FSE

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As mentioned in my journal, Yiffstar's character-minimum will mean that my updates here will occasionally be 2-packs of what constitute single updates on FA. One such combo platter is presented here for your perusal, starting out with our muscular hunk's turn for the first-person narrating! Get inside the head of our other main character a bit, with this new release!

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               I stretched as I sat in the hallway. Sitting in chairs for smaller people was usually pretty uncomfortable for me.

               I had the mixed blessing of being more muscular than most citizens of lands other than the Macro Continent. It did mean my fan club was pretty extensive, but it wasn't all fawning furs and trails of drool wherever I went. I weighed as much as many morbidly obese people, and between my strength and my mass, my wake is often littered with broken stuff.

               I'm a little self-conscious about my size. Yeah, I flaunt it at times, but I prefer to be in control of how and when I put on a show, so I frequently wear duster coats to mask just how big I am. It makes me seem a little doom-and-gloom-y, but I can deal with that. They're comfy and they don't constrict; while it's still pretty obvious that I'm big while I'm wearing one, it leaves a lot of details to the imagination.

               And trust me when I say that mystique can get you a lot farther than blatancy. I know.

               So there I was, a giant slab of wolf-and-dragon, my uncanny electric blue markings atop slate-grey fur and black scales, visible over the unremarkable wool duster I was wearing...along with the ebony spires sticking out of my head like ham radio receivers. They were my least favorite feature, really; horns have no nerves, so it's hard to tell where they are in space and if they're about to hit something. There are a number of hallways in the world that will forever bear signs of my having passed through them.

               The biology professor had told me to be here at 10:35 sharp, and I got there at 10:30 to be on the safe side. Punctuality was a trait I'd cultivated.

               My cell phone told me it was 10:37 when the barn owl poked his feathery head out into the hallway. "Are you ready, Blake?"

               I cringed. I hated being called my birth name; it figured it would be the same one as the only guy in our family to go postal. "Yeah." I shrugged off my duster, leaving it on the chair--no one would be stealing a coat large enough to serve as a camping tent for most species; even carrying it would be a serious difficulty for most.

               I walked into the room, casually. I left out the swagger I reserved for occasions meant to impress. I left out the hunch I use to conceal my bulk somewhat in unfamiliar settings, or the practiced little tuck of my abdomen that helps reduce the space I take up in crowds. It was me--just me, 100%, no airs, no tricks. It was refreshing, in a way.

               I was used to the gasps, the points, the jaws hanging open.

               "Our subject here," said the prof, "has a genetic deficiency of myostatin--a gene that regulates the musculature of the body. His myostatin-double-negative genotype results in a phenotype of, er, extreme muscular bulk, as you can no doubt see. Quite a rare mutation, outside of the isolated Vhaldarian nation and some constituents of the Macro Continent.

               "While the ob/ob subject gains weight by eating too much, the amount a myostatin-deficient individual eats is the sole limiting factor of how much muscle the body will synthesize--well, that and the ability of the body to support it. People with robust organ systems and a large caloric intake will layer on tissue until their stomachs simply can't keep up with it!"

               I knew all of this by heart. When I was a teenager, my alarming bulk terrorized many of my classmates and left my parents chronically uncertain of what to do with me and my astounding appetite. Doctors had explained the scenario to them and others on many occasions; it wasn't the first time I'd stood in front of crowds as a specimen.

                In fact, I was already feeling the first hints of a blood-sugar headache coming on. But I'd agreed to be the show pony, so I stood and waited for the professor to set me free. Afterwards, I'd be downing one or two of the protein bars waiting in my duster's pockets. They'd hopefully tide me over until I could eat something a little more substantial.

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               I was dying for a name. Someone had to know this guy's name if he worked at a local pizza shop, right? But my ears, which were paying far more attention to the crowd than anything the professor was saying, picked up nothing.

               The murmurs died down a bit as people started taking notes on the lecture again. The words "myostatin-deficient" filtered through my scattered presence of mind. I'd look them up later.

               As the shock of the amazing guy ebbed, I was brought gradually back to the room...just in time for Winkles to say, "Well, our specimen has been excellent, so let's all give him a big hand and let him get back to his busy life."

               The room broke out in clapping. The professor thanked the guy, but amidst the applause, I couldn't hear anything other than a long-vowel "A" in his name. Dammit.

               All eyes followed the hunk out of the room, and mine weren't the only pair that lingered on the door after it closed, in case he might come back.

               Winkles forged ahead, perhaps oblivious to the fact that few people were paying attention now: "Congenital mutations can lead to a plethora of diseases and conditions, and are more common for people with cross-classification parents." What he meant was how birds can marry mammals, marsupials can marry reptiles, and all of them can have kids, amazingly enough. The more dissimilar the hybridizations, the more likely the kids will be a strange hybrid, or even a completely different species. I knew a raccoon who was the child of a cardinal and a gecko. It wasn't the strangest thing I'd seen. I was a half-phoenix, half-wolverine freakshow; I hadn't the luck to turn out as a "real" species.

               "This is thought to be a consequence of the Principle of Reassortment, which makes it possible for cross-classification couplings to produce children. The changes in DNA that occur increase the likelihood that unusual mutations will be passed along.

               "Speaking of which, do any of you here know of a genetic condition you have? I know it can be a little frightening to mention it in a crowd, but I'd like people to see just how common these are. Also, I may want to recruit some of you to be a specimen for future classes, like our myostatin-deficient friend..."

               I took a breath, then slowly raised my hand.