Extraction: Part 2

After all that excitement, Loren fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He’d been worried he’d have nightmares—his sleep had been troubled for a while—but the next day, he woke up refreshed and energized for the first time in weeks. It’d been so long, he’d forgotten it could feel so good.

The delcatty squirmed and yawned, stretching out his legs without leaving the comfortable warmth of his bed. He slowly opened his eyes, still in that pleasant half-awake state. The clean white walls and ceiling stretched out above him, lying in his cushy and soft bed, with the fresh purple sheets he’d just put on the night before. Across the room, morning light glowed through the white curtains drawn over the window. It was a soft white, well past the paleness of dawn.

What time is it? Loren yawned again and reluctantly wriggled out from under the covers. He hopped down from the bed and looked around, spotting his over-back panniers hanging off the back of the chair at the desk. Oh, wonderful! Mira must have put them in here last night.

The dresser had a mirror above it; it’d do for his purposes. The delcatty rummaged through his things to retrieve his comb and brush and set about fixing up his appearance. His purple headfur and neck ruff needed the most attention, but he was scruffy all over, and that wouldn’t do at all. Partway through he realized that doing this didn’t make any sense—this isn’t my physical body, this is some sort of illusory mind-projection or whatever—but he kept going anyway. He looked scruffy before and he was going to look nice afterward, and that’s what counted. Even just the regularity of his morning grooming ritual helped to boost his mood.

Once satisfied, he neatly packed his tools away and trotted up to the window. Loren tugged the thick cord, drawing the curtains open, and put his paws on the windowsill. The view that greeted him was not the same one from the night before. Instead of overlooking the roof of a building, he was looking down at the inside of a… a train terminal? Union Station? He could hear the distant, muffled chatter of the pokémon milling about below.

“Mira?” he said. “Uh… good morning. What time is it? And where are we?”

He wasn’t sure what sort of response he was expecting, but he didn’t get anything at all.

“You can hear me, right?”

A connection orb buzzed on the bedside table. This time it was a text instead of a call, but it still made Loren roll his eyes.

“Why, though? Can’t we just talk?”

The delcatty shook his head and took the orb in both paws. *I'll indulge her. A little,* he thought, tapping a message back. Her shouting made him jump, even muffled by the door. "Get out here for breakfast, then!"

“Okay, coming!” he called back. Loren left the orb behind and trotted to the door. The edges shimmered as he put his weight on the footpedal and pulled it open. The delcatty stepped out onto the platform, the muffled noise and bustle from before coming into sharp focus.

The zoroark was lounging on a nearby bench, crimson mane draped over the side, as shaggy and unkempt as ever. She waved at him. “Not a fan of texting?” she asked as he approached.

“Not really,” Loren said, hopping up to sit next to her. “Just seems like hassle.”

Mira shrugged. “Whatever you like.” She rummaged in one of her belt pouches and pulled out an energy bar. “Here’s breakfast,” she said, tearing open the wrapper and holding out the bar to him.

The delcatty looked at it dubiously, then sighed. He leaned over and grabbed it, lifting his forelegs to hold it while he nibbled. It was even blander and drier than it looked. “Ech,” he grunted. “Can’t you make this taste better?”

“Some things are beyond saving,” the zoroark said, with a little chuckle.

“Sounds like an excuse to be lazy.”

“Maybe.”

Seeing no help was forthcoming, Loren kept picking away at the bar. It was dense and chewy, its taste best described at “nutty” despite the dried berries that were supposed to add flavor. At least it was filling, though “filling” was perhaps the best thing that could be said about it.

A shadow fell on him. The delcatty had a split second to look up at the bright yellow backside of a hypno before claws dug into his sides and yanked him away. He blinked, dazed, realizing he was now sitting on the zoroark’s lap. “Watch where you’re—uh…” Loren’s indignation trailed off uncertainly.

“She didn’t see you,” Mira said. “Don’t worry, she can’t hear us either.” She gave the delcatty a reassuring stroke along his back.

Loren homphed the last of the energy bar and leaned into her, resting his head on the zoroark’s fluffy shoulder fur. “So… when you said I was invisible, before, that wasn’t true, was it?” he asked when his mouth was finally empty. “For me to be invisible, there’d have to be something to hide. But this only exists in my head. And yours too, I guess.”

“I mean.” The zoroark gestured to her own wiry body, where Loren was currently cuddled up to her. The webbing of her harness was flush against her flat stomach. “You are invisible, in a sense.”

“Ok, sure, whatever,” the feline said. “So I’m right.” He shook his head. “That also confirms you don’t let me out to eat. I suspected as much.” The breakfast bar felt heavy in his stomach; he tried not to think about it. Or about how he must feel in hers.

“See, I told you there’d be no point lying about it. You already figured it out.”

Loren scoffed. “You were barely even trying to hide it!”

“Of course. Lies aren’t free. Every divergence from the truth has a cost, and maintaining them exacts a toll. I try to lie as little as possible; my energy is better spent elsewhere.”

“‘As little as possible’,” the delcatty repeated. “Sure. But there’s no way you’re lounging here, looking like that.”

Mira grinned, showing him a characteristically canine open-mouthed smile. “My energy is better spent on things like that, yes.”

Loren hmphed. “What do you actually look like right now? Can I see? I mean, your disguise, don’t show me—you know.”

The vixen raised an eyebrow at his hurried clarification, but didn’t say anything about it. “If you like.” She gestured for him to hop down.

The delcatty wondered why, but shrugged and did so anyway. His paws landed light on the tiled platform floor. When he turned around to see her, his breath caught in his throat. A hulking gray and white bear sat on the bench, squished to one side to make room for the hypno sitting next to her. She had her arms crossed atop her belly, keeping them out of the way. Her eyes were narrowed, barely visible behind all her fur, but they projected polite indifference. Don’t mess with me and I won’t mess with you, they said.

The pangoro raised one eyebrow at Loren. “‘Sup,” Mira said, her voice unchanged.

“Doesn’t seem very subtle,” he said.

“Why not?” She shook her head at him. “Disguising as something smaller is even more of a pain. Something like this”—she slapped her round belly, making a thump like a drum—“leaves plenty of room to work with.”

“I… I guess.” I was thinking she’d stand out, but I guess there’s nothing particularly notable about a pangoro, Loren thought. He wondered if this reflected on some bias he held.

Ahead of him, Mira waved one big bear paw, the pangoro-shape collapsing and sloughing off her like mist to reveal the spindly zoroark underneath. She patted her lap.

Loren padded up and hopped back onto her, folding his legs under himself and curling up in a compact loaf of delcatty. He was still pondering what might go wrong with their escape; on some level he knew it was pointless to try and second-guess Mira’s plans, but he couldn’t help himself. “Is it really safe to take the train?” he asked. “Won’t that be an obvious place for Luciana to look?”

“Yes,” Mira said. “To both. She’s definitely looking here, but it’d be even more suspicious not to take the train. There’s safety in numbers.”

Loren was skeptical. Sure, personal vehicles were rare, and most people took the trains, but trains left some sort of ticket record, didn’t they? Would walking really be that suspicious?

The zoroark must have seen his doubtful expression because she pressed on. “Also to our advantage: she’s doing a delicate balancing act. She can’t react too much, too obviously, or it’ll reveal how serious this actually is. She has to pretend like nothing’s wrong and everything’s business as usual. For instance, shutting down all train traffic? Out of the question. Not only would it make her look clumsy and incompetent—even with a fall guy—but it’s also expensive and very, very public.

“No, she’s smart. She knows she’s already lost this battle, and set her sights on the next one. No doubt you’re being smeared and framed as we speak. But they can’t make you too scary or it’ll look bad that you’ve gotten away.”

The delcatty’s head was spinning again. He hadn’t considered what would happen next, but of course Mira was right: this was only the beginning. “But… you said she’s looking here?”

“I would, if I were her. Always play to your outs, even if your out is the enemy making a mistake. But don’t worry; I won’t.” The zoroark nodded to the hypno. “You’re totally hidden from psychic-types inside me.” (Loren found this reassuring, but also annoying, because it was an actually good reason to smuggle him this way.) “Only someone sensitive to aura could still find you. There’s scant few lucario who would stoop to working for Luciana, but if she found one, I have some tricks that work on them too.” She stroked a paw down his back, which the delcatty tolerated.

He slowly settled against her, allowing himself to relax into the strokes of her paw. “That’s…” He sighed. “That helps,” he said, eventually. “Thank you. I probably haven’t said that enough.”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing it more,” the zoroark said, with a barking gekker of a laugh. “You’re welcome.”

They stayed like that for the next quarter hour or more, just sitting peacefully on the bench, until the whistle of the train split the air. Loren started, lifting his head and looking around. There was bustling movement all across the platform, the loose clouds and clumps of idling ‘mon resolving into somewhat more orderly lines outside each metal-sided train carriage. The delcatty eyed the crowds waiting for the doors to slide open and decided he wanted no part of it. “If other people can’t see me, I’m just going to get in the way during boarding and whatnot,” he said. “I’ll just chill in my room.” He hopped off to the side of the bench.

Mira grunted an affirmative and hefted herself to her paws. “See you,” she said, before striding off to casually, ponderously insert herself into the middle of one of the forming lines.

Loren watched her go, then looked down at the simple, silvery key hanging from his neck. He lifted it with the back of one forepaw, holding it up enough he could lean down and bite it, carefully holding it level between his teeth. A keyhole glimmered in the air straight ahead; the key slid in smoothly, its lock materializing around it to hold it in place. The door followed, a freestanding white frame on the train platform. It was odd how fantastical this was. Or rather, it was odd how it felt so normal. Of course the key worked this way, he’d seen it happen. The delcatty shrugged, unlocked the door, and pushed through, stepping over the shimmering threshold and leaving the hubbub of the platform behind. His room was just how he’d left it, white and clean. Loren hopped up onto the bed to rest; there wasn’t much else to do.

A short while later—maybe a few minutes, maybe more—there was a distant squeal and the room gently lurched. Loren jerked his head up. The view from the window had changed, now showing the platform sliding by outside, gradually speeding up. It had to be the view from inside the train; the distant click-clack of train wheels confirmed it. The delcatty leapt down and trotted to the window, rearing to put his paws on the sill. The platform was gone; they were now passing the myriad crisscrossing tracks of the railyard, as busy as ever, festooned with switches and signals. Then the city itself, streets and overpasses and buildings flying by. Sometimes noise barriers blocked the view, sometimes not.

The buildings got shorter, fewer, then stopped completely. The view gave way to sparse, shrubby brushland. Loren pressed his face to the glass, watching Halcyon Falls fade into the distance for as long as he could. It didn’t take long; the angle of the track pushed the red plateau cliffs and sun-glinting buildings out of his field of view long before they would sink over the horizon. It was an oddly melancholy feeling. Yesterday he’d been a dead cat walking, and now Halcyon Falls was just a smudge in the corner of his vision. Just like that.

Loren turned away and dropped to all fours. He set about exploring the rest of the room, poking his nose into the closet, opening the desk drawers, peeking under the bed. There wasn’t much to find, mostly more boxes, containers, and dust.

In the middle of nosing through a box of bed linens, Mira’s door-muffled shouting made him jump. “Do you have to check everywhere?” she asked, sounding a mix of amused and exasperated.

“Huh?” Why’s she care? It’s not like I found anything—oh. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t look that hard. I’m sure I could’ve overlooked something in all those boxes,” Loren said.

“Probably.”

His search hadn’t come up completely empty. There were some binders on the shelves, out in the open; he’d left their inspection for later, and later was now. He reared up and nosed one off. It felt rugged, heavy-duty, the pages filed in protective plastic sleeves with sturdy holes for the rings that held them in place. Page markers in all colors of the rainbow festooned its edges, sticking out all across the top and side. Loren set the binder on the desk and flipped it open to a random marked page.

Or at least, he thought it was random. Before him were detailed studies of a pangoro, sketched from multiple angles. The space around each figure was filled with notes in neat, tight pawwriting, about everything from fur patterns to demeanor and the sounds of their voices. No detail was spared, even the ones that brought a blush to his cheeks. Don’t be a prude, he admonished himself. Loren flipped through more pages and was greeted by more pokémon studies, kept in neat alphabetical order by evolutionary line. Oddly, all the text was perfectly legible; when Mira’s pawwriting (it had to be hers, right?) was hard to decipher, it was because she’d crammed too much into too small a space, and not because his eyes slid off it and refused to read it.

The delcatty sat back, looking out the window at the scraggly desert bushes outside. Even though Mira hadn’t said anything, he felt an overwhelming sensation of having his paw caught in the cookie jar. Or, not quite that, but that he was looking at something private. “Hey, uh, I found some binders in here…”

“Oh, those? You can read them if you like. I don’t mind. Except the red section at the back. Don’t read that.”

He blinked. He hadn’t expected that. “What are they? And, how can I read them? Do you have this all memorized?”

“They’re notes I made, studies for my illusions. Most of the value was in making them, but they’re useful refreshers, and I’m proud of them.” Her chuckling was barely audible behind the door. “I don’t have them memorized, not exactly, but I have them with me, close enough to pull from.”

“Huh? What do you mean, ‘pull from’?”

“Oops, I’ve already said too much,” the zoroark said, in that cheerful sing-song that Loren knew meant he wouldn’t be getting anything else out of her.

He sighed. “Fine, fine. Keep your secrets.”

“I will, thanks!”

Loren shook his head. At least they were something to read, and they were interesting enough. He spent the rest of the morning there, flipping through the binders. Each one covered different topics; he read through studies of different pokémon, studies of various plants, studies of architecture, both specific buildings and general styles, and more. One of them had a section at the back set apart by a red divider, the only of its color across all the binders; the aforementioned, verboten “red section”. What could be in there that she doesn’t want me to see? Loren was curious, but not enough to violate a direct request; he was sure she’d know, somehow. It would have to remain a mystery.

---

He didn’t come out until well into lunchtime, when Mira and his own belly conspired to remind him that he’d only had a chalky protein bar to eat today. Loren stepped out of his doorway and joined the zoroark in the dining car, sitting across from her at a little table by a window. The scenery had grown greener, with long grasses and denser clumps of woodland passing by outside.

All in all, traveling in a zoroark’s gut really wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. Most of the time he could actually forget about it. And sometimes he really couldn’t, as he watched Mira swallow an entire burrito, still in the wrapping.

The delcatty flattened his ears. “Did you have to show me that?” he complained.

The bulge sank into her chest and out of sight. She sighed. “Uh-uh,” Mira grunted. “Other way around. I’d have to hide it from you.”

“Which you did, yesterday,” he pointed out. “You also could have swallowed it before you fetched me.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

Loren sighed. Typical. “So much for ‘not going to toy with me’.”

“Not going to toy with you much.” The zoroark chuckled. “Anyway. Here’s your food.” She reached behind her back and produced that same foil-wrapped burrito, which she placed on a tray and slid across the table to him.

He stared at it for several long seconds, then touched a paw to it. The foil crinkled under his digits, warm, the burrito firm beneath it. Despite himself, despite everything, Loren was curious. He couldn’t help it. “So… how does this work?” he asked. “Like. I thought everything I’m doing… I only think I’m doing it, right? Except now when I’m eating, I’m actually eating?”

“Don’t think about it too hard,” Mira said.

“Why not? It’s kinda fascinating. Albeit gross, in this particular instance.” He picked up the burrito from his plate, wrapped in foil; he could feel its weight, its heft. It felt completely real. It is real, isn’t it. I’m really holding it… kind of. “It implies you can not just control what I’m seeing, but actually map my intents to movements of my body, no? Like, in order to be eating this…”

“Seriously, don’t think about it.” The zoroark tried to change the subject. “Have you ever been on a train before? Neat, isn’t it?”

“Huh?”

“It gets old after a while, but sometimes I like just watching the scenery go by. It’s relaxing.”

What is she talking about? Loren gave her an odd look and shook his head. “I’m just wondering how you do it. Like, I’m holding this, but I’m not really in this position, right? How much of it’s in my head?” On a whim, the delcatty set the burrito back down on the tray and spun it around.

Except he couldn’t. Something invisible stopped his forelegs from lowering, slick and solid. “What—” The air was hot in his mouth, humid and thick. Wetness crept across his fur, slimy pressure forcing him to hunch over, nose against the burrito foil.

The last thing he saw was Mira rolling her eyes in exasperation. Then the world disappeared. No ceremony, no selling it, it was there one moment and gone the next, like someone had turned out the lights. The delcatty jolted back into his real body, curled up tight, snout squished against the crinkled foil of the burrito. The sounds of the train were muffled, distant, drowned out by the drum of the zoroark’s heart and the bellows of her lungs. Slimy walls hugged at him, their wrinkles nearly smoothed by stretching to fit around him. He squinted his eyes open a moment, but could see nothing. It was darker than a moonless night, the gloom just as oppressive as the heat and the tight squeeze of the walls.

“I told you not to think about it,” Mira said, a whisper right behind his left ear. “Look what you did.”

“This isn’t funny!” Loren snapped, his voice strained in the cramped space. “Stop it!”

“Stop it?” The zoroark sighed, the sound coming from all around him. “I’m not doing anything to you. You pulled on what I was doing until it unraveled.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to,” Loren protested. “Put me back!” A squelchy ripple ran through the muscular walls around him, squeezing him from rump to head. It made his fur stand on end, or try to, too slicked down with gut slime to move.

“Can’t. Not right away, anyway. Like I said, you broke it.”

“Broke it? Broke what!?”

“My illusion.” She sighed again, the woosh of her lungs like a gale above his head. “Don’t panic; just relax for a bit. Give your mind a chance to rest.”

“How am I supposed to relax in here??”

“Some people like it.”

He couldn’t see how. “I can’t see how,” Loren said.

“Give it a try. Remember, you’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Not like I can forget when you’re squishing me from all sides. The delcatty sighed, forced against his will to take in the sensations around him. Knowing he was inside her and experiencing it directly were two very different things. First and foremost, all he could smell was burrito. Even wrapped in foil, it overpowered whatever scent her stomach had, which Loren figured was probably for the best.

The most inescapable sense was touch. Smooth muscle rippled around him, smearing him with slime, kneading it into his fur like some sort of massage. Loren wriggled, trying to stretch his legs. The walls stretched a little, but they had limits, and containing him already put them most of the way there. One side stretched more than the other; he even felt something blocking him there, the straps of the zoroark’s harness, digging into her distended belly. From that same side, something pressed in at him, alternately moving in circles and stroking along his form. She’s rubbing her belly, Loren realized. He wanted to be mad about it, to resent it, but the contact—even though an inch of of flesh and fur—was too reassuring. He huffed and slumped, going limp, letting her paw and stomach knead at him. Despite being curled up here for nearly a whole day, he didn’t feel cramped; the kneading might actually help with that.

Another positive was that he was clean. Sort of. He was drenched in slime, of course, but it was just him and the burrito in here. He wasn’t stewing in a soup of breakfast or last night’s dinner; they’d already been… processed. Loren wasn’t sure how that worked with him there, but he was glad there were no bits of sandwich clinging to his fur. And glad she hadn’t had her own lunch first.

The sounds also weren’t so bad. Occasionally, something gurgled underneath him, deeper into her guts, but that was rare enough he could ignore it. The click-clack of the train was always there, carried through its metal frame, through her body, into him. The vixen’s heartbeat was another constant presence, like the ticking of a clock. Sometimes he thought he felt it, each pulse pumping blood through the the flesh surrounding him. Her breathing was comforting too, almost like white noise, evoking long-buried memories of a childhood visit to the beach, the ceaseless rush of waves upon the sand. In and out, in, out…

You’re safe. Everything’s fine, he repeated to himself. Then something hard bonked him on the head. It slid forward, falling with a splat onto the burrito foil, two strands of some sort draping across his face.

“There. Use the key. Get yourself out,” Mira said, her voice reverberating all around him rather than whispering in his ear.

“The key?” Loren repeated. He hesitantly nuzzled into the draped strands, realizing they were the chain of the key-necklace. “Seriously? Can’t you just do it?”

“Trust me. This is the best way.”

The delcatty rolled his eyes (without opening them), but he was in no position to argue. It was hard to put the necklace on, but he managed, bringing his head and forelegs together to slip the slick chain back over his ears. Picking up the key took several seconds of steeling himself—he’d heard it splat—but after gathering up all his courage, he licked it into his mouth. It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. It was coated in the dense, slippery slime of the zoroark’s throat, yes, but the slime was tasteless.

He wiggled the key with his tongue, pointing it straight ahead. Without looking, he leaned forward, as though to push it right into the wall of flesh ahead of him. It slid right in like it always did, not with a squelch but with a comforting metal click in its magical lock. Loren panted for breath in his humid prison. He opened his eyes to squint at it, faint light glimmering around the key. Please work, please work, he prayed, twisting it with his paws.

Light flashed around the key, illuminating glistening, slimy pink walls for a fraction of a second. A fraction too long, in Loren’s opinion. Then he dropped down atop his bed, back in his room.

Mira was waiting for him, sitting right next to where he landed. She grabbed him in a hug right away, pulling Loren against her chest and neck ruff and flat belly. “I’m sorry,” she said, burying her long snout between his ears, against the fluffy purple back of his head. “I teased you too much. I didn’t expect you to unravel my illusion like that, but you kept tugging on the thread…”

The delcatty leaned into her arms and took a shaky breath of cool, fresh air. He wasn’t sure how to feel about anything. “It’s…” He sighed. “It’s okay. You tried to warn me.”

She squeezed him more, long arms wrapped around him.

“All right, all right,” Loren said, trying to wriggle away. “Enough with the hugging. I almost wish you’d just called me a wimp or something.”

Mira let him go. “Sorry.”

Loren dropped back to the bed and shook himself to resettle his fur. He brushed at himself with his paws, grooming his fur flat and sleek again. The silence grew increasingly awkward, but he didn’t care. Then he noticed the burrito on his desk, sitting smugly in its same plastic tray. “What is that doing here?”

“You, uh, you still need to eat—”

At the moment, Loren would rather jump from the moving train than put his mouth anywhere near that burrito. “Not a fucking chance. I’ve lost my appetite.”

The zoroark hunched over and sighed like she was deflating. “Yeah… I figured.” She stood, crossing to the desk and back in a few long-legged strides. “I’ll eat it, then. Mind unwrapping it for me?” She held out the tray to him.

Loren stared at the zoroark, down at the foil-wrapped burrito, then back up at the zoroark. “What? Unwrap it yourself. Can’t you just make me do—”

“Loren!” Mira interrupted, her tone stern. “How can you be so smart and so stupid at the same time?” She sighed, expression softening. Holding the tray with one clawed paw, she gestured at the white-walled room with the other. “This space is real if you treat it like it’s real. If you don’t, you’ll get a repeat of before.” She held the tray closer. “Please unwrap it? You don’t have to keep the burrito together, I don’t mind eating it deconstructed.”

The delcatty glared up at her, then wilted. Is it really that simple? Is that why she puts so much effort into ‘selling it’? Even now, when she’s asking me to pull off the foil because it’s already in her gut, she’s acting like she has to eat it… His ears swiveled back and partly flattened. That explanation is probably another partial truth, but… whatever. “Okay, okay.” He reached out and hesitated. Can I use my claws? Fighting the urge to think about how this worked was an impossible struggle; eventually he just went for it, tearing the foil off, leaving the burrito partly collapsed with gashes in the tortilla. He cringed back, cowering, expecting the world to burst like a soap bubble at any moment.

But it didn’t. The white-walled room, the purple bedding he was sitting on, the window showing the passing trees, it all stayed solid.

“Thank you,” Mira said, a close approximation of a gentle smile splitting her long vulpine muzzle. “Can I have the foil too?” She held out a paw, above him.

Sure. Whatever. At this point, Loren just went along with it. He crumpled the foil up into a ball and held it up to her.

“Great,” she said, plucking it out of his paws and dropping it on the burrito tray. The zoroark turned away and headed for the door, claws clacking on the floor. “If you need anything, I’ll be in my seat.” Then she slipped out of the door and was gone.

Left alone, Loren flopped down on the bed and sighed. Smart and stupid at the same time? Sounds like me. Smart enough to bamboozle myself out of lunch. Too stupid to just eat it. The delcatty rolled onto his back, stared up at the ceiling, and said “Fuck” to nobody in particular. The white ceiling stared back at him, immaculate as always. The whole room was painfully ascetic, more boring than his hotel room or Mira’s safehouse from last night. I’ve been spending a lot of time in small rooms lately, Loren thought. I guess that’s my life now. He sighed again, forcefully; the room was unmoved.

His thoughts kept chasing themselves in pointless grumpy circles for what felt like forever, but was probably about five minutes, tops. Eventually he realized that he wasn’t just grumpy because he’d tricked himself out of lunch, but also because he was hungry. It’s not going to get better, then. I mean, I could change my mind, right? It’s not like the burrito went anywhere. The delcatty brought a foreleg to his chest, touching a paw to the key nestled into his neck ruff. He could visit that truth whenever he wanted, couldn’t he. How bad could it be? A bit of extra slime? That doesn’t sound so bad. It actually didn’t, which Loren found so alarming on principle that he shuddered and threw the whole idea away.

I can’t believe I was actually considering it. He shook his head—as though to rid himself of those nasty, impure thoughts—and tried to get back to his primary new hobby, feeling sorry for himself. Alas, wallowing didn’t have the same appeal to it as it did a few minutes ago. Loren gave it a good effort, but when he could wallow no longer, he rolled out of bed and went to sit by the window instead, watching the landscape roll by outside, lonely trees and grasses rustling in afternoon sunlight.

He was lonely, too. He didn’t actually want to be left alone. That hug earlier was some of the only nice physical contact he’d had in weeks. The all-around one was nice, too, supplied some treasonous part of his mind; he tried to ignore it.

Turning away from the window, the delcatty let himself out, stepping out into the aisle by Mira’s row. He glanced around at the other passengers, furred, feathered and scaled, then made eye contact with the zoroark sitting by the window.

She was just looking at him, head tilted to indicate slight curiosity.

Silently, Loren trotted up to her and jumped onto her lap. From there, he looked out the window again, watching the scenery. She didn’t ask him anything, for which he was glad, because he wasn’t in a talkative mood and didn’t want to explain himself. He just shuffled closer to her and set his head down on the armrest.

That was how he spent the rest of the trip, leaning against the zoroark’s warm midsection and staring out the window. Occasionally she ran her claws through his fur, which he liked; occasionally, his stomach rumbled, reminding him about the burrito sharing her stomach with him, which he didn’t like. Probably. He was definitely curious about it, about what was going on underneath the zoroark’s fur, her falsely flat tummy right next to him…

---

At some point he fell asleep, because he awoke to Mira gently shaking him and the squeal of the brakes. The delcatty lifted his head and looked around with bleary eyes, seeing brick walls and metal columns slowing down outside as the train pulled into a station. “Hwuh?” he said, eloquently.

“We’re here,” she said.

“Oh.” His stomach butted into the conversation with a colorful complaint of its own; “I’m starving,” Loren relayed, phrasing it more politely.

“Mhm.” Mira nodded. “We’ll get some food soon.”

Disembarking didn’t take long, but it felt interminable to the hungry delcatty. He opted to ride in the zoroark’s mane instead of retreating to his room, and stayed there even after she was off the train, poking his head out between her ears to watch as she navigated the twisty station halls.

They’d barely left the station proper when a food stall caught Loren’s eye: another place offering burritos. A rematch. He steered the zoroark towards it (with some chuckles from below him). This time, there was no fooling around with how it got to him: Mira ordered, the food arrived, she handed it to him. Loren tore into it without worrying in the slightest, maybe because he was famished, maybe because he’d embraced the illusion. He wasn’t sure himself.

Mira watched without comment. Her own food arrived a couple minutes later, by which time the delcatty was licking his paws and snout clean.

---

Loren felt so much better after eating that he was disappointed when Mira’s next order of business was to walk to a hotel, get a room and go to bed. Sure it was evening, but he’d just had a nap. He didn’t want to sleep yet.

Instead, he spent some time perusing the zoroark’s reference binders by lamplight. Again the red section tempted him, and again he ignored it, indulging his curiosity instead by looking up her notes on delcatty. “Fastidious about cleanliness to a fault,” he read. “Please. Making us out like we’re minccino…”

Twilight descended on the city street outside his window, then night. Eventually the delcatty had to call it. He went through his usual bedtime routine, even digging his toothbrush out of his bags and taking it to the hotel sink. Even after noticing this was almost certainly pointless. Ritual was comforting.

The bed was as soft and cushy as it was the first night, but despite its luxuriousness, sleep didn’t come easily. In fact, it refused to come at all. Loren tossed and turned, trying to sleep on his sides, on his back, on his belly. Nothing helped. Maybe it was because he was alone, he figured. That sounded plausible. On the train, he’d fallen asleep on her lap; perhaps the same would work here, if he curled up next to her in bed. And really, I’m already there, just inside her instead of against her. The thought lingered in his head until he shook it loose. It’s not weird, is the point. To want to sleep next to her.

The delcatty slithered out of the blankets and into the cool night air, paws landing on the hardwood floor of his personal room. He let himself out, stepping back into the hotel room proper, dark and bare and boring. In the dimness from the windows—part moonlight, part city light—he could make out the oblong bulk of the bed, where the zoroark was sleeping.

He crept closer, jumping with just enough force to alight on the bed without shaking it. He didn’t want to wake her. Actually, he was surprised that she didn’t wake up; given her field of work, he would have expected her to be a light sleeper. Maybe it doesn’t work that way. Or maybe she didn’t notice because this is all in my head. He blinked. Huh, wait. She’s been asleep for a while, hasn’t she. And her illusions all kept working? That’s impressive… I think. He tried not to think about it too hard; he could imagine Mira’s admonishment with perfect clarity.

The delcatty padded up to the head of the bed, where the zoroark had her long-muzzled head on a pillow. Up closer, the dark outline of her shape resolved into clearer forms: she was lying on her right side, partly curled up, her mane strewn across the blankets behind her. Loren hesitated, watching her sleep, her soft breathing the only sound in the quiet room. The rising awkwardness he felt from staring at her soon overwhelmed his hesitance, nudging him into motion. Loren burrowed under the covers, slipping himself into bed next to her. He couldn’t avoid brushing against her long, folded arms, but tried to disturb her as little as possible in the process of sliding his back up against the curve of her chest and belly.

After a harrowing bit of shuffling—no more than half a minute—Loren got himself in place, tucked against the zoroark, his head nestled by the thick fluff around her shoulders. The blankets were warm, she was warm, and everything smelled like vulpine. He sighed, then realized: Her breathing changed. He froze.

“Loren?” Mira whispered. “Do you need something?”

“Um.” Oh no. Loren gulped. “I couldn’t sleep. Can I stay here?” In that moment, this plan of his—this whim, really—seemed incredibly bold.

Or maybe he was overreacting. Even in the zoroark’s tired voice, he could hear the amusement in her reply: “Sure.” Mira moved her arms slightly, pulling Loren a few inches up the bed so his head nestled into the crook of her neck. She slipped her right arm under the delcatty’s neck, draped the left over his side, then went still. “This good?”

The delcatty was frozen the entire time she maneuvered him, though not from any trick of illusion; just mundane chagrin. He forced himself to speak. “Y-Yeah. Thanks.” He began to relax with all the alacrity of a thawing glacier. “Goodnight, Mira.”

“G’night, Loren,” the zoroark mumbled, clearly keen on going back to sleep.

Nestled there, close to her, Loren thought he’d finally be able to sleep. He closed his eyes and settled into her warm embrace, listening to the distant sounds of the city outside. Her breath whooshed by above his head; the length of her muzzle meant it didn’t actually blow on him, which was nice. The delcatty swiveled an ear, angling it to press against her shoulder, but there was too much fluff in the way. He couldn’t hear her heartbeat. He missed it. He aimed his ear against her neck instead, and was rewarded with the faintest of tantalizing thumps, nearly entirely obscured by her breath. This was somehow worse, but it was all he’d get, so he tried to sleep.

After some time, lying there with his eyes closed, Mira’s breathing steadied and slowed, but Loren wasn’t so lucky. He tried to hold still—just hold still and don’t think about anything—but it was easier thought than done. He made little adjustment after little adjustment. One made something hard dig into his shoulder; he squirmed to dislodge it, forelegs coming up with the key he wore around his neck. Oh, yeah. Still wearing that.

The delcatty folded his forepaws against his chest, fiddling with the key between them. I’m almost lying where my physical body is, aren’t I. Like on the train. He felt his curiosity rearing its head; there was no fighting it. The battle had already happened an hour ago, when he was in bed in his room, and he’d lost. It’d just taken this long for him to realize it.

He visualized the keyhole, aimed the key forward, and slid it into the lock. Gripping it with his paws, Loren turned it to the right, as though to lock it. The mechanism engaged, its soft clicks and scrapes loud in the quiet. This time it wasn’t about reality. Or, it wasn’t because the illusion was bad. He wanted to know. He had to know. Something about himself he didn’t—or wouldn’t—understand compelled him. The delcatty turned the key all the way. It clicked one more time, resonant with finality.

The world twisted with it, gravity shifting sideways for one dizzying moment. Everything went dark, the dimness of the hotel room replaced with the utter lightlessness of the zoroark’s stomach. Loren found himself on his back, cradled in curved flesh, curled up so tight his hindlegs were near his head. The walls were smoothed out, wrinkles stretched taut to hold both him and the soupy mess sloshing around him. They rippled and churned, rocking him in the zoroark’s gut, grinding him against what solids remained from her dinner.

His body demanded air. Loren realized he was holding his breath. He preemptively cringed, tensed up, and inhaled. Hot, humid, somewhat stale air filled his lungs, but it wasn’t noxious like he’d feared. Perhaps his nose had already grown used to it, or some other magic was at work; he was, after all, bathing in her mostly-digested dinner, completely unharmed. For the… fourth time, Loren counted, running back through all the times she’d eaten. Unless she’s been snacking when I didn’t notice.

He had known this was possible, though not the mechanism behind it. It was reassuring, somehow, to think of this as normal for her. It certainly made him feel better about all the gunk caking his fur, knowing her stomach would clean him off eventually. His head and ears felt especially bad; Loren was glad he couldn’t see the state his lovely purple fur was in. The little whiffs of fresh air… the key that fell on me… my head must be right under her throat. So everything she eats— He shuddered instead of finishing the thought, then pushed his head into the slimy stomach flesh, nuzzling vigorously. The delcatty practically scrubbed himself with it, filling his ears with squishes and squelches as he ground them into the walls. The zoroark’s muscles clenched back at him, weakly at first, then stronger and stronger until a powerful contraction rippled through her gut, shunting him downward.

Loren had his mouth closed and the presence of mind to keep it that way as he was dunked in the vixen’s chyme. The muscular ripple spun him partway around, pushing his head to the bottom and lifting his rear into the air. As soon as it passed, the delcatty tried to right himself, pressing all four limbs out into the slick walls for whatever purchase he could find; the space felt roomier than before, but less stretchy. He reached for the solidity of Mira’s harness straps, trying to push off them, but his paw just kept going another couple inches, narrowing the entire chamber to minimize its stretch. Of course she hadn’t worn it to bed. Panic welled in him for a moment before he wriggled just so, fur slipping and sliding against the slippery walls. He spun right back into place with a noisy slosh. His head emerged, dripping with fluid, nestling right back into the top of her stomach like it belonged there.

It felt notably cleaner, too, after the dunking. Even though his private bath was swirling with mushy bits of food—he could feel them brushing against him—he’d left more behind than he’d taken with him. So in a way, besides the brief scare, he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. Loren relaxed, taking deep breaths, letting the warm walls support him. Somehow his heart wasn’t pounding; maybe because of the stomach’s gentle rocking, or the way the churning undulations hugged at him from all around. Whatever it was, he felt weirdly good. And he was too tired to feel bad about it.

The delcatty reached out to explore the space more gently. He traced a paw along the wall opposite him, feeling the waviness of the rugae underneath his pawpads. They slowly squashed and stretched as the stomach churned. He added a second paw, feeling around; without her harness holding it back, her belly had definitely stretched further, probably sprawling across the bed where he’d been lying. The extra space was counteracted by the sloshing soup filling out the volume around him, where before the walls had clung close to him. Experimentally, Loren wriggled to uncurl himself a little, forcing her stomach to stretch more laterally and less in front of her. Slimy flesh squelched against his sides again, squeezing them, then retreated as he relaxed, allowing the organ to curl him back up. He hummed to himself, leaning against her flesh, idly squishing one leg into the wall.

Her heartbeat was loud here, thumping around him, audible even over the slosh and squelch of her active stomach. It was soothing, comforting; maybe it was what he’d been missing since lunch. What he’d been in denial over. As he started to lose himself in it, another sound reached his ears: a burbling noise down by his rump. The swirling currents of chyme shifted, the soupy pool slowly lowering, draining deeper into the zoroark. Given everything around him, Loren’s ability to find things gross had completely burnt out; all that was left was a vaguely comforting feeling. He slowly unpacked it; ensconced in Mira’s core, treated to the natural processes of her body, unvarnished by illusion, his sleepy synapses finally put his unconscious feelings to words. I wasn’t missing her heartbeat. I was missing… being cared for. Whether I’m wrapped in illusion or not, the truth is Mira’s taking care of me anyway. Her belly, too, in its own way.

When the burbling stopped, the delcatty’s bath was only an inch lower, still lapping and splashing at him as his guardian’s stomach rippled. He was mildly disappointed, having grown fond of the sound, but now cherished the occasional gurgle from deeper in her guts. Loren gently nuzzled into the slimy flesh around his head, a smile coming unbidden to his face. He lifted his key with one paw, then let it splash back into the remnants of Mira’s dinner. He didn’t need to leave. Despite the noise, the heat, the tight quarters, he felt more comfortable here than he had in his luxurious bed. He wasn’t sure why, but this was what he needed.

---

Underneath the blankets, a muffled yawn came from Mira’s distended midsection. Shapes shifted under her fur as her passenger stretched, then was quietly squelched back into place. Aside from its own steady churning, her stomach went still. A couple minutes later, a soft snoring began, barely audible through her flesh and fur.