A self-indulgent story I made to greet my new self.
This is the first full-on undeniably furry story I've ever made. It feels good to say that.
It also feels good to greet the world as someone closer to who I want to be. There are only a select few here that know who I used to be, that mask I shed. Hello! We never speak of this again. (For those who are confused as to when or why you've followed me, check my profile. I have the work you most likely followed me for pinned.)
(No content warnings for this, unless you don't like transformation -- in which case, I didn't want you to read it anyway!!)
STORY UNDER READ MORE:
You put your phone in your pocket and look up, your friends' driveway meeting your eyes. Climbing the small front porch, your brain finally registers the muffled hollering and hooting coming from inside. As you enter, internally and absentmindedly evaluating which one of your friends could have put the music on - you think it could have been the one that likes shoegaze - they turn to you. The room goes quiet for a moment aside from the music as they try to determine who you are, unilluminated by the night sky outside. After a moment, they figure it out and welcome you quickly, going back to their conversation. You don't particularly care about what they're talking about, but you take a seat nonetheless and try your best to listen.
A few times, you speak up. Only what equates to formalities for you at this point -- the same rote routine you have basically memorized at this point. The interaction is equivalent to homework. You laugh intermittently, unsure whether the laughter is your own. Nevertheless, you're too busy thinking about things much more important to you. Eventually, your focus is torn away from you as you hear your name called by someone. They want to know if you're up for a party game. Pretending to care, you give a quick approval and try to go back to thinking, though your thoughts are quickly drowned out by the group's sudden and jarring increase in volume -- whose origin you can't place before the noise dies down. You frown internally, but keep the facade.
You try to get invested in the games. There's one that the whole group has agreed is poor quality when played properly, yet they play it anyway, just to play it improperly. You don't understand this, but you attempt to play the game and your answers you think are genuinely interesting are left in favor of the inane non-humor irony jokes the group is so fond of. There were a few answers you thought up that you liked quite a bit, but nobody else cared for them. One of the group tells you that you're playing the game wrong, and you hold back another frown.
You hear a voice in your own head, not one of the group's. "This wouldn't be happening if we would just work up the courage to talk to other people." it says. You acknowledge it, and push it aside.
They're onto the next game now, one you haven't played before. It's genuinely fun -- it looks to be about roleplaying as a character and trying to win points with your answers to questions. You picked the cat character, and you put in some cat references you got from some research a few days ago; you chuckle internally at the joke and indicate you're ready. When it comes time to show the answers, you look around and notice nobody else is actually trying to roleplay their character. They just half-relate a random joke to what they're supposed to be, or they don't even try. One of them didn't answer at all, and just sat back and looked at their phone.
The voice comes back. "You know some folks who would like this more. They do this - they are this - all the time, right? You'd get your fix of this type of thing." You sigh internally, withdrawing a card. You lean back and close your eyes to reply to the voice, pulling your attention away from the game. "I know. You're right." you think at it. "You know my stance on talking to them, though. We weighed the options, remember?"
You push past the internal conversation to flick your autopilot switch back on. Your mouth feels like it automatically generates words for you as you lean forward, explaining your answer.
Voting comes, and you get no points. The person who had put nothing got a vote, and you didn't. You don't even know how that could possibly be humorous, but you genuinely wouldn't be surprised if someone did find it funny. You huff out of your nose, the sound drowned by the music. You hold back your true opinions as your mouth continues working independently, diligently layering in-jokes you no longer find funny alongside the conversation crushing the game you tried to be invested in.
That's when you feel something pushing out of the waistband of your pants. It rubs up against your back and you hastily scoot upright in your chair to mask its appearance as it snakes up your thick hoodie. You know exactly what it is and you curse under your breath. You realize all of a sudden that you are very much annoyed at the outcome of the game - how this is going altogether, really - and you have to consciously relax your shoulders. You lost your concentration because of the stupid answer. "Concentrate, focus, whatever..." you repeat in your mind as you breathe in and out.
On your next answer, you make the calculated decision to work less on it and add some of the irony this group seems so fond of. Maybe that'll get some points, and as a plus, you'll care less about the outcome. The base of your tail aches as you shift in your seat, trying to make it more comfortable under your hoodie. You show your answer and explain it - when voting comes, you get no points again. You bristle and you feel the fur on your tail poof and poke into your back skin. Apparently making any calculated decision about your answer made you invested in it, and now you're more annoyed than you were before. You speak up: "Why'd he get a point and I didn't?" -- but you only spoke up in your head, so nobody else heard you. Your mouth is still running, keeping your reputation in the group steady.
"Do you ever wonder why you have to stay neutral around these guys?" the voice asks. You sigh internally once more, knowing you have to stop paying attention again for this. "Yes. We have been through this. They probably don't want a cat in their group, and on top of that, they act all weird and shocked when someone is emotional. If I get emotional, I lose my concentration. Unfortunately, this makes me a double whammy. Now -- Can. We. Drop. It?"
"It's a bit of an easy choice then, isn't it? You know folks that would be fine with your double whammy -- enjoy it, even." the voice replies.
"No. Not going to happen. I'll be fine here." you sternly think-say.
That game's over, and you apparently did do pretty well as you're in the middle of the leaderboard. You suppose you can take that as the group debates what game to play next. Another one you haven't played before comes up, and you audibly note your interest in it. They end up picking it so you can experience it. You appreciate the gesture. The game appears to be another where you're allowed free creative reign. You lean forward in earnest before remembering your tail and leaning back again.
You listen to the rules - in this one, you're meant to come up with a magical item with odd properties and "sell" it to people, really just another voting system. You feel confident in your abilities, and are struck with a bit of creative inspiration -- you would totally vote for this item that you've fake-made! You relax a bit as you set it on your lap, waiting for the others to finish. Your mouth runs independently again as you explain the fake-origin and fake-effects of the item, though you're not as opposed to your mouth taking over this time since it's mostly saying what you would. As it's running, your note of what "you" would say versus what your mouth says intrigues you - though halfway through working it out, long after you're done talking and during the next person's turn, a cacophany of laughter cracks your thought in half and it takes everything you have to not snarl.
Voting time. You see nothing you actively want to vote for. It's all in the same vein as the first awful game and the unenthusiastic game show. You see one person entered what is, quite literally, nothing but a cup -- completely forgoing the point of the game. You sigh externally this time as you wonder why they even want to play these games before cutting your sigh off, hoping nobody heard it.
When the votes are revealed, your fist clenches and you feel claws grazing - then poking - then almost piercing the flesh of your hand. The cup won. You unclench your fist before you permanently injure your hand.
"The cup won." the voice says. "The cup won." you repeat. "Of course it did." If you could stomp the non-existent ground inside your head, you would. You pull the sleeves of your hoodie down to hide your clawed hands - taking a quick look at them, they might as well be paws now - and you shove them in your pockets. You inform the group that you've got to get to bed soon, and they implore you to stay for one more game. Your voice halts in the back of your throat as your mouth gets the words out first, an agreement to stay. Your eyes widen as you shift in your seat, unsure of why you said that. It's too late now, though.
You finish that game with a few more similar incidents, barely restraining your seething at why these people can't just be genuine and engaged for once. "The next game will probably be a bit better," you say to yourself in your head. It's a favorite among the group, and you've had some fun with it too. Even though you're trying to convince yourself to have fun, you're completely shot dead tired at this point. Dread wells up in your chest as they pull the next game's instructions up on the TV. You can't be bothered to be interested anymore, to be honest. You want to withdraw into yourself, become small and disappear forever. You sigh as you think about your future: there's a bit of a walk back home and you'll have to contend with your tail and claws before you go to bed, not to mention that you're currently hungry as hell. You wish more than anything right now that you hadn't agreed to stay.
Your ears feel funny, all of a sudden. You jolt upright, having slumped in your seat, and pull your hood up over your head, before looking around -- terrified someone might have seen your ears shifting upward. Nobody seems to have noticed, and you cautiously lay backward again as your ears finish their ascent and poke into the top of your hood. Reminding yourself vigorously to concentrate, you imagine it's only a matter of time before something happens that you can't hide. Your mouth starts running along again, that type of not-really invested the rest of the group is.
You hear the voice again, reassuring. "You know where you don't have to hide any part of you?"
"Elsewhere." you reply.
"I'm starting to reconsider."
"Glad to hear it. What if you wrote a story, to introduce yourself? You like writing, right?"
"I'm listening."
"You could just recount this. Talk about me, add some fantasy. Then you'll be free, you see?"
"Would that make me likable? Charming?"
"Does it matter?" the voice says, making the dread in your stomach shift into a different type of dread -- not a dread, but a nice, productive anxiety for the future, perhaps?
You snap back to the present, music fading back into your newly changed ears, as you hear someone say your name quizzically.
The dread is back.
As you open your mouth to respond, your jaw feels heavier and.. longer?
You reach your hand-paw up to feel it --
and brush across whiskers.
You look around the room, your muzzle agape and your eyes wide. Everyone has turned to look at you now. You can't move or speak, your shoulders unbearably tense and your whole body shaking with adrenaline. Your breathing stops. They repeat your name, and you can't get any words out. Your mouth has stopped talking for you, the rote instructions it was running on not equipped to handle this. It tries to talk just as hard as you do, but your words choke you, drown you nonetheless. You try to sputter them out and they peter out before they even reach your tongue. You go over all the things you could say in rapid succession, over and over through your head. Your eyes dart, open and alarmed, between everyone.
One of them is reaching for your shoulder. You jerk it back, scooting away. One asks you what's wrong. Another asks you why you look like that. Another looks sympathetic for you, like you've just revealed you have a disease.
You tell them: "It's a joke! This is a costume!"
But you never say it.
You tell them: "What's so wrong about this?"
But you never say it.
You tell them: "You don't need to comfort me."
But you never say it.
You tell them: "I've been wanting to let this out for so long."
But you never say it.
You tell them everything,
everything you've ever wanted to say,
and time collapses back down into a point
and you've said nothing at all.
They continue to stare at you, their eyes boring holes into you. It feels like an eternity of being trapped behind your eyes before you force your god-forsaken mouth to speak, out loud, in a pained, choked voice like you've been crying for hours -
a voice of yours completely foreign to these people:
"The voice that comes from my mouth is not my own. It hasn't been for months."
You leap for the door past three of the group - stunned from what were probably the most vulnerable and confusing words to be said in this house - with your still surprisingly strong back legs and swing the door open, tail falling out of your stifling, thickly layered hoodie and flattened ears being freed from your tight hood. You don't look back as you jump off the porch into the grass and run as fast as you can down the sidewalk and into an opening in the thick pine forest, disappearing into a trail.
"Change forces growth -- you know that, right?" the voice says. You want to argue, you want to shout at it, you want to scream and whine and cry.
You do all those things, alone on the forest trail. It feels amazing and horrible and comforting and despairing, the insects' beautiful symphony a backing track to your lament.
You suppose you could work up the courage to quietly follow around some of those folks so similar to you, those that helped you discover this, your true self.
You're free now, anyway.
Addendum: Part two here, if you'd like to read it.
