Can a mammal change?

I've been thinking about that a lot lately. Especially after the whole Bellwether fiasco. Our own Mayor turned out to be a criminal conspirator and a bio-terrorist. Was she always like that? Or did something in her turn to evil? Corrupt what was once a good sheep? Can someone like Dawn Bellwether even become 'good'?

I don't know about all that, but it got me thinking about changing, myself. And I don't mean the changes people have made for me, like being a part of the Pack. I mean changing from inside.

See, the other day I decided to make a household budget to see if I could trim fat from my spending anywhere. After deducting necessities -- food, utilities, and rent -- I found out that my only 'luxury' spending is the money I fritter away on fast food and convenience store snacks. A few bucks here or there doesn't seem like much, but man, it really adds up when you only work part-time. Hell, I spent over eighty bucks at Bug Burga last month alone.

At least part of it is because I don't really cook often. It's not because I don't know how or anything, I just find it to be too much of a hassle. But money's tight, so I should probably stop eating take-out and start making some cheap meals at home instead. Plus, ladies dig guys who can cook, right?

Anyway, there's plenty of other reasons I'd like to start cooking, so that's why I'm elbow-deep in my kitchen cabinets, rummaging through every cupboard in my apartment for a pot and some utensils to cook with. Eventually, tucked away behind a stack of telephone books, I find a skillet (which is basically the same thing as a pot, just a little flatter), a sheet pan, and a spatula. Well, it's not really a spatula so much as like, a wooden spoon with a flat edge, but I figure that's close enough.

A quick skim through the recipe app on my phone gives me the perfect dinner idea: macaroni and cheese! Now we're talkin'! It's tasty, it's filling, and it's so easy even a kid could make it. I mean, it's basically just pasta and melted cheese, right? Start with something idiot-proof. I've already got a box of noodles, and there's a nice brick of real cheddar cheese in my fridge. What more do I need?

With a grin, I toss my skillet on the stove and crank the heat up to begin boiling the macaroni. This is going to be epic.

 

"Fuck fuck fuck FUCK!"

I stretch on my hooftips, desperately reaching for the smoke detector overhead before it has a chance to alert the entire building. Just as I manage to grab hold of it, a shrill beep rings out.

"Shut up!" I demand, gracelessly ripping it from the ceiling and cutting it off before a second alarm can sound.

Hope no one heard that. I need to get back to it, so I hop off the table and hit the ground with a reverberating whud. Shit. Hope no one heard that. Hopefully Ozzy's out and about and not wondering why his upstairs neighbor's jumping around.

I sprint to the oven, throw the door open, and promptly get hit in the face with a thick plume of black smoke. Fuck! Window -- where's the window?!

Eventually I stumble through the haze over to my window and throw it open. The latches present some resistance, but a moment later I'm sucking fresh air with relief and fanning the remaining smoke out onto the street.

 

And that's when someone knocks on my door.

 

"Uh, just a second!" Fuck. Try to sound like you're not in the middle of a panic here, Remmy.

"Open up, lambchop." Avo? That's Avo's voice, a bit quieter than usual. "Quick."

Here comes the firing squad. I rub my soot-covered face off on the front of my shirt, plod over to the door, and with a deep breath, brace myself as I open up.

"Hey, Avo, what brings--"

"Shut up." Sniffing at the air, the slender jackal's expression sours as she takes in the spectacle of my smoldering kitchen. "What a mess. Did-- you didn't even turn off the oven!"

"Sure I-- I thought I did?" I blink as she crosses past me.

Clicking off the oven, her tail swishes and she glances from the window to the smoking appliance and back again. The lollipop in her mouth clacks loudly, rolling around between her teeth. Finally, she turns to me with a snap of her fingers.

"Gimme your shirt, quick."

"What?" I blink, glancing down at the ashy smear across the logo on my band shirt. "I'm not gonna--"

Avo interrupts me with a harsh, frustrated growl, suddenly reaching down and grabbing her pastel yellow sundress by the hem -- before peeling it right off over her head, leaving her in her underwear right in my living room?!

Normally I'm much more composed than this, but watching her wildly flap her outfit around in the air, dressed in just a matching set of black undies?! I gotta admit, I'm gawking. Dark chestnut fur runs the length of her slender frame, toned from untold hours at Packer's Gym. But all down her front, her markings are pale like mocha cream, visible from her belly to the tuft of fur poking over her bra. Something I've come to notice (and appreciate) in other mammals: underbelly colors. They really make her look, uh... nakeder? Like, they really highlight how--

"Hey, feel free to help me out any time here," she snaps. I blink twice to reorient myself to my current situation. "If you're just gonna stand there I'll have to start charging admission."

Oh. The smoke! Right. Of course, yeah, she's fanning the smoke out the window. Obviously. "Yeah, yeah, okay."

I hustle over to where she's standing and haul off my own top, flapping it into the thinning cloud of black smoke and billowing it toward the window. I actually think it's working. The air in the apartment is getting more breathable, anyway. I can't help but glance at Avo while I'm doing it -- and not to ogle, I mean, because I'm trying to figure out why she came in here. Surely she didn't come downstairs just to help me of all mammals out? Maybe she just smelled something burning and wants to get the room more tolerable before she doles out whatever hilarious zinger she's got saved up in her head.

But a minute or two later, she's still silent (and half-naked) when she rests a paw on the window.

"Right, I think that's most of it."

"So what's with the house call?" I ask, wary. "You looking out f--"

A sudden pounding at my door stops me dead in my tracks. Avo stiffens up, glancing to me, and we stare at each other for a few seconds before she suddenly breaks out of the freeze, hustling to the door while smoothly slipping her dress back on over her head.

She cracks my apartment door open and from the spot where I'm bolted to the ground, I can see Al's enormous white wolf snout jab through the opening, peering in.

"Avo?" he snorts, tone gruff but surprised. "What's going on in here? Is everything okay?"

She leans casually against the doorframe, blocking the Alpha's view of the kitchen. "Right as rain, boss."

"I smell smoke."

"Crumbs in the toaster," Avo answers him. "Won't happen again, don't sweat it."

His gaze traces over to me, and I realize suddenly I still have my shirt off, clutched in my hoof.

I can see his teeth gleam as he growls out another question. "...what are you two doing?"

"Practicing kissing," the jackal responds without missing a beat. "Now, I got everything under control. Don't you worry about a thing. Just enjoy your day off."

I watch the Alpha's keen eyes slowly narrow, but a moment later, he backs out of the doorway and Avo gently clicks it shut after him. Once his footsteps can be heard receding up the stairs, she lets out a long, relieved sigh.

"Now," she smirks, reloading her spent lollipop with a fresh one and tossing the old stick into my trash can, "what exactly were you trying to make? Other than a charcoal briquette, I mean."

A bleat escapes my lips. "What was that?!"

"What was what?"

"That!" I shove my hooves at the door. "Did you just cover for me?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she smirks, passing me with a patronizing pat on my pompadour. "Just trying to keep the peace. Last thing we need right now is even more arguing about a problem that's already settled."

"Well, I appreciate it." I sniff the air. It seems clear enough, so I finally close the window. "I definitely don't need to be in any worse shit with Al than I am already."

She kneels in front of the oven, wafting the air away and staring inside with a look on her face like some snarky quip is just waiting for its chance to bubble up to the surface. Using a washcloth she's grabbed off the dishrack, she carefully eases the smoldering baking sheet out of the oven and sets it on one of the cold stovetop burners.

"So, I'll ask again." She looks over her shoulder at me while pointing to my charred mess of a dinner attempt. "What on earth were you trying to cook? This looks like the world's most unfortunate casserole."

"...mac and cheese," I quietly mumble.

"You -- mac and cheese?" Her jaw hangs slack as her eyes dart almost cartoonishly from me to the skillet and back again. "This is just-- crunchy pasta and burnt cheddar! Why the cookie sheet? And why is it in the oven?"

"Uh, because I didn't have a pan, and I was using the pot to boil the water already?" I reply defensively, arms folded.

"What, you mean the skillet? Do you not own an actual pot?"

I cough in wordless embarrassment as she turns in place, taking in the rest of my apartment with arched eyebrows. Truthfully, I don't own a lot of cookware, or utensils. Or... much of anything else, really.

In fact, my entire apartment's practically barren. I haven't done a lot with the place since I moved in. When it comes to furniture, I have the barest possible minimum -- a bed, a nightstand. A beat-up dresser for my clothes with a couple of drawers that get stuck if you push them all the way in. A kitchen table with wobbly-legged wooden chairs that don't even match, and a threadbare couch in front of a crappy old TV set. No decorations, no books for the shelves, not even a poster for the walls. I mean, I own posters, but I've just never put them up. Maybe I figured I wouldn't be here long enough to bother.

"Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure this is my first time in your apartment, and, uh... yikes," Avo comments, nudging one of my kitchen chairs with her toe and watching it teeter. "It's pretty, uh... austere in here, isn't it."

"Yeah. Sorry it's not exactly a penthouse at the Hoofton," I grumble as she struts past me, picking up the smoke alarm off the table and effortlessly returning it to its spot on the ceiling. "I've had other things on my mind besides interior decorating."

She chuckles, tapping a clawed finger on my forehead. "Yeah, mile a minute up here, I'm sure."

I huff back, shoving my hooves in my pockets and attempting to take it in stride -- even though I really don't feel like it.

"Hey, I may be hard-headed, but I guarantee there's at least a little gray matter in there."

Still, she's got a point -- if I'm gonna keep staying here, there's probably no reason I can't start trying to make things a little more comfortable for myself.

With her long tail wagging, Avo swishes her way across my apartment and hoists herself up backwards, sitting on the edge of my kitchen counter and kicking her legs like a little kid. She scans the room, maybe looking for something, and every few seconds there's a loud clack from her lollipop shifting between her teeth. She brushes out a few wrinkles in her outfit. I try not to think about the fact she wasn't wearing that dress just a few moments ago.

Finally her eyes come back to me, and a toothy smirk slowly cuts across her face. Ah boy, here it comes.

"Look, no offense, but I'm really not in the mood, so if you can just stow whatever hilarious joke you're about to make at my expense..."

She raises her brows, looking down at me. "Guess you're free for lunch, huh?"

"Look, I said--"

"Don't worry," she smiles slightly, reaching out and patting my woolly coif with one paw. "This isn't some shtick. Promise. Just assumed you haven't eaten."

I gesture lamely to the smoldering slag on the stove. "No. I haven't."

"Me either, actually. You wanna come upstairs to my place and have dinner?" she asks, jerking her thumb to the door.

"Wait, really?!" I ask, jaw dropping. "You don't mind?"

"Nah. Besides, I don't get to entertain company often, and hell... I can give you a few tips on how to heat up food without burning your apartment down. You might even get some 'interior decorating' advice, if you ask nicely."

"Yeah, okay -- I mean, yeah!" I nod quickly as she hops down from the counter, plodding to the door. "Yeah, I'd like that! Uh, are you sure you don't mind?"

"Well, now you're starting to make me second guess it. C'mon. It'll do you some good to have a real dinner for once. Maybe put some mutton on those bones."

I hurry along after her, shutting the door behind me as we exit the apartment. "Hey, I'm not about to pass up a free meal."

She laughs, plucking her lollipop from her mouth. "Who said anything about free?"

"So what what are we having, anyway?"

 

"I'll be honest, I figured you'd start me out with something a little easier than stir-fry."

"It's healthier, cheaper, and tastier than Bug Burga." Avo chuckles, chopping up vegetables for our dinner. "That makes it a great place to start. Not as hard as it looks, either."

"So what kind of pan is this?" I peer deeply into the bizarre metal container in front of me. "It's all round and big and... well, round."

"Excellent description, cotton swab. Ten points," she grins, swishing over to me with her paws full. "It's called a 'wok'. What, you've never seen one before?"

"I watch more daytime drama than cooking shows," I admit, studying it intently. As long as I'm here, I might as well try to learn something. "So in your opinion, is this another 'basic essential' I should have in my kitchen?"

She laughs easily, scraping the onions and thick orange carrots she just chopped up into the wok before setting her cutting board back down on the kitchen counter.

"No, not really. I got one as a gag gift a couple of years ago and figured I might as well learn how to use it," she says. "It's perfect for stir fry and stuff like that, but for day-to-day stuff you're way better off with just normal pots and pans. Now here, give it a dash of this."

"Got it," I nod, splashing a little oil in from the bottle she's handed me before capping it and setting it aside. "Done. Now what?"

"Good. Now -- you go ahead and start stirring them," Avo instructs, handing me a proper spatula. "Don't overstir them, but don't let them go too long either or they'll burn."

Taking the tool from her, I notice an immediate difference with its rubber grip. Sure is a lot easier for me to hold onto with a hoof than that crummy wooden spoon I was using earlier. I could get used to this.

"I didn't realize something could be 'overstirred'. Why aren't we adding all the vegetables in at the same time?"

"Firmer veggies go in first, like the onions and the carrots," she explains, opening her refrigerator and pulling out a small plastic grocery bag full of green beans. "You have to give the harder ones time to soften up."

"Kind of like Al," I mutter, stirring as instructed.

Shaking the beans into a bowl, Avo runs them under the cold water tap. It's obvious that she's not a professional chef or anything, but based on her enthusiasm, she clearly seems to enjoy cooking for its own sake.

"I think you're the better example," she says after a moment.

"Me? Hey, I've been doing my part to 'keep the peace' lately, too. But you saw how he came in just looking for a fight." I shake the pan like I've seen on TV and nearly spill a bunch of veggies out.

"Go easy there," she warns.

I swirl the pan, oiled veggies coasting around the rim. Sigh. "I just thought I was getting somewhere with him, you know? And now it's like we're back to square one. I half-expect he's gonna go back to shaking me down for my lunch."

With a sigh to match my own, Avo rolls her shoulders, grabbing a bottle off a shelf. "You don't understand, fluff. You really don't. It's not like that."

"'You don't understand, you don't understand'," I repeat back in a frustrated tone, angrily stirring the wok. "That's all I ever hear! Ever since I moved in, it's 'Remmy doesn't understand'! I never understand, it's all you guys can say! I'm tired of always being wrong!"

The heat of the kitchen is starting to get to me. I wipe my forehead with the back of my free hoof and splash a little more oil in from the bottle, which Avo then carefully puts back in the cupboard.

"Remmy's always wrong," I grumble, tired. "I'm always the one who gets told off or talked down to. I always have to be the one to apologize."

"You mean like with Neil?"

I stop shaking the stir fry long enough to glance up at Avo, who gently steps in and eases the wok handle out of my hoof, gently swirling it over the burner.

"Yeah, I heard about that," she smiles, just slightly. "Cliff wouldn't miss a chance to gossip if his life depended on it."

"Well, one time isn't much exception," I mutter back, stepping away from the stove and shoving my hooves in pockets.

She swings her hips and flicks her tail to the same rhythm she stirs, too busy watching the meal to face me as she speaks. "Funny. I seem to remember Ozzy being the one to bury the hatchet between you two. And I bet that fancy gym bag you've been toting around came from Al's apology."

"Look, I'm just tired of being shot down." It's a little cooler by the window. There's even a bit of a breeze today. "It feels like it's me against the whole neighborhood sometimes."

"See, that's exactly why you don't understand, fluff. You're not wrong all the time because you're some brain-boiled idiot, or because you got your facts outta some misprinted book. You're wrong because of how you keep looking at things. It's a pattern." She finally takes the food off the heat, and starts digging through the cabinets. "It's like something in you is trying to always see the worst in people. Always thinking we're out to get you. Like you never heard of giving someone the benefit of the doubt."

I scoot out of her way as she rummages through a drawer for napkins.

"Yeah, well, you guys didn't exactly welcome me with open arms," I huff.

A sudden slam causes me to jump, and I turn to see Avo rolling her eyes with her paw on the drawer. "See, now, that's the kind of thing I'm talking about. You'd be singing a different tune if you knew the truth."

"Oh, what 'truth'?!" I fold my arms over my puffy middle and scoff in a tone that comes off bleating. "Al basically mugged me for my lunch! First impressions count for a lot."

"Yeah, I heard about that too. But let's get one thing straight," she nods, setting a pawful of fancy cloth napkins aside to scratch her nose. "That wasn't your first meeting, now, was it?"

"What?"

"You spent your whole first week here refusing to even look at us. Didn't even say 'hello' back, wouldn't make eye contact, nothing. Not the slightest acknowledgement. You came rolling in here like you couldn't stand to be in the same building with us, let alone the same room. So I figured -- and I'm sure most of the Pack did too -- 'hey, he wants to be an asshole, we'll treat him like one'. What's one more angry loner?"

I drop my hooves to my sides, stammering for a response. I barely even remember my first week here. I knew Al before that meetup, but he seemed intimidating from the get-go. Hell, everyone on the street had me quaking.

She sucks in a lungful of air, looking more ramped up than I think I've seen her in a long time. "And normally I wouldn't get into it -- I really ain't one to to tell tales out of school -- but it's funny you mention that time with the sandwich, because later that day, Al came to see each of us."

I laugh bitterly, turning away to the window. "What, to warn you about me?"

"No. He came knocking at my door to give me a heads-up. Y'know what he said?"

She walks around beside me so she can make eye contact, leaning against the wall.

"He said, 'we've got a stray'."

I blink.

"What?" I turn to face her. "Me?"

Avo nods quietly.

"He called me a-- what, that same day?"

"Not even Charlie had you figured out that quick."

I rub my hooves through my pompadour, squinting. "I don't understand. What's...? Why did he--"

She begins counting off on her fingers. "Angry little sheep, far away from home, mad at the world, doesn't want to talk with anyone... and he eats bug meat. Guess he just... put the pieces together."

"'The pieces'," I echo blankly. "What-- what 'pieces'?"

"I get it. Can't choose who you're related to. But look, Rem, your shitty family notwithstanding, we made sure--"

"Hey." I stomp my heel on the floor, raising a hoof to cut her off. "You don't know my family."

She holds her paws up, palms facing me, like she's surrendering. "If I overstepped--"

"You did."

"...then I apologize. I didn't mean to assume."

She waits a second or two, watching me, and I lower my hoof with a nod.

"Anyway, very next day, the twins came over just to ask you if you wanted to hang out. Betty pops your lock for you. Annie and Ozzy both took time out at the party to check up on you." She pulls an empty lollipop stick from her mouth, trashing it in the nearby bin without replacing it, for a change. Instead the jackal raises the back of her paw to her head, mock-dramatically. "Even yours truly started going easy on you. Sharing my candy, not to mention my valuable advice!"

She relents with a sigh, clapping her paw to my shoulder and patting me a few times.

"That's my point, fluff. And you're not the first stray we've brought in. We've been a lot more welcoming than you seem to think. Just... you know, in our own way. I mean, yeah, maybe we're a little crass sometimes, and Al can't exactly be too humble--"

"What about you? What do you do when I'm around but chomp candy and snark at me?" I grin, joking. Well, half-joking.

"Oh, like I haven't been the angel on your shoulder from day one!" She laughs, paw to her chest and head tossed back indignantly. "Who pulled you aside when you went rushing into that tiff between Alpha and Beta to fill you in on how dominance displays work? Who took you to Packer's and showed you around? Who tried to stop you the day of that big blowout? I've been in your corner this whole time, and you're insulting me? I'm shocked -- yes! Shocked and hurt, that you would write me off so rudely. Just more proof you've misunderstood our intentions!"

"And Marty?" I raise my brows.

"Oh, no, yeah, Marty just plain hates you," she laughs.

I can't help but smirk, too. Avo's kind of got an infectious smile, and for as overwhelmed as I feel right now, I'll take what I can get.

"...but point is, you gotta meet us halfway. You're a part of the Pack now. That means you're one of us. And we're all in this together, one way or another. You're making steps already, so just -- give it a chance. Maybe you'll see."

I chew my lip, not quite ready to let this go. "It still doesn't feel fair. Like I'm held to a different standard than everyone else."

"How so?"

"Okay, like... I got in a lot of trouble when I called Betty-- when I used the 'B-word'. But you guys call me names every other breath. So what, I'm not allowed to get mad about it?"

She cocks her head to one side. "Are you mad?"

"Huh?"

"Well, look -- Marty would give you some spiel about how it's about power dynamics and social context and all that, but I'll make it even simpler." Avo rests against the wall by her elbows, giving me her full attention. "If you called me a 'B-word' right now, I would be upset. So let me ask you: does it upset you when I call you 'fluff'?"

I sniff, considering. Her tone is strangely earnest. Given who I'm talking to, I'd expect this to be some set-up for a punchline, but there's no hint of snark in her voice -- not this time. It feels like a real question. So I decide to give it a real thought, and a moment later, a real answer.

"...I guess not."

"Okay," she shrugs. "So it is okay if I call you fluff?"

I shrug back. "Yeah."

She nods, smiling a little. "Okay then. How about all those other colorful terms? Is there anything you don't want me calling you?"

I move to speak up and she snaps, pointing a finger at me and cutting me off before I start.

"Besides 'predophile'. Don't worry. I'm filing that one off right now."

"'Grazer'," I mutter almost reflexively. "Everything else is okay, probably? Even 'cotton swab' and 'yarn ball' are kinda funny, I guess. But I don't like 'grazer'."

"Got it," she wags a finger in mid-air like she's making some imaginary check-mark. "Tell you what, fluff, I'll make sure the whole Pack knows not to use the 'G-word'."

I must be smiling, because she tilts her head the other way and slowly smiles back. It's not the same toothy smile I usually see on her. It's kinda nice, actually.

I take a deep breath, hold it a second, and let it go. There is a breeze coming in off the street, I'm sure of it now. Air's usually more stale than this. But it's real clear today.

 

After nearly burning my apartment down trying to make dinner, being forced to smell this amazing stir-fry the whole time we've been talking has been nothing short of criminal.

Despite hunger so strong I think my stomach's trying to eat itself, I patiently wait, hooves clasped, for Avo to finish the final steps plating the dinner she's made. To distract myself, I decide to take a moment and really drink in her apartment. While I've been here before, it seems like until this moment I've been too tense to really appreciate it. I'm amazed at how much fancier it is than mine -- even though I guess that's not really saying much.

Not gonna lie, Avo's really got a point about that 'interior decorating' thing, and as much as I'm surprised to find myself admitting it, she's got great taste. Everything in her apartment -- from the striped throw rug on the floor, to the statuette on her coffee table, to the tribal masks hanging along the wall above her sofa -- all looks as if it was expertly-picked. Ever seen one of those shows where a bunch of designers go in and do a complete remodel for some dump? I feel like my apartment's the "before" and hers is the "after".

Her place is decorated but not cluttered; eye-catching but not gaudy. Sure, her paintings are probably prints, and the ornate knick-knacks lining her bookcase are probably just cheap trinkets from souvenir shops, but it doesn't matter. While nothing in here is expensive, the way it all comes together seems... oh, how's that saying go?

More than the sum of its parts?

...and in a way, I'm starting to think that describes Pack Street pretty well, too.

I'll admit it, Avo was right -- I've been wrong about a lot of things. Not the least of which being my assessment of her. If she of all mammals thinks I'm on my way to fitting in more, then I've got to be. And that alone's enough of a vote of confidence for me to want to try hanging in there a little longer.

"Here you go, fluff," she says, setting a full bowl of stir-fry and a rolled-up napkin on my placemat before doing the same for herself. "Looks good, huh?"

"You aren't kidding. Though at this point I think I'm hungry enough to eat a shoe," I grin, reaching for my fork...

...only to realize there isn't one.

Her kitchen table's adorned with classy placemats, a pair of salt and pepper grinders, and even two glass bottles full of what I'm guessing are oil and vinegar -- but there's no fork anywhere. Or spoon, or knife, or anything.

"Uh... I think you forgot something," I mutter, brow furrowed.

"Hmm?" she asks.

"Something to eat with?" I reply, tapping the bowl for emphasis.

"Oh, check your napkin," she answers, unwrapping her own.

I do as instructed, unrolling the cloth beside my bowl before spotting the tips of a pair of polished wooden sticks.

"Chopsticks?"

"Never eat stir-fry without them. I don't know what it is, but they taste better than with a fork."

"I mean -- yeah, they're cool and all, but there's no way I could use 'em," I sigh, wiggling my hooftips at her. "I'd be lucky to stab the veggies with them, if I got anything at all."

"You sure? Take a closer look," she replies cryptically.

Frowning, I finish pulling them out of the wrapping -- and my expression flips to a grin in an instant. These chopsticks have rubber grips and a spring-loaded connector at the end that holds both sticks together.

"Heeyyy, now we're talking!" I laugh, clicking them in my hoof and watching in fascination as they work like a pair of pinchers. "These kinda rule!"

Reaching into the bowl with my new utensils, I'm amazed at how easy they are to pick things up with. Sure, a fork's probably still easier, but the cool novelty factor alone makes me want to eat the entire dinner with these things. Scooping up a well-seasoned pepper, I take a bite and instantly feel my mouth watering. This is absolutely delicious.

"You like?"

"Hell yeah!" I reply between bites. "I've always wanted to be able to eat with chopsticks -- but... well, hooves, y'know? Did you seriously buy these just in case I came by to eat?"

"Oh, please. I've entertained ungulates before."

"Uh huh. Suuure."

Suddenly she slaps the side of her cheek, eyes wide. "Oh gosh, Remmy, you're right! I picked them up just waiting and praying for the day you'd toddle up the stairs and come bursting through my door like the woolly stud I know you are!"

I nod, knowingly. "Called it."

Taking hold of her own chopsticks, she dextrously scoops up a bite of carrot and pops it in her muzzle with a smirk. "Mmm. This turned out even better than I expected."

"You make a good stir-fry," I agree.

"We made this, fluff," she corrects through a cheekful of carrot. "You helped."

I sheepishly stir through the bowl, smiling in spite of myself.

"I guess I did."

 

One tasty dinner later, I'm finishing up rinsing off the dishes in the sink while Avo puts away the last of the leftover ingredients.

"So, where's your roommate?"

"You can just ask," she replies with an odd smile, closing the refrigerator door.

"What's with the second bedroom?" I bleat out immediately.

She grins toothily, stifling a laugh at my response. "I use it for work."

Oh, okay. That makes sense. Grabbing a small towel from the rack next to the sink, I dry off the bowls and stash them in the cupboard they came from before something clicks in my head.

"Wait, you work retail at Pandora's, right?" Wiping my hooves, I look up at her in confusion. "Are you like, subleasing your extra room to her so she can stash her unsold dildos at your place or something?"

"If you're that curious, I'll just show you, Mr. Nosey," she tuts with a click of her tongue, motioning for me to follow her across the apartment.

Shrugging, I toss the towel on the counter and fall in behind her as we exit the kitchen. Opening the door to her mysterious extra bedroom, Avo walks in ahead of me and turns the lights on before spreading her arms with a sarcastic flourish.

"There you go," she replies, leaning against the frame. "Knock yourself out."

Cautiously, I make my way around her, stepping inside what appears to be...

...just a second bedroom.

The visual theme is black and gold, not unlike a lot of the furniture in the main room, but other than a few pieces of standing decor, there's not much here at all. Definitely not for storage. A large bed in the center of the room with silky sheets the color of the night sky, topped with a pair of tassled golden pillows resting against the ornate headboard. A nightstand nearby holds a small lamp and a bottle of paw lotion. Across from the bed is a large dresser, upon which sits a laptop computer plugged into a wall charger.

Weirdly, I can't shake the feeling that I've been in here before, somehow.

"Huh," I mutter, tracing the sheets of the bed with a hooftip absently. "Interesting."

"Yeah. Isn't it just?" she replies with a dry smirk.

She watches me as I walk around the bed to the dresser, where, leaned beside it, is the only other object of interest in the otherwise sparse, plain bedroom: a large video camera, resting on top of a tripod.

I don't know much about cameras, but I can tell that this thing's way nicer than the sort of camcorder you'd see around here. It's a high-powered, industrial model with a huge lens and a big on-board microphone. The tripod it's sitting on has wheels and an adjustable arm for the camera -- if anything, I'd assume it belongs in a studio rather than my neighbor's apartment. Connected to the back of the camera is a long cord running all the way to the laptop on the dresser. Is she using this for video conferencing or something? If so, it's... kind of overkill for a webcam, isn't it?

"High quality tripod camera in the bedroom?" I ask with a chuckle, examining it with interest. "What, don't tell me you make homemade porn in here."

Glancing over my shoulder, I stop, realizing Avo's intently watching me.

"I do," she replies.

I reflexively laugh, but cut myself off when I notice that her expression -- a calm smile and raised eyebrows -- doesn't budge.

I nearly choke on my tongue.

"You're not kidding." The words spill out of my mouth.

"I perform live adult camera shows for a select clientele. It's quite good money."

"You just--" I glance quickly from the camera to the bed, then back to Avo. "Why are you telling me--??"

She shrugs calmly, leaning in the door frame. "You asked. I'm not ashamed of it, if that's what you're implying. And I'm sure everyone in the building knows about it."

"No, no." I stand there kinda dumbly, shaking my head. "No, I mean, love what you do, right? Heh. Uh. I wasn't suggesting you should be ashamed, or anything."

I scratch my head nervously, unable to take my eyes off the lavish bedspread.

"You uh, like, ever do two-person shows, or...?"

"...okay, time to go," she groans, clicking the lights out before I've even left the room.