, rump-lifting position once more, and the white thunder swung into place behind her, petting her tailbase, teasing her to present higher and higher, until she whimpered and pouted with anticipation.

“Knowing our Demarle,” said Faisand, “I doubt she’ll keep you w…”

A wet sound interrupted her. Arle had thrust the tip of her rubber cock into Magarce, who tensed and gripped the bed with all four paws.

“Ah. Yes. So…”

White fluffy hips shifted, deceptively powerful muscle playing under the long fur and soft fat. More inches thrust into the wantonly presenting Magarce, and she reacted with a ragged howl of sheer delight.

“So, you’re certainly getting into a risky position,” said Faisand, staring as Magarce stuck her rump up still higher, as Demarle shifted her paws and leaned over further, “and you’ll remember, won’t you, that you’ve got to duck your shoulder under you, and go over it in a sort of tumble…”

Magarce pounded the bed with a front paw, and let out a shriek, her body trembling violently as Demarle thrust still deeper.

“Listen! Listen, dear! Shoulder under, don’t pound your fist…”

Faisand watched in disbelief as Magarce ceased pounding, and visibly shoved back against Demarle. The fluffy thunder responded by doubling up, shoving harder, her tail lashing excitedly.

“I… you…” said Faisand, helplessly.

Magarce let out another lewd scream, her eyes staring into space as if they saw wonderful things there. Inside her slim body, Demarle’s cock steadily wedged its way deeper, getting close to filling her completely, and prying her wide in a way that few Nerre could long endure.

Magarce had, of course, had that time with Benjen the water bottle when stranded alone in the spaceship. Magarce had been born with a capacity for penis length that belied her size, that had left most Nerre unsatisfying. Magarce had never had anything outside of Runge that could satisfy her with this sort of brutal sensory assault.

Magarce was not about to roll out. Her eyes crossed with savage pleasure as Demarle snarled and shoved harder. Faisand stared in disbelief at the cross-section of rubber cock transfixing the dainty, shuddering feline. She licked her lips, and her ear twitched. It twitched again in a wince, as Demarle’s efforts finally hit bottom inside Magarce, and the air was split with an exultant scream.

Faisand threw up her paws. “Fine… fine… you just go on, we’ll talk later. I can’t believe it. Really, I can’t.”

“Think I’m… in love!” panted Demarle, her body straining to bury rubber dick in feline vagina.

“Doubtless.” observed Faisand, acidly. “Take care of her, will you?”

“For… ever…” panted Demarle, thumping Magarce’s cervix with a series of aggressive hunching thrusts that spurred a juddering confusion of spasms and shrieks from the smaller Nerre.

Faisand stalked out, her tailtip flicking in vexation. It was almost insulting. She wasn’t nearly as small as this new kitten, but she’d never been able to stand Demarle in full arousal, bearing down with her great weight in a position like that. And now foolish Demarle would be utterly besotted. It was insulting and unprofessional, both. However, Faisand knew she would feel less offended in the morning, so she refrained from further comment.

Behind her, the screams of pleasure became more ragged.

Magarce would faint inside of three minutes of Demarle’s full attention- but by that time, Faisand would be outside, watching for walk-in trade that wouldn’t walk in for her.

The following morning was rainy and cold, and Faisand padded gently out into the front room, reminding herself to be charitable. She carried two cups of coffee, because her experience indicated that Demarle would keep her new toy in her bed, and as this toy was now armed and dangerous (or so Faisand suspected), a little civilized ingratiation would not go amiss.

Demarle was up already, and moving about, but Magarce was not. The tiny Nerre was sprawled across the bed in an exposed, lewd posture, uncovered, her dainty pussy disheveled from extensive, messy intercourse.

“Is that where you poured her when you finished with her?” inquired Faisand, and winced- too catty.

Demarle didn’t take it badly. “Nope. I tried to cuddle with her while she slept…”

“You’re good at that…”

“Yeah, but it didn’t work. Little thing thrashes around in her sleep. She kicked the covers off and everything. I gave up and she still woke me twice. Doesn’t sleep easy.”

“Well, there’s a thing.” said Faisand. She looked more sympathetically at Magarce. “Oh, ssh, look- she’s dreaming!”

Magarce’s little paws were indeed twitching, and Demarle grumbled, “Kick her- she’s done more than enough dreaming, usually against me!”

“No, no. What do you suppose she’s dreaming about? Is that a happy look?”

It was hard to describe, hard to put into words. Nobody would guess it was the look of a small naked Nerre, striding up to the doors of Erckt Point with her lover behind her, prepared to beat on the door and demand entrance. You could only see a little of the facial expression, the perked, alert ears, the twitches of walking paws.

“She’s… catching something?”

Front paws beat on the door. Then, a little later, the trigger finger twitched, with the same careless certainty.

“Well, she doesn’t look worried…” said Arle, but as she kept watching, something happened.

Through the ambiguousness of dream-motions and sleep-twitches, it wasn’t easy to make out all the details. First, Magarce was walking, little paw-twitches that weren’t overly wild or uncontrolled. Tiny motions, as if in dream she was talking to people at Erckt Point, arranging room for herself and her Benz. An ear-twitch, as if she’d heard something behind her. A sort of twisting motion, as if she was looking to see what had made the noise.

A flurry of trigger-finger twitching, on both hands, as if she’d seen the wolf she shot come to life again, rear up, invulnerable to bullets, and begin bearing down on her. Magarce’s ears went back, in dream, and her expression began to crumble into unbearable terror.

“Faisand…”

More scrabblings of dream-running, but not steadily- at first running, and then broken up into jerking and writhing, the little cat’s eyes open now but unseeing, as if in dream she had been caught by the wolf she had murdered, as if his vengeance was nothing less than tearing her apart with his bare hands.

“Faisand!”

“Ahhhhhh!” shrieked Magarce, and came up off the bed, hysterical, not knowing where she was, too uncoordinated with sleep to flee but still struggling to flee for her very life- life that she had taken, unthinkingly, from the wolf at Erckt Point, life that he had finally ripped from her tortured body in the dream.

Demarle essentially tackled her. She didn’t want to knock the smaller Nerre over, but she seized her in a great hug and held her still in spite of the scratches and bites, while Faisand looked frantically around. Demarle had responded to the emotion, but Faisand remembered the gun. She didn’t spot it- but then, Magarce’s struggles quieted, reason of a sort returned to her tear-flooded eyes, and she recognized who was holding her, and she burst into pitiable, heart-wracking tears, gasping and wailing and clinging to her friend and lover.

“Oh, baby!” said Demarle. “What happened? It was only a dream, baby, only a dream!”

Magarce’s reaction was strange. She was gasping for breath, but on hearing this, her ears perked, as if it echoed what she needed to tell herself. Instead of softening and being comforted, the little Nerre began to look determined, even desperate, repeating to herself “only a dream… Only a dream. Only a dream!”

“That’s right,” crooned Demarle, petting the tiny feline pirate. “It was a dream, only a dream.”

Magarce nodded, hugging tightly, her ears flattened, her body tense. “only a dream, only a dream…”

Demarle relaxed her grip just a bit, to look down at her tiny terror- she could feel the tenseness, but also feel Magarce growing still, breathing more steadily. “So… can you tell me?”

“Tell you?”

“Yes, tell me what happened. Poor darling! Ya wanna talk about it?”

Demarle’s ears went back a little, for Magarce stared at her with too-bright eyes and gave a laugh that seemed terribly wrong somehow.

“What’s that for?” said Demarle. “What’s funny?”

“No, it’s okay, you’re right!” said Magarce. “It’s a dream, it’s all a dream, so it doesn’t matter, right? It doesn’t matter it doesn’t matter. Can I get some breakfast? I’m gonna get some breakfast!”

And with that, she hopped up, jumped off the bed without getting dressed, and before either Demarle or Faisand could stop her, she darted to where she’d put Faisand’s gun, grabbed it, and scurried up the wooden pole to the upper level, where she immediately began to forage for breakfast to eat at the table overlooking the front room.

“Apparently,” said Faisand, “it was all a dream?”

“She shouldn’t have shaken it off like that.” said Demarle. “I mean, even if it’s convenient. What was that about?”

“I’m not sure she’ll tell you now. Since it was, she says, all a dream…”

“How does that even… I’ve never seen anyone switch gears that quickly! What goes on in her head?”

“I wish I knew.” said Faisand softly, looking up at the hectic little Nerre.

They climbed the pole after her, watching closely, for now both sensed a wrongness, a brittleness in their friend, and as they approached, Demarle asked, “Mags honey? Ya wanna talk about it, maybe?”

“Talk about what?” chirped Magarce.

“Your dream, honey.”

“I don’t remember it.” said Magarce promptly. “It’s gone. It wasn’t real, none of it counts.”

“Counts?”

“I don’t remember. It doesn’t matter.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep!” said Magarce, and served them breakfast. Faisand and Demarle glanced at each other, but said nothing. Whatever it was, Magarce didn’t want to talk about it. It seemed like she didn’t even want to think about it, and since they only knew it was a bad dream, they relented and didn’t press her further.

“Ooh, Demarle, what happened?” said Magarce. “There’s blood on you!”

Demarle chuckled. “You did!”

“Huh?”

“You hurt me, dear! When you woke up!”

“Oh!” said Magarce, and turned away, not looking at Demarle anymore. This caused more glances between Arle and Faisand, for Magarce was suddenly behaving like that, too, was not real.

“It’s not that bad,” added Demarle, “I’ll be okay.”

“You probably did as much damage to her the other night!” chided Faisand, one eye watching for Magarce’s reaction- but there was no reaction, she had moved on.

Breakfast seemed to take forever. Demarle fidgeted, and Faisand sat too still. When it was over, Faisand rose, and standing behind Demarle with paws on her shoulders, suggested, “I’d like to go see Daucery again. Are you coming?” which seemed a strange suggestion, as Demarle was needed to floor-manage the Cathouse, and Faisand knew this well.

“I don’t… uh… you know, yeah, I should.” said Demarle. Faisand’s claws had cut off the ‘I don’t’ before it even got started, and Demarle scrambled to come up with a way to not include Magarce, without tipping her off to the hidden message she’d got from Faisand.

“Hey, short stuff, you okay with holding the fort?”

Magarce was still eating as if she was preparing for war, so the phrase was appropriate- and the implications played right into how the pirate kitten now saw herself. She looked right at Demarle, and was so busy looking strong and capable that she missed Demarle’s anxiousness entirely.

“Hell yeah!”

“Oh, thank goodness…” breathed Demarle in all sincerity, and she followed Faisand, who’d already headed down the pole, and the two cat courtesans made their way across the floor and out the door, padding off down the street towards the hospital.

Behind them, Magarce resumed her breakfast, eyes scanning the big picture window and the door much as Benz used to do, her paw never far from the gun.

It was two blocks before Demarle and Faisand even dared look at each other, much less look back- Demarle was normally bolder, but Faisand’s panic was infectuous, even though it could only be seen by one like Demarle who’d known the old whore for years.

“What’s happening, honey? What do you know? I know I don’t like how she treated me. She didn’t care that she hurt me.”

Faisand took a deep breath. “I don’t know. But I do want to talk to Cery again. It just seems like more is wrong than I suspected…”

At the hospital, Daucery was awake and fidgety, and began to gripe about being stuck in the wrong sort of bed, but stopped as soon as she got a good look at Faisand’s face. “Yeah. Okay, what did she do now?”

“You’re quick.” said Faisand approvingly.

“Tell me. I’m not only stuck here, but I can’t help you guys if things get weird over there. That’s like the only decent thing about being a freakin’ monster. I could probably handle Magarce with one hand. What’d she do?”

“I think not.” said Faisand. “She’s got the gun back.”

“I’m so sorry!” said Demarle.

“Well, at least she thinks she’s on our side…”

“What is this now?” said Daucery. “You didn’t tell me what happened.”

“She had this nightmare,” explained Faisand. “Arle screwed her until she passed out, and while she slept she had some kind of nightmare and woke up screaming…”

“And looking for the gun?” said Daucery.

“And looking for the gun.”

“You left her there alone? Wouldn’t she still be upset?”

“She’s not alone.” said Faisand. “Tery and Nifi are there. And she’s not upset- that’s the part that worries me a lot.”

Daucery yawned, tried to stretch and then stopped, wincing. “They won’t give me fucking coffee, I need my coffee for this… she’s not upset?”

“Oh, she was- but Arle told her it was just a dream, and now she won’t even tell us what it was. She says it was all a dream, and she laughs, and it’s not a nice laugh.”

“Hey, Arle,” said Daucery, “what the hell? I see somethin’ on you. Who scratched you?”

“That was her again.” said Demarle. “Not in the good way, either. When she woke up, she was flipping out. I held her until she calmed down, and she’s real quick, she got me before I could pin her.”

“Why didn’t she let you clean up? Faisand, what the hell? Why were you guys walking through Verss like that? The guys, the Runge guys, they can smell that on you. I mean, I wouldn’t even go out like that, you know what I mean?”

“I’m sorry.” said Faisand. “We came right here because I wanted to talk to you. I wasn’t thinking. I’m a little upset…”

“Wouldn’t it upset Magarce? You parading around red from her claws? I realize she’s wild, but…”

“She didn’t notice.” said Demarle.

This stopped Daucery. The tall, rangy Nerre’s jaw dropped.

“You don’t like that, do you?” said Faisand. “I know I didn’t.”

Daucery remained speechless. She had more than once got in trouble by overexciting Runge clients. She had seen her own blood and shrugged it off as the price of her rebellion against all things proper and formal. She was in hospital for exactly this, but seeing Demarle’s blood had shocked her. It was as if, to Daucery, the world consisted of Daucery, and all other Nerre- and though she blithely courted physical harm in the service of her lusts, those she loved weren’t allowed to be hurt that way.

This incongruity gradually emerged as words.

“I’ll… kick… her ass…”

Faisand purred. “I knew you cared about us. But really, you can’t. We’ve got to deal with it some other way…”

“No, wait. Seriously? She didn’t notice? How can you not notice? It’s fucking obvious! You need to wash, Arle…”

“I know, I know! Faisand wanted me to come with her. Here I am. And it’s not that she didn’t notice- she did, and I told her it was her that did it. You know, when she woke up?”

“And then what? What did she do that Faisand says she didn’t notice, now?”

Demarle blinked. “She kinda said ‘oh’, and she turned away, and it’s like she didn’t see it any more.”

The three Nerre fell silent, chilled by the incomprehensible. Although they’d opted to live as exiles from their society, each had been raised within it, and had grown up immersed in a detailed protocol dedicated to managing the inner state of the passionate and skittish Nerre. Everything down to the fundamental, verbal unit of protocol, ‘vraonse’- a constant refrain that said ‘this I suggest though I remain aware that your feelings may differ’- was founded on the constant, diligent awareness of others, their state of mind, whether they were worked up to a pitch of nervous tension or serene and malleable.

To encounter a Nerre that was hysterical- this was normal, understandable. To hold one during a fit of temperament was more daring- on Ause, fleeing to a safe distance was more typical, but guns weren’t common on Ause either. To be bitten and scratched in such a clinch was normalcy itself, the motivation behind ‘allelier’, the formal permission given before sexual frenzy so wild that blood might be drawn by teeth or claws. To forgive such harms if allelier was granted- this was the essence of graceful protocol.

To refuse to acknowledge such harms after they’d been inflicted was not merely a breach of politeness, but a terrifying undermining of all that Nerre held civilized. Demarle, Faisand and Daucery each stared at nothing for a moment, looks of dread on their feline faces as they tried to grapple with the unthinkable- the armed and dangerous unthinkable.

Daucery broke the silence first. “Arle, you gotta get cleaned up. Please. I can’t handle looking at you like that…”

Faisand nodded. “Yes. Smile, dear, you’ve shocked Cery! I wouldn’t have believed it possible. Is there somewhere here you can use?”

“I just pushed my little call-button,” said Daucery, “and don’t be mean, ‘aons? You know I don’t want to see you guys hurt.”

“Well, we don’t want to see you hurt either,” said Faisand acidly, “but you aren’t as solicitous regarding yourself. Can’t we persuade you to go a little easier? Look at you, you’re in the hospital, and you know we get just as distressed for you…”

“I know, I know…” said Daucery, as a nurse came to show Demarle to a bathroom where she could groom herself.

“And anyhow, you’re safe here, which will do for now. We’ve got to go back home. Whatever are we going to do about Magarce?”

Back at the Cathouse, it was very quiet. Magarce sat, studying Faisand’s gun, her eye flicking to the big picture window at the front of the building whenever there was movement. Her tail swished and flicked. The silence was loud- it echoed, it pressed in hungrily, just as the shapes of things were a little too sharp. The table she sat at was modernistic, with a squared edge defining its round shape. The edge was made of some sort of metal strip, and though her paws rested against it, she would be comfortable, because the strip’s edges at top and bottom were rounded. Where the strip met the whiteness of the table, however, the edge might not be as safe- at most points, the strip was glued solidly to the table, but just next to her paw, there was a slight gap, no bigger than a clawtip’s width, where it’d come loose. The inside edge of the metal strip appeared sharper. Inside the slight gap, Magarce could see the white color of the table was some type of laminate, possibly sharp and brittle, over another material that looked softer, more grainy. She could see it was that way, for a tiny chunk of the material had adhered to the metal strip, and ripped a miniscule chunk out of the body of the table. It hadn’t even taken any of the laminate with it- the circle was pristine, with just that one tiny speck of material out of place, stranded on the metal strip and stuck by glue as it was ripped out of its place…

Magarce’s eyes flicked to the door. There was a shadow at the door.

“Hello?”

It was a guy, a smaller Runge, silver-grey in color. He didn’t look impeccable, like the rich guy she’d had, but he looked alert, perhaps a little amused.

“Oh!” said Magarce, and checking that the gun was in its holster, she scrambled down the pole to greet him- only to bump into Brittery, who’d heard the voice, and was emerging from the back rooms to claim her new prize.

“It’s okay, I’ll handle this.” said Brittery, dismissively.

“No, wait.” said the guy. He was looking back and forth between them. Brittery was minimally dressed- aware of every detail of the regulations on what nakedness could be shown where, she had thrown on a sort of nightgown that revealed more than it hid. Magarce was not- she wore only the holster. Brittery was curvaceous, muscular in a sensual way- Magarce was skinny and petite, taut little contours and pert roundnesses. Magarce was surprised- and Brittery was, subtly but clearly, affronted.

“Honey- you are joking, aren’t you?” she said.

The guy kept staring, and Magarce got more and more of his attention. “Aren’t you a wild one?” he said, with a crooked little smile. “Are you on offer?”

“Um- yeah!”

“You’re not serious.” said Brittery.

“Can a guy actually, you know, fit in you?”

“Damn straight.” said Magarce, but then she gave a start, for Brittery had whirled and was stalking off, back to the room she’d been in, her tail quivering with outrage. “Oh, shit!”

“She’ll get over it.” said the guy, and stepped forward, closer to Magarce. “She’s amazing. You’re… new. You really mean that, you can take Runge?”

“Hell yeah! Best part of the job if you ask myyyowwwl!”

Magarce had kept talking as the guy moved in, but cried out, her knees buckling, as he reached down and hooked a finger into her with grinning casualness. He had to bend over a little to do it, and he wiggled the finger playfully- it didn’t enter her very far, but it brought back the world of the pirates, the harshness and suddenness, the sense that she might be taken by wolves at any moment.

He wiggled his finger a bit more, and said, “I think you’re telling the truth, kitten. How much?”

Magarce didn’t respond at first, except to writhe against him, her tail lashing, and then she said, “Tw… three hundred.” She knew she was supposed to demand more, but suddenly she couldn’t bear the idea of chasing this guy off. Every fiber of her being told her she was back on the pirates’ ship, running wild among the wild, and she’d have taken him for nothing and barely had the self-possession to not say that.

“Well, it’s my lucky day, isn’t it?”

His finger withdrew, and his hands roamed hungrily all over her body, fondling cupcake breasts and lean hips until she cried out a mew of goaded passion and clung to him, rubbing her mound against his leg.

“Yeah, very nice- where do you want it? Let me get these pants off.”

“No!” said Magarce, hastily. “We have to go back to a room! Take me to an empty room!”

He didn’t hesitate- he swept her up into his arms, bearing her effortlessly down the hall, even though he wasn’t large for a Runge, and Magarce reeled with the impact of her sudden arousal. For a moment, it occurred to her that this was how Daucery acted, and then she dismissed the thought- this guy wasn’t that big, he probably wasn’t going to be dangerous. Her instinct told her that he was going to be a delicious treat, and fit just right.

He carried her into a room (fortunately, not one with Brittery sulking in it) and tossed her lightly onto the bed, and a moment was occupied with him removing his clothing, and her shedding the holster, which sat with its deadly payload up by the pillows within easy reach.

“Nice prop!” said the guy, and Magarce didn’t even reply, for she had eyes only for his lupine cock as it came into view. It was one of the brightly red Runge cocks, and looked marvellous- just blunt enough to shock on entry, just thick enough to be delightfully alarming, long enough to serve.

“So where do you want it? You can have first pick. Once I get you coming, I’ll surprise you.”

Magarce found herself assuming the ass-up pose she’d seen in Daucery and done for Demarle, and caught herself- surely it couldn’t be all done that way, surely some variation would keep them more interested. Before he could move onto her, the little feline wriggled and flipped, and lay before him on her back, paws around her ears, tickling her clitoris and pouting vagina while staring yearningly at him.

“Hey, that works. Here it comes…”

He was as naked as she was. He whiffed of stale wolf. His hardon stuck up at a jaunty angle and was shiny with pre-come and its own hardness, and he came clambering at her with such eagerness that Magarce expected a pirate-like jab to the hilt- but, straddling her, just at the point of impaling her on his shaft, he slowed, adjusted his stance, wiped his hardness against her as if to test for arousal- and then either found it satisfactory or didn’t care that much, for the next thing she felt was hard urgent pressure against her pussy.

His angle wasn’t great, and Magarce hastily tried to wriggle into a better position, but it wasn’t necessary- those wolfish hips adjusted a bit, and swung steadily forward, his stiffness squeezing into her taut confines just slow enough to savor- and fast enough to take her breath away and make her heart race. This was a good one- the balance of physical, triggers and attitude was just right.

Magarce writhed in ecstacy under him, and he responded by tugging firmly out and then hilting himself lovingly in her body again. Even his length was just enough to plumb her depths without the drama of other Runge. Magarce reeled, wrapping arms and legs around him, crying out by turns in sweet gasps and guttural howls as the guy’s cock worked within her. His minor stink brought back the days of the pirates for her, and his moves weren’t predictable- one moment, he’d be sliding in deep, sensual motions, and then suddenly he’d hunch up and shove fiercely against her, butting her cervix as best he could.

Magarce began to shriek in delight as she felt him begin to knot her, and the world began to go white on her as the pressure built and built. She was a feline lava flow, liquid but inflamed, and second by second she began to realize that he did have special qualities, this one, beyond the stink and interesting motions- he was tying her as she’d never been tied before. She shuddered and let out a ragged scream as he came to his full size inside her- threatening to burst her, locking into her like metal on metal, just barely within what even felt safe, let alone comfortable. She bristled, shaking, overwhelmed.

“Oh, yeah…” he said. “Oh, man… so tight… bet you weren’t expecting that?”

Magarce’s eyes held his, in mingled delight and terror, her mouth hanging open, cute feline teeth slightly bared.

“How ya doing?” he said, a world of wicked amusement in his tone.

Magarce began to let out a moan, but he shoved forward against her- not shifting himself the slightest bit inside her, yet the feeling of his body trying to thrust into her one more time caused the moan to turn to a wild yowl, and then her vision was blurred and the yowl was broken up into violent spasms, orgasms that racked her and tried to wrest consciousness from her as she shrieked.

“There it is…” he said. “Oh, yeah, there it is, there it is…”

He didn’t do anything else- he didn’t need to. He just lay on her, savoring the brutal tightness, her cries and shudders, letting his balls steadily unload in spurts of thin wolf-come, endlessly.

After a while, he felt her quiet a little, still quivering and fevered, and he rolled over onto one elbow so he could look at her better, and said, “You weren’t lying. I feel special.”

Magarce drew breath determinedly. “That’s for sure!”

“Oh, you mean the knot? Also known as the boulder? Hope you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

Magarce’s ear twitched. “Oh… really? hhhh! How.. come?”

“You’re trapped, little kitty. I’ve got you. It doesn’t go down for a long time, it’s funny that way.”

Magarce wriggled a bit, not liking the sound of this. He was right- it wasn’t the least bit softer, and it was absolutely locked into her pelvis. There was no chance she was getting away. And he wasn’t huge for a Runge, but he was a lot larger than she was.

“What’s so funny? Why is that funny?” she said.

“Oh, it just is.” he said, and the amusement was much greater now. There was a smugness to him that she didn’t like at all. Was he some cop? The scene gradually began to hint of nightmare, and he kept smiling and hurting her very bones by the savagery of his tie.

“No, what’s so damn funny?”

“I know you.”

The scene stopped hinting, and nightmare came roaring in.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing- I just could have my three hundred back and a lot more. I know who you are.” he said teasingly.

“Stop it!”

“What? Just because I could drag you off by your cunt and claim the reward? It said you have to be dead, but that seems like a w… hey!”

Magarce had torn his ear with a desperate clawing strike. She thrashed, trying to get her feet up to where they had a purchase on his guts.

“Now just a minute!” barked the guy, grabbing at her feet. “If you can’t take a fucking joke…”

Her hands were free- and she remembered the gun.

“Hey wait STOP…”

BANG

His panicky last yelp still rang in the air. His hands released, dropped to the bed. Half his head was gone, behind a neat hole directly between his eyes. Magarce heaved a deep breath. She got just one, before there was a scurrying of paws in the hallway.

“What the hell h… Oh my God!”

Brittery had burst in, furious, but within seconds she bristled, grabbed at the door to support herself, all the while staring at what was left of Magarce’s client and Magarce, tiny under him, holding the smoking gun, her eyes wild and green-lit.

“What… have… you.. done?”

Magarce didn’t hesitate. “He tried to kill me! He was trying to kill me! You have to help! You have to!”

“Help? What do you mean, help?” quavered Brittery. For all her usual confidence, she was now revealing the shaky ground it distracted from. Her ears were flattened, her tail low, and she looked ready to flee.

“Well, we have to do something! This isn’t supposed to happen…”

“No, it’s fuckin’ not supposed to!” said Brittery.

“And I don’t know what they’ll do about it here, I mean, Verss here…”

“I’m gonna call a cop!” said Brittery, staring at the gun still in Magarce’s hand.

“No!”

“Hey, listen, where the fuck do you get off saying that? In bed with a dead guy and you’re telling me…”

“What happened?” said a new voice, even more kittenish than Magarce. Alonifi had heard the noise, and come to see what was wrong.

“Oh my God!” cried Brittery. “Nifi, don’t look!”

“I am looking,” snapped the cat-child, “it’s you that’s being hysterical. Magarce, what happened? He’s dead. Like, really dead.”

“He tried to kill me!” replied Magarce, with unshakable conviction.

Alonifi’s little tail flicked. “He failed. Now what?”

“We have to get rid of him, that’s what.”

Brittery wailed, “I’m gonna call the…”

“No you are not! Alonifi, watch her. Listen. What’s gonna happen if cops come running in, see all this and you all hysterical?”

That stopped Brittery, and she thought, her face a mask of woe. “It… they… yeah. Yeah.” She drew a shuddery breath. “They start shooting.”

“What if they’re coming, even now? We need to move fast.” Magarce tried to squirm out from under the corpse, but it was dragged with her.

“Oh my God he’s still tied to you!” Brittery looked ready to flip out. Her claws dug into the doorframe.

“Fucker wasn’t kidding… He said this would happen… Pull on him!”

Alonifi was first to grab the guy’s arm and haul determinedly away, though she was even smaller than Magarce and her efforts were inadequate. Then, shamed, Brittery joined, and took the other limp arm. She danced away with a meowl of horror as the corpse’s shattered head flopped back at her, but returned and joined Alonifi, the two felines pulling hard as Magarce dragged herself in the other direction.

All that happened was that professional whore and cat-girl got a good look at what Magarce’s vagina looked like with a wolf cock stuck in it, tugging out until her labia were distended by the unyielding knot.

The pressure lessened: Brittery staggered off and threw up.

“Brittery!” cried Alonifi. “Stop that!”

“No, we have to think of something else,” said Magarce, “help me think of something else…”

“We could cover him up?” said the undaunted catgirl.

“Hey, that’s not bad! Let’s get him off the bed…”

Between Magarce, pulling the guy from the groin area, and Alonifi, dragging his arm, they managed to get off the bed, the dead wolf’s weight thumping heavily to the floor and yanking Magarce down with it. Alonifi, thrilled to be helpful, yanked the fouled sheets off the bed, and began to wrap the guy, starting with his head.

“Brittery! It should be not as bad now!”

Brittery slunk over, ears and tail still speaking messages of horror and disgust. “Uh, thanks… that does help…”

“Now what do we do?”

Magarce thought. “I think first, haul like hell on his legs again. I’ve got to un-tie. I think he’s gone down quite a bit.”

“I should hope so.” muttered Brittery, with a shiver.

“So come on- I’ll grab the bedpost, go on! Do it!”

Alonifi’s efforts were consistent and feeble- she was just too little. Brittery broke off, gagging, twice, but the shapely black Nerre’s strength was far greater, and in the brief moments where she was pulling hard on the dead wolf’s legs, the force made Magarce screech, and dragged the whole bed across the floor- and then, with a paint-peeling squall from Magarce and a strangely subdued slurp, the knot was tugged out of Magarce and she collapsed on the floor, panting.

Alonifi stared, and Brittery snapped, “What?”

“Oh- I never saw one of those before!”

“Well, you shouldn’t have to see it like this. Magarce! You okay?”

“Yah, I think so.” answered Magarce. “Ow.”

“And you, you’ve got no business being able to do that! What the hell are you made out of, rubber?”

Magarce didn’t respond. Her teeth were still grinding a bit from the searing pain of that unwelcome withdrawal, made worse since she’d completely lost any arousal and had dried up around him.

“So again now what?” said Alonifi.

“We’ve got to hide him,” said Magarce, “obviously… oh my God!”

There was a noise outside, somewhere down the hall. It was a door opening.

“…oh my god the cops heard the shot…”

“…what do we do?” hissed Brittery, her tail bristling hard.

Magarce’s eyes were flaring green, and her slimmer tail also bristled in sheer panic. “Alonifi, quietly shut the door, hold it shut, Brittery, you come here right now and we’re going to put this guy behind the bed…”

There was some kind of interrogative noise out in the hall, though all three felines were so panicked that they couldn’t make much sense of it. Alonifi got the door closed, but not quietly- it made a loud click as it latched, and Brittery in particular jolted violently at the noise. She didn’t let it slow her, though- the black cat hastened to Magarce’s side, and the two shoved the bed a little farther out into the room, and grabbed the guy’s lifeless legs.

“His head, his head!” hissed Brittery. The ruined head was dragging along the floor, leaving a stripe.

“No time!” said Magarce. “Alonifi… no, stay, hold the door, I’ll put pillows on it in a moment…”

“Ew!”

“Shut up, Brittery, pull!”

They had the guy halfway behind the bed at this point, and then there was a sharp rap at the door.

“Oh fuck! Hold that door Alonifi! Pull, Brittery!”

Alonifi, eyes wide and frightened, hung on to the door, leaning against it with her full, insignificant weight. The doorknob twisted, hard, and she fought to resist it. There was another bang, and then the knob twisted out of her grip. Whimpering, the cat-child tried to hold the door closed, and it shoved against her once, hard, but she fought it back with desperate strength.

But she was no match for what lay on the other side of the door. Magarce and Brittery frantically tried to get the dead wolf in place behind the bed’s headboard, watching Alonifi wrestle helplessly with the doorknob again, and they had almost got him out of sight when the unseen attacker lost all patience. The knob wrenched itself out of Alonifi’s paws entirely, and with a mighty heave, the door burst open, physically throwing Alonifi to the ground, revealing in the doorway…

Demarle. And, behind her, Faisand. Both of them staring and staring, first at Magarce and Brittery staring back at them- and then, at the streak of blood and Runge brains on the floor, leading behind the bed, which was pitifully and obviously out of place.

And the smell of gore and gunfire, so far from their normal experience, but so instinctively easy to recognize.

Alonifi ran and clung to Faisand, weeping, and still nobody said anything, and the horrible silence stretched on and on.

Two hours later, there were plans- but not always good ones.

“No, you can’t go to the lower levels!” insisted Demarle.

Magarce wouldn’t let go of the gun. She sat on Demarle’s bed, her eyes scanning the big picture window. “What difference would it make?”

“You have no idea, do you? You can’t imagine at all. Listen, please! You can’t, we have to think of some safe place for you to go…”

“Demarle!” called Alonifi. “Faisand’s friend is here!”

Demarle called, “Faisand!” and interposed her body between Magarce and the newcomer, but not quick enough. He was a tall Runge, expensively dressed, with a sour, suspicious look and a greying muzzle, and he spotted the half-naked, gun-wielding kitten right away.

“Don’t tell me. That’s who furnished us with our little problem?”

“Stop it, Magarce!” hissed Demarle, glancing back at Faisand’s friend and returning her attention to Magarce hastily.

The guy’s sour look worsened. “Keep that out of my way. I mean it.”

“We will!” protested Demarle.

“I mean it. Ah, Faisand! Darling, jewel of my misspent youth. You have need of my help?”

Faisand approached, extending a paw elegantly. “Your… special help, dear.”

“Of course. Well, I could say I didn’t know how to help you, but we both know I’d be talking shit, right?”

“I can’t tell you how much we appreciate it…”

“That,” said the guy, “will have to do.” He looked grim and sad, but completely unworried- except by Magarce, whom he kept in his peripheral vision. “You there, white one…”

“Demarle- she’s Demarle.”

“You there, Demarle, keep blocking, every second, babe. Good girl.”

“Do you need anyone to… carry anything?” said Faisand.

“I have two guys at your back door already, sweet thing. Not that back door, the one in this building. You just unlock it and walk away. Nobody get near them. You never saw them, you never saw me. Right?”

“Of course.” said Faisand.

“If my experience is any indication, you need to be happy little cleaning kitties for an hour or so, but give me five minutes and you’ll only have stubborn stains on your hands. Don’t wait. As soon as the door closes behind your ex-problem, you go and clean, got it?”

“I owe you so much.” purred Faisand.

“Yeah, you’re not wrong there.” said the guy, but there was no hostility in his voice, just weariness.

Faisand flowed up to him and gave a sensuous, lingering hug. “Darling. Is there anything I can… do?”

The guy sighed. “You know something? No. There isn’t. Leave me to my memories, babe- of you- and don’t tease.”

“I am not teasing. But I will respect your wishes. Though I don’t believe a word of it.”

At that, the guy managed half a smile. “Even now you can lift something- even if it’s just my spirit.”

Faisand kissed him. “It’s not enough, I still owe you so much!”

He hugged her back, then, and he in turn lingered- hands stroking her back, wandering down to feel her feline bottom, back up to wrap around her hungrily- and release. Faisand was purring and her eyes were glowing when he was done.

“Stay good.” he said. “I mean that. I don’t want to have to do this again. You’re better than this.”

“I promise.” said Faisand, with a nervous glance to where Demarle was still blocking Magarce from view.

“And stay here. Keep an eye on your little problem. We’ll be busy carrying garbage.”

He carefully backed away down the hall, and there was the sound of the back door opening. and footsteps- a jumble of footsteps coming partway down the hall and into the room, then the scrape of the bed moving, and then an unexpected remark.

“Damn! Niiiice!”

“Shut up.” came the flat voice of Faisand’s friend.

“No, I just mean the artistry…”

“You can’t shake her paw for it. Not unless you want to be the next target practice. Move it.”

Faisand and Demarle kept watching Magarce, but it was as if she didn’t hear. She stared at nothing, her tailtip flicking with unnatural twitches, as if her electricity had been raised and it no longer connected properly. Footsteps happened again, this time heavier and more awkwardly. The back door opened- and closed.

Faisand sighed. “Do… you want to help us, Magarce?”

“I have to watch.”

“Watch for what, dear?”

“Watch for the next one. Benz was r… right…”

Faisand stared helplessly, because the mad little Nerre had started to cry, without letting go of the gun for an instant. In fact, her grip on it tightened, and she refused to shut her eyes, even though they swam with tears.

“Do you want to put that down for a moment,” said Faisand, “and then I will hug you?”

“You don’t get to tell me where to point it.” echoed Magarce, out of her ever-extending dark past. “No, I mean… no! I’ve got to protect you. And me… I’ve got to be safe…”

Faisand padded off, wringing her paws, to join Demarle and Brittery in cleaning the room, which required the use of all the paper towels they had, and while they cleaned, they talked quietly.

When they came back, it was Faisand who spoke, very gently and carefully.

“Magarce, we think we know a safe place you can go to.”

“..what?”

“You can go somewhere that you’ll be safe. Brittery came through there. She thinks she can get you in.”

Brittery nodded, without speaking, her eyes guarded.

“But…” said Magarce, and her eyes pleaded with Demarle most of all.

“It’s true.” said Demarle. “We know somewhere that you can…”

“Not here?” said Magarce.

“Not here.” said Faisand firmly. “You’re right. It’s not safe for you here- and it’s less safe for us with you here.”

“But!” sobbed Magarce, yet Faisand wouldn’t let her off the hook.

“Think about it, dear. You’ve said a man tried to kill you. Why is this? You didn’t explain. Is it that he wanted to claim a reward?”

Magarce’s eyes said it all, through a wash of tears. She was past the hard staring weeping, into a terrible vulnerability, and seemed to have forgotten the gun she held, and on seeing this, Demarle went in for the kill- not intending any harm, but tipping a balance. She moved in towards the stricken kitten pirate, wrapping her in an embrace, and sobbing three words.

“I’ll… miss you…”

Magarce dropped the gun harmlessly on the bed, her hand rigid and useless for a second, and then as she was folded into the warmth of Demarle’s fluffy breasts, the air was split with a howl of anguish that set Brittery’s ears back and made her tremble. Demarle tried to suppress, to comfort away the screaming, but it was no use. Magarce clung to her new friend and lover desperately, but cried out as if she knew, deep inside, that she was losing this world too, and she could not be consoled.

Brittery, unable to bear the intensity of feeling, slunk off, back down the hallway into the work-rooms, and Faisand joined her, but not immediately. First, Faisand padded over and took the gun away, carrying it away with her, and leaving Magarce with Demarle to work out their pain as best they could.

The sound carried down the hall, into the back rooms, even with the door closed. In the manner of sound, it retained the emotional meaning long after it could not be understood as words. The overtones made Brittery’s tail bristle, and Faisand hugged her, after setting the gun carefully down in a safe place.

“We’ve got to do it.” said Faisand.

“I can’t even be around her anymore.” said Brittery. “When will she go away?”

“Wait- do you need to introduce her to them? The Ungovernment people, I mean? You might need to be around her, unless we’re simply to throw her to the wolves. And Demarle wouldn’t stand for that. For that matter, I wouldn’t either. She is our kind, after all.”

“Not my kind!”

“More than you’d like to admit, Brittery.” said Faisand. “I would think you above all of us would understand…”

“Stop it! I might get excited, okay? I might be emotional, I can’t help that, you know I can’t! But I do not shoot anybody!”

Faisand sighed. “True. But be fair- that’s why she must leave, and you don’t have to.”

“Don’t start with that again… please, I can’t stand it. I know I’ve been a disappointment to you, but doesn’t this show you I’m not that bad?”

“I suppose,” said Faisand, “I’ve been too demanding…”

They fell silent. Down the hall, another cry of unbearable anguish rang out, the emotions coming through the walls.

“You have.” said Brittery, softly.

Faisand hugged her high-strung black-furred friend, again. “I have.”

Brittery hugged back, fiercely, and then caught herself, and hugged more carefully. “I do love you, Faisand, I swear I do. Just please be patient with me? I don’t want to be so difficult. I’m trying, really I am…’

“You’re bringing it into your work.” observed Faisand.

“Don’t say that!”

“No, no dear! Understand me, don’t fly off the handle as you always do. I believe you’re bringing it into your work in a useful way. I’ve noticed. Haven’t you been doing better, throwing fits less, even earning more, when you act as… I hardly know what to call it, dear…”

Brittery wiped her eyes and thought for a second. “Um. Ravening fuck-beast? Is that what you’re driving at?”

Faisand purred. “Thank you for sparing me that rudeness!”

“No, but you don’t get it- that works better for me! It seems to make everything easier.”

“I do indeed get it, dear, and I agree. I say, go for it. Make the ravening fuck-beast thing your very own!”

“…really?” said Brittery in a little voice.

“You’ve got to start from where you are.” said Faisand gravely. “I mean it. Maybe that’s what’s been getting in your way?”

“I think it has…” said Brittery. “I tried to hard to be like you. You tried to teach me to be beautiful…”

Faisand’s expression turned a little cranky, but it seemed she was cranky at herself, staring at nothing and counting her missteps. “I did. I suppose I saw you as a problem, because you were so unlike me. Imagine my surprise when some of the nice wuffies didn’t want mysterious elegance at all. I suppose they want a challenge? I’m sorry, I’ve implied you’re not elegant, dear…”

“No, it’s true. At least, not like you- nobody could be quite like you. But there’s something… I think there is a sort of elegance to it, even. But it’s… hungry? Greedy. I’m like a flame. I’m there to almost burn them. It is like a challenge to them. At first I got rough ones, but now it’s like they sort of goad me on. They want me to be the wild one, not them.”

“And you are!”

“Yeah, I pretty much am.” said Brittery.

“And be that,” said Faisand, “start from where you are. If you build on that, you won’t fail, because there is a harmony to it. Just as there is a harmony to me being elegant and mysterious.”

Brittery laughed unexpectedly. “If you heard me at it, you wouldn’t say that! I’m not making harmonious noises!”

“Silly girl. I have, of course. You may not find your cries harmonious, but there’s a sincerity to them. I may say that I’ve never been in that much…. heat. I’m just skilled, dear. We are artistes, after all.”

Brittery paused. “Do you think I can be… good? Like, as good as you?”

Faisand gave her a sidelong look. “Hmph! I hope not. Would you accept, nearly as good, and spare the feelings of an old artiste?”

Brittery’s smile, untroubled and affectionate, was answer enough.

The smile flicked off, and Faisand winced, as another wail cut through the walls. It was much as if Demarle had said, after things quieted, ‘I really love you’, and then been dismayed when her tiny, mad lover reacted as if she’d been stabbed to the heart anew.

“And I think,” said Faisand, “we will need your help getting that girl out of here safely.”

Brittery nodded, looking nervous. “Yeah. She… doesn’t have anything to build on. Does she?”

“I think she tears down, instead.” said Faisand. “I don’t understand her one bit, and that is terrifying. But we’ve got to get her somewhere safe, you know. She is one of us, all the more because our ‘home’ rejects her.”

Faisand’s tone became unexpectedly bitter when referring to Ause, the Nerre home-world, and Brittery’s ears perked.

“When you put it that way, I think I agree. She’s horrible, but they think we’re horrible too- or they would if they got the chance, right?”

“Speak for yourself.” said the old expatriate whore crisply. “They do think that. I’m not giving this girl to them, dead or alive.”

“Yeah.” said Brittery. “I’m with you. Let’s save her.”

“We shall. Now, tell me more about these, what did you call them, Ungovernment people? You said they’ve got a sort of little society off in the mountains? They’re anarchists?”

“Actually,” said Brittery, “they’re a lot more boring than they sound…”

In the front room, Demarle kept hanging on to Magarce tightly, as if the pressure of her hug could hold the mad kitten together, and perhaps there was some truth to it. Magarce still trembled, but her screams had faded and grown hoarse and finally run out. She stared at nothing, her ears laid back, and Demarle petted them, stroked her head, the caresses too firm, lent desperation by Demarle’s inability to help her new lover cope with the new reality. She sat holding the little Nerre for hours, all the rest of the day and into the night, wrapping Magarce protectively in her strong, warm, temporary arms, and slowly but unavoidably, today gave way to tomorrow, and eventually Demarle’s warm embrace became yesterday.