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Daydream (Meet Hahona and Dea)
6 years ago
General
Welcome to the first of what will hopefully be a weekly thing: new character daydreams! I don't overthink them, I don't overedit them... I just sit down, write quickly, and get some folx out of my head and into the world.
I am hoping in March to extend this challenge to anyone who is interested! A weekly creative endeavor. Challenge yourself to an hour of fearless writing, and see who comes out of it.
- - - - -
It was a lovely day on Ilsa Calamata, as statistically most days were. The capital city of Calamata was freshly scrubbed by the recent seasonal rains, four days of high winds and torrential downpours. Wisps of ground fog swirled wherever shade was provided. Every window seemed to be thrown open, every inhabitant out and about in their best and brightest clothes.
Traditionally, the seasonal storms were a time of renewal, of starting fresh, and Dea Marie couldn’t have picked a better day for her appointment if she’d tried.
The petite goat clopped up to the TruU complex, her dainty hooves sounding too loud in her ears. She felt self-conscious in her gauzy dress, which was nearly see-through in the brilliant sunshine. Not because she felt especially nervous about folks seeing her quasi-naked body, far from it... she just felt as though she stood out in her current company.
Dea was sleek and straight, the lines of her scant bosom mirrored by her narrow hips. She’d always enjoyed the sight of her body in the mirror, proof of her dedication to her profession. Hanging up on the back of her bedroom door were more than three dozen medals, the majority of them brilliantly polished gold. Marathons, triathlons, ultramarathons, desert endurance trials, Dea had crushed them all.
She suppressed a tiny red flash of jealousy when she passed someone departing the steel and chrome TruU office, a lush and curvaceous bovine who seemed in danger of overflowing hir bikini in half a dozen places. Three breasts, each several times larger than Dea’s head, bounced and wobbled. More mass than Dea could reasonably get hir arms around strained behind a scandalously small triangle of material at the cow’s thighs. The little goat turned to unabashedly admire the cow’s ass as shi walked on, wide and plump and soft and inviting and-
“Blue ski-i-i-ies,” Dea sang under her breath, forcing herself to breath slowly. “Blue skies calling me o-o-o-on...”
Once she had regained control, she turned back to the building and pushed through into the cool front office.
. . . . .
There was a polite knock at the door. Almost instantly the door opened, and a brightly-plumed avian head poked in. “Rise and shine, Squiggles!” Doctor Washishi chirped brightly. “You’re needed in the prep theatre!”
Hahona Skaragli rustled in his tank. “It’s not Squiggles,” he sighed. “And I know. I have a schedule on my phone.”
“Yeah, well... you go through a lot of phones.”
Hahona lifted the black and gold rectangle out of the water, the screen brightly displaying the time in pink and blue hues. “This one is guaranteed waterproof. I got Legal to triple check their warranty conditions and everything.”
“Is it poison proof?”
He sighed again. “For the last time, I’m not poisonous-”
“Kidding! Kidding!” the bird of paradise giggled. “Time to suit up, though. This is going to be a tricky one.”
“You’ve done this before.”
“Not quite to this degree. Didn’t you read the paperwork?”
“I got through the first ten pages,” he said evasively.
“Then this is going to be very exciting for everyone. Chop chop!” Doctor Washishi swung her feathered hands as though literally chopping and then shut the door.
Hahona rose from his tank, sluicing gallons of brackish water. He was glaucus pacificus, more commonly known as a green dragon, though more colloquially known as a green sea slug. He knew that technically he was distantly related to true slugs, but was more closely related to sea snails, though since he lacked a shell it seemed a silly point to quibble over. He preferred to go by ‘nudibranch’, anyways. It sounded sexier.
His body was long and somewhat flattened and brilliantly striped. Lacking knees and elbows, his legs wobbled unsteadily as he reacclimated himself to supporting his tissues on dry land, his arms waving like seaweed. As he forced more fluid into the internal sacs and channels and chambers that allowed his kind to walk upright, his body became more obviously bipedal, seeming to acquire a faux musculature.
Confident that his transition was complete, he stepped out of his tank, grabbed a towel with his long, sinuous fingers, and started to towel off. He had enough water in his system to keep him properly moisted for nearly two days if he was careful, but there was almost nowhere on the TruU campus where he was more than thirty seconds from a water fountain or a good spritz bottle. And besides, his white doctor’s coat looked a lot better when it wasn’t sopping wet.
He opened the door, now properly identified by his nametag as Doctor Hahona Skaragli, and nearly bumped into Doctor Washishi. “Doctor,” he nodded down to her, now that he was nearly seven feet tall.
“Doctor,” the outrageously-buxom bird somehow grinned. She traced a feathered finger along his rubbery neck. “You all fed up?”
He waggled his own fingers back to her and smiled, his small toothless mouth flexing in a manner that had been quite difficult to learn. “Always.”
. . . . .
Dea lay on a large, surprisingly comfortable hospital bed, draped in white linens. The operating theatre was huge and nearly blinding, every inch of it polished chrome steel or bleached white ceramic. Calming music played in one ear, the tiny wireless headphone connected to a touch screen display mounted on the side of her bed.
She was far from calm, though. She was focusing on the device that was tracking her heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen saturation, and a hundred other biometrics. A tiny orange box in the corner of the screen was blinking WARNING, over and over.
“That’s normal,” a nurse said, patting Dea’s shoulder. “This place is hardly relaxing. Don’t worry, Doctor Squiggles will be here in a moment.
Dea blinked. “I’m sorry, Doctor-”
“My name is not Squiggles,” came a deep, melodious voice from somewhere behind Dea. She craned her neck but couldn’t see anything beyond her small mountain of pillows. “Honestly, I don’t know how often I need to say that.”
“It’s good for the patients!” the nurse laughed.
“Yes, but half the thank-you notes in my office read ‘Doctor Squiggles’. It’s unprofessional.”
“Spoilsport,” the nurse chided, and Dea chuckled. “See? You made the patient happy. Your job’s done, you can go now.”
The mysterious Doctor Not-Squiggles sighed and walked into view. Dea’s eyes widened at the strange, beautiful creature wearing the white coat. “My job is done when the patient walks out of here happy,” he said, turning his attention down to Dea. “Good morning, Miss Marie! My name is Doctor Squiggles.”
She held on for a fraction of a moment, and then burst out laughing, much louder than she’d intended. The exotic-looking doctor smiled and clasped his oversized hands together, his fingers twining like fronds of seagrass waving in the currents. “Ah, excellent. I see you’re already in high spirits. I would shake your hand, but that might delay this procedure for another week.”
Dea eventually got herself under control, but she was still giggling softly under her breath. The serious baritone voice coming out of the slightly-translucent green dragon nudibranch was a peculiar experience. “Definitely don’t want that,” she said softly. “Er... can I ask-”
Doctor Hahona raised a hand and allowed it to sway back and forth hypnotically. “My ancestors fed on poisonous siphonophores for millions of years,” he said. Tiny flecks of white surged back and forth just below the surface of his skin, as though he contained the very tides themselves. “Eventually, we learned not just to store their cnidocytes in our bodies, as defense against predators, but to produce our own.”
“An echidna-cyte?”
“Close,” he chuckled, tracing a fingertip along her forehead. She stiffened, but almost immediately relaxed back into her pillows. “Highly specialized cells, very nearly an entire subspecies in their own right. Explosive, too.”
“This isn’t relaxing me...”
“These cells can impart any of a thousand different, highly-specialized neurotoxins.”
“DEFINITELY not relaxing!”
Nurses were moving all around the operating theatre now. Lights were being moved, machines activated, trays wheeled around. Dea couldn’t help but notice how many of the nurses seemed to have taken part in TruU’s services, varying from outrageously buxom to spectacularly well-endowed, to other, more exotic iterations. “Toxins aren’t always bad,” he said softly, stroking her cheek now. Her face tingled, and then seemed to start going numb. “All medication is a toxin, really. The dose determines the effect, as they say. At the moment, I am applying some mild anaesthetics and calmatives to your system.”
“Thank you,” Dea sighed, reaching up to poke her cheek. Almost instantly her fingertip went numb. “Uh... whoops.”
“That’s fine,” Doctor Hahona smiled. “As they take effect, I am going to impart some compounds that will temporarily weaken your immune system. This will help your body to accept the new tissue. Some cnidocytes will start to break down the connective tissues in your pelvic floor, which will be rebuilt better and stronger by our gifted surgeons. Your bones will be softened and adjusted, and then hardened significantly tougher than they were before.”
“You’re just a walkin’ talkin’ pharmacy, aintcha?” Dea said, slurring gently. Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry, I don’t usually... I wouldn’t normally-”
The doctor laughed. “Perfectly all right. I have been told my initial anaesthetics are quite pleasant, and should be enjoyed. Now, you are going to be quite heavily medicated over the next week, so time might be a little... fluid. I am going to be checking on you hourly, monitoring your healing, and ensuring that there are no rejections or complications. I do not anticipate anything out of the ordinary, though! Your cell-grown enhancements have all checked out perfectly.”
Dea stirred, patting her hips down with tingling hands. “Can I... I mean... see...? Doctor Washishi sent me some pictures, but... I’s j’ess wondering if I’c’n...”
Doctor Hahona nodded and motioned to a nurse. The short, stocky skunkboi pushed what seemed to be another hospital bed over, but this one had a gleaming steel lid over it. The nudibranch touched the side of Dea’s head, tilting it so she could see as the lid was rolled back, steam tumbling out across the linens as though in some cheap monster movie.
The machines monitoring Dea began to beep anew.
“I see you approve,” the doctor said pleasantly. The skunk nurse leaned over the side of the cart and whistled appreciatively.
Resting on a gauzy bed of some strange white foam, Dea beheld an equine cock of breathtaking size. Grown from her own tissues, tweaked in a laboratory, TruU had been developing it for months to her exact specifications (though her specifications had... changed somewhat as time went on.)
“I trust it is as you hoped?”
Dea nodded, and almost immediately closed her eyes from dizziness. She forced them open, drinking in what would soon be waking up between her legs every day. For a certain definition of ‘between’, that is. It was considerably thicker than her thighs, and even resting flaccid was considerably longer.
“S’wonderful,” she yawned.
“Now, Miss Marie, I am going to have to get a little more personal with you now,” Doctor Hahona said, placing one hand against her linen-covered hip. “Are you all right with that?”
The lid was replaced, and the cart was wheeled away. The little goat turned her head up to the brilliantly-colored doctor, the rich emerald and creamy white stripes starting to swim before her eyes. “Very,” she mumbled.
As his fingers slipped beneath her gown, Dea’s final thoughts were of intense, dream-like pleasure, and hope for what the future would bring.
. . . . .
Doctor Hahona sat at his desk, his lower body submerged in fresh ocean water. Offers had been made for him to have a properly aquatic office, but he insisted that this was best for him to remain acclimated to surface life. His fingers moved slowly and awkwardly across the keyboard, but lately his typing accuracy had been quite good. According to his co-workers he was nearly typing at a third-grade level. For not having muscles or a skeleton, he felt that was pretty good.
He was catching up on the week’s paperwork when there was a ‘ding’ of a new e-mail. He tapped the screen (he was MUCH better with touch screens than he was with keyboards) and was delighted to see it was from a distantly familiar name.
Dear Doctor Squiggles, it started. Hahona rolled his small black eyes, and continued.
I don’t know if you remember me, but I was your patient nearly eight months ago. I’d never talked to you before that day, but you changed my life forever. You and everyone at TruU.
I had retired from sports the year before. Endurance athletes burn out quickly at the highest levels. The amount of work needed to stay competitive at the international stage was... frankly, more than I could bear anymore. I’d no time for friends, for family. I hadn’t even seen a new television show in a decade. I trained, and I competed, and I won, and... and then I wasn’t winning anymore.
When I was young, I had two dreams. I’d spent my whole life pursuing one of them, and when I couldn’t anymore, you helped make the other one come true.
I can’t ever thank you enough, you and your team. It’s been strange, living a life where I can’t run anymore, but I like to think I’ve found new things to do with all my energy.
Keep changing lives, Doctor. For as long as you can.
Dea Marie
(soon to be Dea Marie-Willingdon)
(by the way, you should Save The Date for August 29th!)
Attached to the bottom of the e-mail was a picture, taken on a beach at sunset. A tall, burly polar bear was standing knee-deep in the surf, wearing the traditional Ilsa Calamata tuxedo: black cutoff shorts and a black sleeveless vest. Cradled in his arms was a familiar face, that easy smile and those sparkling eyes below two tiny horns.
Hir hips were quite a bit wider and rounder than when he’d first met hir. Shi wore a flowing, gauzy dress, nearly see-through with the sun setting behind hir. It hugged hir curves, somehow loose and stretchy at the same time. It extended well past hir tiny hooves, though it was only barely long enough to provide even a semblance of modesty to the magnificently hyper outline of hir shaft.
Doctor Hahona’s eyes were drawn to the hand shi held up to the camera, and the shimmering ruby engagement ring shi now wore.
I am hoping in March to extend this challenge to anyone who is interested! A weekly creative endeavor. Challenge yourself to an hour of fearless writing, and see who comes out of it.
- - - - -
It was a lovely day on Ilsa Calamata, as statistically most days were. The capital city of Calamata was freshly scrubbed by the recent seasonal rains, four days of high winds and torrential downpours. Wisps of ground fog swirled wherever shade was provided. Every window seemed to be thrown open, every inhabitant out and about in their best and brightest clothes.
Traditionally, the seasonal storms were a time of renewal, of starting fresh, and Dea Marie couldn’t have picked a better day for her appointment if she’d tried.
The petite goat clopped up to the TruU complex, her dainty hooves sounding too loud in her ears. She felt self-conscious in her gauzy dress, which was nearly see-through in the brilliant sunshine. Not because she felt especially nervous about folks seeing her quasi-naked body, far from it... she just felt as though she stood out in her current company.
Dea was sleek and straight, the lines of her scant bosom mirrored by her narrow hips. She’d always enjoyed the sight of her body in the mirror, proof of her dedication to her profession. Hanging up on the back of her bedroom door were more than three dozen medals, the majority of them brilliantly polished gold. Marathons, triathlons, ultramarathons, desert endurance trials, Dea had crushed them all.
She suppressed a tiny red flash of jealousy when she passed someone departing the steel and chrome TruU office, a lush and curvaceous bovine who seemed in danger of overflowing hir bikini in half a dozen places. Three breasts, each several times larger than Dea’s head, bounced and wobbled. More mass than Dea could reasonably get hir arms around strained behind a scandalously small triangle of material at the cow’s thighs. The little goat turned to unabashedly admire the cow’s ass as shi walked on, wide and plump and soft and inviting and-
“Blue ski-i-i-ies,” Dea sang under her breath, forcing herself to breath slowly. “Blue skies calling me o-o-o-on...”
Once she had regained control, she turned back to the building and pushed through into the cool front office.
. . . . .
There was a polite knock at the door. Almost instantly the door opened, and a brightly-plumed avian head poked in. “Rise and shine, Squiggles!” Doctor Washishi chirped brightly. “You’re needed in the prep theatre!”
Hahona Skaragli rustled in his tank. “It’s not Squiggles,” he sighed. “And I know. I have a schedule on my phone.”
“Yeah, well... you go through a lot of phones.”
Hahona lifted the black and gold rectangle out of the water, the screen brightly displaying the time in pink and blue hues. “This one is guaranteed waterproof. I got Legal to triple check their warranty conditions and everything.”
“Is it poison proof?”
He sighed again. “For the last time, I’m not poisonous-”
“Kidding! Kidding!” the bird of paradise giggled. “Time to suit up, though. This is going to be a tricky one.”
“You’ve done this before.”
“Not quite to this degree. Didn’t you read the paperwork?”
“I got through the first ten pages,” he said evasively.
“Then this is going to be very exciting for everyone. Chop chop!” Doctor Washishi swung her feathered hands as though literally chopping and then shut the door.
Hahona rose from his tank, sluicing gallons of brackish water. He was glaucus pacificus, more commonly known as a green dragon, though more colloquially known as a green sea slug. He knew that technically he was distantly related to true slugs, but was more closely related to sea snails, though since he lacked a shell it seemed a silly point to quibble over. He preferred to go by ‘nudibranch’, anyways. It sounded sexier.
His body was long and somewhat flattened and brilliantly striped. Lacking knees and elbows, his legs wobbled unsteadily as he reacclimated himself to supporting his tissues on dry land, his arms waving like seaweed. As he forced more fluid into the internal sacs and channels and chambers that allowed his kind to walk upright, his body became more obviously bipedal, seeming to acquire a faux musculature.
Confident that his transition was complete, he stepped out of his tank, grabbed a towel with his long, sinuous fingers, and started to towel off. He had enough water in his system to keep him properly moisted for nearly two days if he was careful, but there was almost nowhere on the TruU campus where he was more than thirty seconds from a water fountain or a good spritz bottle. And besides, his white doctor’s coat looked a lot better when it wasn’t sopping wet.
He opened the door, now properly identified by his nametag as Doctor Hahona Skaragli, and nearly bumped into Doctor Washishi. “Doctor,” he nodded down to her, now that he was nearly seven feet tall.
“Doctor,” the outrageously-buxom bird somehow grinned. She traced a feathered finger along his rubbery neck. “You all fed up?”
He waggled his own fingers back to her and smiled, his small toothless mouth flexing in a manner that had been quite difficult to learn. “Always.”
. . . . .
Dea lay on a large, surprisingly comfortable hospital bed, draped in white linens. The operating theatre was huge and nearly blinding, every inch of it polished chrome steel or bleached white ceramic. Calming music played in one ear, the tiny wireless headphone connected to a touch screen display mounted on the side of her bed.
She was far from calm, though. She was focusing on the device that was tracking her heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen saturation, and a hundred other biometrics. A tiny orange box in the corner of the screen was blinking WARNING, over and over.
“That’s normal,” a nurse said, patting Dea’s shoulder. “This place is hardly relaxing. Don’t worry, Doctor Squiggles will be here in a moment.
Dea blinked. “I’m sorry, Doctor-”
“My name is not Squiggles,” came a deep, melodious voice from somewhere behind Dea. She craned her neck but couldn’t see anything beyond her small mountain of pillows. “Honestly, I don’t know how often I need to say that.”
“It’s good for the patients!” the nurse laughed.
“Yes, but half the thank-you notes in my office read ‘Doctor Squiggles’. It’s unprofessional.”
“Spoilsport,” the nurse chided, and Dea chuckled. “See? You made the patient happy. Your job’s done, you can go now.”
The mysterious Doctor Not-Squiggles sighed and walked into view. Dea’s eyes widened at the strange, beautiful creature wearing the white coat. “My job is done when the patient walks out of here happy,” he said, turning his attention down to Dea. “Good morning, Miss Marie! My name is Doctor Squiggles.”
She held on for a fraction of a moment, and then burst out laughing, much louder than she’d intended. The exotic-looking doctor smiled and clasped his oversized hands together, his fingers twining like fronds of seagrass waving in the currents. “Ah, excellent. I see you’re already in high spirits. I would shake your hand, but that might delay this procedure for another week.”
Dea eventually got herself under control, but she was still giggling softly under her breath. The serious baritone voice coming out of the slightly-translucent green dragon nudibranch was a peculiar experience. “Definitely don’t want that,” she said softly. “Er... can I ask-”
Doctor Hahona raised a hand and allowed it to sway back and forth hypnotically. “My ancestors fed on poisonous siphonophores for millions of years,” he said. Tiny flecks of white surged back and forth just below the surface of his skin, as though he contained the very tides themselves. “Eventually, we learned not just to store their cnidocytes in our bodies, as defense against predators, but to produce our own.”
“An echidna-cyte?”
“Close,” he chuckled, tracing a fingertip along her forehead. She stiffened, but almost immediately relaxed back into her pillows. “Highly specialized cells, very nearly an entire subspecies in their own right. Explosive, too.”
“This isn’t relaxing me...”
“These cells can impart any of a thousand different, highly-specialized neurotoxins.”
“DEFINITELY not relaxing!”
Nurses were moving all around the operating theatre now. Lights were being moved, machines activated, trays wheeled around. Dea couldn’t help but notice how many of the nurses seemed to have taken part in TruU’s services, varying from outrageously buxom to spectacularly well-endowed, to other, more exotic iterations. “Toxins aren’t always bad,” he said softly, stroking her cheek now. Her face tingled, and then seemed to start going numb. “All medication is a toxin, really. The dose determines the effect, as they say. At the moment, I am applying some mild anaesthetics and calmatives to your system.”
“Thank you,” Dea sighed, reaching up to poke her cheek. Almost instantly her fingertip went numb. “Uh... whoops.”
“That’s fine,” Doctor Hahona smiled. “As they take effect, I am going to impart some compounds that will temporarily weaken your immune system. This will help your body to accept the new tissue. Some cnidocytes will start to break down the connective tissues in your pelvic floor, which will be rebuilt better and stronger by our gifted surgeons. Your bones will be softened and adjusted, and then hardened significantly tougher than they were before.”
“You’re just a walkin’ talkin’ pharmacy, aintcha?” Dea said, slurring gently. Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry, I don’t usually... I wouldn’t normally-”
The doctor laughed. “Perfectly all right. I have been told my initial anaesthetics are quite pleasant, and should be enjoyed. Now, you are going to be quite heavily medicated over the next week, so time might be a little... fluid. I am going to be checking on you hourly, monitoring your healing, and ensuring that there are no rejections or complications. I do not anticipate anything out of the ordinary, though! Your cell-grown enhancements have all checked out perfectly.”
Dea stirred, patting her hips down with tingling hands. “Can I... I mean... see...? Doctor Washishi sent me some pictures, but... I’s j’ess wondering if I’c’n...”
Doctor Hahona nodded and motioned to a nurse. The short, stocky skunkboi pushed what seemed to be another hospital bed over, but this one had a gleaming steel lid over it. The nudibranch touched the side of Dea’s head, tilting it so she could see as the lid was rolled back, steam tumbling out across the linens as though in some cheap monster movie.
The machines monitoring Dea began to beep anew.
“I see you approve,” the doctor said pleasantly. The skunk nurse leaned over the side of the cart and whistled appreciatively.
Resting on a gauzy bed of some strange white foam, Dea beheld an equine cock of breathtaking size. Grown from her own tissues, tweaked in a laboratory, TruU had been developing it for months to her exact specifications (though her specifications had... changed somewhat as time went on.)
“I trust it is as you hoped?”
Dea nodded, and almost immediately closed her eyes from dizziness. She forced them open, drinking in what would soon be waking up between her legs every day. For a certain definition of ‘between’, that is. It was considerably thicker than her thighs, and even resting flaccid was considerably longer.
“S’wonderful,” she yawned.
“Now, Miss Marie, I am going to have to get a little more personal with you now,” Doctor Hahona said, placing one hand against her linen-covered hip. “Are you all right with that?”
The lid was replaced, and the cart was wheeled away. The little goat turned her head up to the brilliantly-colored doctor, the rich emerald and creamy white stripes starting to swim before her eyes. “Very,” she mumbled.
As his fingers slipped beneath her gown, Dea’s final thoughts were of intense, dream-like pleasure, and hope for what the future would bring.
. . . . .
Doctor Hahona sat at his desk, his lower body submerged in fresh ocean water. Offers had been made for him to have a properly aquatic office, but he insisted that this was best for him to remain acclimated to surface life. His fingers moved slowly and awkwardly across the keyboard, but lately his typing accuracy had been quite good. According to his co-workers he was nearly typing at a third-grade level. For not having muscles or a skeleton, he felt that was pretty good.
He was catching up on the week’s paperwork when there was a ‘ding’ of a new e-mail. He tapped the screen (he was MUCH better with touch screens than he was with keyboards) and was delighted to see it was from a distantly familiar name.
Dear Doctor Squiggles, it started. Hahona rolled his small black eyes, and continued.
I don’t know if you remember me, but I was your patient nearly eight months ago. I’d never talked to you before that day, but you changed my life forever. You and everyone at TruU.
I had retired from sports the year before. Endurance athletes burn out quickly at the highest levels. The amount of work needed to stay competitive at the international stage was... frankly, more than I could bear anymore. I’d no time for friends, for family. I hadn’t even seen a new television show in a decade. I trained, and I competed, and I won, and... and then I wasn’t winning anymore.
When I was young, I had two dreams. I’d spent my whole life pursuing one of them, and when I couldn’t anymore, you helped make the other one come true.
I can’t ever thank you enough, you and your team. It’s been strange, living a life where I can’t run anymore, but I like to think I’ve found new things to do with all my energy.
Keep changing lives, Doctor. For as long as you can.
Dea Marie
(soon to be Dea Marie-Willingdon)
(by the way, you should Save The Date for August 29th!)
Attached to the bottom of the e-mail was a picture, taken on a beach at sunset. A tall, burly polar bear was standing knee-deep in the surf, wearing the traditional Ilsa Calamata tuxedo: black cutoff shorts and a black sleeveless vest. Cradled in his arms was a familiar face, that easy smile and those sparkling eyes below two tiny horns.
Hir hips were quite a bit wider and rounder than when he’d first met hir. Shi wore a flowing, gauzy dress, nearly see-through with the sun setting behind hir. It hugged hir curves, somehow loose and stretchy at the same time. It extended well past hir tiny hooves, though it was only barely long enough to provide even a semblance of modesty to the magnificently hyper outline of hir shaft.
Doctor Hahona’s eyes were drawn to the hand shi held up to the camera, and the shimmering ruby engagement ring shi now wore.
