The Odds
"Terminally geeky" Joel Silver has almost everything. Friends. Hobbies. A 486 with 16 megs of RAM. But now he's falling for a classmate, and there's just one problem: see, she's a dog...
"Terminally geeky" Joel Silver has almost everything. Friends. Hobbies. A 486 with 16 megs of RAM. But now he's falling for a classmate, and there's just one problem: see, she's a dog...
Nostalgia! This is my return to form, attempting to write an homage to classic furry lit. You know what's gonna happen, it does happen; there's a bit of '90s flair ;) Hope you like it! Thanks to Spudz for editing help!
Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.
"The Odds" _ _by ** Rob Baird**
"You know what they need to do? Make a fourth fuckin' Star Wars."
"Justin, shut the hell up," I laughed. Justin was high, like normal, and although he had a skeleton's complexion to go along with his skeleton's build, he had started affecting all gangsta of late. "What do you want with another Star Wars? Jedi wrapped things up fine."
"Jedi ain't wrap up shit," Justin snorted. "And shit, dawg, even if it did you see that New Hope title scroll be all: Episode Four. Well, where the other three at, motherfuckers?"
"George Lucas is full of it." With typical assertiveness, my friend Drew added in his piece. He tipped the open bag of Peanut M&M's my way, and while I took a handful he went on. "There were never any plans for anything to come before episode 'four.'" He put air quotes around that. "What the heck would you even tell in the first three parts?"
"Lots. More than this Indiana Jones bullshit. I mean, Clone Wars? Stealin' those plans from the Death Star? Be showin' shit 'bout how Lord Vader came to be and all? How they was as like, kids an' shit?"
"Kid Vader? Christ." I finished off my can of Coke and tossed it towards the trash can of the movie theater where the last reel of Stargate had just finished playing. Drew folded up his bag of candy, and we started walking to the parking lot. "You want to know something, Justin?"
"What's that?" he asked. But he slurred it, in the style of his damned CDs. Wazzat.
"First of all, you're white. Everybody in Boulder is white. Second, you're really fucking high. You've been talking about Stargate like it was an Indiana Jones movie for, like, half an hour."
"Egypt? Archaeologists? E'rybody be gettin' all up in that dusty old fuckin' --"
"Nazis," Drew interjected. "You remember those?"
"No?"
Drew tossed up his hands. "Because there weren't any. Sheesh."
"Wait... there weren't?"
"No!"
"How you have a movie like that without Nazis? Even fuckin' Rocketeer had Nazis and that was some Disney shit. Like --"
"Third," I cut him off. "Even if Lucas were to surface from his swimming pool of gold doubloons to make a movie, you wouldn't like it. Expectations never live up to reality."
"Hmph."
"And fourth," Drew finished triumphantly, "there is no fourth, because Joel only ever planned to make three points. QED."
Sure. Three was a good number, anyway. The three of us, for example. Drew Barner, Justin Hensley, and Joel Silver. Obi-Wan, Han Solo, and Luke. Spock, Kirk, and... who was I? Chekov? Damn, was I Chekov?
Oof.
Well, at least Chekov had a Dodge Caravan. Drew was too cheap to buy a car, and Justin got around by bus or bumming rides off me. On a night like that one, though -- crisp October night, the first where you could really feel winter coming on -- it was nice to have a working heater.
"Hey, look," Drew nudged me. "Isn't that your girlfriend?"
I grimaced. "She's not my girlfriend. We don't even talk."
"You try throwing something?" Justin teased, and leaned down to scoop up a fallen stick. Pulled his arm back, like he was going to pitch -- I grabbed his wrist, a little too roughly and a little too defensively, and shoved him into the passenger's seat of the van. "What?"
"Nothing," I growled, and pulled the stick from his hand. "You get in the car too, Drew. Man, fuck you guys..."
Fortunately, Rory hadn't noticed. At least, I assumed so. This was one of those awkward things, because I didn't really know that much about Rory, except her name, and that she was also a junior, and that she competed in Speech and Debate and the chess club.
Oh, right, and that she wasn't human.
Rory was a dog, though not the four-legged kind. She walked on two feet, and could talk like anybody else -- I may be weird, but I'm not that weird. She was one of those experimental things they're making on campus; if you're curious, that's the reason you see all those protesters on Baseline sometimes.
When they don't turn out right for experiments, they get mainstreamed. Rory was one of only three of her age in town, and they all went to my high school. We had to take them, because the project headquarters at the University of Colorado said that they needed some kind of home.
It didn't say much more than that. It didn't, for instance, say how you were supposed to treat them. Me, I thought Rory -- thick brown fur, bright eyes behind big glasses, perky triangles for ears -- was kind of cute. My companions were not quite so persuaded. "You protest too much," Drew snickered.
"You know, though, it's not like we're the most popular kids in the fucking high school," I pointed out. Nobody would've made that mistake, it was true. "You could show some respect."
"Well, yes," Justin agreed. "You know what you could do?"
"What?"
"Keep to your own species." He slumped back into his seat like some profound point had been made, although of course I knew that Rory wasn't human. Everybody knew that.
"You going to offer her a ride?"
Sighing, half-wishing I had a tail of my own to tuck, I lowered my head and pretended I hadn't heard Drew. The minivan wheezed by the dog unremarked, and a few seconds later Justin started going on about Stargate again. The night meandered on, with Rory forgotten by everyone except me. And that was that.
Thing is, see, everybody was right.
Justin was right that it was stupid to feel the way I did, even if he wasn't quite quick-witted enough to call it 'puppy love.' Presumably the NWA had a more profane word for it anyway. Rory probably had her own friends; her own hobbies. She didn't even know who I was.
Drew was right that if I intended to change that, at least introducing myself to her would be a good first start. I just didn't know how to begin.
And I was right that if anybody at the high school was going to need help finding somebody to pick on, it would be us three. Terminally geeky, that's how Drew's sister diagnosed us. Drew's folks worked for IBM, and they both seemed to have the sense that there was something to the new generation of computers, but not enough to help us beyond the arcane statement that this latest network was the Internet. My dad was a lawyer who negotiated construction contracts with the city. Justin's dad worked on an oil rig, and his mom taught at an alternative school.
So nobody knew what to make of us. Not our classmates, not our siblings. Not our parents -- mine didn't bat an eye when I brought the car back late. They knew, after all, I was just off doing some terminal geek shit, which they assumed would be astronomy club instead of getting bootlegged SNES cartridges to work in Justin's imported machine. Or Dungeons and Dragons. Or playing Civilization in Drew's basement until 6 in the morning and stumbling, bleary-eyed, up the stairs to dump Taster's Choice into boiling water and call it breakast.
The first few years of high school had been a little trying. Then the others learned that we didn't make for particularly good fodder, because we didn't care enough to give a response. We hadn't minded being ostracized -- who cared about that, when there were Aztecs to conquer? And we were allowed to exist outside the currents of school cliques.
Drifting, mostly.
After class let out on Wednesday I had gathered my belongings and was making my way off the grounds when I caught a flash of activity from the corner of my eye. Rory had her head down, and was pointedly ignoring the jeers of the two men following her. Seth Hurley and Aaron Speer, along with Seth's brother Warren, made up what amounted to the dysfunctional equivalent of my Gang of Three. Seth and Aaron were due to graduate; Warren was in my grade -- and in classes two years below it. Their interests ran to cars instead of computers, and they were charismatic enough to be popular -- but, unlike me and my friends, only amongst the student body.
And not even all of them. Seth picked up a stick, just like Justin had done, and threw it in a sharp arc over Rory's left shoulder. "Fetch!"
She hunched further, and kept walking.
He tossed another. This one clipped her: she stumbled, and her papers went flying. "Nice!" Aaron snickered.
"Bad dog. How come you didn't come when I called you?"
I could see Rory close her eyes and take a deep breath, rather than responding.
Seth was tall, like Justin, but unlike my bony friend the senior was thick-muscled and imposing. Rory was a couple of feet shorter, and although she had the stocky appearance of a teddy bear I had the impression it was mostly fur. When the boy gave her shoulder a shove, and she cringed, she looked even smaller than usual. "I asked you a question."
"Come on, be a good girl," Aaron added. "You could get a treat." He pulled out a plastic baggie from his jacket and held it out; I didn't know what was inside it, but from the pair's tone it was unlikely to be pleasant.
When she still didn't answer, Seth shoved harder, pushing her to the ground. She stayed there, in a crouch, and Seth bent over. "Do I need to call the pound or are you gonna start talking, huh?" He took a step forward -- less to make sure she could hear him than to step on her papers, grinding them into the dirt. All three ignored me when I approached. "Speak!"
"What do you want?" she finally asked, so quietly I could scarcely hear it.
"That's better. If you want to go, all you have to do is beg for it. You can beg, right?"
Silence.
She started to get up, and Seth shoved her again. "Nope. Beg. Do a trick."
My anger finally got the better of me. "Hey, c'mon, back off."
Rory had frozen. The two boys turned to me, and Seth sneered. "Yeah, or what, Joel? Your dad's gonna revoke our planning permits?"
"Leave my dad out of it," I snapped back. "Just stop being such a dick. What the hell did she do to deserve that?"
"Didn't beg? Weren't you watching? And what do you care anyway?" Aaron got in my face about it; wasn't like anybody was going to stop him. He had a mean, coarse, misshapen face -- the kind of face that was too young to have been in many fights, but clearly wanted to get an early start. "You her owner? You want to play with her, too?"
I crossed my arms. "Don't make me --"
"What?" Seth barked an ugly laugh. "Seriously? A threat?"
"Oh, boy, Seth. Watch out for your pogs," his friend snorted.
It had been much easier to feel brave when I was on the other side of the street. "Okay, if you think you need to beat me up too, fine. Who do you think the cops are going to listen to?"
The problem with Seth Hurley, unlike Aaron, was that he looked like a decent kid -- like he should've been the star of the football team, and volunteering at church on the weekends. So when he stared me down, it almost -- almost -- felt like a conversation between equals. The spell was broken when he shrugged. "Whatever. Not worth wasting time on you two fucks."
They turned to leave. Aaron tossed the bag -- a dead rat, and a fairly ripe one at that -- so that it bounced off Rory's back and fell to the wet grass limply. "Have fun, dork. Fuckin' dog-lover."
I waited until they were out of earshot before I let out the curse I'd been holding under my breath. "Are you... okay?"
Rory picked herself up, slowly. Her ears were laid flat. They were essentially perfect triangles, fringed with fuzzy brown fur that I imagined to be impossibly soft to the touch. "Whatever," she muttered. Then she bent back over, feeling around for her glasses.
She was off by a few feet, so I scooped them up and handed them to her. It was the closest I'd ever been to the canine -- I could see her whiskers, and her soft brown eyes trying to focus on the frames. She got it after a moment, with the glasses resting back on the bridge of her muzzle -- not secured terribly well. The temples nudged awkwardly into the thick fur of her cheeks. "I don't get --"
"I said whatever," she interrupted me. "I don't need any help."
Startled, I stepped back a pace. "Sorry."
Rory looked away. Her ears were still pinned, and her feathery tail was between her legs, tugging the fabric of her skirt forward. "Just not any of your business." She gathered up her folders, stuffing the papers back inside with irritated agitation. "I can handle myself."
"It still doesn't give them the right to do that..."
"It doesn't matter. You're not the police," the dog growled. Clasping her schoolwork tight, she stared up the sidewalk and took a deep breath.
"I know," I offered, gently. "Yeah, okay. Sorry. Hope the rest of your day goes... better."
"Yeah." Rory's voice was flat. Without another look, she started up the path, and though we were supposed to be going the same way I decided on a detour. My parents didn't ask why I got back an hour later than usual, and I wouldn't have told the truth anyway.
That night, and the next night, I thought more about the encounter.
It was supposed to go that I'd stand up to the bullies, and they'd leave us alone, and she'd thank me and we'd start talking. In my head it played out that way, no matter how I ended it. Like, the passionate speech that left Aaron and Seth questioning what, really, they were doing in life. Or knocking Seth flat with a punch. Or casting a magic spell that made them disappear, which was just as likely as either of the other stories.
It didn't change that I liked Rory, though. Even her aloofness was kind of interesting -- a reassuring streak of independence. My parents had a coffee table book, an encyclopedia of dog breeds; I leafed through it and decided that she was a 'Belgian tervuren.' The book said they were shy with strangers. And nervous.
But that they formed very strong, loyal bonds.
That was the part I stuck with, of course. I'd picked up the habit of driving to school on Fridays, so that I could stop by the video rental store on the way back and see what they had in stock. We didn't really have plans for the weekend -- just hanging out, and trying to get an old game working -- but it was good to be prepared.
Rory was sitting at the bus stop. If nothing else, I thought she deserved an apology for the way I'd presumed I could "save" her from Seth and Aaron; I ambled over carefully, and drifted into her field of vision as nonthreateningly as I could. "Uh... hi."
"You again?"
Not the most auspicious start to a conversation ever, even one of mine. "Me again. You're waiting for something?"
"No. Well..." Rory sighed; her ears splayed again. "I was. I was supposed to go down to Columbine for a speech meet, but they ran out of room. In the carpool."
"Really?"
A few drops of rain were starting to fall. I hadn't felt any of them yet -- just caught the faint sound, and the darkening pavement. A gust of wind rippled through the dog's soft fur. "I wasn't going to ride in the trunk."
"Taking the bus?"
A raindrop pasted her left ear, which flicked reflexively. Sighing, slumping down onto the bench, she shook her head.
"No?" I prompted. If I didn't speak, I gathered there would be no interruption until the bus showed up -- whenever the hell that was.
"They found somebody else." She wasn't looking at me, anymore; her dappled muzzle was angled at the sidewalk, watching the afternoon fade into cold drizzle. "Look, I told you the other day that it doesn't matter. I'm just gonna... go home, I guess. Bus'll come soon."
"Alright..."
"So you can go."
Once again if I'd had a plan, this wasn't living up to it. The dog didn't want to talk, though, and I couldn't force it out of her, so finally I shrugged and walked around the parking lot to my car. For some reason I found it hard to turn the key -- instead I listened to the distracted patter of the rain on the roof, and tried to think of some new way to turn back time before I'd fucked it all up.
Geordi could've had it in an instant -- rewiring the Caravan's ignition to generate a tachyon pulse with his tricorder. Commander Sinclair would've gotten divine help from Valen. In one of Drew's stories the car might've been specially modified for that sort of thing, and it would transform into a missile-laden robot with a timeshift drive accompanied by synth music.
I thought about trying to get the crate up to 88 miles an hour, but there wasn't a chance in hell of that.
Of course, stories had heroes, and I wasn't a hero. Wasn't special, except for my weird unrequited crush on a dog. Just quiet, keeps-to-himself, could-do-so-much-better-with-effort Joel Silver. A background character the DM would forget about in a few rounds and the players don't even bother to pickpocket.
Half an hour lost in daydreaming, just like that. I shook my head, and turned the key.
There was still a figure huddled on the bench, although at least one bus had to have gone by.
Well, hell. What did they say about third times?
Rory's clothes weren't well suited for the rain. I guess she wasn't cold all that often, with the fur coat and all, but her jacket and skirt were just cotton and she had nothing heavier over them. The unsheltered stop offered no resistance to the building downpour. Rain streaked her glasses and matted her pelt. Her eyes were shut.
Steeling myself, I forced the door open, and nudged it wide enough to shout. "Hey. Come on, get in."
She looked up, and blinked in surprise -- though she had to be blind, behind those water-smeared glasses. "What?"
"I'll give you a ride."
A horn sounded behind me from an irritated driver who could fuck the hell off. Rory looked between that car, and mine. Her ear twitched. Two seconds, and a renewed torrent, convinced her; she got up and slunk over to my car, pulling herself inside and fumbling with the seatbelt. "Why?"
"I don't think you'd like the answer," I admitted. The driver behind me honked again; I stayed for a moment longer, out of spite, before working the Caravan into gear. "Where to?"
"Out past 55th. Tell me the answer anyway."
Scouting for an opportunity to turn around gave me an excuse for delaying my answer. "You looked really... sad. I..."
"Felt sorry for me?"
She had a way of phrasing it that made me feel a little guilty. "Yeah. Besides, I... I have a car, so..."
Rory turned, staring outside. Her breath fogged the window. Even with her fur all wet she... looked cute, I had to admit it. At least to myself. I didn't see why anyone would disagree -- Christ, certainly not to the point of throwing things or teasing her. People. She licked her nose, and fidgeted. "I guess that's okay. Better than the alternatives."
I didn't know how to respond to that. "Why do you live so far out? Wouldn't it be easier for you to go to Fairview?"
"They keep us all together," Rory shrugged. "My parents didn't care." She seemed to catch something in my quick glance over. "No, not biological. Government pays people to adopt the rejects like me. Covers food and schooling and stuff. It isn't a love thing."
"Oh."
"Better than the alternatives," she said for the second time.
"Which is?"
She held her fingers apart to mimic a syringe being employed. "'This will only sting for a moment'."
I cringed, at the implication, and realized just how little I knew about the dogs. They were being tested as assistants, I thought, for blind people and airport screeners and all. But if they were experiments then presumably there must have been failures, and... "Jesus..."
Another shrug. "They don't do it anymore. Officially."
"Unofficially?"
Why the hell had I asked? What a morbid topic. "We're not all homeable," she murmured, without giving further details. The dog turned, looking for something else; another topic. Her fingers brushed the radio buttons of the tape deck. "Anything good?"
"God, uh..." What was in there? "Drew got to pick last. It's really a crapshoot."
She pushed the 'play' button hesitantly. Tape hiss. Particle man, particle man, doin' the things a particle can. "Oh dear."
"I'll spoil it for you," I frowned. "They have a fight. Triangle wins."
"Fatality?"
I looked over. Rory had a half-smile. "Wouldn't have pegged you for a gamer."
"I spend a lot of time at the arcade. It's... um." Better than home, I guessed. Or, rather: better than the alternatives. She didn't finish the thought. "Well. The music could be worse."
True; Drew had also been going through a Moxy Fruvous phase. "You have a Walkman or something?" The dog-girl looked to the backpack between her feet, and tugged the cassette player out for my inspection. "I mean, if you want..."
That got a headshake. "I made it in a weird mood, yesterday. It's not... uh..."
"Is it 'What's up,' over and over again?"
That's how I got to find out that Rory had a cute little chuffing laugh. She returned the Walkman to her pack. "No, it's Weezer, over and over again."
"Who?"
Another headshake.
That one was softer, but it still dripped water onto the seat. I rolled a mental d20. "Hey, um. Do you want to get some coffee?"
"What?"
"There's a place, like, two blocks right from this light. Me and my friends go there sometimes because they don't chase us out and they let us set up game boards there. Just, like, uh -- I mean, you could dry off."
"I don't..."
Think so.
Want to.
Intend to have anything to do with you.
A lot of things could've come next, so I suggested my own when she let the sentence hang: "Drink coffee? We could get something else."
Rory stared at her feet. She had white feet, wedged into sandals. It was probably hard for her to find shoes, I reasoned. The fur was muddy, and still damp. Her ears swiveled first back, then forward; back again. "You sure?"
There wasn't anybody behind us. I cut across the next lane to make the turn, flicking my signal on belatedly. "Why not, huh?"
"I'm really not sure I get you," Rory told me, after we'd ordered and taken a seat. She was having warm milk, with a little added sugar; rather than meeting my eyes, she focused on stirring. "Why are you treating me like this?"
"I dunno, I... I wanted to hang out with you."
Her head quirked. "Why?"
"Because you're so... I... I dunno? Cool? You're in all the advanced classes and stuff, and... like... those drawings you did for Mr. East's class were so good, but like... or... um, like, I watched one of your speeches when Drew was in debate last spring and..." Lordy, it was so much easier being brave when Justin's brother or some other friendly face was DMing. "I could never figure out how to say that before. Uh -- like I have it figured out now. Sorry." I grimaced.
Rory just blinked.
"Anyway I knew you wouldn't be interested. So I shut up. I'm gonna do that now, too."
She blinked again. Her big glasses made her bright eyes seem a little sharper than usual. "You already have friends."
"I know. I'm sure you do too. It's not a... a limited quantity. Not like all the slots are taken or anything." Even if three was a good number. What the hell was I even saying? I wanted to retreat, but the wall at my back offered no shelter. God, I sounded stupid.
The dog-girl seemed to agree, because she snorted and stared with those big eyes into the formica of the beaten table. "Joel, I don't have friends."
"Well..."
"I have people who want to tease me, and people who want to fuck me 'cause they figure I'm desperate." She swallowed, ears drooping. "And easy. And lonely. So go on. Pick."
"That's not fair..."
"Try living it. I said pick."
"Look... I... I just think you seemed like you'd be fun to chill with..."
Her ears stayed back, and she swallowed a few more times. "Come on. Choose."
"You don't think I might just like you, Rory?"
"You don't know anything about me!" It was kind of a yelp; fortunately the café was empty. "Except my name, huh?"
"What? It's a... it's a good name!"
Teeth flashed so fast I almost missed it. "It's a boy's name. You know how I got it?"
"No..."
She twitched, all over. "It was the first thing I said. You know, when I was a puppy. Rurr, rurr" -- she growled it, in a disconcertingly canine way. Her voice was starting to break. "Pretty fucking hilarious, isn't it? Obvious fucking joke I was the last fucking one in on. Go on. Laugh. Do something."
"I... don't think anybody would guess. It's just a cute name."
Rory's whiskers quivered. "Stop it, Joel. Just pick one. You want to throw a tennis ball for the little dog girl? Or -- or you more like -- cornering me in the gym with a -- with a leash and coll -- a god-damn --" She choked herself off, blinking rapidly behind those thick glasses. Her voice, dragged out now with great difficulty, was a tremulous plea: "Will you just be honest and tell me what you want to do to me?"
I was really, really far out of my depth. The canine was kind of panting; her muzzle puffed with her shallow breaths. I didn't know if dogs like her could cry, but she certainly looked like she wanted to. "Honestly?"
"Yes."
"Come over to the booth side of the table?" The request found her off-guard. She flinched, and her head canted in surprise. "So neither of us have to shout."
I guess she figured she didn't have anything left to lose. Rory slid from her chair and joined me next to the wall. Then she turned, expectant bitterness in her eyes. "Well?"
"Can I give you a hug?"
Her brow wrinkled, and she froze. I held up my arm. Still motionless, her eyes swept over it. Wavered...
Then she scooted closer, and I dropped my arm around her. She shivered, and resisted for a second when I pulled her against my side. When the resistance collapsed, it went like the Soviet Union -- quick and complete and all-over. Rory pushed herself up into me, laying her head awkwardly on my chest. Her eyes were open, but unfocused. "There. I answered. Your move, now, okay?"
"Wasn't one of the choices," was all she said.
"Too bad, I suppose."
Rory sniffled faintly, and managed a wan smile. "You're going to smell like wet dog."
"I don't mind." I squeezed gently.
Another sniffle, before she rallied to steady her nerves. "Weirdo."
That wasn't the kind of thing I could hope to argue. "Pretty much. But you know, Rory, you're not the only outsider." I felt it was an important point to make. "You're not the only person who gets teased, either. You know what my friends and I did last weekend? Homecoming weekend?"
"Band?" she guessed.
Actually it wasn't a bad one, really. Seemed like it might be the only way we'd ever be caught at one of those things, outside of a court order. "We're too weird for band. No, we spent it rewatching bootlegs of Babylon 5 and trying to fix this SPARCstation Drew's dad found. And, uh. Playing Fire Hazard Russian Death Racing Competition Game."
"Is that... an import?"
"It's, um... it's where Justin builds a radio-controlled car and puts a Soviet flag on the antenna and drives it around and Drew and I shoot roman candles at it until we run out of roman candles or battery juice." The name replaced its earlier moniker, 'Cold War: the Sequel,' when we'd had to explain what we were doing to a policeman.
"Sounds fun." Rory was starting to calm down. Her clothes and fur were still damp, but even so her body was remarkably warm. It felt kinda nice, truth to tell. I hugged her a little tighter, and her shoulders jerked in a sigh. "I still don't get you."
I didn't always get myself. "Okay. But maybe you could trust me, first?"
"I wish that wasn't so... hard..."
All things considered, it didn't seem right to blame her. "We could start."
Rory tilted her head to look up at me. She was naturally short and the slouch sapped her height even further. With how light she was, and how diminutive, and how soft it was all a little like having a conversation with an injured stuffed animal. "Yeah?"
"You want to come over tomorrow? That could be step two."
"What's step one?"
I paused -- startled, at first, that she hadn't said 'no' outright. "Step one would be finishing your drink. But then I have to drive you home, so I guess if you came over tomorrow that would be step... hmm..."
My canine friend -- it was nice to think that, at least -- took a slower breath. Feeling her relax was quite pleasant. "Twenty."
"Twenty?"
"Step twenty, hang out tomorrow. Step ten, finish my drink," she explained. "Step fifteen, drive home."
"You're leaving space between ten and fifteen?"
Rory lifted her head away, and smiled shyly. "Why not, huh?"
Sometimes even weirdos roll a natural 20.
The next morning, Drew and Justin showed up early -- by the time I took a shower and made my way to the shed in my backyard they'd both already invited themselves in. My parents didn't know, and wouldn't have minded. The place had been pretty much mine for a solid few years.
It would have been good for building things and working on motorcycles, had my father any mechanical aptitude whatsoever. Instead he'd furnished it as a guest room, before realizing none of his family wanted to leave Florida to visit Colorado. As a result it was one of our regular haunts: nobody would bother us, and it had power and a phone line.
Justin waved to me when I entered. He had sprawled out on the sofa and was fiddling with the switches of a busted radio control transmitter we'd picked up a few weeks before at a garage sale. I caught him and Drew in the middle of an idle, slow conversation. "Aw, tite. Naw, I think this crystal's fine, dude."
My other friend looked over. "I thought that guy said it wasn't triggering right?"
"Homie don't know shit," Justin laughed, and squinted at the exposed insides. "These Futabas are mad noisy, that's all. We gonn' check the servos, though..." He tossed the transmitter onto the cushion, got up, and rubbed his hands. "'Bout to get some oscilloscopin' up in this piece."
I cracked open a can of Coke and tried to play things off like nobody would notice. "Hey, so. I invited... somebody."
"Somebody?"
"Uh. Rory," I clarified.
Justin made a face. "Man, that be wack. What you do that for?"
"Because it's my dad's shed." Much as I trusted Han and Obi-Wan, it was easiest to have made the offer in a place I had some ownership of. "And we didn't have real plans anyway. Don't be a dick."
"Fuckin' dog, though, I mean come on," he groused, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "Be gettin' hair and shit everywhere. Fuck, homie, you be actin' like we gots some, like, fuckin' tug-o-war, like... fetch an' shit..."
"Justin..."
He was on a roll. "Bitch be all --"
"Justin! Jesus! The language."
"Maybe he was being literal," Drew suggested. "I mean, because..."
"Not you, too," I warned him. "Look. Justin. How high are you going to have to be before you don't say anything..."
"Stupid?"
I shrugged. "That's a lost cause. 'Mean.'"
"Like... medium-high?"
Rolling my eyes, I held out a ten-dollar bill. "Go wild."
My friend took it skeptically. "For real?"
"We're going to make a good impression. Or at least, you're going to make a stoned impression, and Drew and I are going to make a good impression. Okay?"
Grumbling, he shambled off to get an early start.
Drew had crossed his arms. He was wearing his customary button-up that made him look a little like he was shilling for the LDS; the gesture wasn't particularly threatening. "What?" I asked, not quite glaring.
"You know what!"
"It was your idea! You told me to talk to her."
"I didn't think you'd listen." But then he laughed: "She's alright?"
That was reassuring. I hadn't thought Drew would mind -- honestly, I didn't really think Justin would care either, once he was distracted enough. "Pretty sure. I haven't asked her about the important stuff."
"Joel. Dude." He pointed his finger at me warningly. "If you bring a Genesis person into this room..."
A knock on the door punctuated the threat. Despite a prophesied temperature drop on the morning forecast, the dog was wearing her ordinary outfit: jacket over a thin tee; an unpatterned skirt that fell to her knees. The jacket was a boy's cut; Rory had what I thought of as an undeniably feminine countenance, and a thick mane of shoulder-length hair, but she was flat-chested and not particularly curvy.
The clothes were also at least a size too large. Thinking about it, her coat was so thick anything she wore at all was probably only for modesty. So she chose loose-fitting attire because anything tighter would've been uncomfortable on fur, and because she didn't have much to show off. Still, I liked the effect; she looked relaxed. "Hey, Rory."
She raised her paw, and waved apprehensively. "Hi guys. The bus was --"
"Sega or Nintendo," Drew cut her off.
"What." Her ears went back, and she blinked in confusion.
"He'll kill you if you don't give the right answer," I added. I wanted to be reassuring, of course; Drew's scowl made even his missionary chic look menacing.
Rory was unfazed. "Nintendo. C'mon. Don't be stupid."
The scowl vanished instantly. "Cool. Peanut M&M?"
"This is Drew. That's Justin," I pointed at the gangling figure bent over rolling papers on the counter. "He's, uh. OG."
"True dat," Justin agreed, without looking up.
Rory pulled the door shut behind her, and shrugged off her backpack. "And he is... white, though, correct? I'm colorblind. It's a dog thing."
"Really?"
"No."
"I'm here to keep it real," Justin proposed as an explanation, sealing the joint with the same deceptive expertise he used when soldering.
Rory stared. "Fresh," she finally nodded, in perfect deadpan. Her eyes kept roaming -- over the workbench, and the stack of hand-labeled VHS tapes, and the computer towers huddling for shelter next to an overladen desk. "PCs?"
"Yeah... Justin has an Amiga too, and Drew has this old SPARCstation we got like... two weeks ago? But, like, why would you --"
"You just dis my Amiga?"
"Kinda. Anyway, we..." I trailed off, but really there was no point in denying things. "Like, officially it's for school, but we mostly just play games. Civilization and TIE Fighter, lately."
Rory picked up a box. "Wing Commander 2?"
"Doesn't work," Drew grumped. "It's really squirrelly."
"On this?" She pointed to the tower currently perching on the desk. Looming over its brethren, it had the air of a demagogue at the pulpit. "486?"
I nodded. "Yep!" Our current pride and joy, assembled by bartering and mindful salvage. "Game goes all weird on it. Tried it with turbo on, turbo off..."
"It sorta works on our 386," Drew continued. "That's our best angle so far. Hard locks, though, and we have to reboot it."
The dog-girl cocked her head, looking to the computers. Her tail gave a half-wag. How could I be the only one who found that irresistible? "Running out of memory? Hard drive space?"
"You can see for yourself..." Drew set aside the bag of candy and ambled over, tapping the beige case of our 386 with his foot. "Shouldn't be, though. Drive's compressed. And we definitely have enough RAM. Maybe too much, even. We were experimenting -- but you can turn off XMS and it doesn't fix anything... so that was my first thought, kinda, but... no..."
Rory tilted her head the other way, still thinking. "Close, though! I'm pretty sure... Wing Commander really doesn't like Stacker. Have you tried without it?"
"It's a thirty meg drive," I countered. "Without Stacker, you either have Wing Commander, or you have Windows 3.1. Not both."
She grinned; her tail waved more and more freely. "Well, you need to get your priorities straight, then! You want to try, at least? I can't be the only one who likes chasing cats..."
And like that, she was in.
Not all the way in. With her help, and a little work, we got the game working, but she proved to be more partial to Wing Commander than Civilization and that clearly offended Drew's grand-strategy ambitions. She took to working with radio components easily, but to Justin's obvious dismay she turned down both NWA and a hit off his joint. She knew more than any of us about the Internet, but nothing about Dungeons and Dragons.
Also she liked Deep Space Nine better than Babylon 5, and I felt that this would need correcting.
So: not all the way in, but close enough.
Drew and Justin called it an early night -- 2 in the morning -- but Rory lingered, when they left, and I found myself pretty happy about that. It was nice to be alone with her, even if only for a few moments. I figured she'd be heading out, too -- for a long walk, considering the bus schedules.
But, to my surprise, when I settled down on the sofa Rory did the same. "That was the most fun I've had... ever? Thanks for inviting me..."
"Of course! Thanks for coming."
She shook her head, unable to hide her canine smile. "Sure. It's... it's really nice to have an escape. I thought it was always just going to be bulletin boards and Usenet..."
"You're on Usenet?"
Rory shrugged. "I like it. On the Internet, nobody knows you're a dog."
"Huh. True."
She took a deep breath, and then leaned on my side, closing her eyes. For the second time, I slipped an arm around her, and she snuggled up obligingly. Strong, loyal bonds, you know? Dry, her heavy fur coat was soft, and warm, and slightly ticklish. "I don't know what I was expecting."
"From?"
"I dunno. Any of this. You."
More than anything I didn't want to ruin it. But a voice in my head urged honesty, and it would have to come out sooner or later. "I just like you, Rory. You're great. You're smart, and... fun to talk to... and you know about cool music, and... and you're... um. Honestly, you're really pretty..."
"Pretty what?"
"No. Just that. Cute. Attractive." I was supposed to find that weird to say, but it didn't seem odd on my tongue.
And the look she gave me wasn't rejection -- more like disbelief. Faint suspicion, and fainter hope. "That sounds stronger than... 'like.'"
"Yeah."
Hope kindled a little brighter. Rory covered it in a protective shell, to keep it from being snuffed: "It would be totally fucking weird if I maybe sort of... agreed... right?"
"Why?"
"Because then we might be, like..."
"A thing?"
"Yeah." She let suspicion try its hand again: "Nobody wants a relationship with a dog."
"Somebody might. Maybe it depends on what the dog wants."
"'Maybe'?"
"Hypotheticals are tough." I felt for her paw, and took it gently. "What do you want?"
Rory fidgeted, worrying her white-furred fingers together in my palm. "I've never... gone out with anybody."
"So? I haven't either. What about yesterday, at the coffee shop?"
Though I'd seen it a few times by now, every time she tilted her head I still found the gesture irresistibly fetching. The angle deepened, when she saw my smile. "Does that count?"
"It could. Not like this is written down anywhere -- nobody has to know. We could say it was..."
She nodded, very slowly. "Can we change some things?"
"Like?"
"The part where I started crying?"
"Never happened. It was just a real nice conversation. We talked about Deep Space Nine and shared a brownie."
"I can't eat chocolate," she reminded me, starting to smile again.
"Croissant?"
Rory licked her muzzle. "Better. Then we traded mixtapes."
"You gave me your copy of, um..."
"Slanted and enchanted."
"That. I asked you to come over, because I said I really like you..."
A series of heavy thumps from her tail filled the warm interval before she came up with an answer. "I said 'yes' and did a really bad job of hiding how excited I was. I always do a bad job of hiding my emotions."
Like the tail, or the animated pricking of her ears. "That's true."
The spell wavered. One of the ears dropped. "'Cause I'm a dog."
And so damned what? "I don't care, though." I brushed her arm with the back of my fingers.
"The weird thing..." Rory seemed lost in uncertain thought. "The weird thing is, you know, I think I believe you."
"Good."
"I have to try really hard at school. To be more... more normal. To pretend."
There was only so much you could do -- at least, in the real world instead of on Usenet. Unless it didn't matter. Unless you met somebody who was sick and tired of this bizarre idea of freaks and outcasts and... the terminally geeky. "You don't have to pretend anything. You're not a dog-dog to me. You're just... like... Rory."
"I think I like that."
"It's a deal, then."
Her ears flattened back into her dark hair, and she looked past me. Frowned nervously. Bit her lip. "Hey, but..."
"But?"
"Do you..." The ears went back further, until I couldn't see them anymore. It was very hard to resist the impulse to try to straighten them myself. "Would you mind if I sometimes did, like..."
"Hm?"
She twitched, and pushed her muzzle into my shoulder to muffle her voice further. "Dog stuff," she finally said. Like it was a shameful admission. I echoed it as a question, and she slumped. "I can't... help it. All the time."
"That's okay."
"Really?"
"Well. Like what?"
Rory swallowed nervously. Glancing to either side, as if suspicious of watchers, she abruptly leaned back, and gave my face a lick. Her broad tongue slurped a warm, satiny path over my cheek and nose, leaving a cool sensation as the air hit it.
"That's it?" I teased. Her ears lifted. I wiggled one with my finger -- it was every bit as soft as it looked. "That's what you were worried about?"
She wrinkled her muzzle. Then I felt her paw on my shoulder, holding me against the back of the sofa so that I had no way of escaping what followed. Tail wagging hard, ears up, she bathed my face in wet laps that had the insistence of a serious mission betrayed by her giggling.
The giggling lasted even after I finally pushed her muzzle away, and brushed my face clean enough to open my eyes. "I still don't really mind," I reassured her. "I do know you're a dog. A tervuren, right?"
Her brow furrowed, and her head cocked. "What?"
"You're a Belgian tervuren?"
"I don't even know what that is." She darted closer, like she was going to lick my face again, and when I twisted back to escape it she grinned broadly. "I'm a mutt. We're all mutts. Finnish lapphund and Border collie, for me, and... some husky. Just a buncha different stuff smushed together. For science, of course."
"And because it's cute," I reminded Rory, who rolled her eyes. "All domestic, huh? So, Dog Stuff, what happens if I scratch your belly?"
"Nothing," she immediately said.
Suspicious. I slipped my arm lower, so that my hand rested on her navel. "Nothing?"
"Nothing." She glared severely. My fingers scrabbled her playfully. "I said -- hey -- I said 'nothing'!"
The glare was cracking, though, so I did it again, a bit harder. "I don't know. Just trying. Um -- for science, of course."
"Won't -- m-matter." I splayed out my fingers and rubbed into her clothed fur. Her ear twitched. Kicking it up a notch, I let my fingernails dig in to the fabric of her shirt. Rory gave a chuffing hiss that was not enough by far to distract me from the way her leg jerked. "Damn it!"
Her fault, though, with the face-licking. I kept going until her leg was kicking hard, aimlessly, into the empty space beyond the edge of the sofa. Until she was squirming, her heavy tail battering the cushion. Until her breath whistled in a little whine, and her eyes closed. Then I stopped, and smoothed her shirt. "Thought so."
"You!" Rory started to draw her leg back onto the sofa. Thinking better of it, she stretched it across me, and then dropped into my lap. Face to face, she stared fiercely. "You are an evil man."
"You started it." Her eyes flicked up, considering the accusation. "Well, you did, Dog Stuff."
Rory's tail whipped against my knee. "Promise you won't do it again?"
"Read my lips," I answered with a smile. "No new scratches."
The fur of her face was mostly soft, black-tipped mahogany, except for the chestnut-dappled white of her muzzle. Her eyebrows, however, were light bronze, and easily visible when they twitched. "Is that right?"
"Wouldn't be prudent. At this juncture." Without even thinking about it I put both my arms around her, and when I squeezed Rory gave in at once, falling onto my chest pliantly.
Her stiff whiskers brushed my cheek, and her muzzle rested at my ear. "Sure." For the moment the dog-girl was content to pretend to believe me. Her feathery-furred arm hung lazily against my shoulder; her tail swayed over my leg. I didn't move.
Lovely. It was all lovely. Not what I'd imagined. I thought I'd be focused on the way her fur felt, and the look of her perked ears, and those dark, soft eyes. Instead I lingered on the simple comfort of her warm body covering mine like a blanket, and the steady rhythm of her breathing. Even the hint of her scent -- not perfume, just... Rory.
I could even ignore the pressure of her glasses, pushed into the side of my head, and the way her clawed foot was digging sharply at my knee. Worth it. All worth it, for that moment. The dog-girl took a series of deeper and deeper breaths, and then sighed. "I don't want to go home..."
"Because --"
She shook her head and, discovering what I already had about her glasses, first adjusted them and then took them off completely. There was no barrier now to the gentle touch of her fur at my cheek. "Not because it's bad. Just... rather be here."
"You could spend the night here..."
"But it's your place."
"Yeah?"
"Where would you go?" she wanted to know, straightening to look me in the face.
"You can have the couch. I..." I jerked my thumb towards the door, and the implication of my house. "It's not a big... um..."
I stopped talking, because Rory's nose was drifting closer. Her wagging tail counted out a steady few seconds of silence. She tilted her head a few degrees, and parted her muzzle in a smile, and fixed me in soulful puppy eyes. In case I hadn't gotten the message her ears came all the way up, paying rapt attention to me for when she asked, softly: "But... would you stay?"
Not that I had any hope of resisting that. "Of course."
Rory took a deep breath, and brought her muzzle the rest of the way forward.
Her short whiskers were bristly, at first, and the cool touch of her nose was momentarily jarring. Neither of us seemed to know what we were doing -- then again, neither of us seemed to care. We ignored the awkwardness. She tilted her head, and her lips met mine softly. It made for a warm, pleasant touch, and as we kissed, as she wriggled closer to me, I waited to wake up -- certain it was coming.
But it didn't.
Even when I brushed my fingers through the fur of her cheek, and felt her ears splay contentedly into the caress of my hand. Even when my tongue skimmed hers, and we both tensed, and I tasted her for the first time. Even when I watched her eyes flutter gently closed, and the look on her face was so content, so rapturous...
Instead, when I finally had to catch my breath, I found myself staring at a grinning Rory -- eyes open again; sparkling. "I wondered what that would be like," she sighed. And before I could answer that I had, too she tried for seconds and this time there was nothing awkward. Just warmth, and tenderness, and the wordless intimacy spoken in her shallow panting.
I no longer had the faculties to observe dispassionately what was happening. The cutest, most unique girl in all the world was wrapped up in my arms and I was unable to dwell on it, running on instinct. I caught pressure, along my waist; it wasn't until a strange cold followed that my brain put the pieces together, and by then my shirt was already up around my ribcage. My commentary on its subsequent disappearance came out as a mumble.
Rory smiled lopsidedly; her tongue even lolled a bit. "What was that?"
I'd always suspected I'd catch a fit of the nerves, having somebody see me unclothed. It wasn't like the Gang of Three were particularly engaging specimens. The dog's expression didn't show it, though and instead of panic I realized I needed to know two things more than anything else in the universe. I needed to know what her paws would feel like on bare skin, and I needed to know what she looked like under her shirt.
I got to know the second one first. The jacket over her tee went without effort -- it was a light, flimsy thing. Probably she just wore it for the pockets. The shirt wasn't much heavier, thankfully, and she helped me pull it over her fuzzy arms. It caught on her muzzle, because in addition to being a dork I was a little hurried, and I worked it off to find her grinning at my clumsiness. Guilty as charged.
Rory's fur was glorious. Along her sides it was a thick, rich molasses brown; a tawny copper blaze started beneath her chin and plunged down her chest. Her belly was the same color. All of it was plush, and soft -- luxuriant enough she could've been modeling it for a catwalk. I slipped my fingers into it, running them through her pelt eagerly.
She burbled a moan, and started to tumble forward before catching herself. Her paws pressed into my shoulders. Hot -- warm enough I told myself I could feel the radiant line of each finger, ending in the smooth hard points of her shiny claws. They dug in harder when I ruffled her fur up, and when I took my time smoothing it back down she trembled, and the claws raked me slowly.
Gravity tugged weirdly. Rory was... listing; it took my highly distracted mind a few seconds to figure out what she was doing, and a few more to let her pull me down, onto our sides. Her toes closed on the ankle of my jeans, and gave them a provocative tug and -- there. There was the self-doubt. I tensed. "Uh -- Rory?"
"Joel?" She didn't have to hold on to my shoulders anymore. Her fingers were slowly unfastening my belt instead.
"I should, um. I should tell you I, uh -- haven't -- um. You know."
Rory froze, with my belt undone and half removed. Her eyes softened. "Do you not want me to keep going?"
"Yes. Yes -- of course -- I -- I just. I don't know what to, um... do."
She slurped my nose, and finished with the belt. And the jeans. "You'll figure it out," she promised, and gave me another lick when she managed to get my briefs off, too. "It's not so... well." An impish grin, and a final tongue-bathing. "I almost said it's not so hard. Let's go with difficult..."
"Ha, ha," I muttered. Bit of nerves. The mechanics weren't all that puzzling, but...
"Here," she offered, and guided my hands to her skirt. It slid off easily -- her tail took a bit of doing, to pull the fabric over it, but the cotton had enough give that there wasn't a lot of resistance. Underneath there was more soft, silky fur. Her fuzzy butt made for a pleasant squeeze -- for both of us, judging by the way she moaned. Rory wriggled up next to me, pinning me between her heated body and the back of the sofa.
Her leg draped over mine. Along her inner thigh Rory's fur had the downy velvet of moleskin. I discovered my erection was painfully hard, and the feeling of fur on the stiff flesh tugged a groan from deep inside me that the dog-girl welcomed with a toothy smile. Slowly, she worked herself against me, and when at last I ground back into those thick-furred hips she licked her muzzle, embracing me with one arm as she rolled carefully onto her back.
With my hips between her spread thighs the reality of it started to hit. More deliberately, I pushed myself up with one arm, and then sat up so I could see clearly. Not what I'd expected. Rory had fairly human legs, save for that lovely fur. But the golden fur of her belly and crotch rimmed bare, puffy lips that were... novel; nothing like Justin's magazines. "Babe? Not like your pictures?"
"Ah..."
She grinned. It was reassuringly good-natured. "I'd be really surprised and a little worried if those were your kinda pictures," she giggled. The canine girl winked, and slipped her paw down to frame the dark flesh with her fingers. The cleft formed a little 'Y'; she licked her chops, and spread herself slowly to reveal a glimpse of soft, wet pink. "Go on..."
Carefully, I guided the blunt tip of my cock to her, nestling it into her folds and nudging forward. Her canine pussy bulged around me... stretched... then with a quiet gasp from Rory the soft flesh yielded, and wet heat clung tightly to the head of my shaft. I let out a groaning oath, and Rory's free paw reached up to rub at my thigh reassuringly.
The next push of my hips was smoother... effortless... I couldn't help staring at my length sinking deeper inside as my beautiful canine lover enveloped me. Exquisite, deliriously wet tightness caressed and tugged at me -- and she was so hot, so much warmer inside than I could even have imagined... I slid into her all the way to the hilt, and when I stopped Rory grinned -- though her eyes were just a bit unfocused, and her tongue just a bit thick in her muzzle. "Just like that, Joel, see?" she murmured. "Easy..."
Harder was pulling out. Her canine folds grasped at me, rippling and clinging as I withdrew -- I marveled at how slick my cock was already. It made the next thrust easy -- I pumped into her all the way in one fluid stroke and we moaned in unison. I tried for a steady rhythm, wanting to take my time... my first time... still not certain it was really happening, that I was really making love to the cute little dog-girl I'd been crushing on for years --
That she was really begging for it, in breathy, hitching gasps. Rory dug her claws in like spurs at my back and I curled forward and atop her. Our lips met in a messy kiss that provided a moment of blissful distraction from the building pressure smoldering in the pit of my body. I started to move faster, my hips driving between her thighs in an urgent rhythm.
She tore herself from my lips with a moan; my head dropped, burying into the plush fur of her chest. Everything was hot, and panting, and quick. One especially sharp thrust and she jerked, and whimpered -- I tried to slow, gasping a guilty apology and her claws pinched as she clenched down on my shoulders. "No -- more," she pleaded. I did it again, ramming into her; lifting her hips up with the pressure and she quickly brought a paw to her muzzle to stifle her moan.
Dog stuff. She was starting to whine and yelp with my rough, fierce bucking. Her short, strong legs locked behind me -- I grunted with the effort of fighting them a few times before giving up. Warmth was all around me now -- the fuzzy soft blanket of her thighs, and her heated panting. And the fiery, sloppy-wet vise that squeezed at every inch of my aching cock like she was trying to trap me in her.
Faster. My head buzzed. Pounding into her now, in the constrained strokes the grip of her thighs allowed. Rory's muffled yips grew louder -- shakier -- higher-pitched -- then faltered. I heard her suck her breath in sharply and then a keening canine wail. Her leg kicked. Her ears went back. Her eyes dropped shut. And her pulsing, quivering canine pussy clamped tightly on me, spasming and clenching on my cock like --
Fuck -- like -- like I didn't even know! I gasped and managed one last thrust, plunging as deep as I could into the whimpering dog-girl before pleasure slammed hard into me and with a helpless growl I hit my peak inside her. My throbbing cock twitched and jerked -- and Rory was crying out again, squirming beneath me and shuddering as I spurted thick ropes of my cum up into her, giving myself up to the canine, filling her...
When I... came to... I was panting on her chest, and my head was still swimming. The dog's head was back; her tongue was out, and her eyes were dimly focused. And neither of us could speak, and neither of us could move, and neither of us wanted anything but for that moment to last forever.
At least a few minutes. Rory petted my arm like I was the one covered in fur. Her voice was feather-soft: "You still there?"
"I'm here," I mumbled. I didn't want to give up the feeling of her body next to me.
"Good. Sorry for... barking," she whispered into my ear.
"Don't be, Dog Stuff." I brushed it off with a grunt, and then carefully pushed myself up to my elbows. My muscles burned already. They would be completely shot in the morning, but that was a long time away... Rory nudged me onto my side, and then snuggled up comfortably. "I have a confession."
"What?"
"I love you."
She winked. "I know."
Two steps forward, one step back: "Just so we're clear, does that make you Han Solo?" Here and all I'd sort of been imagining that to be my new role. "'Cause I thought, like..."
An adorable grin snuck back onto the mutt's muzzle. She wrinkled it cutely, and licked her nose. "Too bad. You'd look better in the bikini, anyway."
"Wanna bet? Scoundrel," I laughed, hugging her tightly while she squirmed to get closer. "That reminds me. We saw Stargate a few days ago. Justin was so high he thought it was an Indiana Jones flick. He was saying... he was saying they need to make a fourth Star Wars. And I told him that he'd be disappointed. Because... expectations never live up to realities..."
"Is that so?" the canine asked with a smirk, tilting her head. "Never?"
"This time," I admitted.
Rory nosed at my neck; her thumping tail gave her away before she could even speak. "For me, too."
"So maybe..." I drew a line in the fur of her ear. "Maybe we should go on a proper date? Like dinner. Or skiing. Or the renn fair, or something."
"Maybe!"
"Might have big expectations," I warned.
She would've been blushing, if I could've seen it. She nuzzled again, and dropped her voice in intimate, conspiratorial admission. "I have faith in those."
"How much?"
The dog-girl wriggled back from me, and paused, examining my face. "A lot."
I pondered the implications. They were, after all, very, very serious: "So... wait. You think they should make another Star Wars movie?"
She rolled her eyes.
"Well?"
"If they make another Star Wars movie," Rory snickered, and kissed my nose. "I will marry you on the spot."
Yeah -- but what are the odds of that?