Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn From: hutch@ibeam.intel.com (Steve Hutchison) Subject: [LH] Fur as a Social Issue Message-ID: Date: Mon, 25 Oct 1993 08:06:22 GMT [ADMIN] Believe it or not, this is a LightHouse Party post ... Lessee.. the generic verbiage... This article is copyright 1993 by Stephen Hutchison. Permission granted for distribution via the usual Usenet channels and for archival. All other rights reserved. I don't _think_ I use anybody else's characters here... ---- Ruhollis and Trage sat on the strange-looking wooden bench. There were about a hundred other people here, and many of them were not human in the usual sense. A good number were even partly animal. They were arrayed in a half-circle around a raised stage with a podium, and it was dark on the stage. The lights in the room only lit the seating area. "Trage, look at that." Ruhollis nudged her husband, pointing at the couple two rows down and three more places inwards from them. They were male and female, clearly, foxlike faces and soft red fur on their bodies. They had five frightened-looking children with them, human children. One of the children was holding tight, whispering "mommy, I'm scared of all th' peoples." Trage scowled. "What about it?" "What do you suppose they're gonna do?" "Hell if I know. I don't even want to be here." "Trage, I _want_ you to be here. Please, for me?" Her hand touched his face, and he sneezed at the faint cinnamon smell that came off it. "This is important to me too. And she's just your sister." "I'm not going to have that fight again. I love her and I don't care if she's an elf now." Trage flinched as tears appeared in her eyes. "Dammit." Ruhollis turned her face away. After a few moments she felt a soft touch on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I just don't want to risk you." "Let's just see what this is about first." She glanced over the crowd, surprised at the sight of the old woman from the Merchant's Guild and her two grand-daughters, who had become something like skunks, beautiful black-and-white patterns in their fur. The old woman was smiling for a change. A gold-furred figure moved to the darkened podium, and spoke. "Can I have your attention, please?" The buzzing voices grew quiet. "Welcome to my home. I know a lot of you, and I don't know many of the rest of you. Sorry about the dim lights, but we're about to show you an illusioncast, and it's easier to see in the dark." The figure moved forward into a better-lit area. He resembled a lion, and a satyr, with a flat somewhat feline nose and sharp teeth, and a gold mane. He was bare-chested, darkly tanned, the human part of his body appropriate to a warrior. "My name is 'Raelf het ae 25 an'di 'Raffi, 'Raf for short. You may know me from my performances in the street-dance on Founders' Day and the subsequent command performance the next day at the Plaza of Glittering Steel. During the first performance, because of a fairly unpleasant curse I was suffering under, I transformed many of you, or your family or friends. All those of you who remain changed, were happy being what you are now, and it's your true desire to remain what you are. However, some of your families have been unhappy about this, and I've been asked to help you ... adjust to this." The lion-teeth showed in a smile. "This will be done on a case-by-case basis. Some of you will be compensated if it's truly needed, but nobody will be changed back to what they were before." An angry murmur rose, and the lion-man roared over it. "QUIET! Thank you. Nobody was changed against their will. I will not go changing people into something they don't want to be, in order to satisfy anyone else. Besides, I can't do it, and I'm pretty certain that nobody else could, short of having them cursed by a black magician." He gestured at the stage, and a formless, drifting mass of colors appeared. Gentle sounds of bells and drums and random musical tones began, barely audible. "I want you to think about what you really want. What does it mean to you, personally, that you, or your friend, your wife, your mother, has become something different. The illusion will help you concentrate, it will form itself to your thoughts. Let it take the image of what you really want." His voice became a curious lilting purr. "Think about what you want, don't worry, you can look away at any time. There is no compulsion, this is just a way to examine your thoughts. Good." The purring voice continued, but it wasn't talking to Trage so he didn't listen to it. He watched the colors of the illusion, swirling, forming shapes and sudden images. Trage saw an image that disturbed him. He saw Ruhollis, her newly furred body gleaming brown in the sun, and he saw Rindia, her sister, and she was an elf, dammit, not a human -- no, that wasn't right, the image changed... Rindia was two shapes, one he wanted, beautiful and dark-furred like Ru, the other a naked skinned elf, human, he didn't care, it wasn't what he wanted. He made it vanish. He wanted her to be as beautiful in his eyes as Ru was now. He felt the touch of a strong hand on his shoulder. 'Raf's voice was quiet, but he could hear it quite clearly. "I cannot grant that desire, Trage. You love both women, don't you?" "Yes." It was a whisper. He flushed in shame, but 'Raf didn't seem to notice, and he looked up from his hands. "Rindia wants to go and live among the elves, she always has. She has an elvish lover and she was afraid she'd die and he'd forget her." "I .. never knew that." Trage swallowed. "I guess I'll have to make do with the one I have, eh?" "That's for you and Ruhollis and Rindia to decide. I have something harder to ask of you." The amber eyes were searching his soul. "Your mate, Ruhollis, wants you to be like her. Furry, like an otter." "She does?" A peculiar sensation rose in the pit of his stomach. "She wants to be able to have children with you." "I saw her looking at the foxen folk." Trage blinked, pulling his long grey hair back out of his eyes. "I'm an old man, 'Raf, older than her by twenty years." "You're only as old as you make yourself," 'Raf said, "at least, right now you have that choice." "All right," he said, terror rising in him. "I accept." His heart pounded in his ears, almost too loud for him to hear his own voice. <> 'Raf said, and Trage met the young satyrlion's gaze, and felt himself sinking through layers of yellow and green. His body itched, intensely, and he was too hot, and his feet felt strange and his fingers were tingling, and the room was loud and echoey. He couldn't move, but that wasn't too bad because the hot and cold throbbing sensation that was running through him that was almost too pleasant. The itching stopped, and he shook his head, feeling a bit dizzy and light, and still too warm. His doublet was too tight, and he pulled it off, feeling a shiver of pleasure as his new fur sprang up and the air washed down his body. "You're gorgeous," Ruhollis said, stroking his face. He smelled her hand -- the cinnamon scent was almost overwhelming, and too complex, a mixture of love and heat and tenderness and fierce pride. "Why didn't you say you wanted children?" Trage said quietly. A scent of cloves began to rise from his own body, happiness, the hint of relief, attraction. They were startled by a strange, sharp barking sound, a yell of fury, and the *>SNAP<* of metal breaking on something. A woman was standing on the floor in front of 'Raf, a broken dagger in her hand, and he had a faint red line showing on his chest. He did something, a strange sense of presence in the room, and the woman collapsed to the floor, unconscious. "Sorry, folks. Knew this might not be easy. For anyone else that wants me dead, I'm not going to grant that wish, so give it up. The world didn't end because of a few minor body changes. Find a way to live with it." He lifted the unconscious woman, carrying her over to the stage, and placed her into the dark. A tall elven man followed 'Raf, concern showing in his expression. A brief conversation and the elf sat on the stage, tears running down his face. It only took about thirty more minutes. The children changed to match their parents. The old woman was talking to a young man with hair as white as her own, and a bag of gold changed hands, as the skunk-girls giggled together. A few others, like Trage and Ruhollis, had elected to match their mates. 'Raf went to the podium again, but this time the light rose in front of it. "Thank you for coming here tonight. Please, when you get to the door, wait a bit for it to figure out where you want to go." Trage whispered to Ruhollis. "Let's go home instead." "No, I want to go to the party first. How often do we get to go to wizard parties?" "All right. Wonder how many folks will go?"