“Pet?” He woke her, shaking her. “Dinner with MD?”

She cursed, rolling away. 

“Hungry,” he said. She rolled further away, but he caught her. Juggling her until she was upright. 

“Upstairs,” he added, face tipped to the ceiling. Letting her know that she wouldn’t have to go far, at least.

She groaned, looking for her scattered clothes. He had them neatly piled at the foot of the bed. It felt awful to get in them, again. The seam of the uniform pants were exquisitely uncomfortable against her still ruined labia and clit. 

“Carry me?” she asked, half-joking.

He merely huffed in response.

She was glad to be able to walk with him again, though. Down the corridor. Back up the escalator with him. Hearing the rolling quiet of other people in their rooms. One piercing cry that was definitely sexual. Which made her cringe, wondering if anyone had heard them. Almost assuredly. She’d ask for his palm, the next time.

They went into the public rooms, and she fell closer to him. Fingers going to the seam of his hip pocket for something to cling on to. Shrinking into him. It was just too big and overwhelming. And she was uncomfortable when she didn’t have her back to a wall in an open space, now. He weaved easily through the tight tables, even though he was big, and had her latched onto him. 

“Pull up a chair,” Doc roared, clearly still in full carousing mode when he spotted them. She had to kind of haul herself into the chair. Just slightly too high to sit in comfortably. Letting her bare feet kick lazily above the floor.

“C’mere, c’mere,” Doc gestured at her with a curled tentacle. She leaned in to him merrily. “They… Got… Beans. They got real-ass, Earth beans here, if you want, my pretty. If you’re feeling especially spendthrift… I hear they have some of the original cans of spiced perch for good ol’ Ruskie breakfast on sale.”

“What’s perch? What’s Ruskie?” she asked, wondering exactly what he got his tentacles on to make him so silly. 

“Ah, poor dearie… Good lord, I was on Earth long ago… The humans don’t remember the humans I remember… Well, fuck if I ain’t older than a satellite.” 

Her Brute was uninterested. As soon as he saw her playing along and getting silly with Doc, he seemed to check out. She jumped and screamed, feeling movement under the table. Flicking the tablecloth up, she saw Pharaoh chowing down on something. Well, good.

A Nomo, but dressed in traditional Martian garb, was at their table quite suddenly. Doc gestured expansively.

“Brute plate for the Brute, Gourmand for myself, and the human needs the human special,” he said. 

“Gee, but it’s great to be back home,” Doc suddenly sang. Or the closest thing he was capable of producing.

“Huh?” she asked, laughing again. 

“Albedo has always been the good doctor’s home base,” her Brute said.

“It’s not that it’s home so much as it’s where I wanna be,” Doc said. “What I do, see, I take long, high-paying contracts with research vessels. Store me little coins. And then blow it all on women and partying in Albedo until there ain’t no more, and sign back up for the seas with me hearties once it’s all run out.” 

“On spending money,” her Brute interrupted, making both of them turn to him. “Where can she go to get human clothes?”

“Ah, easy enough,” Doc said. “I’ll send her in the right direction in the morning.” 

She hadn’t thought about it. She’d become so accustomed to living in nothing that was her own. Only occasionally sharply aware of the fact that she hadn’t worn shoes in months. And while she hadn’t had the opportunity to check the balance of her funds, she trusted to Doc’s estimation of comfort. It’d be good to have shoes again. Clothes that fit. Even just things she had chosen. Things that were hers, and more than just expedient coverings. 

“Good,” her Brute said. “You’ll just have to be careful on your own.” Directed at her.

“Why alone?” she asked, fiddling with the various bottles and bins on the table, sniffing whatever accoutrements had been placed there.

“Looking beyond the present,” he said.

“He’s got to see a man about a horse,” Doc muttered. 

“What?” she asked.

“He’s on the wallaby,” Doc said a little louder, as if this elucidated his previous statement.

Their meal was served at that point. Looking at her plate was like being given a bad gift from an unexpected quarter. Lovely to be thought of; exactly the wrong thing. Rounded, thick buckwheat noodles with rehydrated tomato sauce. Minced black beans fashioned into what she assumed were supposed to be meatballs. Happily a small plate of dried fruit, she assumed, beside another plate of chia porridge. Canned fish– served in the can, beside a shallow bowl of– after sticking her finger in it and licking it to see what it was– yogurt sauce. Minced meat served with jarred peppers. Someone had tried very hard and failed spectacularly. 

She picked around, eating what she liked, plucking some things off the Brute’s plate as well. Treating him to the same from her plate. Unsurprisingly, he liked the meat and fish. But most Refaite food seemed highly seasoned, or just strong to her, so of course he liked the things that seemed to have been aging in sodium. 

Everything from Doc’s nearly table-sized platter seemed as though it would be highly risky for her stomach, so she didn’t even ask. When something raised itself up and skittered from one edge of the plate to the other, she was further thankful for having not reached onto his plate. 

“I am going to see a colleague about a possible contract,” the Brute finally explained. She nodded, stripping the bad tomato sauce off the noodles and dipping them instead into the oil from the peppers beside the minced meat. They worked better so with something spicy and green than the tinny tomatoes. 

They had a surprisingly nice dinner. She was waiting for that tough feeling of dissolution she usually felt when the Brute and her were out in public. It didn’t happen today. Grateful. Wondering at everyone’s ease, but unwilling to question it. 

Maybe it was simply because Doc was provably a friend. Perhaps simply because they were no longer on the ship and that therefore things had definitely changed. Or maybe they’d just gotten to some uncommunicated agreement. She didn’t know, and couldn’t worry about it.

Doc and her fought over the eventual bill. He waved her off. The Brute nearly lifted her from the chair as they finished. Hurrying her back to the room. Once they’d tumbled through the door, she grabbed onto the front of him.

“Are we going to talk about what next?” she asked.

“No,” he said. 

“Oh, but–” she began to say, before being interrupted.

“No,” he reiterated. “Because I don’t know what happens next, yet.”

That was satisfactory. At least for tonight. So instead, they got each other undressed and fell into bed. She wasn’t sure how it was her body could tell, but it felt good to be in bed on real ground. Like her eyelids were heavier, or her feet more comfortably slumped outwards. That the bed was more real. She couldn’t explain to herself what sensation was different. Besides, she thought, curling up between his open arm and side, what really mattered was she was sharing a bed again.

Doc stood beside her outside of the inn the next morning. Giving direction to the eventual transporter. The Brute had left earlier, with a brief grunt of “later” at her. Oddly like being back on the ship with him. He would go about his day, she, hers. Except now, she was getting to do more than be in isolation. 

Every time she left an enclosed space now, she felt oppressively anxious. But it was usually brief. Often mitigated if the Brute was in arm’s reach. She was concerned about how she would react out alone in public without him today.

But oddly, the cityscape of Albedo set her at ease. It was like being at home. While she was surrounded by aliens instead of humans, the environment was similar. Everyone moving quickly. Ignoring each other. Everyone on their own business. She estimated that only about five percent of anyone she saw were human. When she saw another one, her heart leapt. She often wanted to reach out with both hands and gasp “hello” at them. But most didn’t acknowledge her at all. Just the same non-seeing slide of eyes she would have experienced back home. The humans were even more likely to look at her with distaste because she was dressed like a vagrant. And she knew she looked sloppy. 

The transporter she was in today was older than the one she’d taken from the Station. Doc had given her a surgical mask. Slightly too big for her, tailored for his face of course. She just doubled up the ties around the back of her head. It draped almost to the center of her throat, making her feel like a bandit. He suggested to her that she might want to purchase googles while they were out, because of the Martian dust and wind. Perhaps because of its age, or just because of the model, the transporter moved slower. Almost at a tootling pace, so she could actually look around her. 

She didn’t know how to explain that Albedo was at once chintzy and clean. The buildings and tech all seemed dated in a way that she couldn’t describe as specific. Rooted at some point in the past that she had no reference for. Clean in that everything was rounded and sanded down by the wind and dust. There were no corners to any built thing, no trash in the streets. No moisture or puddles. The city, to her, smelt like brick dust and dehydrated rock. 

Most of the buildings were made of poured Martian concrete. Smashed lower-crust rock and who-knew-what as a cement. But it meant everything was uniformly rusty-red. 

The transporter stopped, the screen making a cracked tinkling jingle to alert her to the fact that her destination had been reached. 

Being in a shop again was surreal. Not least of all because it was the most humans she’d seen since she left Earth. She could more specifically pinpoint the datedness in this area. Doc would have told her how badly she was mixing up her eras, but she didn’t know. Conflating American “Old West” general store and Soviet era fake malls as she looked around. The shop was physically huge, a little overwhelming. Slightly too-empty in weird ways, overfilled in others. Strangely staid and immaculate displays. But a little bit of everything a human might want. Hygiene things, clothing, food, jewelry, appliances, wigs, candy, shelves and shelves of digital books. Physical prints of Earth art. There was a clear purpose and reason to how the store was laid out, but like a maze, she couldn’t quite place what the rhyme was. Nor could she tell if anyone was actually employed here, or if there were just many humans simply… Hanging around. Several were sitting in the rows of “books”– sitting on the floor and reading. More were listlessly looking through things as though they had all the time in the world to do so. More sat on the floor of the area she thought of as “appliances” just… talking. One was out-and-out using an electric kettle and making himself tea. 

To her, no one looked like a “tourist” but she decided to hedge her bets and not interact. Nor did anyone seem very interested in her. She didn’t know how else to explain it, but it was reminiscent of walking into a neighborhood bar. Everyone already knew each other and was already immersed in conversation. She was hardly wanted here. 

Deciding to not overwhelm herself, she made a firm decision to only look at clothes. Deciding to do shoes first. 

It was tough, because what would her life look like from now on? She’d hardly be doing what she had been doing– and this place didn’t have a wide selection of anything she’d call glamorous or sexy. There were clearly “party” clothes– Albedo was, after all, a party city. She decided to stick to basics. Most importantly, shoes.

She gathered up armfuls of essentials. Three pairs of shoes. What she gigglingly thought of as a “capsule wardrobe” for outer space. Making sure to get plenty of thermal underwear. She couldn’t stand another several months in the bone-chill of a spaceship… If that was where she was going next. 

Then it took her altogether too long to figure out just where she was supposed to pay for all these goods. Finally, after peaking around the doorway of what she thought might be a stockroom, she found an office. With a huge, scrolled gold chip acceptor on a desk. 

Sighing in relief, feeling like she’d been trapped in a nightmare-mall until she found that, she dumped her purchases onto the desk. And then realized she was alone. She stood for perhaps two minutes. Leaned over the desk, bent in half to see if someone was sleeping beneath it or hiding.

Nothing. 

“Whaaa?” echoed from the doorway behind her as she was still bent in half.

“Um… I would like to… There are things I want to buy?” she said hesitantly, turning to see a Venusian. 

“Ah… I’ll get ‘im,” the Venusian said, walking off lackadaisically. 

After another several minutes a human, one that she might have passed tossing through shirts, wandered in.

“Who are you?” he asked. 

“Buyer,” she answered.

“Hmph.”

He astounded by handwriting a receipt. Taking his ever loving time. Using no shorthand whatsoever before she was finally allowed to tap. 

He then perfectly and sharply folded everything into a random box at his feet. As he was about to pack up the shoes, she pointed to the boots she picked out.

“I’m going to wear those out,” she said.

“Y’are?”

“Yam,” she said, rolling her eyes.

He stared blankly at her. Handing the boots over.

Hitching the box up onto her hip at long last, she started moving back to the door. She saw the Venusian who had retrieved the human. He seemed more useful.

“Brother,” she said, mimicking the Venusian from back at the inn. “Is there a place that takes care of humans near here?”

“You mean beside this mall?” he asked. 

She stared at his smooth body. And saw that he had what looked like tattoos or painted on symbols on his throat.

“Someplace that does things like that?” she asked, gesturing at her own throat.

“A fuckin’ salon?” he asked, incredulous. She heard their translators pause and whirr over ‘salon’ but it was what she was looking for.

“Yep,” she said.

“Chopper two minutes past the mall. Opposite side of the road.” He moved off immediately. 

She wandered down the road. Counting seconds as she walked and then crossed the road after she felt enough time had passed. Once more, startled by a near-nostalgic painted sign. Big, shiny scissors.

She walked in, seeing a Tent’. Instantly soothed. She knew, logically, that they weren’t all Doc. But she had imprinted on him, and now assumed the best of all of them. 

“Priviet jhenshinochka,” rang out as soon as she stepped through the door. She felt her translator clicking and glitching on that. 

She paused, box on her hip.

“Well, hullo, lil lady,” he said, trying again, rising up from an old-fashioned barber’s chair. 

“Hello, sir,” she said.

“Great balls of fire, no ‘sirs’ in here. Whatta y’all need?” he asked.

She set her box down on the floor. Ruffling her hair with both hands. 

“It’s driving me mad, take it off,” she said. 

“How do you like it, honeybunch?” he asked, patting the seat.

He ended up having her draw a picture of herself. What she used to do with it. The way that she always envisioned herself, when she thought of herself. 

He turned out to be wonderful. After the weird, surreal morning in the mall, he was like stepping back into reality. He felt old, like Doc. Making references with an uptick in his tone, or a beak-click. Something she was supposed to understand but didn’t. Sometimes hitting on just the right thing. He weirdly knew songs from when she was a kid. They sang while he shampooed. She could have groaned over that in particular. Having someone touch her hair and scalp was always delicious. About ten times better with tentacles. 

It felt good to be really clean again, too. 

He gave his name as Olezhek. She told him Ruby. He never asked where she was from or where she was going. They just talked about Albedo. Fashion. Songs. He explained what Ruskies were. Told her about the few he’d met. Told her about space races. Told her that if she wanted good Earth food, and real human culture, she had to go to Little Rostov– Rostov-on-Tharsis, on the east side of Albedo. Warning her gently that the cities of Mars were hardly ruled by councils, as promised, but mostly by the nearly-ancient gangs still operating in the area. They talked about good food and bad food. He said a human woman had taught him how to cut hair.

She knew she tipped him too much, but didn’t care. Why not? He’d made her happy, made her smile. Like Doc, he took an interest in people and seemed to do so without judgement. And she needed that.

When she returned to the hotel, she sought out Doc first. But he appeared to be out. So she went to the room. Tried on some of her new clothes. Shoved Jack’s stolen uniforms into the trash pail. She was just considering leaving again, perhaps to go explore Rostov-on-Tharsis when she heard a step in the hall. She paused, ears perked for it. Then their code was entered, and her Brute joined her. Miming ‘two’ at her again with a down-up-down.

“Two treats for Pet,” he said. 

Then he paused, looking her over.

“Pet got cleaned up,” she said, giving him a spin. 

He came over, running his hands in particular over the shaved sides of her head. Making her scalp tingle when he scraped his claws over her newly bare scalp.

“Like this,” he growled. Tugging at her still-long hair at the center of her head. Olezhek had braided that in two tails. “You look like me.”

She laughed, not thinking about how having a mostly hairless head, and something like two horns, like him, might please him. 

Kneeling, running his talons up and down her legs, seeming appreciative.

“Like to see the shape,” he said. 

She frisked away from him when his grip got tight on her. 

He stood back up right, patting down is pockets until he found what he wanted. He changed– minimally. Still wearing something that passed as a uniform. Black instead of drab, without company insignia. Still in boots, still with his thick belt. 

He handed her a box, slim, feeling expensive.

“Upgrade,” he said. 

She opened it up, finding two new-style translators. A little sleeker, certainly. Fewer points of connection seeming necessary. Unpackaging it, handing him his and doing up her own. Both of them only using the ear connection.

“Mars-produced,” he said. A softer and faster voice in her head translated. “A colleague recommended this one to me… That the Refaite, and all the various dialects, are better represented. Earth produced translators treated Refaite as one singular language, which is absurd, considering it’s an entire planet–”

“Ah!” she gasped, grabbing his hand and squeezing. “It’s better!” 

“Tell me how you’re feeling,” he said, cadence quick. 

“Excited,” she said. “I still intend to learn the language… But this is so much better. This is a very good treat! I’m thankful and grateful.”

He squeezed her hand back.

“It is better… I think I’m getting every word from you, now,” he said.

They stared at each other, her head tipped uncomfortably back, his chin almost in his chest. She felt zinging excitement and fear arching between them. On the one hand, they were thrilled to be able to communicate more clearly. But she thought they were also thinking that maybe crowding up what they were and what they did with complications would make things harder still. 

“I’m glad,” he said, breaking the tension between them. She nodded.

“The good Doctor recommended a place for us to go tonight,” he said to her. “A special treat… Well, I suppose for both of us. I intend for both of us to leave satisfied.”

She smiled at him, somewhat unsure. That last sentence in particular, what did that mean? But she sat on the floor, shoving her feet back into boots. Not knowing how rich and gratified she’d be by boots. 

They left together. They kept close together as they did. He kept a hand tight around her upper arm, making sure he didn’t lose her.

She was excited again when they got out onto the street. The sol– the Martian day– was only ever-so-slightly longer than Earth. And the nights, she’d heard, for the season were only a few hours long. And those hours seemed to be full-tilt partying, at least in Albedo. 

He battered them through the crowd easily. She was still getting used to the gravitational difference. Between that and being dragged, her feet didn’t seem to touch the ground. She liked the press of everyone around her and all the noise. The street they were on was mostly inns– like their own, and clearly what was some long-term housing. But there was a lot of food, bars, dancing, and a hundred different kind of salon and other care services. 

They weren’t walking for long. Half an hour or less– and they would have moved quicker if the crowd were smaller or more civilized.

When they entered a building, after the door shut behind them, she was astounded by the silence. Sudden, smothering quietude after the babble of music and gibbering of thousands of alien voices. 

There was a spectacularly tall Nomo standing behind a counter. Her Brute went over and talked to him while she looked around. Like everything else in the area, the building was made of poured Martian concrete. Many of the interiors were smooth, reflecting the windblown exteriors. This place was no exception. But all painted an oddly warm and womb-like black. Sort of cavelike, but wonderfully relaxing for all of that.

Her Brute suddenly slapped his hip the way he did to call her, and she trotted over. Following him, who was following the Venusian down a dark hallway. There were warm leading lights along the bottom of the wall, but it all still rather gave the impression of a cozy cave.

They were then left in a large room. Two standing height bed-sized tables.

“Massage?” she asked him.

“Yes, from someone strong enough that it actually has an effect,” he said to her, getting undressed, hanging up his clothes on a hook on the wall.

She realized, quite suddenly, that was definitive, teasing humor on his part.

“I think I do well, considering,” she said.

“Considering you’re a puny Weakling,” he said. She went over to him, biting his forearm briefly before getting undressed herself. He grabbed the top of her head in one palm, giving her a quick little punishment shake while she laughed. She could feel the urge to keep making contact with him, wanting the play-fighting to turn sexual, when there was a knock on the door. He barked, “come in.”

Two Tent’s came in and she smiled instantly. Always so sure they’d be friends. Her Brute went to one of the tables, sitting up on it. She tried to do the same, but it was high. She was about to brace her hands on the lip of the table and swing herself up when one of the Tent’s lifted her gently and set her down.

“Your partner forgot to mention he was bringing a human in with him,” the Tent’ who’d lifted her said, almost whispering to her, patting her knee. “We would have gotten a room that was better suited if we’d known.”

She smiled back at him.

“I think he forgets,” she said, also almost-whispering.

It was hardly necessary. Across the room, her Brute was in conversation with the other Tent’. Gesturing about something. 

“So what’s on offer?” she asked, leaning backward on her palms, letting her knees swim lazily.

“What do you need?” the Tent’ asked. Something devilish about him that she rather liked.

It turned out, while they didn’t seem to get many humans here, they weren’t unfamiliar. Massage, nails, facials, all seemed on offer.

Her Brute already seemed to be having everything beaten out of him by the other Tent’. She’d remember this, the next time she was trying to soothe. Maybe punching him in the center of the back would be more effective than what she’d been doing, by the looks of it. 

So she settled in, with somewhat low expectations.

But like with Olezhek the tentacles turned out to be almost better than hands. Both gentler and more precise. Besides, almost everything was worked at once. Back, legs, feet, all being done and done well.

She suddenly realized she was groaning heavily and near tears. She couldn’t quite recall when she’d been touched like this, or the last time her body felt this good, and unwound. Unaware of how tight and near-snapping she’d been until this moment. 

She bit her lip, silencing herself. Hearing for a second a low buzzing whirr from where her Brute was still laid out. Wondering if he’d hear how similar she sounded being worked under this Tent’ and when she orgasmed.

“You’re good,” the Tent’ murmured, somewhere over her head. “Not a worry in the world. All’s well, here.”

She melted back into it. Losing herself into it and almost dozing off. She woke up a bit when the slim taper of a tentacle slid between her legs, a round of it just touching her labia. She didn’t mean to do it, but it felt good, and she lifted her hips sleepily. The curl firmer and more surely there. 

She gasped, slapping her legs closed on the tentacle when she felt more awake. Unsure whether or not he knew what he was doing, or if there was any intention. When she gasped again, feeling the tentacle still working, she turned her head sharply to the side to see if her Brute saw or heard.

He was up on his bed, laying comfortably on his side, alone and watching her intently. 

“Sir,” she said, uncertain if he knew what was happening, if he’d be upset or jealous or what reaction to expect from him.

“I wasn’t sure what services you might like,” her Brute said. “At least, for yourself. For myself, I knew I wanted to see you climax.”

“Sir,” she panted again, a tentacle curving harder up against her as another circled her waist, helping her to keep her hips raised from the bed. 

“Right,” he agreed mildly, settling even further and more comfortably. Head propped on upraised hand, laying leisurely on his side. “So it’s time to show me. Go ahead and come for me.”

She was suddenly utterly surrounded in a way she wasn’t expecting. Thighs pulled wide, the lower half of her body almost floating off the bed, supported by strong tentacles. Two gentle, tapered ends working her clit, one from above, one from below. It was instantly almost too much. She gushed on him, moaning pitifully. Worse now because she was fully lubricated, and he slicked against her easily and smoothly. 

“What’s your name?” she asked, over her shoulder to the Tent’. He clacked his beak in that same tikkatikkatak noise that Doc did when he was amused. Or thought something was cute– the noise he made at Pharaoh. 

One of his stronger, thicker tentacles rested heavily on the back of her head, turning her face back into the pad on the table.

“That’s really not important, sweetheart,” he said, still sounding amused. “It’s time to take it.”

If she thought it had been too much before she almost shrieked when he began working in earnest. Worse still, as his tentacle wrapped tighter and tighter around her waist. Most of her weight in her chest and rib cage pressed into the table, everything below her belly button floating. 

She came with a pained cry. 

“Oh, good work,” the Tent’ said gently, setting her down slightly. 

“Do it again,” her Brute growled.

She whimpered when the Tent’ started working on her still-very swollen clit again. Shifting slightly, getting tentacles under her chest. Circling breasts and nipples, making her squirm and groan.

“Why didn’t you tell me you liked that?” her Brute asked, still using that same mild tone. She couldn’t possibly answer when she was on the verge of another orgasm. 

Crying out again when the Tent’ shifted her; lifting her off her stomach so she was sitting up. Realizing that he was specifically putting her on display for the Brute. Almost milking her in a ‘see, like this,’ fashion. 

She came again, delightfully humiliated to, and concerned that she’d be heard the next room over. 

“Do it again,” her Brute said, almost making her start to cry. “I like to see it, little female.”

So she did, clinging onto the thickness of the upper part of a tentacle. Grateful that when she did, there wasn’t another growled, “do it again” from the other side of the room. 

The Tent’ gently set her down on her back on the table. She grabbed at him to stop him.

“Thanks,” she said breathlessly, keeping her voice down.

“Eh, fun for me and good money beside,” he said cheerfully. “And thank you sir,” he added to her Brute as he left the room. 

She flopped heavier into the table. Feeling melted into the padding. Crossing elbows over her eyes and trying to catch her breath. 

She listened to him stirring but didn’t move. It didn’t seem that any of her limbs would work anyway, so why bother trying?

“Good treat for Pet?” he asked. Hearing an insinuating little tone she never had before. She grunted at him the way he grunted at her. That ‘I’ve heard you, and I’m not responding.’ 

He huffed in amusement, and started flinging her clothes at her. She let them drape. How was she supposed to get up and leave now? She wanted to lay on her side and go to sleep. 

Coming over to her, he started roughly shoving her legs into her pants, her feet into her socks, while she giggled and did nothing to help.

“Come along, Pet,” he said. “We’re hardly welcome here all day, and I need to eat.” 

“You’ve worn me out,” she said. “That’s your fault.” 

He hauled her up until she was sitting upright again, dropping her shirt on her shoulders.

“Your being made useless was worth it for the show,” he said. Reaching forward with both hands and gently twisting a nipple in each hand. Making her start forward and start getting dressed on her own.  

“Ah-ha,” he said, sounding devilish. “See what else I’ve done?”

Showing off his right hand. It took her a moment to figure out what was different. He’d had two of his talons sanded down. Too thick to be entirely removed, but the ends rounded off instead of razor sharp. Stroking down one nipple without leaving any abrasions. That must have been the whirring she heard earlier.

“I like it when you ride my hand like a little, humping animal,” he said. “This will assist in giving me one of my favorite shows.” 

She hurriedly got dressed then, laughing as she did. Too tired and satisfied by the Tent’ to really consider it… But maybe later tonight she’d put her Brute to use.

He helped her down off the table, and they headed back into the noisy night of Albedo.