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Let be be finale of seem; The only emperor is the emperor of ice cream. --Wallace Stevens

A sharp double-trill resounded from several locations in the large, empty house. After several untended rings, the answering machine, that delightfully archaic predecessor to voice mail, picked it up. "Hello!" lilted Benedict's inimitable and enthusiastic voice from the device next to the front hallway phone. "You've reached the number that you dialed, whether you meant to or not. Next, we'll find out if you want to leave a message. I'll bet you do... and if you don't leave a message, I won't know who called, so I can't pay the debt. Looks like I win!"

After a bland sort of tone, the voice began. "It's Eoin. Wanted to let you know I'll be staying with Zachary for a few days. I'll be sure he calls, if he needs you."

The click signaled the end of the call, and a mechanical voice added, "December 26, 12:42pm." The message waited in its electronic holding cell until the jailor could return to set it free.

* * * * * * * * * *

Cory Windrunner was not the type of female to make the age-old complaint of "everything falls to the bottom of this purse." She was, by and large, quite organized, and her purse was more of a courier pouch, with everything properly in place, held in pockets, flaps, suspended by snap-links... so where in hell were her office keys?

The cremello mare raised her head at the sound of a knock at her front door. Speaking of keys... She smiled at herself; it was far too early to give a house key to the handsome young stallion, but he did certainly make it tempting. Opening the door, she couldn't help but grin as she found the tall, black-coated Clyde dressed warmly but striking a pose that belonged in a male version of a fashion catalog.

"Good afternoon, lucky contestant!" he grinned. "You've been selected, entirely at random, to sample the very finest companionship that the equine world has to offer. This superb, no-reins-attached offer is good only where not taxed or prohibited, and it even comes with not just a hug, not just a kiss, but an invitation to dinner. And if you act now...!"

The professor's laughter cut off any further comment. "Get in here; we're losing house heat to the bitter winds!" Closing the door behind her, Cory took up Gabriel's initial offers with gusto, as the stallion was never skimpy on either hugs or kisses, and he was particularly good at both. In her mind, she was still celebrating the best Christmas ever. When school actually rolled around, she would need Benedict's help in figuring out how not to break the fraternization rules with grad students; until then, she planned to take every opportunity to enjoy the handsome equine's company in every form that they could imagine together. To the young stud's credit, Cory's imagination had been in overdrive.

"Bad time?" Gabriel wondered aloud.

"Not at all, really," the mare answered, pulling slightly away from the velour-covered Clydesdale. "I'm the type that can't relax completely without making sure that both the home and work fires are burning properly. I was just going to campus, to while away some time at my office, but my flippin' keys have vanished on me."

"Keys will do that, you know," he said solemnly, then grinned. "Glad to help you look...?"

"Fresh eyes," she admitted.

"Okay. I'm betting you keep them in..." He glanced at the oversized bag and hesitated. "If I call that a 'purse,' I fear that I may be being sexist."

"Think of it as a wallet and laptop ensemble."

"I like it." Gabe grinned. "Okay, you keep them in there?"

"Usually on one of the snap-rings inside."

"You organized types...!"

"I planned your Christmas Eve dinner, pony."

"I withdraw my objection." The Clyde's smile had a touch of memory and lasciviousness to it that made Cory want to strip her clothes off again. "Okay, where is yon Pouch of Holding usually kept? I'll start there."

The mare pointed to the bag's usual resting place, on a small table near the door that could serve little other purpose. Gabriel moved toward it, patting the slash pockets in his loose-fitting velour jacket. "Just to make sure I don't lose my wallet."

"Especially if you're springing for dinner," she quipped. She watched as the stallion dropped to forepaws and knees, a position which made her once again appreciate the beauty of that spectacular tail, so black that it almost shone blue, its occasional flagging creating a rainbow effect in the afternoon light slanting in through the front windows. His long arms reached carefully along the low wainscoting, until...

"Ah-ha!" He maneuvered himself upward and, turning toward her, showed her a key ring dangling from one finger. "Just far enough away from the table to be missed."

"I'd swear I'd gone over the place with a fine-toothed comb." She raised her muzzle upward and provided a congratulatory kiss. The sweetness of his breath registered on her mind this time. "How funny..."

"What?"

"I thought they didn't make clove gum anymore."

"Anise rings," the stallion admitted, seeming to blush a little. "Brought a batch with me from Oz; wasn't sure what you'd have up here to make up for it." He nosed her muzzle gently. "Other than you, that is."

"Nice recovery. You may live." She grinned at him. "Want to watch an old mare work?"

"Migawd, what an opening..."

Cory's raspberry was quite skillful, especially at close range.

"Counter-offer," Gabe said. "I'll make sure to call you in time to interrupt your work and make it to dinner on time. Your personal pony alarm clock."

"I'm so glad you remembered the 'L' in that word." Cory quickly discovered that the penalty for being cheeky was a nickering nibble of her neck, which almost made her give up any and all plans for the next many hours. "Okay, okay!" she laughed. "You win! Call when you're ready. I'll pack everything up and meet you for dinner."

"Shall I provide dessert this time?"

"Talk about an opening..."

* * * * * * * * * *

"Excuse me..."

Bobby Harris looked down toward the voice, seeing a female cheetah kit, dressed in new, brightly-colored winter gear, looking curiously at him and at the green livery vest that he wore. "Hi, yowen," he said smiling. "How can I help?"

The spotted feline smiled, blushing a little, holding up a paper coupon. "Is this good for tokens?"

"Let's have a look." The lion took the paper in paw and glanced at it quickly enough to recognize that it was indeed one of the "Santa's Helpers" coupons that Lisa had pointed out to him and Malcolm earlier that morning. He smiled at the visitor. "It certainly is. I can redeem this at the counter; if you'd follow me, please?"

The Stripers Family Fun Center was doing a pretty good bit of business, considering that a lot of kits and pups would ordinarily be at home playing their own new games. Lisa and Dave had a good mailing list of loyal customers who got special coupons for Boxing Day. It usually helped make opening the park just after Christmas a reasonably profitable idea. A few die-hards would tackle the cold and play miniature golf, if there were no snow; the race track would be closed unless there had been at least three days without any precipitation at all, in case of icing. For the most part, days like this appealed to the arcade gamers, so tokens become the best bet for business.

Stepping behind the counter, Bobby scanned the barcode on the coupon to register it into the system. Thanks to Dave's electronic wizardry, the action triggered a dispenser to parcel out the tokens into a plastic cup (marked, of course, with the Stripers logo), which the lion passed along to the kit. "There you go," he grinned. "Which game's your favorite?"

The kit smiled shyly. "I love pinball. I don't remember you working here...?"

"Friend of the family," the lion answered discreetly. "I was here for Thanksgiving and Black Friday, and they invited me up for Christmas too. I'm Bobby."

"Celestine," the slender kit smiled. "Thank you, Bobby."

"You're very welcome, kit. Enjoy yourself!" The lion glanced about, checking to see if anyone else needed some help and, seeing none, looked for any small chores that wanted doing. He was about to see if Mal needed any help at the refreshments counter when he heard something of a commotion at the front door. He'd never minded yowens being enthusiastic, or even loud; in the party-like environment of a place like this, noise was to be expected. It was the type of noise that got his wind up. He'd heard it in other situations, such as being on Greek Row during keggers (not his favorite place, by a long chalk). It was the sound of a hunting party searching for trouble.

Keeping one ear toward the sound, Bobby padded casually back to the office to knock on the door. When he heard Dave's voice calling him to come in, the quarterback poked his nose in just long enough to say, "Dalton, party of five."

"Members?"

"Breakfast Club."

The tiger grinned and nodded an acknowledgement. Bobby saw him pick up the phone, knowing he'd call Lisa, who was at the back door service desk, out near the miniature golf courses. Next stop, the snack bar, just to be sure the flag was raised. As he approached, Bobby saw that Malcolm had already noticed the situation. Nodding confirmation, the lion took a circuitous route back toward the front counter, smiling at the various patrons, making sure all was well with them. Just a little luck, and the noise would only be noise. That's what usually happened.

"Hey, look, it's Freddie!"

Bobby tried to restrain a sigh as he paused in his walk. That sort of call didn't sound too friendly. It projected the strange sense of hearing the phrase, Hey, look, one of the punching bags is available! The lion flicked another glance at the refreshments counter; Mal nodded to him once, quickly. With the same eye that gave the quarterback the ability to see where his receivers would be downfield, he swiftly found the target of the gang's attention: The young cheetah who, though her eyes were on her pinball game, had her ears flattened back and her tail lashing in something just short of panic.

From long experience on the gridiron, Bobby knew that any good intervention play couldn't work if you waded right into the competition. Sensing trouble, some of the customers seemed to think that other games or attractions might be of more interest, such as those somewhere on the opposite side of the facility. The lion circled around to one side of the group as they converged on the lone cheetah kit.

"Hey, FRED," screamed one of the gang, a scruffy beagle with mayhem in his eyes. "Lookin' pretty queer today, FREDDIE!"

As the other four gathered around the pinball table, Bobby made a note that the beagle had already violated one of the center's posted rules, so eviction was already indicated.

"Yeah, pretty sissified, FRED," screamed a tall, scrawny whippet, the grin on his muzzle reeking of glee at causing pain. The quarterback could see that the young cheetah was starting to falter.

"Lookin' to bait the males, FRED?" The beagle flipped the hood from the back of the feline's jacket, causing the kit to flinch. And that, the lion thought, is assault.

"Hi, fellahs," he said jovially enough as he approached. "Welcome to Stripers. Can I show you the way out?"

Like assessing the opposition line, Bobby correctly guessed that the three pups who had been quiet were the weak links, not yet having found their barks for this particular fight. Folding like paper fans, they shifted quietly to the background, better to watch how their alleged leaders chose to deal with the situation. The beagle, shorter than the whippet (and both shorter than Bobby), chose to don some invisible cloak of superiority. With a sickly attempt at a smile, the pup shrugged. "Just got here, kitty. Sayin' hello to our classmate FRED here..."

The lion turned his head gently toward the cheetah. "Are these pups friends of yours, Celestine?"

"Sell-ass-what?" the beagle smirked. "Is that what_IT_ told you...?"

"That's FRED!" the whippet chimed in. "Freddie the fag! Freddie the faker!"

One of the five - Bobby couldn't be sure who - managed to strike the pinball machine hard enough for it to register TILT and shut down the ball in play. The lion was quite sure that he heard the cheetah whimper. He moved to stand next to the yowen, putting a paw softly on her shoulder. "I think Malcolm has some fresh cocoa made, if you'd like some, Celestine."

"Hey, us to!" the whippet piped up. "Yeah, we'd love some cocoa!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Bobby oozed, "I think the machine broke down after only one cup. Perhaps if you came back another, colder time. Like when Hell freezes over."

"Giving special favors for the big fag?" the beagle spat.

Carefully, the quarterback put himself between the cheetah and the gang of canines. "Well, you know how us felines stick together."

The whippet actually found a gram of courage and stepped forward slightly. "You're the type we chase up trees for fun."

"Only five of you? Hmm..." Remembering his lover's tutelage in subtext, Bobby managed to stifle a small yawn. "Hardly worth breaking a sweat over."

"We could break you in half, kitty-boy."

"I doubt it."

The dogs whipped around, surprised to find a young tiger behind them, also wearing the Stripers vest and (although Bobby had no idea where Mal had found it) wrapping a leash for a feral dog around his forepaws.

Grinning toothily at the pack of canines, Malcolm said, "Want to go walkies?"

"Or would you prefer golf?"

The five culprits jumped again, discovering that they'd been surrounded on three sides. Lisa's grin was no less predatory than her son's, the putter slung casually over her shoulder. "Whatta ya say, fellahs? Want to see how a tigress can smack some balls around?"

Bobby was amused to see that the five had gathered into what might be called "a knot of canines," although it made him think briefly of Parker, and he had no desire even now to lump the other footballer in with this band of blowhards. All of the pups had lost the use of their vocal chords, at least temporarily. Amoeba-like, they backed away from the from the trio of felines and toward the exit, nearly jumping out of their fur when a fourth voice spoke up merrily from behind them.

"Hello! You must be going!" Dave barely allowed them space to pass as they fell over themselves to get to the front door.

At the last moment, the beagle took a parting shot by yelling "FAG!" at the top of his lungs.

"And a merry Boxing Day to you as well, yowens!" Dave called after them. Making a motion as if dusting off his forepaws, he then wandered among the crowd, chatting and commenting on games as if nothing at all had happened. The remaining customers quickly went back to their gaming, laughing, generally enjoying their time, seeming to forget the events of the past few minutes. Bobby smiled, remembering Dave's explanation of how he had been so successful in dealing with this sort of mess. The mob psychology worked both ways - the small mob threatened the large mob with their predatory emotions and intimidating actions, but when the small mob was dealt with, the large mob went back its original state unless actively reminded of the threat. Everything was designed to remove the problem and get back to normalcy as quickly as possible. Dave and Lisa had it down to a science.

Bobby turned to the young cheetah, seeing her trembling from the attack that she had experienced. He was about to replace his forepaw to her shoulder when he caught a slow movement from Malcolm. The tiger had pocketed the leash and, stepping up to the yowen, arms at his side, asked softly, "Are you okay?"

For a moment, the cheetah didn't answer. The footballer took the cue from his lover and tried another attempt at regaining normalcy. "Hey, Malcolm; this is Celestine. Celestine, this is Malcolm. And over there are Lisa and Dave. They're the ones who sent the coupon for the tokens."

Nervously, the younger feline managed a quick smile - a mask, but one that might yet become real. "Thank you. I think..." She glanced over her shoulder at the pinball machine, which had reset itself. "I think maybe I should take a break."

"The offer of cocoa is real," Malcolm smiled gently. "There's a fresh batch, and I need someone to sample it for me. I'm trying out a new recipe - adding more semi-sweet chocolate than usual, with a touch of vanilla and some peppermint. Would you like to try it?"

The smile moved a step closer to being real. "I'd love to."

"Then would you be so kind as to join me?" the young tiger said warmly, offering his arm. The cheetah kit giggled just a little, partly nervous, partly enjoying the treatment, and looped her arm through Malcolm's as he led off to the snack bar. Malcolm looked back over his shoulder long enough to wink and wave his lover to join them.

"Nicely done," Lisa said, gently grasping Bobby's shoulder. The tigress had thoughtfully lowered the putter in her other paw. "I particularly liked the 'Hell freezing over' line."

Chuckling, the lion moved to give Lisa a side-to-side hug. "I'm just glad that putter wasn't loaded!" With a brief sigh, he asked, "Thanks for backing me up; I really do prefer not to get into scraps, if they're avoidable. Do you know what that was all about?"

"Unfortunately, yes." The tigress jutted her chin towards her youngest as he poured out cocoa for the cheetah who perched delicately on one of the stools near the refreshments stand. "Celestine is a sophomore this year; had her first year with Mal. Or perhaps I should say that Freddie had his first year with Mal, and Celestine started last fall."

Bobby paused. "Okay, Malcolm promises me that I'm not stupid, but I'm feeling a little clueless at the moment."

"Transgender."

Freddie the fag... Freddie the faker...

The quarterback blinked. "Now I really feel stupid. Lisa, I finally grew to realize that I'm gay, but the whole transgender thing, I just..."

"I know. Like most of us, you were raised in what the psych specialists would call 'binary sexual thinking' - male and female."

Bobby looked over at the cheetah as she (he or she?) clearly enjoyed the cocoa. Malcolm was grinning as he kept shaking a few more of the mini-marshmallows into the cup that rested in Celestine's (Freddie's?) forepaws. The lithe feline seemed a lot more comfortable now, and the only thing clouding the lion's judgment at this point was some sort of expectation. "So Celestine is... both?"

"In a way, perhaps," Lisa offered. "It's about how an individual sees himself or herself. Fred never felt like a Fred. He felt like Celestine. She felt like herself, and her parents are doing all they can to help."

"Sex change?"

"Not necessarily. Don't worry; I'm not entirely sure that I get it either. All I really know is that Celestine is happier being Celestine... except for when the bullies try to force her back into her old identity. It's almost like the old days of bullies locking the weakest yowen into the coat closet, when classrooms still had such things."

"I guess I should understand better, if it's about closets." Bobby managed a laugh, as the tigress squeezed him once more.

"C'mon. Let's give you a proper introduction."

Padding over to the snack bar, Bobby was glad to see how much better Celestine seemed to be feeling. When she saw them walking over, she got up and opened her slender arms for a hug from Lisa, who provided one of her Top-Drawer SuperHugs for the kit, including a kiss to the top of the head. The lion managed a smile when the smaller feline looked over at him. "I see you two know each other," he grinned. "I must have sounded silly, introducing you to people you already know."

The kit grinned at him. "It's okay. You were trying to help. Thank you, Bobby."

"Oh! So you've already met the lion in my family?" Lisa asked, also grinning.

"He said he was a friend."

Malcolm leaned back, his wrist to his forehead with as much drama as he could bring up. "How soon they forget!" he pined.

"Forget this," Bobby chuckled. He pulled the young tiger to him across the counter and provided a lip-lock that quite literally had his lover up on his toes and his tail twirling in fits. It was Celestine's delighted giggle that made him quit. He looked over at the cheetah kit, smiling. "Clearly, when those pups shouted 'FAG,' they were talking about us."

Celestine looked shyly at the lion. "I thought I remembered reading about you," she said softly, and her face became just a little more serious. "Thank you again."

"My pleasure. I never did like those types of so-called males."

For a moment, the kit seemed to hesitate, and Lisa gently put a paw to her shoulder. "I explained to Bobby, Celestine. It's okay."

The quarterback pulled up a stool and sat down, now more at eye-level with the cheetah. "Malcolm has taught me how to open up and take a few risks, so I'm going to risk something here. I heard what those pups said, and Lisa told me about it. Kit, you know that I got outed; there was a lot of noise and garbage flying around, all because I love Malcolm, and he loves me, and we're proud of our choice to love each other." He smiled ruefully. "So how does a lion from a redneck background accept being gay?"

"From what I've seen," Malcolm grinned, "quite well, actually!"

The felines laughed, and after a moment, Bobby continued. "I didn't understand. I only knew one thing: I love Malcolm. From there, I had to learn everything else. The truth, kit, is that I know of the word 'transgender,' but I still don't know what it really means. What I do know is that you are Celestine. I also know that you're happy being Celestine, and I'll bet that you're growing up proud to be Celestine. And I'm proud to know you."

He put forth a forepaw; surprisingly, the cheetah shook her head. A moment later, grinning, she hopped off the stool and wrapped her arms around the lion, hugging him for all she was worth. Bobby laughed and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her (yes, her) close. She reached her muzzle up and whispered in his ear, "Thank you, Bobby."

Over the kit's shoulder, he saw Lisa nod once and move off toward the back doors and the miniature golf courses. Malcolm's eyes could have turned into pink heart-shapes, and it wouldn't have surprised him. What did surprise him was the realization that the only thing he had to do was to accept Celestine as who she was, as who she wanted to be. It was that simple. He felt sure that there was a lot more to it, but in this moment, all that was needed was to accept a wonderful hug from a new friend.

As the cheetah let go of him, Bobby noticed that another cup of cocoa had appeared on the counter. Apparently, as Mal would confirm later, he'd done good.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Message deleted. No more messages."

Benedict pulled out his cell phone, tapping on a speed-dial number. It went directly to Eoin's voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message. He searched for and found Parker's number in his list, dialed it. Direct to voicemail. He did not leave a message. Pocketing the phone, the professor paused and looked around himself, feeling that his house seemed quite large and quite empty. He thought about checking in on Royal, reminded himself that the skunk would call if needed. Parker and Eoin would call, if he was needed.

In the kitchen, the great crimson dragon found nothing in the refrigerator or cupboards that seemed the least bit appetizing at the moment. He moved to the bedroom to change his clothes; he found that the huge bed was unmade. He took some time, removing his clothing and placing each item where it belonged - coat closet, hamper, dresser - then took himself back out to the living room. En route, he found that the door to Eoin's workroom was open. His drawing board was neatly cleaned, drawing materials put away, a few books missing.

The professor stoked a fire in the hearth, turned out all the lights in the house, and lowered his large, naked frame to the floor. He lay on his side for a long time, contemplating the flames with little or no conscious thought. At length, listening to the silence broken only by the occasional hiss and crackle from the fireplace, or the mournful cry of a snow sprite on the night air and whimpering in the flue, the dragon curled himself in front of his fire, snout resting on his long tail, and convinced himself that tomorrow would dawn, one way or another. He wasn't at all sure that was a good thing.