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Hrvalye was under-dressed and freezing. It would have been fine if the taxi had pulled up in front of the opera house, but he had to get out two blocks early because they were trapped on a narrow one-way street behind a newly-disabled truck. The cabbie suggested they wait until the truck was able to move or the cars behind them cleared out, but no, Hrvalye was already a bit behind schedule; he needed to get moving.

One might expect lyrrens to be naturally resistant to cold, given their hirsute nature. Alas, it is not quite so; until very recently Kyeta's average temperature was only a little lower than Earth's, and to prevent all that hair, fur, or whatever from becoming a liability, the lyrren metabolism generates less heat than a human's does. When Hrvalye stepped out on to the sidewalk, it was -20°F and blustery. His outerwear consisted of a formal jacket, shirt, trousers (tastefully fitted and slitted to show off his legs), and toeless leather shoes, all designed to keep him comfortable at an indoor temperature of roughly 60°F.

Hrvalye ran toward the opera house. At the first crosswalk he patiently waited for cars to notice him and stop before continuing his dash. Even that relatively short delay was costly; he could already feel his life draining into the frigid night. His eyes watered and stung from the icy keen wind beating at them, and he screwed them up to try to protect them, leaving himself with only a tiny viewing window through the lattice of his interlocked eyelashes.

When Hrvalye reached the second crossing, not one damn car was willing to yield to him despite his obvious suffering. After several seconds of waiting and timing the cars as they passed, he went for broke and sprinted across. His legs moved slower than he'd anticipated, and an irate car on his right sharply honked just as he lunged to the safety of the sidewalk, but he was almost home free, and his anger at the drivers and fury at his own poor planning was dulled by the chill seeping into his bones. He could hardly see anything, but he could hear other theatergoers now, and he hurriedly followed them toward the airlock and stepped inside just as he heard the chirp to indicate it was about to close.

Or, at least, that was his intention. In reality, Hrvalye completely misjudged his position and slammed face-first into the side of the airlock, falling unceremoniously on his back. After lying stunned for a few moments, he rolled over and pushed himself to his feet as quickly as he could; the airlock wouldn't open for another twenty seconds or so, but the more time he spent sitting on the concrete the faster his warmth would fade. Once his footing was reasonably sure, he staggered to the side and positioned himself in front of where the entrance actually should be, shivering and completely unable to see.

When the door opened once again, Hrvalye gingerly stepped through, making sure to lead with his feet. To his relief, he didn't run into any barriers this time, and he heard a few people fill in behind him. At least some of them probably saw his slapstick routine, but he charitably surmised that they weren't in a position to help.

As the outer door shut behind them and warm air flooded in, Hrvalye tried to open his eyes, but the tears that built up in reaction to the cold had frozen his eyelashes together. He reached up to feel his snout and to his shock found that his nose and mouth were fully intact as far as his numb fingers could tell, though there was a tender spot that would probably bruise nicely, if it hadn't done so already. Thankfully, very few people could have seen him, and they were probably strangers. His shame would mostly be his own. He tried to internalize that to head off an encroaching sense of social panic.

The inner door finally opened to allow Hrvalye entry into the lobby. He tried, again, to open his eyes only to find, again, that the lashes were glued together. He hated dealing with the logistics of heavy boots and outerwear, but he cursed past-Hrvalye for being a selfish prick that was overly focused on fashion and convenience.

After letting everyone past him, Hrvalye carefully sidled to his right as he rubbed at his eyes to warm and clean them. If he remembered correctly, there wasn't anything important on that side, and he'd be less in the way until he could get his bearings. After a few seconds of sidling he stopped, satisfied that he was in a reasonable spot. After a few more seconds he tried opening his eyes again, this time succeeding. The shivering was still quite severe, but it seemed to be reducing.

His eyes still needed to get acclimated to the temperature, and the world was foggy to his sight. As Hrvalye's body slowly transitioned out of survival mode he took note of the warm, sweet smell of roasted nuts wafting from the concessionaire. And he listened to the familiar bustling noises of his fellow theater-goers.

Things were a bit less bustle-y than they ought to have been. This was The Derrien Fabulous Grand Ballet, after all, and despite it being a weeknight Hrvalye expected a fuller house.

Then he heard a familiar voice. "Hey, goat-boy!" it called out in English.

Hrvalye couldn't tell what direction the sound came from, and he looked around even though he couldn't really see. Finally, he discerned a grayish blob moving toward him and one corner of his mouth curled upward nervously, "Hey, goat-girl?"

For a brief moment there was no response, and Hrvalye was certain that he'd addressed the wrong blob. His expression began to waver. "The one and only," Goat Girl finally said, though Hrvalye didn't hear the trademark grin behind it. "Are you okay?" she asked. He felt one of her hands lightly brush the tender spot on his snout before they each recoiled--he in pain and she in surprise. "Hrvalye, you're freezing! Did you walk here like this?"

Hrvalye chuckled. It took on a different timbre when combined with the shivering. "I live dangerously."

With scant ado Goat Girl forcefully grabbed Hrvalye's right triceps and turned him ninety degrees to the left. "Clever. Come on," she ordered as she marched him forward on his new heading.

"Um, Novi, I can't actually see," Hrvalye said once he realized that he was being moved.

"That's fine; I can," Novi replied in deadpan as she sped up, leaving Hrvalye little choice but to comply with her will. There were a couple of stops and turns on the route, but it wasn't long before they halted.

Hrvalye could vaguely smell wool and leather, and his vision had cleared up enough for him to realize where they were. "Are we in the coat room?"

Novi had left him, ostensibly to find her coat for him among the racks. "Yes," she whispered from some unknown corner, "This is faster. But the valets could show up at any moment. Duck and keep quiet."

Hrvalye did as he was told and crouched to hide behind a rack near where they entered. He admired Novi's gumption. They would save maybe two minutes this way, and it would at minimum be uncomfortable if she were caught, but she just went for it. Partly because she cared about him, but probably also because that's just how she was. In general, shorthairs had to have moxie to break through the barriers of privilege and ancient prejudice in order to access the same opportunities that furs like Hrvalye had--well, not furs like Hrvalye; his family was straight-up rich. And Novi was reasonably wealthy herself, as the daughter of a successful entrepreneur in Derriel.

But she was still a shorthair. Even though most people--furs and shorthairs alike--were very conscious of the difficulties shorthairs faced, and even though they did their best to be equitable regardless of hair type, and even though laws almost everywhere very specifically mandated equal treatment, all sorts of little biases in favor of furs were built deep into every lyrren's genes. Everyone constantly struggled against them, with varying success.

Whatever shrewdness Novi picked up from her own genes and upbringing manifested itself in her work. Derriel didn't have any schools with an English curriculum because the government's limited Earth-facing responsibilities were focused on Francophone countries. But Novi's dream was to join the Earth Custodial Agency's American division. She cut her own path to the University of Grovyerray's top-flight College of American Studies and sailed through the coursework, gaining admission into ECA's training program a year ago, in the cohort before Hrvalye's, despite being two years his junior.

Her accent was clean, her instincts were sharp, and she felt American. She could probably be dropped on Earth today if needed. Hrvalye would need a good bit more time to ripen. His English was still clunky all around, but being friends with Novi was helping him a lot. And she was doing it so gently. Competition among prospective Earthbound lyrrens was fierce, even after they made it to ECA training. They were often forced to help each other, but many aspirants would take any opportunity they could to assert dominance. Novi never did that to Hrvalye--maybe it was because he would never be a threat to her, or maybe because he could be an influential friend, but it was probably because, again, that's just how she was.

"Ow!" Hrvalye exclaimed reflexively as the left half of his head was suddenly smothered by a dark wool coat. He wasn't hurt, but sheesh. He hurriedly snatched the coat off the horn it was draped on and turned to regard a grinning Novi. "You couldn't just hand it to me?" he angry-whispered.

Novi shook her head to say, "Obviously not," and motioned for him to follow her back out to the safety of the hallway. Hrvalye's eyesight had mostly returned and he had no trouble following.

Once they were out, Hrvalye re-situated the coat so that the arms were in the right spot and pulled it on. Novi was much shorter and even a little thinner than Hrvalye, but it fit surprisingly well. He took a deep breath as the heavy cover of the coat made him realize how cold he still was. He was still shivering intermittently, and his nose was finally starting to run after being flash-frozen into submission earlier.

Hrvalye sniffled and turned to face Novi.

His eyebrows piqued and his eyes widened. "Wow." Novi generally had good sartorial instincts, but he was not expecting this pastel blue gown. It hung on her left shoulder, transitioning to a diagonal cut that was just low enough to show off the white kite at the top of her sternum floating in a sea of black-flecked gray hair; it was not a marking he'd had much occasion to see in its entirety. Below her small bust, the dress appeared to flow freely but for a few carefully fitted points that followed a lazy spiral that wound around her torso and ended just below her right hip. The uneven hem drew the eye and flattered the calf of her right leg and the thigh of the left. Hrvalye blinked a couple of times, in part to clarify his vision. "My eyes are still recovering, but you look... stunning."

Novi faux-coquettishly turned and blinked her eyes, but the light wiggle of her tail and ears genuinely signaled that she was glad for the compliment. A little belatedly, she responded, "You don't look so bad yourself, stud," and leaned over to elbow Hrvalye lightly in the chest. She did give an appreciative nod to his lower half, though, which he was happy for. "So, shall we?"

Hrvalye took a second to remember that that was an invitation to get underway. "Absolutely. I hope we have time to buy some ferra nuts," he said as they started walking, "That smell in the lobby really took me back in time."

"Just 'back' is good," Novi smirked and pulled her phone out from some discreet pocket. She nodded as she finished tapping. "All right. I've asked my friend to grab some." Hrvalye's heart sank a little. Novi looked back up at Hrvalye and seemed to recognize his displeasure. "I--um, I hope it's all right that I asked a friend along?" she offered an abashed smile, her irises a half-shade paler.

"Yeah!" Hrvalye immediately and enthusiastically answered, "Of course!" It was not all right, and he signaled as much with a half-accidental crack of his voice.

"Sorry for not telling you earlier," she continued with the same smile and eyes, "When I was buying the tickets I learned that she's never been to the ballet--any ballet."

Hrvalye wasn't sure if she'd picked up his signal--Novi wasn't always very perceptive about those things. He felt bad about sending it, though; there was no need to make her feel guilty. He nodded, "This is a special opportunity. Can't let it pass... by?"

Novi nodded back, her eyes returning to normal, "It works either way." Hrvalye exhaled with relief. They stepped on the escalator and heard two affirmative beeps to confirm that they were appropriately ticketed. They stood together in silence, and she gently took hold of his hand.

After a moment of profound uncertainty, Hrvalye returned the hold. He wasn't sure what the gesture meant, but it evoked a lot of feelings that unbalanced him. He smiled appreciatively at Novi nevertheless.

The hands released each other as Novi and Hrvalye crested the top. In short order, Novi waved to someone ahead of them and started walking over. Hrvalye put on his best attempt at a welcoming smile as he followed. This was never meant to be a date, and no matter how deflated he felt by the presence of a third wheel he resolved to be nice and enjoy the ballet.

"Thanks for grabbing the nuts, Cecina!" Novi graciously took possession of the third wheel's proffering, beaming first at her and then at Hrvalye. "Hrvalye, please allow me to introduce the lovely Cecina Shiran." She winked at him and turned her head back to Cecina, "And Cecina, this is the inestimable Hrvalye Hederian. You're in the same cohort, but I don't know if you've met."

"We've met," Cecina said politely, offering a nod to Hrvalye. Cecina had sharp green eyes that were calmly neutral at the moment, but Hrvalye had seen them dance once, and they were something to behold when they did. She was as tall as him, but her horns were a little longer and better-arched, to say nothing of the beautiful corkscrewing. She was a fur like Hrvalye, and hers was as black as his was white. She wore a somehow-darker black dress that suited her well even if it was far less daring than Novi's.

Hrvalye was glad that he came to this interaction smiling; it's much easier to force an expression to remain in place than it is to force a new one from scratch. He stepped forward and offered his hand for a shake. "Yes. We worked on a couple of projects together, actually."

Cecina grabbed his hand and gave a few shakes. She looked a lot like how Hrvalye felt. "Indeed. You acquitted yourself well in your overview of the antecedents and consequences of Dien Bien Phu."

"And you with the Vietnam War, as we Americans call it." They both managed to chuckle as they ended the handshake, with Cecina the acknowledged victor in their tiny duel.

"Excellent," Novi stepped in, heading off the impending awkward silence, "Your nuts, Mr. Hederian," she said as she handed them over. Hrvalye could feel their lingering toastiness through the pouch, and it helped bolster his fixed smile. "Let's take our seats before the crowds rush in." She set off, and Cecina and Hrvalye followed.

"Nice coat, by the way," Cecina said as she slightly tilted her head up and smirked.

"Thanks." Hrvalye wanted to include a clever line, but he more strongly didn't want to invite another little tussle just now. He was off-form anyway, distracted, wondering why Novi winked at him when she introduced Cecina and how she even knew Cecina well enough to invite her to the ballet.

Novi exchanged a couple of words with the usher and led her entourage to their seats in the center of the mezzanine; an excellent and rather expensive view. Unfortunately, Novi did not think to optimize the seating order before they filed into their row, and Cecina wound up in the middle of the formation. Hrvalye was cut off.

Hrvalye took a deep breath after Cecina passed a program to him.

A fleeting feeling crossed Hrvalye's mind: Did Novi mean to do that?

No, she didn't. This is fine. No one talks during the show anyway. There's no sense in caring too much about something irrelevant.

Despite his best efforts, however, Hrvalye couldn't help but feel a little glum. And with the production not having started yet, Cecina and Novi availed themselves of the opportunity to talk--mostly about the show to come.

You could leave.

That is a ridiculous notion. One does not simply walk out on The Derrien Fabulous Grand Ballet performing The Escaping Hand of Geronel because of a temper tantrum.

But if one felt sick...

No. One does not currently feel sick.

But if one were to feel sick...

One is more resilient than that.

But, just in case, Hrvalye made himself look physically uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat and subtly reached for his stomach and patted it lightly. Then he looked at the nuts with suspicion. Just in case.

The lights dimmed, the theater settled, and the performance began.

As Hrvalye expected and remembered, the troupe was exquisite. Human ballet is beautiful, but lyrrens' sturdy hooves and powerful legs and feet lend themselves to magnificent feats of balance and acrobatics. Their upper bodies are slightly weaker than humans', which does reduce the range of possibilities, but a neutral observer would adjudge that lyrrens are more powerful and graceful. And that's not to say that they're all legs: the audience collectively held its breath when the lead protagonist swung herself around on a villain's horn to escape pursuit--an extremely dangerous and difficult maneuver that could have broken his neck if not done perfectly.

Hrvalye simply could not sink into the moment, however. He was stewing over the situation and castigating himself for said stewing.

You're not even enjoying yourself.

I could if I relaxed.

But you won't. And think, you have to call a cab home. How long will you have to wait awkwardly with Novi and Cecina if you leave after the show ends, when everyone is doing the same thing?

I am an adult. I can handle a little awkwardness.

But you don't want to...

He didn't want to. He glanced over to Cecina and Novi. They were rapt. Like he should have been.

And they were holding hands.

His darker monologue didn't need to say anything. He would leave at intermission.

Why wait? You're sick, remember?

Why wait... it's more realistic to have to leave suddenly.

He tapped Cecina's shoulder and quickly whispered in Arvanyan, "I'm feeling a little sick. I have to go. I'll see you later." And without waiting for her nodding acknowledgment he tapped his armrest a couple of times and stood up, squeezing past the other seats until he got into the aisle and jogged down to and out the exit door.

As he pulled out his phone to request a cab, he realized he was still wearing Novi's jacket. How stupid of him. And there was no one checking coats anymore. But at least he knew where the coat room was--more or less. He very carefully skulked down the hallways, petrified at how humiliated he'd feel if he were caught. Thankfully, he wasn't; this mission, at least, ended in complete success, and he escaped to a waiting cab without any additional hiccups.

The cold was far more tolerable when he had to only spend a few seconds in it, as was his plan all along. From the cab he messaged Novi: "Sorry I had to leave. I don't know if it was the nuts, but... well, you know. It was great to see you and Cecina. I hope she's enjoying herself." Hmph. "I left your coat roughly where you stole it from before the show."

Just as the cab pulled up to his apartment, Hrvalye received a response, "Cecina's coat, actually. I'm so sorry you had to leave. I really hope that you're okay. Call me in the morning. We'll do our best to enjoy ourselves without you in the meantime. (;"

Hrvalye sighed. Why was she winking?