Barford File 3 - The Sandbergs - Chapters III And IV free porn video

III: A Midsummer Night's Schemes The only downside to being a civilian employee in the 19th Precinct was in the fact that Peter had a day tour on Saturdays as well as during the week. Sunday was his only RDO(Regular Day Off). What was worse was that Spencer Drucker knew that Peter hated having to work on Saturdays, and he was also the only boss on duty on Saturdays, which gave the widely-loathed ICO all the opportunities in the world, during Peter's tour, to push his buttons. Sometimes, Spencer would have Peter on Telephone Switchboard duty, which he knew Peter hated doing. Every now and then, Drucker would come by and share a rumor that Peter knew was bogus: that the Captain would keep the civilian employee at the Switchboard permanently. The Telephone Switchboard duty, however, was not called such in the literal sense. It was simply the formal name for being assigned to the precinct phones to answer calls from the public. There was no 'Switchboard'. No connection plugs to pull out of one socket and into another one. Technology had evolved way past that level. Now, transferring calls was as simple as pressing the right sequence of buttons. But the duty was extremely tedious. Sitting in one spot all day waiting for calls of any kind that come to the command. Sometimes, the calls were deliberate pranks engineered by cops, but he had to deal with it professionally, lest Drucker catch him in apparent dereliction of his duty. Sometimes, he even suspected that the voice on the other end was Drucker himself. For the first hour of his Saturday, he was in the 124 Room, as always. Inevitably, Drucker stepped into the room as Peter idled. "Did you hear?" Drucker began. "Officer Carlton's on leave. Two weeks. I need you at the Switchboard. Let's go." With a heavy, spiteful sigh, Peter rose from his seat and walked outside as if he were being led to a gallows to be executed. His expression clearly communicated how miserable he now felt. "See...I'm putting you up here because I think you do a better job on the phones," Drucker badgered. "You've got a good voice for it. You're 'the voice of the 19th Precinct'. I told the Captain this, and he agreed. You know what that means?" Peter was at the end of his rope in his tolerance, but he knew he had to watch his words as well. "It means that I'm not about to believe anyone other than Captain Cicero when it comes to where I work here, Lieutenant, so maybe you should just let me hear it straight from him rather than from your so-called 'rumors'?" Peter settled himself in front of the phone area as Drucker stared at him. The stone-faced expression on his face made it clear how he felt about the civilian's response. "Don't be a wise-ass with me, Sandberg," he replied, leveling a finger at the PAA. "Just remember that I outrank the civilian boss here. I can have you permanently assigned to the switchboard." "Lieutenant, please leave me alone," Peter calmly remarked as he answered the first incoming call. As the young man handled the call, Drucker didn't move from his spot, continuing to glare at Peter as he calmly and professionally handled the call's transfer to the Detectives Office. It was at times like this, when Peter dared to talk back to the ICO, that a moment would pass in which Drucker would think of some manner of comeback that would serve as retribution. Today was no different. "Y'know...I heard about what happened with that dancer who came to see you," Drucker remarked. "She had her hands all over you, and you didn't tell her that we don't appreciate that kind of physical contact in a police precinct. Now just think of what Captain Cicero would say if I told him that." Peter sighed loudly. "I was taking a legitimate complaint about a fender bender, Lieutenant. She even brought pictures." "Yeah? Well, I wanna see those pictures." He gestured to the cabinet that housed physical files. "Go find the file and show it to me. Right now." Clearly irritated, Peter rose from his seat, not doing a very good job of hiding his malcontent, and headed over to the cabinet. Halfway there, the phone rang. As the phone was more important, he quickly headed back to his seat and addressed the call. A second attempt to get to the file cabinet resulted in his progress cut short by another call. And another behind that one. All of the calls were legitimate, too, and he was able to handle them appropriately. Leafing through the files to find the one the ICO requested, the phone began to ring again, and he hurried back to the phone even as Drucker called out, "You can't keep them waiting!" Even the crabby officer on the other end rebuked, "I shouldn't have to wait four rings for you to pick up." Handling that officer's business, Drucker was rebuking even as he finished the call. "You're gonna leave that file drawer open? What if someone wants to steal a file?" Drucker chided. And yet another call came in. Noticeably frazzled, he handled the call, which amounted to another transfer to the Detectives Office, and he was finally able to extract the file in the long moment in which the phone quietly idled. Closing the file cabinet with a bit of a slam, he headed back over to Drucker to provide proof of the photographs that Cuddles had provided. And the phone once again sounded off. Drucker looked the file over, and then handed it back to Peter as he handled the phone business. The merciless Lieutenant finally disengaged and headed back to his office desk. Peter looked gaunt for the remainder of the first half of his tour. It was only an hour before lunch and it seemed so incredibly distant. Minutes seemed like hours. Time slowed to a crawl. Stu Olivetti stepped over with Edgar Sutcliffe in tow. Both of them had their eyes on Pete, and he motioned for him to get out of the chair. "Sutcliffe's gonna take over for the remainder of the day, Pete," Stu noted. "Go on back to the 124 Room." Peter felt a welcome sense of relief wash over him. "Thank you, sir," he answered before heading back to the more serene atmosphere of the complaint room. Drucker had a few words with Stu, but the ICO didn't look too pleased when Stu countered whatever arguments he had made. Spencer directed an unpleasant gaze to Peter as he walked back to his office. When it was finally time for him to take his lunch break, Peter hurried out to where he usually got his meal, which was a small eatery called Grillin', which was known for serving the biggest burgers and buns in all of Bullchester, and all of them cooked to customer preference. Grillin' used to be a location for the old Great Big Cal's franchise prior to the recent demise of the fast food chain. It was always a plain burger, cooked medium rare, and a side order of 'Grill-bites'...which was the eatery's version of French Fries, seasoned with Sea Salt...to go with it. After adding ketchup to the top of the juicy meat, he put the top bun back on and brought the meal to his mouth. A feminine hand behind him reached down to grab a Grill-bite. As he chewed on the mix of meat, ketchup, and bun bread, his head turned, wide-eyed, towards the woman behind him. She had a spill of dark hair coming through a gold ring at the top of her head, and she had just as shapely a body as Cuddles did. The woman also wore a skin-tight black outfit which openly presented the cleavage of a pair of large breasts. As he stared, she placed the Grill-bite into her mouth, and then looked down at the seated civilian. "You don't mind, do you dear?" the woman began, speaking through her impromptu snack. She then swallowed it before continuing. "You have a nice handful there, after all." Peter swallowed his own mouthful before speaking. "No, I...I don't. Take another, if...you want." The woman raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting that I fatten myself up, young man? I prefer salads." "Then why take a French fry?" Peter reasoned. Smirking, the woman's hand went to Peter's head of hair, rubbing it as if he were a pet as she lowered her upper body closer to his face. "Because I can." Peter just shrugged. "Okay." He then ripped another chunk from the burger as the woman continued to inquisitively stare down at him. She then settled her augmented posterior upon an adjoining seat, crossing her legs in front of her. No emotion could be picked up from the woman's face as Peter continued to eat. She just continued to stare at the civilian employee, watching his eyes alternate between her face, and her chest. Curiosity finally won out after Peter swallowed a mouthful of his food. "Is there something I can help you with?" The woman shrugged. "Buy me a drink." After a moment, Peter signaled for a server, who walked over. "Get this woman whatever drink she wants," he requested. "Put it on my tab." The woman ordered herself an expensive alcoholic beverage. Checking the nearby drink list, he confirmed how expensive the drink was. Fortunately, it would not break his lunch budget. "Thank you, young man." The woman maintained her emotionless expression. "I'm Olivia. Olivia Tench. You will call me Madame Olivia." "Uhh...nice to meet you, Madame Olivia," Peter replied. "Do you work at that Mistresses place?" Olivia flashed a grin. "What makes you think I work there?" she challenged. "Do you think I'm some kind of a slut? A streetwalker? You think I'm just here to offer you sex?" Peter shrugged, a bit surprised at the accusations. "N-no, I..." "Typical conclusions from a man," Olivia chided. "You must be one of those types who think all a woman is good for is to fuck around." "I never said that," Peter asserted. Olivia, however, wasn't letting the young office worker off the hook just yet. "You must have thought I came here just to get up and rub my tits in your face." "Olivia, I..." "MADAME Olivia," the dark-haired woman firmly asserted. "Goddess, you are more forgetful than a bimbo. Maybe I should give you a big cube of bubble gum." "Sorry...Madame Olivia? Please leave me alone." It was clear that Peter was at his wit's end with the accusations. "I've had a really bad day, and I don't want to make it any worse." Filling his mouth once again with food, Olivia once again stared quietly and thoughtfully at him. Her hardened expression softened as she did. "What's your name?" she then asked. His first instinct was to give a vicious rebuke of his own, but after swallowing his food, he calmly relented to the request. "Peter Sandberg." Olivia nodded. "Peter, I apologize," she soberly remarked. "I do actually work at Mistresses. In fact, I'm their boss. I came to see you because I wanted to personally thank you for helping out Cuddles." Peter nodded back. "I was just doing my job, Madame Olivia." "I understand," Olivia assured. "Why don't you tell me why your day was bad?" "I don't think you'd understand if I told you." "Try me," Olivia challenged. "Come on. Besides, I want to make amends for being such a bitch with you. Are you having problems with your supervisor? Or your boss?" The PAA sighed lamentedly. "One of them, yeah." "His name wouldn't happen to beeeee..." Olivia picked out another Grill- bite to extract from the warm, soft pile. "...Spencer Drucker, would it?" Peter's eyes widened, visibly surprised by the guess. "You know him?" Olivia giggled. "We've had to deal with him before, yes," She craned her head forward, grinning impishly. "Can you keep a secret?" Peter nodded. "Yeah, sure." "Some of your precinct boys are setting up a retirement party for your Captain, Joe Cicero," Olivia confided. "They sent Spencer down to be one of their go-betweens once, and he started pissing me off with how he felt about scantily-clad women flaunting their sexual assets, and how they're all shaming themselves by showing off their skin and asking for money. Then he warned me that he could easily throw us all in jail on a trumped-up charge and close the club. Now you do realize that some of my girls are just trying to make ends meet, right? Paying their way through College? Covering phone bills and mortgages?" Peter shrugged. "It's a sex worker thing. I don't mind. Hell, I know cops at the precinct who talk about going to places like Mistresses." Olivia smiled. "Well, your Lieutenant Drucker is actually very much the hypocrite. See...he's blackmailing me and my girls into doing lapdances...illegal lapdances...and an after-hours extension of the retirement party with the guests. I don't trust him, though. I have a very strong suspicion that he'll use those perks as a means to shut us down." The PAA nodded. "Sounds like the kind of thing he'd do...but what do you expect from a guy who hides behind a bible whenever his actions are questioned? Guy's a total backstabber. He just loves to press my buttons, too. I almost resigned from the department over the crap he's put me through. I totally hate him." "Awww..." Extracting another Grill-bite, she instead placed it into Peter's mouth. In so doing, she dug her index finger deep into his open mouth as it closed over the fried potato fragment, and Olivia slowly and suggestively pulled the finger out of his mouth. "...how long have you been working there, dear?" "Too long," Peter griped as he chewed. "If you knew of another way to make more money, would you leave that job?" Olivia next asked. Peter swallowed his food before asking. "Depends on what I'm being asked to do." Olivia nodded. "Maybeeeee...an office job? Not much different from what you're doing now?" Peter chuckled a little. "Only if I had weekends off." His expression then went curious. "Wait...are you offering me a job?" Olivia shrugged amusedly as she picked up her delivered drink. "Perhaps. If business picks up as it seems to be doing, I may need a little help around my management office. No promises, but...if you were interested..." "Well, I-I, uh..." "Can you imagine it, Pete?" Olivia's tone became much more alluring. "Being able to work in the same place as the sexiest women in the entire city? You already have a fan in Cuddles. She was sooooo appreciative of you being able to help her. Wouldn't surprise me if she wanted to find...other ways of showing her appreciation." Peter smirked. "Which I would probably have to pay for." Olivia grinned. "Not if you were working for us. In fact, I think you have the potential to earn a lot more money than...whatever it is you're earning in your police paychecks." "Oh, I dunno," Peter skeptically noted. "I get a LOT of money from a two-week take-home, and that's after taxes." "Is that your way of saying that you're not interested?" Olivia challenged. "Don't you want to see Cuddles more often?" "Well, I..." Peter seemed to think on his words. "...I didn't exactly say 'no', but..." "Would you consider something...part-time...to be more agreeable?" Olivia offered. "Maybeeee...work as a clerk upstairs after your tour? Get yourself some extra money, on top of what you're earning now?" "I'm not exactly an expert on lingerie, Oliv...uhm, Madame Olivia," Peter reasoned. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her as they continued to speak. Olivia's appearance was growing on the young civilian worker, or was it the alluring scent she was emitting as she pulled out a pad of paper and began writing out website URLs? She carefully ripped off the small page from the pad and handed the information to Peter. "Look up these website addresses. I gave you guest passwords to use. Just type in 'guest', in all caps, as your username. You shouldn't have trouble getting in. If you do..." She then pulled a business card from between the exposed cleavage of her breasts and handed it to Peter. "...give me a call." The PAA still looked skeptical. "What...makes you think I'd be willing to drop everything I have now just to be a lingerie store clerk?" "One, no Drucker," Olivia responded. "Two, weekends off. Three? Getting to watch my girls come by your counter almost every, single, day. Very flirtatious girls, I might add. You may even start to envy them." "Envy...?" This notion left him mystified. "How do you mean by..." "Just check those sites out," Olivia interjected. "I'm not looking for people with a degree in women's undergarments, sweetie. I'm the boss there. If I say you can handle the job I'm offering, you can handle it. Trust me. But check those sites out anyway so you at least have a foundation of knowledge." As the offer sounded agreeable, Peter nodded. "Okay, I...I'll check these sites out." "Come here for your lunch break on Monday," Olivia instructed, finishing her drink. "You can give me your answer then. Have a nice day, Petra." As Olivia departed, her hips swayed sensually as she moved, and Peter's eyes stayed on her until she was out of sight. It was only after she was gone that he realized the name that she had uttered as she bid her farewell. Petra... It seemed like every time someone spoke the name, it lingered in his head for a long moment. ...Petra... * * * As modest as the Sandberg home was, the more noticeable aspect was the house's backyard, which was very spacious, and meticulously decorated and arranged so as to allow for large social gatherings to be set up there. One night a year, the Sandberg Terrace...as it was called by Louise...was always the locale for the Midsummer Showcase, which was more of a nod to Shakespeare than it was to the actual season...early Spring...in which the event ran. Such was the name Louise gave her lavish outdoor backyard party, and local talents always gathered on the promise that they would be given the floor to show off their craft without having to deal with judgments or voting. In a nod to Loris International's own interest in raw talent, a large, clear plastic water jug serving as a donation jar was set up so that those who attended could voluntarily slip in a dollar or more in deference to the arts, and grants which could fund more of the same within Bullchester. A partial smile was on Rita Noble's lips as she passed this jug on her way into the gathering, which was already an hour into its showcasing. The debutante could hear acoustic melodies being plucked on guitars as mostly young and adolescent guests mingled amongst themselves, many of them holding drinks in one hand. Rita occasionally stopped to pull out her smartphone and discreetly snap pictures of some of the more handsome young men, which she sent to Loris-employed talent scouts along with suggestions that they be approached to appear in Loris-financed TV soap operas. As a Sisterhood advocate with connections to their vast information network, Rita was able to spot local celebrities and power-players within the crowd. Mingling with another socially awkward young man was Judith Newlington. She also spotted Nicola Kapper chatting up one of Rita's makeup gurus...Tori Burgess...while holding a leash connected to the collar of lavender-haired, feline-aspected Charlene Merrywether. Looking around for Louise Vandervelde after getting a drink for herself at the temporary, makeshift bar that had been set up outside, she glanced upon some of the paintings and sculptures that had been nicely arranged around the circumference of the terrace area. These were all done by individual artists, some of whom were self-taught in their craft. One particular sculpture caught Rita's eye as she browsed. It was of a pair of human-looking, forearm-sized, faceless figurines, one of whom was kneeling before a more immaculately-posed figurine with its arms raised to the skies. Getting a closer look revealed the presence of a small nub, fastened over a pair of small globes, at the groin area of the kneeling figurine. The Loris CEO surmised that the kneeling figurine was a male, and the fact that a simple slit at the groin area of figurine with its raised arms was female. Each of the sculptures had a name to identify the artist by, and Rita was able to find the name area. R. Sivan. "Do you like it?" A young woman's voice...this one with a very exotic- sounding European accent that reminded her of her European business partner, Vije Nastassje...inquired behind the debutante. Turning to face this woman revealed that she was clad in a peach-colored wrap of gauzy cloth, with a loose shawl wrapped around her head like a hijab. She did not have the olive shade to her skin to betray an Indian or an Arabic heritage, but she definitely had an exotic scent to her. Her soft, straight hair spilled down, some of it through the head- wrapping, in smooth, dark brown waves, with long golden streaks providing highlights.The woman's eyes were wide, and she had a precious look to her face which Rita imagined could become very intimidating if she were angered. "As a matter of fact, I do," Rita answered, a smile beginning to form. "Are you Miss Sivan?" "Yes," she calmly replied, presenting a slender hand. "But please, call me Regina." "Rita Noble, CEO, Loris International." She accepted the hand as she spoke. "This is very intriguing work, Regina. We do have more prominent art galleries in the city, you know. A piece like this deserves to be more prominently displayed. I know people who can help make that kind of thing happen." "Yes, but...is all part of my plan," Regina explained, and as she did so, Rita saw a large black tattoo mark on the back of her right hand which vaguely resembled an 'A'. "Was tell to go small, see how other like. I go from there." "Smart approach," Rita complimented. "May I ask what inspired you to make a piece like this?" "My, uhh...my feel of men," Regina slowly responded. "Um...sorry. English...not...very okay." "As far as I'm concerned? You're doing just fine, Regina," Rita assured. "So this is how you feel about men? You feel...that their place is to be at the feet of an assertive woman?" Regina now looked puzzled. "S-sssorry? Assss-ssserrr-tav...?" Rita grinned. "A woman who likes to take charge. Be the boss. Be stronger than the man." Regina's eyes were now slits, unexpectedly betraying an inner malevolence. "Woman is strong than man. I know this. Some woman...strong as..." She gestured a circle with one hand. "...women." Although Rita frowned in her effort to understand the European woman, she slowly nodded in her hesitant understanding. "You mean that some women can be stronger than other women, yes?" Regina flashed an unexpected, full grin as she nodded. "Yes. Yes, yes." She leveled a slim finger, with a long, French-cut, crimson-painted nail, towards Rita. "Yoooou got it." "And did you feel this way about men because of anything that a man had done to you?" Rita asked. Regina's smile melted upon receipt of this question. She then shook her head as it lowered in a seemingly shameful fashion. "No want...to say. Hurts." Rita rested a hand on Regina's bare shoulder in consolation. "Then don't say a word, dear. I apologize if it seemed like I was prying," She then gestured to the art piece. "I was merely curious at to what kind of mind could create such an intriguing sculpture." Regina looked back up to the debutante, and a smile returned to her face. One of her hands came up to rest on Rita's opposite shoulder. "You no sorry. I...happy meet you, Rita." The hand that was now on Rita's shoulder was the marked one, and the Loris chief executive was unable to keep silent on her curiosity any further. "Can I ask you what this...mark is? On the back of your hand?" Regina responded with a single word after a moment of thought. "Earn." Another puzzled frown returned to Rita's face, although her smile remained. "How do you..." A single index finger pressed against Rita's lips as Regina slowly shook her head, looking right in her eyes. "Earn," she softly repeated. A minor commotion seemed to break out near the house a few feet away from where Rita was standing, and she was able to recognize Louise's voice. There was another voice involved in the audible altercation that sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn't set a name to it just yet. As her head turned towards this spat, Rita fished a hand into a pocket and pulled out a business card, which she handed to Regina. "I take my lunch break at 12. Call me then," Rita requested, and before Regina could reply, the debutante was already hurrying over to Louise... ...who, as it turned out, was arguing with a corpulent, crop-haired woman with the ugliest outfit of all the guests who turned up for the gathering. Such was the nature of the unpleasant spat that Rita could not initially make out what they were blathering about. And then she heard Louise blurt out the name 'Marcia' in reference to the guest she was arguing with. Marcia Dyson. The name finally registered in her mind. The devoted convert of Gemma Schultz, the religious loudmouth of Bullchester. Their voices finally separated, with Louise explaining her conundrum clearly. "Your so-called 'gospel' is hardly something I consider to be art, young lady. For the thousandth time, my answer is NO. You can NOT perform at this gathering, Marcia! Not only are we divorcing ourselves from politics, but we're also divorcing religion here, too!" "Even if that religion is about the blossoming of the dominant voice in this fair city?" Marcia asserted. "The message needs to be shouted over the hills and the rooftops of our growing influence! Not only of this great city, but across the world!" "Fine. Go find some hills and rooftops to shout over," Louise mused. "Don't do it here!" "How shaaaameful," Marcia huffed in her visible disgust. "We should all openly support each other in our clear dominance over the diminishing tyranny of men whenever and wherever we may celebrate!" Her peripheral vision caught sight of Rita, and she hurried over to her as she pointed to the debutante. "There! Perfect example of how dominant the female can be!" Turning her head towards Rita, Marcia began to speak so close to her face that the Loris CEO had no choice but to sample the downright horrible breath the corpulent woman's mouth was emitting. "We have to make this woman understand how important our song is!" Rita's face already wrinkled over the nauseating stench her nostrils had sampled. "The only thing that should be more important than your song right now is your oral hygiene. Goddess...when is the last time you actually brushed your teeth??" "Yeah...and from what thrift shop did you get that awful dress from?" One of the other guests mused aloud, sparking related murmurs among the nearby guests. "No. You go peddle your religion somewhere else." She gestured towards the nearest gate entrance. "Please leave." "No!" Marcia proclaimed. "The voice of the Divine Feminine will NOT be silenced!" Marcia then felt a hand grasp her right hand...and at that moment, her mind became a disoriented jumble. Clear thought was now impossible as the grip on the corpulent woman's hand tightened. "If the lady says you have to go, that is what you will do," a young female voice firmly instructed. "And you will not come back. Ever." The wide-eyed, well-dressed young girl led Marcia to the nearby exit, where she was calmly able to have the religious extremist leave quietly while the gate door was shut behind her. She then returned to Louise. "My, oh my," Louise remarked, surprised at the ease of this gesture as she looked down at the wide-eyed female. "I wish it were that easy for me to get rid of someone!" "Mom and I don't want to see your showcase ruined by people like her," the young woman explained. "She appreciates the arts as much as I do." Louise nodded. "And, you are...? If I may ask?" The woman smiled. "Poppy. Nice to meet you. I'll let you get back to work," She then stepped away before Louise could say another word to her. Hmmm. Rita mused to herself. If Poppy's here, maybe Gwynn Welsh is, too. At that point, Brooke Vandervelde...who was all dressed and ready for her Romeo & Juliet scene...stepped curiously over to her mother. "What's going on?" she wondered aloud. "Who was that woman you were talking to?" Louise's face lit up as she turned to her daughter. "Oh, there you are." She wrapped an arm around Brooke. "My, my, my, aren't you dressed for a Verona romance? And where's our Romeo?" "He's inside. Still getting ready," Brooke answered. "So who was that woman?" "No one important, dear," Louise responded. "Just a Goddess-fearing nutjob," She then looked to the radically shapely debutante. "Have you met my daughter, Rita? This is Brooke." "Well! That answers my question as to which scene you're going to perform," Rita shook Brooke's hand, smiling. "Just a word of advice, dear. If you draw on life experiences similar to what the role you're playing is going through, revisiting those experiences should help you to be more convincing in your performance." "Hmm." Brooke nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense." I'll just pretend David is the husband I'd like him to be. Brooke mused to herself. "Do you have aspirations to be an actress, Brooke?" Rita asked. "Huh? Oh, uh...well, maybe," Brooke replied. "I mean, if someone thinks I'm good..." "Why do you think Rita is here in the first place, dear?" Louise interjected, squeezing her daughter affectionately. "If you ask me, I think you've got the gift." Brooke shrugged, smiling. "That's up to Rita, Mom." "You certainly have marketable looks, sweetie," Rita complimented. "If nothing else, we have a lot of openings for fash..." "NO," Brooke suddenly asserted. "I mean...sorry. I don't want to be a 'thing'." "Brooke!" Louise frowned. "I'm sure Rita doesn't think of you as any kind of a 'thing'! Be nice!" Rita giggled in her amusement, however. "I think I know what she means. Brooke is not being rude. That's just a nickname working fashion models tend to use, seeing as how they're essentially live mannequins," She then looked to Brooke. "It usually takes a model many years to earn large salaries anyway." Brooke just nodded before checking her smartphone for the time. "I'd better go get David. We're up after this act." Louise nodded. "Break a leg, honey!" she called out as Brooke hurried away. As they waited, Rita spoke close to Louise's ear as the current act continued her acoustic music set. "I take it this David is the one you asked me to assess?" The bohemian woman nodded. "I want nothing but the best for my immaculate little girl." Rita nodded, idly rubbing the pocket where the debutante had concealed the Tear Duct she brought with her. Two minutes later, the musician completed her song, and flashed a wide grin as her performance was appraised by a round of applause from the assembled guests. After answering with a bow, the singer-songwriter stepped off of the stage. Louise Vandervelde stepped on once the musician was off, and moved to center stage. "Ladies and gentlemen," she began, addressing the sea of guests. "Thank you once again for coming out to our annual gathering of raw talents. As you know, we spare a bit of time to showcase recitations of classic moments from the inimitable Bard of Avon himself, William Shakespeare. Last year, we showcased the popular monologue from 'Hamlet'. This year, it's all about a certain pair of star-crossed lovers from Verona, separated by the rift created by their feuding families. We humbly ask for your silence, and your attention, as we present the infamous 'balcony scene' from William Shakespeare's timeless and classic romance, 'The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet'." Aided by the darkness of the starlit night air above them, hired followspotters directed cylindrical illuminations from a pair of rented spotlights onto one of the two performers that took their places at the collapsible stage area. Brooke, beautifully dressed as a willowy Juliet, was on the elevated stage platform, while David Sandberg's Romeo was on the ground in front of the stage, creating the illusion of Romeo on the ground, and Juliet on the balcony. David had made it a point to commit his lines as thoroughly to memory as possible. He was to begin with 'but soft', but an unexpected peal of loud laughter from a drunken man at the nearby bar seemed to distract David for a moment. But the Senior classman...whose body was clad in effeminate tights...gave a sly grin to the audience as he gestured to the drunken man. "He jests at scars that never felt a wound," David mused aloud, provoking a bit of laughter from the crowd. He then turned his head to Juliet...and emulated surprise, remembering the moment in which he had first seen Brooke at the Mall's nightclub. "But soft!" he began. "What light in yonder window breaks? It is the east...and Juliet is the sun! Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon..." His eyes remained on Brooke the entire time. It was as if the character's and the actor's feelings were as one, and he injected his full, genuine emotions into the moment. It became easier than he had thought to remember every word of his dialogue. The crowd was dead silent, enraptured by this raw talent. Rita had her eyes on this young man, taking in his youthful appearance. The curls that had been formed from his soft, short brown hair suited him. The makeup he wore definitely gave him an effeminate appearance... ...but did he truly seem the type to be any kind of a misogynist? She concluded that only a bit of conversation with this particular student could give her any kind of insight. Rita nevertheless remained where she stood to see the end of this classic, pre-rehearsed moment. "O, Romeo, Romeo..." Brooke began, staring thoughtfully to the clear and starry night skies. "...wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father, and refuse thy name..." David was thoughtful as he heard these words, while keeping conscious to the necessity of not breaking his character. He had been told that this girl was a Freshman, which made their true association not much different from these star-crossed lovers. As she spoke her lines, it was as if she were genuinely asking him, 'why do you have to be a Senior?' "Shall I hear more..." David's moment of pause was genuine in his thoughts, but he recovered quickly. "...or...shall I speak at this?" As Brooke responded with Juliet's next monologue, he continued to stare upon the natural beauty that was Brooke Vandervelde. Never before had he seen one so infectiously charming, so capable of natural mirth, and gifted with what he deemed perfect beauty. It was clear, by now, that he could not stand to be with any other woman, no matter what the class. Young or old, Freshman or Senior, right or wrong, it was now clear to David Sandberg that he had found his Juliet, and he was certain that Brooke...for all those times, including the makeup session she had with him prior to this performance, in which she lingered her affectionate gaze upon him...felt the very same way. I hope you truly love me, as I do you. David thought as he waited for the cue line to his next bit of dialogue. Screw the haters! "...take all myself," Brooke emoted, in the completion of her monologue. "I...take thee at thy word," David added. "Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized, henceforth, I never will be a Seni...uh, w-will be Romeo." Rita was quick to catch the gaffe, and an eyebrow raised. A couple within the audience murmured a silent giggle. All David could do was blush in his brief embarrassment. "What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night..." Brooke recited, in her memory of her lines. "...so stumblest on my counsel?" Brooke stared back unto David's eyes during his next monologue, contemplating her more affectionate thoughts. You're so cute when you're flustered. I'm not letting you go, my Romeo. We can never stop staring at each other, can we? Does...this mean we're in love? I mean, TRUE love? If so...I do welcome it, my David...if you'll have me... "Juliet!" David called out, louder. "Had I it written, I would tear the word!" Giggles from the crowd. Apparently, in her deep thought, Brooke missed her cue and left the audience in a brief silence! Wide-eyed, Brooke was quick to recover, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry...my ears have not yet drunk a hundred words of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound! Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?" "Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike," David's Romeo responded. Their next bits of dialogue had them both wondering how their respective school crowds...if not their parents...would respond to such a union. How would they respond to how they felt about each other? Would her fellow Freshmen perhaps reveal something about David...or David's fellow Seniors reveal something about Brooke...that would make them question the feelings that were manifesting during this romantic and iconic performance? The crowd was riveted as they seemed to share in this moment. It was as if they could feel the sparks flying between these two performers. That there was something real there. That it wasn't just an act, or a flat recitation, seeing as how they spoke with such emotion. Rita found it all particularly amusing. She knew such unions were fleeting at best. Momentary. Whatever unions manifested could only end in tears in the mind of this vengeful Sisterhood debutante, and the man would need to pay the price, if only to know, truly, how deep the pain of a female was. By becoming one, of course. Rita's face remained neutral the entire time, while those around her were more absorbed and rapt. All she could see was the potential for this David person to become...Davina, perhaps? This, of course, was a far cry from the kind of personality the old, and long dead, Rita Noble had in her days as the older-looking and much less curvy and provocative Rita Porter. Following her radical augmentations and her makeover, Rita's rise to power as the CEO of Loris International was meteoric, even as the former boss...Erica Lacey...found her life in ruins from an act of prejudice that the Sisterhood found unforgiveable. And as Rita's influence grew, so did the raw power she had begun to feel in avenging herself on the son of a man who had so viciously tormented her in her youth, at a summer camp. As much as she would have wanted to inflict retribution upon Brock Portnoy himself, he had crossed Russian mobsters, leading to the misogynist's murder following his imprisonment over an incident involving the mail-order bride he had been involved with. Upon learning Brock had a son, and that his mother was being lured to Bullchester through a plot engineered by Sisterhood scientist Celeste Richards, Rita had to pounce upon the boy. The feeling of dominance over the former Timothy Portnoy made her think on her accomplishment, and on the power she had been given by the Sisterhood as the CEO of a multimillion dollar company specializing in entertainment media. What was it that my Social Studies teacher had once observed? Rita had thought to herself. Control the media, control the mind? Rita had to wonder if such control could potentially extend to the Sisterhood itself. Such was the extent of the power she had amassed that she felt she could at least assess the potential for a financial takeover of Cresswell Industries. Throughout the entire performance, in addition to her assessment of this David person, she had worked it out in her mind. Ultimately, she had cast the die in a mere four words, protected by the privacy of her thoughts as these two lovestruck teens continued their Shakespearean recitations. I could do it. She insidiously resolved to herself. I could own the hivemind. Make it my own. Conquer Bullchester. Become the Queen Bee, even. I will naturally need to be cautious...but yes, I think it can be done. "If they do see thee," Brooke fearfully noted unto her Romeo. "they will murder thee!" Be watchful of Agatha, Rita. The debutante warned herself. But be mindful. Wait, for now. You have to wait, but at the same time, prepare. And when the time comes, commit, or be forever branded the coward those camp counselors were when they chose to refrain from punishing Brock Portnoy for all of that torment he inflicted upon me. "I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight," David's Romeo continued, in counter of Juliet's fears. "And but thou love me, let them find me here. My life were better ended by their hate, than death prorogued, wanting of thy love." A cloak. Yes...from Gwynn Welsh. Rita quietly surmised. A distraction. A sign...wait! LARRY! You love him, don't you, Gwynn? Enough to turn your eyes away from me while I seed my designs on the Sisterhood, and everything in it? Oh yes, Rita...this could work. Patience...and time...shall be my weapons. As Brooke went into her long monologue, Louise stared and beamed with pride. Both of these students...neophyte actors both...had thus far recited their lines perfectly, and they did it convincing the crowd that they really were star-crossed lovers. Would that be so bad? Louise thought to herself. They look so natural in their expressions. They're not just struggling to remember these lines...they're FEELING them. Like this is more to them than just emulating this timeless romance, and this is coming from two people who don't have any real interest in acting. Were they meant to be together? Are they really made for each other, if ever there was such a thing? I...I wonder what Rita is thinking? I hope she doesn't think David will go bad, or try to hurt my Brooke. She is the most precious thing I have ever conceived. I need that around me as I grow older. An ever-present reminder that it was I who conceived something wonderful from my womb, and I nurtured it to become something even more special in this imperfect world. Eventually, the spots on both performers went black, and the volume of the applause rose. As the main lights in the area came back on, David and Brooke were side by side, each bowing in turn before bowing together. The both of them beamed as they drank in the loud appreciation from the sea of smiling faces, each of them clapping loudly. Brooke then gestured to her mother, and gently pulled her over for a round of applause of her own, seeing as how this was essentially her presentation. Smiling to the crowd, she acknowledged them with a respectful curtsey. The party's DJ resumed the run of music, and the mingling between guests began anew as Brooke pulled David to the side. As they moved, they acknowledged those who offered appraisal of their performance. One of them was a red-headed woman who stopped them in their tracks. "Y'all did a fine job up there, darlin's!" The woman gushed. "If it's thespian pursuits y'all goin' for, you should both go far! I r'member doin' that Romeo an' Juliet stuff back in Texas. Just a school play, mind ya...but we weren't half as good as you both were!" A young girl next to the woman began to reach out towards David, a curious expression on her face. "How old are you?" The woman, however, was quick to stop her just as her fingers were about to rest against David's bare arm. "Now, now, Poppy...leave 'em be. No need t' pry like that," The woman then grinned to him and Brooke. "My daughter, sorry. We'll leave y' both be. Again, great job up there!" Brooke continued to gently pull David towards the house, where she figured they could both relax and recover in the wake of their performance. David turned his head, curiously, towards the girl who had tried to touch him, and saw that she was being scolded by the red-haired woman. A neutral expression was on the girl's face. "Let's go get into more casual clothes, hon." Brooke led him through the back door of the house, where they descended down the basement steps where they had been preparing. "Get back to looking less Verona, and more Bullchester, y'know?" Why'd that girl try to touch me? David had to wonder to himself as he followed Brooke. Why'd she ask how old I was? Fuckin' weird question! "Did you know that redhead with the girl?" he asked Brooke as they stepped towards the makeshift makeup table she had set up. The younger student shook her head as she went into the nearby bathroom to prepare a wet cloth. "Nope. Just a guest. I don't know that kid that was with her, either," She then came out and stepped toward David. "Just think of them as fans." She began rubbing the warm cloth at David's face, wiping away the makeup she herself had applied hours before when they were preparing and rehearsing. "Man, those monologues were murder to memorize." Brooke shrugged as she continued cleaning her co-star's face. "Even if you missed a line or two, it's not like they noticed, right? Unless someone was out there with the script in his or her hands...but they loved it all the same. No one talked! Maybe there is something to this acting thing. What do you think?" Brooke alternated between the warm cloth and a cotton swab drenched with a makeup-removing solvent as she worked. "I dunno," David replied. "I don't even know what I wanna major in. Maybe around graduation time." Brooke grinned as she put the finishing touches on the cleaning job. "I hear that's not too far off for you." "Yeah...just gotta get through the winter semester," David responded, rubbing at his moist face with a towelette as Brooke began cleaning off the makeup on her own face. "Not to mention anyone out there who saw me wearing tights." "And comic book superheroes don't?" Brooke reasoned as she wiped at her own face. "Just tell those judgmental morons to take it up with Superman if they've got a problem with that." David had to chuckle over that musing. His eyes lingered on Brooke for the next quiet moment as she finished removing her makeup. "You were awesome out there." Once she was done cleaning her face, she beamed a smile and stepped right in front of David. "So were you. If I had a spare Oscar, you'd have earned it." David frowned in his amusement. "Oscars are for movies. Don't you mean 'Tony Award'?" Brooke giggled, gently placing her hands on his shoulders. "I'll get you that one, too. If they cast you for the movie version, you can say you earned both." "Only if you're in the movie version with me," David noted, still staring into the beautiful young woman's striking blue eyes. Brooke's face slowly came towards her Romeo's, and she gently pressed her lips to David's. At the touch of her lips, he puckered his invitingly. Neither of them recoiled. Slowly rubbing their lips together a little more, David and Brooke then locked their lips in a passionate and loving kiss as they wrapped their arms around each other. Slowly tilting their heads to and fro with every rub of each other's lips, they continued demonstrating their genuine affections for each other in that tender moment. Brooke gently moaned as they continued to kiss, and their arms tightened around each other's bodies. Their eyes were closed as they savored each other's passion. A part of Brooke feared that David would start getting rough, but he kept it passionately slow as they continued making no secret of their genuine love for each other. Omigod, yes... Brooke exulted to herself. ...yes...I can't believe it...he loves me...and I love him...I'll never let him go...ever... I can't believe it... David's inner excitement spoke volumes. ...she's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen...I love her...I won't love anyone else...no one... They pressed their foreheads together as they smiled, reveling in the reality of the moment. "Wanna go back out there dressed in our costumes?" Brooke asked, grinning. David chuckled. "Whatever happened to 'less Verona, and more Bullchester'?" Brooke shrugged impishly. "I dunno...you look kinda cute in tights." Her lips moved close to one ear. "I bet you'd look better without anything on," She whispered. David chuckled again at the thought. "Y' ever wanted to try and run through a rainstorm, wearing nothing at all? Just feel the raindrops showering all over us as we run through a forest." Brooke initially answered with a confused expression, indicating that this was a silly idea. "Don't you think we'd catch a cold or something?" "No, no...our body heat would keep us warm," David reasoned. "It's like...our love is, like, fighting the elements." Brooke giggled, and kissed her Romeo once again. "I like it. If you wanna try it sometime, I'm game. But you'll have to bring the cold medicine if we get sick." David grinned. "No problem!" They shared three quick, loving kisses between them, and then tightly embraced once more. "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever met." "And you're the nicest guy I've ever met," Brooke openly admitted, resting her head on David's shoulder. "My sweet David..." she cooed. "Are you coming back outside or what??" a harsh voice called from the staircase. Oh, fuck! RAMONA! Brooke griped to herself. You BITCH! Sure enough, the more frumpy-looking sibling was gazing at them spitefully. She was now grinning over how upset her sister looked. "My, my, my," Ramona cruelly mused. "How girlish your new boyfriend looks. Want a pair of my panties to go with those tights, sissy boy?" "FUCK YOU, Ramona!" Brooke growled. "Go back to chatting with your counterculture freaks!" The spiteful girl...who had her raven black hair in a tight updo that made her look like a ballerina...just giggled loudly and mockingly as she lingered at the stairs. "They're gonna love hearing how GIRLY you look, Davey." David took a couple of defiant steps towards Ramona. "You got a problem with a guy who's man enough to get on stage and act in a costume, kid?" he then challenged. "You ever been onstage? Performing in front of people? Or would that scare the ever-loving shit outta you?" he took another step towards her. "I bet it would, wouldn't it? How about I talk to your Mom and have her put YOU up there next year, eh?" Apparently hitting a nerve, Ramona's amused expression turned nasty. "How 'bout you go FUCK yourself, sissy boy??" Pouting, she finally cleared the stairs, stomping back up. David just shook his head and turned back to Brooke. "Is she always likffrmggll...?" Brooke had her lips connected to his, interjecting a grateful kiss as he spoke. Once again, they wrapped their arms around each other. Pulling away briefly, she caressed a hand at the side of David's face. "Thank you for that," she cooed. "My sister is such a bitch." "Well...maybe she'll grow out of it," David suggested. "Tends to happen in sibling rivalry." "Or she'll move away before I do, and I'll never see her again," Brooke spitefully added. "Come on, Romeo. Let's get dressed. I want to spend the rest of the party holding your hand." * * * Venetia Foerst idly went over her notes from the past therapy sessions she had done since taking Peter Sandberg as her first client. Everything had been proceeding according to her own insidious and discreet plans. The young man was slowly, but surely developing as Venetia knew he would, particularly given the careful applications of her...unnatural gift, which required skin-to-skin contact. Such was the nature of the druidic circles that connected the more prominent names and faces of the Sisterhood. Except Venetia had no such associations. She was definitely of 'circle blood', as it was called, but she had chosen to go her own way rather than become a part of what would become a developing conspiracy against men, and those women who stood in the way of the Sisterhood that maintained an ironclad control over the radical sciences offered by Cresswell Industries, so named for the one who was essentially the architect of the conspiracy: Melissa Cresswell. Advantageous maneuverings perpetrated by rivals within the Sisterhood, however, resulted in Melissa losing everything, and a long and torrid power struggle would follow. Seeing the echelons of control as being no different from a beehive, it was the one who would become the "Queen Bee" that would essentially inherit everything the Sisterhood had engineered thus far in their bid for absolute power over anything and everything within the city of Bullchester, which had a largely misogynistic powerbase prior to the Sisterhood expanding their influence beyond the borders of Cresswell Industries. Among the more radical 'gifts' offered by the Sisterhood were the unnatural waters that would either miraculously restore one's youth, or cruelly deprive one of it. Among those who had reaped the benefits of this liquid effectively cheating the natural aging process was Venetia Foerst, who despite appearing to be an attractive, healthy, and well- developed woman in her mid to late 30s was actually more than a hundred years older. Part of her desire to live well beyond the average human's natural lifespan stemmed from one great curiosity: to see how far human societies would persist. Venetia marveled over moments in which she held doubt over modern civilization's ability to persist and endure through calamities such as the great wars and the depression. Through such occasions, she kept to herself, never revealing her unnatural secrets to anyone and making a conscious effort to blend in with the rabbles of the past ages. The idleness naturally wore on her patience from time to time, and it was only through the grace of travel that Venetia was able to keep from becoming adversely affected by any sense of ennui. Now, however, she was back in Bullchester, acquiring an office to call her own in the development of a therapeutic practice, which she was easily able to set up through the careful applications of her mind- bending gift. On occasion, through the ages in which she lived, she would take companions, all of them influenced...and in some ways, changed...through their experiences alongside Venetia. None of these companions, however, were worth preserving beyond their years. She knew it would be potentially dangerous to publicize having the means to maintain one's youth in any way. Venetia had always chosen a time in which she needed to let these companions go. And through one final application of Venetia's gift, they would be made to forget that they had ever met such a woman. It was through Venetia's experiences associating with the radically hedonistic Europeans who comprised the backbone of a wealthy, powerful, and secret society known as the Aristocracy that the druidic woman would begin entertaining thoughts of making her life all the more interesting through therapy. Speaking to a white-haired woman from Switzerland named Ragna Volker, she learned that Ragna was able to subdue...and feminize...a serial rapist who had been targeting young girls in her locality. By the time Ragna was done exerting her influence over the rapist using Ericksonian hypnosis methods, he himself was made to shave his entire body, develop an interest in feminine makeup, and even slim down his somewhat chubby figure. Ragna was even able to compel her 'patient' to start a female hormone regimen. The she-male that the rapist had become was ironically raped and murdered two months later. By that point, he was indistinguishable from the man he used to be. To get him to that point, however, required a lot of time and effort on Venetia's part. She had to seed the desire within him as thoroughly as she could. Fortunately, she had gotten so good at laying her gift on normals, as she called them, that he never suspected Venetia of having implanted anything upon his frequently-influenced mind. As Venetia idly read over her own notes once she had stopped typing, she began to wonder if it was worth spending that much time to influence her newest patient...Peter Sandberg...to the point where he, too, could become something akin to what the rapist became. Would it be worth spending all that time to make changes in that horny young man? A knock on the door of her office interrupted her thinking. A knock? She wondered to herself, raising an eyebrow. At my inner office door? I locked the outer door to the hallway half an hour ago! This is a private practice! Another knock on the door followed, as did an assertive-sounding feminine voice. "I had the building's landlord let me in. Stop pretending you're not there." I can end this quickly if it's a normal. Venetia mused to herself, and her suspicious expression became a bit more calculating. "The door isn't locked, dear." "I know." The intruder opened the door, and a conservatively, but fashionably-dressed woman with short black hair, parted to one side, stepped in with a sly grin as she closed the door behind her. "He told me." Venetia smirked. "Must have been a familial acquaintance." The woman shook her head. "I get what I want, sweetie. All I have to do is touch them, skin to skin. I understand you are capable of applying the same trick." The therapist's smirk quickly melted to a more serious and wary expression as the woman picked up a seat and placed it next to where Venetia was sitting. She then settled herself into it. "I am the Lady Agatha," the Sisterhood figurehead calmly remarked. "No last name. And you are Venetia Foerst." It took a moment for the therapist to figure it out. "So...if you have the same gift as me...you're as druidic as I am." Agatha nodded, smiling amusedly. "Took you long enough." Going through her own memories in that moment, it occurred to her that she did remember acknowledging the name once, but it was a name that had wrought considerable caution for the radical and vengeful impulses that this Agatha had suggested. She also seemed to recall that Agatha had proposed such impulses wearing a much younger face. "If you're the same Agatha I...vaguely remember..." Venetia remarked. "...you're the reason I stepped away." Agatha quietly giggled. "Your loss." "If you think I feel differently now compared to back then, you're very sadly mistaken, 'Sister'," Venetia asserted. "Mmmm...surrendered to the man's world, have you?" Agatha amusedly speculated. "No," Venetia answered. "But if you're still suggesting that we flaunt our long-held discoveries in any ham-fisted effort to change the world in a manner that suits a woman as vengeful as you, you're just as bat- shit crazy as you were when you confided that crap to me all those years ago." "I should thank you for keeping it to yourself all those years," Agatha mused. "But you're underestimating my own ability, as always, to stay under the radar. Like you, I hide in plain sight these days." "Why are you here, Agatha?" Venetia calmly asked. "Sisters can't talk to sisters?" The short-haired woman maintained a tone of perpetual amusement as she spoke. "Besides...you should realize that you're on hallowed ground right now, and that hallowed ground happens to be mine. Been around my city lately? Awful lot of feminine places, don't you think? Kinda takes you back to what I said about a woman being forced to live in a man's world, where they seem to have carte' blanche' to undress us with their eyes, and give our bums a pinch whenever they felt like doing so." "I never disagreed with you on those points," Venetia reminded. "But I did think of you when I first came to the city and saw all of those storefronts. Especially that mall...Rubie's, was it?" "Walk in like a man." Agatha idly examined her own nail polish job. "leave a simpering sissy," her eyes returned to Venetia. "But someone like you wouldn't have anything to worry about." "No shit," The therapist replied. "If you're looking for allies, though? Forget it. I'm staking my own claim no matter what you think because I still believe you're making a mistake in flaunting our secrets. I'll make my own way right under your greedy little nose, too." Agatha fixed a stern gaze unto Venetia's eyes, who met them with a firm gaze of her own. "Are you threatening me, sister?" Agatha quietly asked. "You'll sink your own ship, knowing how you think, 'sister'," Venetia responded. "I don't need to be your friend, your enemy, or any manner of acquaintance, significant or otherwise, to be absolutely certain of this." Agatha smirked. "Aaaand...why are you here, Venetia Foerst? Judging by the ambience, I'd say you were some kind of a shrink." "Close," Venetia grinned. "Therapist." "Which makes you a possible problem," Agatha maintained her edgy stare. "How do I know you won't use your own gift to start making my life difficult?" "Because I don't need to," Venetia earnestly shot back. "You're digging your own grave. Whether you believe that or not is irrelevant to me. I told you, and I will keep telling you. I'm going my own way in life whether you like it or not. You, however, do not, and will never, scare me no matter how much 'power' you've amassed for yourself in your so- called 'hallowed ground'. You have the mind of a spoiled brat." "And you don't?" Agatha shot back. "I'm not the one wanting to create some ridiculous new-age matriarchy that ultimately upsets the natural balance of civilized life, sweetie," Venetia calmly countered. "I just want to see how far human civilizations go. Every now and then, I amuse myself with a companion or two." Agatha looked a little more relaxed now, although she still seemed to be assessing this fellow sister. "Female companions?" Venetia smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know." The Sisterhood figurehead leaned forward, towards the more neutral- postured Venetia. "You know what? I'll leave you to your illusions that I'm destined to fail, if only because we're both of circle blood. I won't even kick you out of my city." "How generous of you," Venetia sarcastically interjected. "But get this, sister," Agatha sounded a little more threatening now. "If I should find out that you're doing anything remotely resembling coaching on anyone in my small but inconvenient circle of malcontents, I'll personally make it a point to make sure you're well and truly fucked. Don't make me do that, Venetia. Don't you fucking dare." "If you're gonna be as childish as that, maybe I should," Venetia amusedly noted. "You haven't even given me anything remotely resembling an olive branch. Just the silliest of threats." Agatha thought on this, going quiet for a long moment. This made Venetia visibly curious. She then fished into a pocket of her dress and pulled out a small plastic object which resembled a tear drop. The small, transparent space behind the tiny needle was filled with a golden liquid. She then held it up for Venetia to see. "If it's an olive branch you want..." A slight smile was on Agatha's face now. "...I could start with this. You at least agree with me that men can be misogynistic, pig-headed animals, yes? One shot of our little formula here, and you can watch that beast become a submissive little beauty within days of its application." Agatha continued to hold out this curious little item, to which Venetia's curiosity eventually caved. She carefully allowed the Queen Bee to drop the small plastic object onto her open palm. Getting a closer look at the area where the tear shape narrowed, she saw the end of a small needle. "We nicknamed it the 'Tear Duct'," Agatha explained. "First applied to one Timothy Portnoy in its trial run by one of my Sisterhood allies. He became so feminine, and so curvy, he had no choice but to surrender to her new life as Tammy. We've been using it to subvert our human-factor problems ever since." "I thought you said I was a potential problem," Venetia challenged. "And I thought you said that I was 'doomed to fail'," Agatha countered. "If you're suggesting that I was going to use that on you, it wouldn't have done anything. That one is designed to work on a man. Bear in mind, however, that we have implemented other formulas capable of making changes on women like you as well. An embarrassingly fat and disgusting young woman named Marcia Dyson is evidence of this." "And I suppose whoever I use this on isn't going to be dense enough to notice the pinch?" the therapist wondered. "There's a nerve agent just above the needle that tranquilizes its intrusion onto the punctured skin upon entry," Agatha answered. "Any trace of a pinch is practically unnoticeable. One squeeze, pull away, dispose. It's all plastics, so you could conveniently throw it in a recycle bin." Venetia pulled open a drawer of her desk, and pulled out what looked like a spent and dirty Tear Duct. Placing it on the desk, she gestured to it. "I didn't find this in any bin. It was on the fucking ground near Bullchester Park, Agatha." "How soon you've forgotten that I am Bullchester," Agatha reminded. "Which means any local investigations are swiftly silenced." "Can you say the same for elements outside of Bullchester that you may not know about? Elements that may have agents in plain sight among the populace?" Venetia shot back. "FBI? DEA? CIA? You have any of those on a bribe payroll?" Agatha sighed loudly and irritably. The expression on her face was unpleasant. "I'm working on the CIA, actually." "And who's to say that any other government agency doesn't have something like this 'Duct' shit on a microscope slide somewhere outside of the city?" Venetia shook her head shamefully. "You seem to have something in common with that Emperor guy from Star Wars. Your overconfidence is your weakness. That's why you're going to fail." "I said I'm WORKING ON IT!!" Agatha furiously slammed her open hand down on the spent Tear Duct, grabbing it and putting it in her pocket as she rose from the seat and stepped angrily towards the inner office door. She turned back to Venetia after opening it. "I may not be perfect, but I've got news for you, 'sister'...I WILL, NOT, FAIL!!" *SLAM!* Venetia found the rebuke amusing as she calmly took another look at the 'olive branch', already curious as to how this 'Duct' would change Peter Sandberg. Time answers all questions, Agatha. Venetia mused to herself. I still think you're fucked. IV: Dangerous Liaisons With the breezy, but comfortable climate already reminding Bullchester citizens that Summer was on its way, Sunday morning was off to a good start. It was even better for David Sandberg when he received a text from Brooke Vandervelde inviting him to spend the day with her at Bullchester Park. Eager to see his dream girl once again, he texted back his confirmation to meet at the time she had specified. Emerging from the door of his bedroom, he was able to pick up on that perfume scent that had lingered at the door of his brother's room. It wasn't as strong as before, but it was still there. Over in the nearby Living Room of the house, Mildred was once again in front of the flatscreen TV watching the news... ...which was odd, because David didn't expect to see his Mom here at this hour. She was usually out at St. Justine's Church to listen to a sermon from Father Eamon. "Mornin', Mom," David began, stepping into the nearby kitchen. "No Church today?" "Huh? Oh, no," Mildred answered. "Service was, uh, cancelled. No idea why." David nodded as he began to prepare a bowl of whole wheat cereal. "What're you up to today?" his mother idly asked. "Oh, just...going to the park," David replied. "I'm meeting Brooke there." "Brooke?" "Brooke Vandervelde," David responded. "Ohhh. Louise's daughter," Mildred remarked. "She's quite a character, that Louise. I see her at Church, but you should see the way she stares at Father Eamon during his sermons. Like she wants to burn him down with her gaze." David shrugged as he set his full cereal bowl down at the kitchen table. "She seems okay to me." "Oh, I'm sure," Mildred confirmed. "But I figure a woman like Louise has two faces. A nice one they show off to friends and family, and..." "A darker side?" David surmised aloud. "You think Louise has skeletons in her closet?" "I just think she's...a little weird," Mildred turned to her son as she spoke. "Last time I talked to her, she was going on and on about how her daughter was this 'perfect female', and how everyone should be idolizing her. I'd hate to see how Louise would react if anything happened to Brooke. She talks about her daughter as if she were planted in her womb by God himself." Wouldn't surprise me if that were true. David mused to himself. "Do you know anything about her Dad?" "Paulie? Yeah, I've seen him a couple of times. Nice guy," Mildred answered. "Not as strange as Louise is." "Yeah, but Mom...Louise is a patron of the arts," David rationalized. "I'm not surprised she has that kind of an opinion about Brooke." "Does she like you?" Mildred wondered aloud. David nodded. "Yeah, I...I think so. Certainly gave us a good, long stare when we were in costume. Like we were a prized sculpture or something...but that's just how artists are, Ma. I don't think she's lost her marbles." "Well, if you say so," Mildred responded. A thought then occurred to her. "Wait a minute...are you and Brooke, you know, a thing?" David grinned, somewhat bashfully. "Yeah...you could say that." Mildred smiled back. "No wonder you're goin' on about her all of a sudden," She then rose up from the couch to take a couple of steps towards David. "You do know how young she is, don't you?" "Yeah," David confirmed. "She's a Freshman, and I'm a Senior. We both live in the same area, though." "And you're just...seeing each other, right?" "No, they're having hot sex in Dave's room, Mom," Peter mused as he walked into the kitchen. "Har dee har har," David shot back. "Still can't get that perfume scent out of your room?" "Haven't had a chance to get any cleaner," Peter began gathering up what he needed for his own breakfast. "Figure I can head down to Gourmandizer's when they open up and see if I can find some." "Don't forget your therapy appointment, dear," Mildred reminded. Peter nodded as he started laying bacon strips on a griddle. "Yeah, I know." David had his eyes on Peter as he worked. Something about him was strangely different. Peter had explained the perfume situation, but there was something else that caught David's notice. Something about... ...his arms? "Hey, P..." Such was what Dave called his brother on occasion. "...you doing any, like, champion swimming or anything?" Peter stopped and turned to David, a fully confused expression on his face. "Champion swimming??" "Yeah. I mean...swimmers shave their body hair off, don't they?" David reasoned. "I don't see any hair on your arms, dude. Did you...?" Mildred now looked curious as she looked at Dave's brother in the somewhat tense silence that followed. "Okay...first? No, it's got nothing to do with swimming. Second..." Peter hesitated for a moment before he came right out with it. "...yes, I...I did shave my arms. I just...wanted to know how it feels. Sometimes, when I'm sleeping on my side, I can feel the hair on my arms tickle my chin a little. Kind of...gets annoying. Besides...it's not like it won't grow back." David nodded as one of Peter's hands slowly stroked at one of his own hairless arms, as if admiring its smoothness. "True." "Oh, that reminds me..." A grin formed on Mildred's face now. "...I have something to show you both later tonight." David was already digging into his cereal as he looked up at his Mom, his mouth partially full of milk-drenched food. "What kinda shum'thin'?" Mildred shrugged impishly. "Ohh...nothing much, just...something different." "Should we beeeee...afraid?" Peter amusedly asked, provoking a chuckle from David. "Oh, hush," Mildred waved dismissively to Peter as she smirked. "Mind your food, wise guy." Peter chuckled. "What? Mom, you're not giving us any hints!" "And I won't!" Mildred countered. "I want to surprise you." Glancing at David, as Mildred settled back into the couch to continue watching the news, all his brother did was to shrug, and resume eating his breakfast. Dave's peripheral vision caught sight of Peter not only concentrating on making his breakfast, but also making sure the stove area was clean as well. Although he kept quiet, David couldn't help but wonder how strange it was to see his brother wiping away even the most minor of stains as he worked on his own meal. At one point, a bit of milk accidentally spilled out of Dave's cereal bowl. Peter was quick to grab a wet cloth and wipe the stain away. A look of urgency was on his face as he did this. His brother gave Peter a confused look. The only response David got was a pleasing smile before Peter put the finishing touches on his own breakfast. Although Dave was almost finished with his cereal, he slowed his progress, just to see if Peter had any more surprises in store for him... ...and in the next moment, his brother did not disappoint. He set two empty glasses down on the table. One for David, the other for himself. "Did you have breakfast yet, Ma?" Peter then asked. "Huh? Oh, yes. I did," Mildred replied. "Okay," Peter then pulled a jug of milk out of the nearby refrigerator and filled his glass with it... ...and he did the same for David's available glass. Another confused glance from David produced another pleased smile from Peter. David had to speak out. "You OK, bro?" Peter finally settled into his seat. "Yeah, why?" Should I really say anything? David asked himself in the silence of the moment. Ultimately, he just shook his head. "Nothing, I...uh...nothing. Never mind." After a puzzled moment, Peter shrugged. "Okay." As Dave finished his breakfast, however, what was to emerge from his mouth lingered in his thoughts. You're supposed to be my brother, dude. Dave thought to himself as Peter unexpectedly grabbed his empty cereal bowl and went right to the sink to clean it. Not a housemaid! * * * To: O. Tench From: Agatha Subject: Patience is a virtue Olivia - I do see the logic in your proposal regarding the 19th Precinct. However, I think it would be more prudent for us to hold off on such an initiative until the current Commissioner of the BPD is retired, and has relocated somewhere outside of Bullchester so he can start living off of his pension and get justifiably fat and bored. Only then will I consider the little...trick...we used to get rid of the Bottom of the 9th. Bear in mind, too, that we are talking about an entire precinct full of police officers, Olivia. It's bad enough that we have government agencies scrutinizing us as of late. Should we decide to go ahead, I will expect you to proceed VERY carefully. For now, just concentrate on getting the X.O. under control. As for the I.C.O., we will need to deal with him in our usual manner if Spencer Drucker is as bad as you say he is. I may even deal with him myself. - A. * * * Brooke Vandervelde rose from the park bench she was sitting at and rushed over to David as he disembarked from the bus. They first grasped each other in a warm, tight hug, and then pressed their lips together in a passionate kiss. "C'mon." Grabbing David by the wrist, she began pulling the Senior class student behind her as she moved towards the tree line. "Perfect day to walk the paths!" The 'paths' was one of the things Bullchester Park was known for. Long, winding paths snaked through the whole of the forest, with entry points in each main compass direction. North side, east side, the south side, and the west side, with two entry points to choose from. The park was very large, too, with a couple of low-elevation hill areas that were perfect for picnic use. All Brooke wanted to do, however, was lead David along the park's many pathways, moving as slow as possible so she could make inquiries of the man she had already decided would be her boyfriend. "Soooo, David..." she began after bringing David deep enough among the forest of trees. "...do you do anything when you're not in school? Do you have, like, a part-time job?" David shook his head. "My brother does, though. He's a civilian worker for the Bullchester Police Department. It's...kinda hard to get work these days at my age. I figure I'll find something after I graduate." "Really?" Brooke tilted her head curiously. "Have you tried asking around at the Mall? Or maybe that...retro hairstyling place that I saw on the Merry Weather Show? Rosie's? I figure if they're brand new, they could be looking for more helping hands..." "That's not really the kind of job I'd want," David interjected, shaking his head resolutely. "I can't see myself working someplace where there's nothing but...you know, girl stuff." "Well...if the job market is dry, you may not have a choice," Brooke warily noted. "Besides...I've seen plenty of guys work in stores that sell things for women. Just ask if they have an opening for a clerk." "Well, I...I'll think about it," David dismissively replied. "What about you? Do you have an afterschool job?" "Yeah," Brooke answered. "Lingerie store called Slips-Stream at Rubie's Mall. I'm there Monday through Thursday after school. Not much money, but it's something, and I get weekends and Fridays off." David nodded. "Convenient!" Brooke giggled. "I'm the 'greeter' there. Whenever anyone comes in the store, I'm there to flash a big smile and welcome them in. I'm also Q&A. They have questions about the merchandise, I answer them, or I bring them to someone on staff who can." "How long have you been working there?" David asked. "Ohhh...couple of years," Brooke responded. "Guess that makes you something of an expert on lingerie, eh?" David amusedly noted. Brooke shrugged, grinning. "I've seen some pretty revealing designs in the time I've been there. Especially after that Loris merger with...Karelian? I think that was the name." "Maybe I'll catch you in there one of these days when I'm not working," David mused. "Oh?" Brooke raised an eyebrow as they walked past a red-haired, tan- skinned woman sitting at a bench to the side of the path. "You're gonna go shopping for lingerie, Mister I-don't-want-to-work-in-a-store-that- sells-girl-stuff?" "Yeah," David grinned. "Maybe I wanna get something for you." "Ah, so you're getting lingerie for me," Brooke amusedly remarked as they kept gradually moving. Her expression, however, suddenly went serious. "Is that what you think of me? As a dress-up doll? Wanna make me look all slutty and...ready for sex?" David blinked, his grin melting. He felt like he had said the wrong thing, and it stung. "No, I...that wasn't what I was thinking, I..." Brooke, however, quickly giggled. "Oh, relax. I was just fuckin' with you," She wrapped an arm around him to give him a quick squeeze. "I'd love to see what you think would look good on me." "Really, though...it's not just about sex," David still felt a need to make amends. "I really do like you. A lot." Brooke stepped in front of him, stopping their advance, and wrapped her arms around him. "You don't have to be afraid to say it, David," She stared right into his eyes passionately, speaking softly. "From the moment we both kissed for the first time, we both knew it. Could you see yourself with anyone other than me?" David shook his head. "No. Not at all. I...I love you, Brooke," His words were thoughtful and sincere. "I'll always love you." Their lips locked together in that moment. David felt as if he had earned it. Time seemed to stop as they continued to kiss. She's my dream girl. David thought to himself as they continued slowly and tenderly kissing. My dream girl made real...and we love each other. I'll never let her go! The kiss became a warm embrace as they lingered in their spot on the path within the park. She spoke tenderly into his ear as they hugged. "I love you too, David." "Well!" a female voice interrupted the moment. "If that isn't an open display of true love, I don't know what would be." The both of them turned their heads to face the intruding voice, and saw the red-haired, brownish-skinned and conservatively-dressed woman gazing right at them both. She seemed to be smirking, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "Uhh...do we know you?" David asked, feeling a bit wary. "If you don't, you should," the woman answered. "I can't help but wonder what unclean thoughts are going through that head of yours as you look upon that immaculate creature you have your arms wrapped around. When were you planning on corrupting her? Hmm?" David's eyes went wide with disbelief. "Excuse me??" "Oh, don't act all shocked, heathen," the redhead chided. "It's in your nature to ruin the purity of girls like your latest conquest," her eyes went to Brooke. "You mark my words, child. He's already thinking of that moment when he'll force you onto a bed and rip your clothes off!" "Look...whoever-you-are..." Brooke glared at the intruding redhead. "...neither of us know who you are, so could you kindly go the fuck away?" "Oh, but I know you, Brooke Vandervelde," the woman noted. "I know your mother. She told me about you. Described you perfectly, in fact. Why don't you go to church with her? Ladies like yourself would not only be welcomed with open arms, but cherished as if you were our very own from the womb." Brooke just giggled at this. "Does the word 'atheist' mean anything to you?" Now it was the woman who looked as if she were stung. Indeed, it looked as if by mentioning this one word, Brooke had struck a nerve, and the woman's face darkened. "You...dare...to deny the existence of a higher power??" her eyes were wide with anger. "I wonder if your mother is aware of your..." David, however, had had enough as he stepped in front of Brooke defensively. "Look, lady...I've had enough of this fucking sermon shit. Why don't you just piss off, okay?? Neither of us are buying into your church crap!" The woman's eyes narrowed as she stepped up close to David. She brought up an index finger, pointing right at his face. "You're going to regret this moment, dog. I won't be satisfied with your penance until you're at my smelly feet, cleaning my soles with your tongue!" Brooke surged forward and gave the woman a hard shove which sent her right to the ground. "Get the fuck away from us, bitch!" Another female voice, this one a little more alluring, cut into the moment. "At it again, eh, Gemma? You really need to break this habit of yours...talking to people you don't know, thinking they'll all immediately fall in with your beliefs." Gemma looked a little shocked as the blond, radically shaped woman stepped over to where she laid prone upon the ground. "But...Rita, y- you..." The expensively and fashionably dressed Rita just waved her off dismissively. "Consider yourself banished for the moment, Gemma. Find yourself an altar and invoke a litany of mea culpas, yes? The Goddess demands it!" As Gemma got back to her feet and hurried away, David picked up on a scent from the woman in white. It was a perfume scent that was inviting, and that he wanted to smell more of with every inhale. Some of the stress he was feeling over the encounter with Gemma dissolved as his head turned to Rita. Judging by the look on Brooke's face, she was likely feeling the same thing as her own head curiously turned to Rita. "I apologize for that, my dears," Rita cooed, flashing a flawless smile as she stepped over to the couple. "Gemma tends to be a bit of an extremist when it comes to her beliefs," her eyes went to Brooke. "There's nothing wrong with being an atheist, by the way. Don't feel ashamed." Brooke shrugged. "Why should I feel ashamed? I just...don't believe in a higher power." David felt a need to be cordial. "S-sorry...we've never met?" The woman in white presented the back of her hand to the curious student. "Rita Noble, but...do call me Madame Noble. Kiss it, dear." A softly intoned request, and one that David honored despite his initial reservations. He pressed his lips to the back of Rita's hand, as he had been instructed to do. Rita then turned her head to Brooke, who was also staring upon the debutante. Her free hand stroked lightly at the Freshman's hair. "You're just as lovely as you both were on stage during your mother's party. Truly, the Romeo and Juliet of Bullchester." Brooke's eyes widened in her apparent amazement. "You saw it? Well...wh- what did you think? Did you...did you like it?" Rita wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I loved it. You looked very, very natural up on that stage," her other arm wrapped around David. "Both of you." David and Brooke now had pleased smiles on their faces as Rita walked with them, keeping her arms around their shoulders. "One would think that if everyone felt how genuine you both sounded, your true feelings for each other must be just as real, and that's a very beautiful thing. You weren't just acting. You really do have affections for each other. Am I right?" David nodded. "Yes." Brooke also nodded. "Yeah." "Flaunt it, then," Rita gently urged. "Let the world know that nothing will get between you. Nothing as silly as age, or...or petty concerns from friends or family. It's rare to have such a perfect union between a man and a woman here in Bullchester. We need more of that..." She angled her head to David. "...and I hope you're willing to love, honor, and cherish the woman you've chosen, young man." "I will," David quickly answered. "Honest, I...I will." "David's awesome," Brooke purred. "I really do love him." Pulling her arm from Brooke, she wrapped it around David as she stepped in front of him, still grinning. "I'll remember she said that." As she planted her red-painted lips upon his forehead, Rita slipped a small, folded piece of paper into his back pocket. David was able to feel this as he stood there, and his curiosity was already apparent as Rita stepped away. "'Twas nice to meet you both." She continued grinning as she waved, beginning to distance herself from the young couple, who just stared at her. "Ta-ta, for now!" They continued staring upon her as she turned away, and after about a minute, it seemed as if they had come out of a trance, their natural senses restoring. The memory of that pleasant scent, however, lingered in their minds. It would always remind them of the debutante they had just met. David looked to Brooke with concern. "You OK?" "Huh? Yeah, fine," Brooke echoed David's concern. "You?" "Yeah, just...um..." He couldn't quite put his finger on what was so odd, but he dismissed it for the moment. "...ehh, never mind. Did you want to keep walking?" Brooke shrugged, the smile returning to her face. "Why not?" She hooked her arm around David's. "It's a nice day, after all." David nodded, smiling back. "It sure is." The rest of their time together remained pleasant as they continued walking the paths, and going over them again, occasionally stopping to kiss each other once again. And again. Each time more tender than the last. Their conversations were of school affairs, and of their friends. At one point, Brooke voiced a concern. "David, I...I know you're a Senior," Brooke began. "Does it bother you that I'm a Freshman?" The Senior shook his head. "Not at all...and I know Freshman Day is this Tuesday. If anyone messes with you, just tell me." "I won't lie," Brooke admitted. "I'm kinda scared. I mean...what kind of things do they have Freshmen do?" "Well, I remember when I was a Freshman, I was caught in the halls between classes by a group of Seniors. When I told them I was a Freshman, they were like, 'whoooooaaaaa! He's a Freshman! Get down on the ground and give us twenty push-ups, fresh meat!' I was close enough to the classroom, so I just went in and took my seat. That was the end of it. Others weren't so lucky." "Guess I should just mind my own business and make sure I'm not late for classes, huh?" Brooke suggested. Smiling, David gave Brooke another smooch on her lips. "Like I said, anyone messes with you, let me know, and I'll remind 'em not to fuck with you anymore in my own way." "In your own way, huh?" Brooke seemed worried now. "I don't want you to get yourself into too much trouble over me. Can you promise me that?" "Well, I can't just let anyone beat you up, or fire spitballs into your hair, hon," David remarked. "I've never liked Freshman Day to begin with. I mean...why the hell should people like you be punished for being new to the school? That's just not cool." Brooke squeezed at David's arm lovingly. "I knew my Davey was something special." 'my Davey'... David just chuckled as they continued walking. ...I like the thought of being hers. * * * Tall. Ginger hair. Thighs to die for. Upon seeing Hilary Van Owen again, Philip Patterson thought he'd be able to dismiss her...but apparently, the woman was incapable of accepting a polite dismissal as she moved into the foyer area of Philip's house. Fortunately, a teacher as socially awkward as Philip lived alone in his Barford house, the property given to him by virtue of an inheritance...courtesy of the reading of a Last Will and Testament...from his now dead grandmother. And now, he was sharing it...for the moment...with this tall, ginger- haired cougar that had her arms wrapped around him the moment he had opened the front door. She made sure to press Philip's face between the valleys of her large breasts as she hugged him. She wore an alluringly red blouse to go with her tight black skirt, which ended just above the knees. The blouse seemed to strain to keep her mammaries from bursting out of it. She had buttoned it down just enough to be able to bury Philip's face between them. Pulling his head away from those soft round globes, Hilary looked down at him. "I just happened to be in town, so I thought I'd stop by." "How..." Philip had to fix his awkwardly-positioned glasses for a moment. "...how did you know where I lived?" "School records, silly," Hilary replied. "That IS something you need to share when you're hired as a teacher, yes?" The flustered educator found himself staring at Hilary's cleavage again. "Oh...uh, yeah, right. Just...skipped my mind, I guess." "Skipped your mind? You silly bimbo," Hilary ran the long-nailed digits of her hand through Philip's hair. "If you weren't so cute, looking the way you do, I'd spank you silly. Maybe I should start calling you 'Skippy'." Philip raised his hands in restraint. "My name is Philip, Miss Van Owen." "Oh, stop being so stuffy," Hilary gave him a light shove. "Honestly...you really need to lighten up, Skippy," She then gestured to her stretching red garment. "Like the blouse? I love this shade of red. Reminds me of..." She stepped back in close to Philip, purring her words. "...a valentine." "Yes, w-well, it's...it-it's, uh..." Philip blushed deeply as Hilary pushed some of the fleshy mounds through the fabric, popping another button open. "...i-it's...very, um...very ni-nice...Miss Von Awen...er, Van Owen..." Hilary grinned as she grabbed the flustered teacher by the shoulders and backtracked him into his Living Room, which looked immaculately clean. "I can't help this, Skippy dear. Sometimes, I just get this ravenous urge...an itch that needs to be scratched...could you help your Auntie Van Owen with it? Hmmm?" "Auntie??" Philip's eyes went wide with disbelief. "You-you're not my Aunt! Yyyyyou're someone I just met at a Teacher Conference, for...for Pete's sake! And...and stop calling me Skipprrrfffh....!" Before Philip could finish, Hilary had planted her full red lips upon those of the teacher she had been instructed to seduce. She began to take his clothes off as she maintained her passionate kissing and groping on his quaking, nervous body. A quick grope at his groin revealed the presence of a small organ that was unquestionably erect. Such was Philip's surrender that he never made any move to push her off of him. Clearly, Hilary was in full control. And Hilary was loving every single minute of it. Ever since the former Dean of Lloyd H. Kemp High School...an unashamed misogynist named Owen Hill...surrendered to the subtle whims of Judith Newlington, the closet pedophile went through the worst tortures imaginable after being sent to the ominous "Farm", and then emerged looking radically different. Any and all traces of Owen's previous livelihood was irrevocably gone. His downright criminal urges exposed to his family, they cut all ties to the horrible man he was and escaped Bullchester to start a new life as far from him as possible. Shortly thereafter, Owen disappeared. Six months later, Hilary Van Owen joined the Bullchester citizenry after having been thoroughly and radically feminized...and practically lobotomized...at the Farm. About the only thing that even remotely remained in the mind of the former Owen Hill was his attraction to socially awkward males like Philip. Hilary, however, had otherwise been reduced to nothing more than a puppet. To the Queen Bee of the Sisterhood of the Divine Feminine...the ever-scheming Lady Agatha, mastermind of a conspiracy to turn all men in Bullchester into submissive she-males and sissies...Hilary was a weapon, and a useful one at that given the kind of oversexed woman she had become, and this particular weapon had been engineered to help facilitate the takeover of Kemp High, which was to become a more religious institution. Philip, however, needed to be extracted, as the now feminine University called Feetham's was in need of a Computer Science instructor. Philip Patterson's knowledges were ideal for this purpose. All that needed to be done was to give him...necessary modifications. Hilary remained in control as she stripped both herself and Philip. Naked and deep in the throes of passion, their perspiring bodies writhed and slid against each other as they continued pleasuring each other. None outside of the house could hear their loud moaning as Agatha's "weapon" continued to stimulate the nerdy educator, whose eyes boggled as he panted. Never once in his entire life had he been subjected to this kind of treatment. He hardly felt the Tear Duct stab into his neck as they both panted heavily. Hilary's moans were clearly lustful, while Philip's was more like...hyperventilating. Once the Tear Duct had been administered and discreetly disposed of, Hilary began to disengage from her moment of unbridled lust. This was easy enough for her to do, seeing as how she was in charge the entire time. Upon redressing, Hilary gave Philip's sweaty forehead a kiss before leaving him, naked and soaked with sweat, on his own couch. Once Hilary was gone, Philip's black and white-furred cat Tesla padded curiously over to his owner, whose arm hung down to the floor as he panted in his exhaustion. Tesla gave the hand a few sniffs...and then bit down hard upon it. "OWWW!!" he pulled his hand away, causing the crafty cat to dash off to one of his many hiding places. Upon realizing that his cat had gotten frisky with him once again, as he did so many times before, Philip sighed out, still nursing the mild bite wound. "Stupid cat!" he griped out loud. * * * Come see me. 8:00 pm tonight. Don't be late. David had found and opened the small note in his back pocket shortly after returning from the park in the late afternoon. An address was also on the note, and David found that it was not too far from one of the city's many bus stops. The small slip of paper also had Rita's scent on it, which made the request seem more agreeable. 8 pm. He thought to himself. That's the same time Peter has his therapy session. What could Rita want with me? Should I even go? Rita's attractive, but...she's kind of OLD for me. Looking at the clock on his smartphone, he saw that he had two hours to make up his mind as to whether or not he would head out to honor the note's request. He used that time to take a short nap on his bed. * * * "Hello, Petra." Venetia Foerst gestured for the young office worker to come into the office. She then gestured to the empty space next to her on the couch. "Come sit with me." Venetia always made sure to wear the skin-tight white lycra dress with the spaghetti straps on every time Peter came for his 'therapy' session. Knowing the suggestions she had implanted during his last visit had taken hold in her subject's mind, tonight was the night she would assure that this dress would be kept clean without needing to do it herself. "You know..." Venetia began. "...I haven't washed this in a while, this dress. I'm wearing it because I know you like it so much. Would you like me to keep wearing it for you whenever you visit?" "Yes, Miss Foerst," Peter replied, as per the conditioning he had received during his last session. "Then you're going to have to keep it clean, won't you?" Venetia noted. "At the end of the session, I'll change into another dress, and give you this one so you can clean it. Come in about fifteen minutes before the start of our next session, give it back to me, and I will wear this for you. Understood?" Peter nodded. "Yes, Miss Foerst." "Good maid," Venetia then shifted to a more comfortable position on the couch as she continued to look upon Peter, smiling. "So...how are you? Have you been keeping your room clean, and looking after the meal needs of your brother, and your mom?" "Yes, Miss Foerst." Venetia nodded. "But something doesn't feel right, does it? If you're going to tend to the needs of the people you care about, should you not look as if you are willing to do so?" This was a new angle, and Venetia knew it. Peter had understandably hesitated in his response. It was one thing to have the mindset of the kind of person he never imagined he'd feel comfortable being. It was another thing entirely to look like such a person. "Come, come, dear." Venetia raised an eyebrow. "I did call you a maid, didn't I?" Peter's head lowered, feeling a little ashamed. "Yes, but I thoughtrfllzrufelphrrr..." Venetia had placed a hand at the back of his bare neck, massaging it gently as she did, and once again, Peter's thoughts became a jumbled mess. "One piece at a time," Venetia calmly remarked. "And you will be eager to accept every piece of your uniform that I present to you with every therapy visit until it is complete. You will wear that piece until the end of our session, doing exactly as you are commanded to until our session is over. When I present you with your next piece, you will wear everything I have already presented to you in addition to that piece. Void now." In that moment, as per the previous session's conditioning, the words 'void now' placed Peter into a kind of neutral state that made him completely oblivious to what was happening around him. A blank expression was now on his face as Venetia pulled her hand away from the bare skin of his neck, and went to acquire the first piece that she was going to give him. Once it was in place, Venetia returned to the couch, seating herself next to her blank-faced client once more. "Void out." Peter's consciousness quickly returned, giving him the impression that he had suddenly nodded off as he shook his head. He then felt a slight constriction at his throat. As Peter's fingers came up to feel at this item, a smirking Venetia lifted a hand mirror up in front of his face so he could see what piece had been given to him. It was a frilly white collarpiece. At the center of this collarpiece was a Victorian-era cameo. The nicely-sculpted semblance upon the cameo, which was white against a peach-colored background, was the head-and- shoulders image of a timid young woman. Peter stared at it for a long moment. His fingers lightly brushed against the sculpted surface as if he were Frodo Baggins lovingly stroking the One Ring in Tolkien's stories. "How does that make you feel, Petra?" Venetia asked, a slight smile on her face. A long moment of silence followed as Peter stared upon the image of his head wearing the choker. An urge then manifested as his eyes returned to Venetia. "Can I get you anything, Miss?" he suddenly blurted out. Venetia flashed a full, knowing grin. "My tea, maid." As Peter had arrived an hour before his appointment time, and as per the conditioning Venetia had implanted upon his mind during his last therapy session, he had gone into the office's kitchen...which was opposite from the room she and Peter shared for their session...to fill a pot up with hot water and to place it on a burner platform. When he went back into the kitchen, the water was hot enough to pull out a tea bag and submerge it into the large mug he poured the water into. The boiling hot liquid began to darken quickly. Carefully carrying it by the saucer he had placed the mug onto, he carried the tea into Venetia's office, kneeling beside where she sat as she was writing session-related notes as he held it up for her to take. As with the last session, she picked up the mug at the grip and gave the offering a sip. "Mmmm," Venetia nodded in her satisfaction. "Just the way I like it. Good job, maid." I wonder if I should try this...thing...Agatha gave me. Venetia mused to herself as she quietly glanced to Peter, who remained kneeling beside where the therapist was sitting, keeping the saucer aloft as he gazed up at her with a calmly obedient expression. Hmmm. Venetia took another sip of the tea as her free hand rubbed gently at Peter's soft brown hair. No, not yet. Not until I've added a few pieces to your new uniform, maid. As Venetia's touch lingered upon his head through her stroking, Peter's head bobbed, his eyes fluttering rapidly as his thoughts remained a disoriented jumble. "Try not to attract too much attention to yourself, dear," Venetia gently instructed. "I need you to continue being...well, yourself... until I feel you are ready for the next step in your development, and your devotion to me. When you leave here, continue to be as domestic a servant as you have been to your family, and your friends, even as your masculinity begins to fade..." She craned her head forward to gaze more deeply into his eyes, with a wicked grin, as she caressed his cheek. "...and it WILL fade. Day after day, night after night, a little at a time, fully resurfacing only to resist those in your life who are unnecessarily belligerent and cruel towards you. Soon, you may find the strength to manipulate such men towards their own destruction with your feminine curves, but that time is not yet, my dear Petra. Now settle yourself next to me on the couch, eager to fulfill the next request I make of you." Once Venetia's hand lifted away from the top of Peter's head, the office worker needed a moment to recover, and then he rose to his feet from his kneeling position. He then sat in the space on the couch next to her, remaining in close proximity. His hands were gently clasped together on his lap as he turned his head towards her curiously. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss Foerst?" he timidly remarked. Venetia feigned a moment of thought, and then returned her eyes to gaze upon her conditioned subject. "Yes, you can. Tomorrow, after work, there are garments I need you to start buying for yourself, which you will wear beneath your clothes instead of the undergarments you are wearing now. Keep getting enough of them until you have enough to wear for each day of the week." Peter obediently nodded. "Yes, Miss Foerst." Venetia smiled. "Good girl. Now...let's talk a little more about these problems you're having with this red-headed boss of yours. Lieutenant...Drucker, was it?" * * * As much as David felt more inclined to spend another tender evening with Brooke, she had told him that she needed to do some work on a term paper assignment, and that it would take her most of the night, so he felt no sense of guilt as the Barford community bus dropped him off in close proximity to the address that had been slipped into his back pocket. He had to make sure he had the right address upon spotting his destination. It was the epitome of upscale, with a very expensive- looking sports car settled in front of a side garage. The residence could hardly be called a suburban house. The word 'palace' was more fitting. David resorted to a humble knocking as he stepped up to the front door. A part of his mind hoped to be able to inhale more of that alluring scent that seemed to follow Rita around wherever she went. When the door opened, a very attractive redhead that looked nothing like Rita, but was nevertheless sinfully alluring in her own right, grinned wide upon seeing David standing there. She had a spicy scent of her own, as well. "Hello," She began, in a husky voice. "You must be David. I'm Destiny." She reached out to grab David by the wrist and tugged him into the foyer. "Come on inside. Rita is expecting you. I'm just finishing up with Alexis," She kept him moving, guiding his progress with every tug at his wrist. "Wanted to show her a few new dance moves, seeing as how her current routines are getting a bit stale." Stepping out of a northwestern side room in a hallway, which also had a large dining room through a wide, right-side archway and a living room in the left, was another woman who did not resemble Rita, but had a tight-fitting, one-piece lycra outfit in a neon color. Thigh-high, high- heeled boots covered her legs and feet, the upper thighs of which were well-toned, and she had a visible hourglass figure with large, quivering breasts and an equally prominent posterior. She had a sensually teased, dirty blond mullet, which hovered over a face that looked perpetually hungry for sex. This woman walked right up to David, stepping close enough to crush her breasts into his flat chest as she grinned. "Aaaand who do we have here?" She purred. "Rita is expecting this one, Alexis," Destiny answered. "He's admirably prompt, too." Alexis wrapped her arms around him, giving the tip of his nose a flirtatious tap with the tip of her moist tongue. "I should reward you for that, baby. Why don't you take a seat, so you can feel my big ass rub at that..." The woman's hands firmly grabbed at David's crotch, confirming the presence of his rising hard-on. "...nice, big fat cock of yours...or would you rather I take it into my mmmmouth so I can drain you dry?" David, however, raised his hands warily. "Sorry, I...I'm spoken for." The mouth of this red hot exotic dancer went near his right ear. "No one has to know. It'll be our secret. Go on. Sit. You won't regret it," She was already pushing him towards a nearby seat as she kept her arms around him. "I promise." Destiny just grinned as she watched her prot?g?...who was once a young man named Alex Lattimer...shatter this visitor's defenses. She leaned against a wall, her arms crossed in front of her as she watched, visibly amused over David's reactions. Before David could say another word, he could feel a moist warmth rub around, and into, his ear. He then felt a nibbling at the earlobe as his mouth hung open in disbelief. He was definitely getting harder down below over these unexpected indulgences. Stepping out of the room Alexis had emerged from was a third woman...and this third woman was revealed to be Rita Noble herself. She, too, grinned as she saw Alexis guide David backwards to a nearby seat, which he was about to be settled into. The Senior student's eyes locked onto Rita as he was carefully settled onto the cushioned chair by Alexis. He began to get his senses back after having them sensually jarred by the exotic dancer. He began to rise. "Madame Noble? Y-you gave me a note. I..." "What makes you think the note came from me, little boy?" Rita amusedly remarked as Alexis began sensually rubbing her augmented posterior upon David's lap. "It could have been that hot girl that's currently giving you a lapdance. You don't want to disappoint her, do you?" Alexis continued to press and gyrate against David as he sat there. The dancer emitted slight moans and pants to add to the allure of her performance, which had David's body quaking where he sat. A part of him wanted to disengage, but she was clearly making it difficult for him to resist. "M-Madame Noble..." David protested, feeling buttcheeks squeeze at the bulge between his legs, and a wet tongue run up his neck. "...ohhhh, God..." Rita couldn't help but giggle as she raised her hands. "Okay, Alexis. That's enough." The lapdancing...if it could be called that...suddenly stopped, and Alexis rose to her feet, continuing to look down upon David as she grinned. "Pity. I was just about to put my head between his legs," She ran the tip of her tongue over the top of her lips in a fetchingly slow manner. "Like the man said, he's spoken for." Rita gently pulled Alexis back as the dancer gave him a lascivious wink. "If he wants any more, he can always visit you at Mistresses." The debutante's head turned to David. "Assuming he's willing to pay for it," she cooed. "Let me know how the new routines work out for you, dear," Destiny called out to Alexis as she waved goodbye to her. Alexis wiggled over to Destiny and they pressed their painted lips against each other, moaning as they kissed. Rita held a hand out to David as he stared at the two ladies. "Up you get, girl," Rita amusedly remarked as Alexis began clacking her heels towards the foyer of the residence. Upon offering a hand, Rita pulled the recovering young man up into her arms, and pressed her own painted lips against David's. As Rita had that same alluring scent about her, it was even harder to resist such an indulgence. Only this time, as they kissed, David heard a telltale 'click'. Glancing over to Destiny, sure enough, she had her smartphone out and it looked like she had just taken a picture with it! As a grinning Rita pulled away, David's head turned to Destiny. "What the fuck...?" Destiny giggled, pointing to Rita, who was in a tight, one-piece white dress. "Blame her." "Guilty as charged," Rita admitted, raising her hands in her amusement. "I'm such a bad little girl." David smirked, nodding his head. "Cute. Now could you please delete that photo?" The redhead tilted her head to the side. "Which one?" The Senior class student blinked, and then frowned. "The one you just took." "Ohhh, I thought you were referring to the pictures I took of that lapdance," Destiny revealed, grinning. The young man's eyes widened in his shock. Oh, fuck me...is this some kind of blackmail?? He alarmedly thought to himself. "Relax, David," Rita once again raised her hands, smiling. "It's just a little insurance." "Wh...insurance??" David's boggling eyes went to Rita. "For what??" "For the reason I had you come down here, of course," The debutante amusedly replied. "I saw you wearing those feminine tights during that Shakespeare performance, and I thought you had the right kind of build for a niche-market fashion line we're preparing. Tell me, dear...would you have protested if I simply asked you to wear clothing that is designed for women?" David shook his head. "No, because it would fit me funny." Destiny smirked. "I bet he's one of those kinds of kids that would openly make fun of crossdressers, Madame Noble." David frowned as his head snapped to the redhead. "No! I'm not like that at all. Seriously. I don't mind guys who like dressing as girls, but...that's not me. I-I'm hetero. I like girls. Only reason I wore those tights was because..." "...was because it fit the visual style in which Louise wanted to direct the scene. I'm very well aware of that, David," Rita interjected. She then stepped in a little closer to David, quieting her voice a bit so that the words could be more confidentially spoken to him. "As I said, though...you have the right body type for the fashion line I want to promote, and I have a 24-hour window in which to get the shots I need for them. As you can see..." She gestured to Destiny. "...I already have my photographer. The only thing I do not have is a model, and I'd really like to use you. If you feel so afraid that you're going to be recognized in those photos, you don't have anything to worry about, because I have a professional makeup artist named Tori waiting in the nearby dressing room who is going to make you over so thoroughly that you're going to look in the mirror after she's done, and be absolutely fucking amazed over how much different you'll look from the way you look now." Between Rita's pleasing scent filling his nostrils, and the assurances offered by the debutante herself, he was able to accept the rationale that was outlined as he slowly nodded. "I...I guess, but...well, I can...I can wash it all off afterwards, right?" Destiny rolled her eyes in irritation, but Rita just grinned. "No. I'm gonna kick you out of my house after the photoshoot and let every bully in Bullchester know you're a crossdresser," She sarcastically remarked. "Of COURSE I'm gonna let you wash it all off! David...you do this for us, and I'll have you bear witness to Destiny deleting all the photos she just took of you." "And I'll be...completely unrecognizable, right?" David warily asked. Rita's smiling face melted into a more stern gaze. Her voice was more firm now. "David...stop worrying." The Senior class student felt a bit intimidated by this sudden change in Rita's tone. "Hey...I'm sorry, I just..." "I said stop worrying," Rita once again spoke sternly. "Just do it." "Why the fuss, anyway? Didn't you say you didn't mind crossdressers? Put yourselves in their high heels for once," Destiny added. "You might even like it." David turned his head to Destiny. "Fat chance," he countered. The now sour-faced redhead lifted her smartphone to show him the shot of David and Rita quite convincingly kissing, no doubt a reminder as to the dangers of non-compliance. Sighing, he followed Rita after she beckoned for him to walk with her. With a satisfied smile, Destiny stepped back into the small photography studio she and Alexis had emerged from to check on her camera. Rita progressed two doors down the hall to a right side room and pushed open the door, which was slightly ajar. Just...do it... David's somewhat dazed mind seemed to linger on Rita's words as he moved. ...stop worrying...just do it...s-stop... Going into the room Rita had entered, another woman rose from her seat in front of a large table full of all kinds of makeup. This woman had her golden blond hair wrapped in a bun behind her, and she was very nicely dressed. As David expected, the young woman's makeup was flawless, and her face seemed to stand out as she smiled, cordially, to the young Senior class student. She seemed to have a pleasant, minty scent all her own as she flashed a smile. "You must be David," the woman began. "I'm Tori. Have a seat. We'll get right to work." "Do as thorough a job as possible, dear," the debutante instructed Tori. "He doesn't want to be recognized." "Mmm, shame," Tori responded. "Well...it would certainly help if you applied a depilatory." David frowned. "A what?" Rita picked up a small, sealed box on the table that announced its body wash content and presented it to the confused young man. "She means you need to go into the shower, and use this." Once again wary, David turned to face Rita. "What does...'this'...do?" Rita shrugged, visibly amused. "It's body wash. What do you think body wash does?" He gestured to Tori. "Yeah, but...what does she mean by...depilatory?" Rita giggled. "I just gave you a depilatory, silly," She then gestured to a door inside the makeup room. "Go on. That bathroom there has a shower. Just go in, get yourself washed down, and come back out." Tori's attention turned to a Styrofoam head by her makeup area's mirror. Upon the top of this head was a very convincing-looking wig of brown hair. Tori got to work fixing this wig up as Rita led David over to the bathroom. "Rita...we agreed on a dress-up," David noted. "Is this...depilatory... really necessary?" "You don't want to be recognized, do you?" Rita reasoned. "Tori will make sure you're not. Now stop worrying." "I...uhh..." David felt a slight dizzy spell hit him, after which Rita's reasoning and instruction now felt more appealing than his concerns. "...o-okay..." "Make sure you don't get any of that body wash in your hair," Rita reminded as she closed the bathroom door behind David. After a few minutes, they heard the requisite stream of water, and the sound of someone's body intervening with this stream. "You do have other varieties of body wash, Madame Noble," Tori remarked as she continued working on the shoulder-length bob of synthetic hair. "Why are you always fixating on citrus?" Rita's eyes were on the closed bathroom door as she waited. "It reminds me of someone," She turned her head to Tori. "Someone I intend to have at my feet again." The professional makeup artist...who was once a young man herself... nodded in acknowledgement as she worked. Must be that Tammy girl I've been hearing about. She mused to herself. Tori's curiosity lingered, however, as she shaped the mass of hair into a specific style. "So what did this 'someone' do to you?" "Long story," Rita tersely replied. "He might be in there for a little while," Tori shot back. "We have a bit of time, yes?" Rita sighed loudly. "That 'someone' didn't do anything to me. His father did when we were younger. We went to the same summer camp." "And...you're going after his son because...?" Rita's expression darkened further. "He raped me," she hissed fretfully. "First, that monster tormented me in front of the other campers, and then he forced himself on me one night while the counselors were distracted by some...some fire his friends started in one of the other cabins!" Fury rose in the debutante's voice as she spoke. Tori looked aghast at this revelation. "Goddess..." A long moment of silence followed as Rita began to settle down, and the makeup expert fermented another curious inquiry. "...but...if it's this person's father you're going after..." "He's dead, Tori," Rita's eyes returned to the bathroom door. "After he relocated to some Balkan country, he was arrested over some mail-order bride incident that pissed off Russian gangsters. They killed him while Brock was serving his prison term." Tori frowned in her confusion. "But...what was his son like?" Rita tried to make the lie sound convincing. "No different than he was. He deserves to be my obedient little slut. I'll have her back on a leash very soon, Tori. Count on it." The well-coiffed makeup expert nodded in understanding and continued her work on the wig. Like father, like son, I guess. Tori thought to herself. The shower stream had stopped by this point, and after another long moment of silence, the door opened once again. His eyes immediately went to Rita as he stood there, a fluffy towel wrapped around his waist to serve as a makeshift skirt. His moist, steaming, and bare body seemed to be missing the light covering of body hair that once decorated it. "Madame Noble..." David stepped towards her distressfully. "...why didn't you tell me that that...stuff...removes body hair??" Rita shrugged in her visible amusement. "You didn't ask," She then gestured to Tori. "Now go on over to the makeup table, and let Tori work on your face. She'll also help you into your first outfit." David had briefly glanced upon the rack of plastic-wrapped clothing to the side near the makeup table, noting that the only really dominant color of all of the clothing was black. As he settled into the seat, his mind still feeling a bit buzzed, Rita left the room. Tori had gotten right to work, smearing foundation upon his face...but she stopped for a moment. "Did you want to have a mirror in front of you while I work?" David's answer came quickly. "No." With a slight smile, Tori resumed her work. After a moment, she spoke once again. "So where did Madame Noble find you?" "Huh? Oh...I was performing a scene from 'Romeo & Juliet'," David answered. "She was in the audience." "Ahh. You must've been in tights," Tori surmised as she began applying eyeliner with the detail of an experienced painter. "That'll usually do it. Look up, please." "Uh...that stuff in black on the hangers..." David wondered aloud. "...are those the dresses I'll be wearing?" "Mm-hmm. Keep your head up," Tori confirmed, working on the other eye. "She didn't tell you? This is a gothic fashion shoot." "Gothic?" David sounded a little alarmed. "So...you're gonna make me look all...vampire-like or something?" Tori giggled as she began applying a bit of dark blush to the cheeks, over the pale foundation she had applied. "I would have brought fang implants and contact lenses if it were like that. Goth doesn't always imply vampires, David. It's a macabre aesthetic, but it's not always about the undead. Those who follow it tend to revel in being...visibly different from the norm, and there's no shame in that. Turn your head to the side now," David complied. "Good, good. Do you have something against goths, David?" "No. I mean...whatever floats their boat, y'know?" David responded. "Doesn't mean I have to be into it, does it?" Tori smiled once again, finishing her work on the blush and preparing makeup implements to brush on a layer of lipstick. "No, I suppose not...but, uh...bad things tend to happen to people who bully around others in this city. You haven't done anything like that, right?" * * * Abigail Stohler had fled very deeply into Bullchester Park, hoping to lose her pursuer. The young Freshman student was very resilient, and had been chasing her for many blocks before she reached the park. She was lucky that she did not stumble during her mad dash to try and find a means to hide from the angry young man. It never occurred to Abby...a black-clad young Freshman adorned with mostly black makeup and a black and white plaid button-down shirt, who liked wearing her hair and makeup in the style of "Death", a character from a comic book she had read...that things would go so bad between her and the man she had been seeing. It had been about three months before he started showing signs of disinterest, but she wanted to try and make the relationship work. The attempt, however, resulted in the current situation. Abby fleeing from a very angry and a very pissed-off young Freshman. Finding a tree with a very wide trunk, she chose that spot for a hiding place. In the distance, she could still hear his sprinting steps... ...until they stopped. A wind had picked up. A wind strong enough to loudly rustle the fallen brown leaves, creating a cacophony loud enough to mask footsteps. When the autumn breeze finally settled, there was silence once again, save for the sounds of idle birds. Five tense minutes passed before Abby began wondering if it was safe enough to emerge. It was now late enough in the afternoon for her mother back home to be worried about her. She took a few cautious steps away from the tree, looking around warily, being ready for anything. The area sounded empty enough. She felt assured that the angry student...who she had by now resolved to be an ex-boyfriend...had given up the chase. Abby began to make her way towards one of the outer borders of the Park. Her squeal of shock was muffled by the hand pressing against her mouth as she was roughly slammed against a nearby tree. He kept his hand over her mouth as she stared, boggle-eyed, at the angry student who had grabbed her. "Do I have to spell it out for you in plain english, freak??" The student's angry eyes flared as he growled. "WE'RE DONE!! I don't wanna be SEEN with a...a GHOUL like you! You're just NOT MY TYPE!! Don't you fucking GET IT?? IT'S OVER!! DONE!! STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!! Go do some...some witch chat at a graveyard or something!" He then craned his face very close to hers as tears, blackened by her eyeshadow, streamed down her frightened face. "And don't you ever...EVER...tell ANYONE about this little chase, or I'll come after you and I'll have YOU join the dead, FREAK!" Abby had her eyes closed, remembering what her mother had told her about keeping her eyes shut when she was around bad people. If she kept her eyes shut long enough, they would eventually go away. "Now when I take my hand away, you better fuckin' promise me that you won't tell anyone about this..." the young man demanded. "...and if you scream, I'll break your goddamn neck right here." The young man slowly brought his hand away. "Not one word. Not. One. Word. Promise me." Abby kept her eyes squinted shut...and after a moment, she was finally able to find the voice to respond. "I...I promise, David," she answered, in a quiet, shaky voice. "I won't tell anyone." * * * David shook his head in answer to Tori's question. "Not at all." Tori nodded in acknowledgement, but not before lingering an uncertain gaze upon him. She then resumed the makeover work the former young man had been commissioned to perform. The finishing touches were applied, with Tori placing a hairnet on him, and then settling the pre-styled wig over it. The makeup expert then made sure to hide stray locks of David's real hair beneath the wig's elastic rim. By the time she was done, David was positioned in front of a mirror after being asked to close his eyes, after which Tori gave him permission to open them. The Senior student never blinked once as he stared at an image of his face...and hair...that was unmistakably female. The only thing about his face that betrayed any hint as to what gender he truly was was the lingering bulge of the adam's apple at his throat. Tori smiled as she observed David's reaction, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "Can I cook, or can't I?" Jesus Christ... He thought to himself as he stared at his own reflection. ...is this...is this really ME?? "Okay, enough gawking, girl." Tori tapped at his right shoulder. "Time to get dressed." David frowned at the attractive makeup artist over what she called him, but he strangely found no reason to dispute the urge to begin slipping on the articles of clothing that Tori had begun instructing him how to slip onto his body. He could not help but to think of Abby Stohler as he finished dressing in the dark, Victorian-looking gothic dress. His first steps in heels were wobbly and awkward ones as he stepped into the studio, where Destiny Pendleton was ready to begin snapping photographs. I suppose it's a cruel trick of fate, David thought to himself as he began emulating the poses Rita Noble instructed him to strike. but at least the freak is keeping her promise.