To Thine Own Self Be Zoo
Vol. I No. 2
February 2023

CONTENTS:
[1] Scent Became Flesh
[2] Dorian Gray
[3] The Tale of Erskine Faern
[4] Sister Shim and the Priestess Om
[5] Poetry;
     - 38 Haiku About Dogs
     - Twilight Forest
     - I Did Take Care Of Him After For The Record




[1]

Scent Became Flesh

Else leaned forward, her cheek resting between Tsen's shoulder
blades, her arms clasped around his waist, the couple rocking back
and forth atop the stallion Rosh, who carried them onward through
the windy chilled night. Clumps and ridges of snow remained on a
ground that was otherwise composed of frozen mud, brown grass,
frigid puddles. When they had set out in the late morning, Else
and Tsen had been dressed in their lightest garments, and Else
held a parasol over them as Rosh carried them on. Now they were
bundled in jackets and caps, and Else nuzzled closer against
Tsen's back.

Rosh came to a stop.

Tsen bristled, and Else sat upright, looking around with him. In
the moonlight, vague darkness crispened piece by piece into the
shapes of a field strewn with boulders.

"Oh!" Tsen remarked. "We're here. I had nodded off."

Else reached back and gave Rosh's flank a rub.

The partners dismounted. Else stretched. She looked up at the full
moon, and inhaled deeply of the cold windy air. There were smells
of freshly melted water, and also smells of freshly uncovered
decay.

Else came up to Tsen, who was tending to Rosh's tackle. She made a
gesture of rubbing her nose. "We should make this."

Tsen stepped back from Rosh for a moment, closed his eyes, and
inhaled through his nose, slowly and deeply. He nodded. "I will
remember it."

Else kissed her husband. When their lips separated, Tsen gave Else
another peck on the cheek before returning to Rosh's tackle. Else
walked down Rosh's side, keeping a gentle hand on him, and opened
his saddle bag. Reaching inside, she retrieved an oakwood drum,
its lid fastened by a wooden bolt.

She began wandering off into the field, holding the drum. Tsen
called some words of encouragement after her, though Else was
already mentally in another space. Guided by the joyful
familiarity of a happy tradition, Else arrived at the center of
the field, where there was a circle of grass that was free from
rocks, into which the wind blew on this night from five
directions. Else smelled deeply of the wind yet again, and then
unlocked the drum. From it, she withdrew the first of five
candles, and set it upon a boulder at the north of the clearing.
With a spell word, her tongue set a spark which ignited the
candle, and she inhaled deeply of the candle's scent:

Hair: the thick smell of it on the nape, and the thin smell of it
on the belly, it is the most distinct of your form, the least
comparable, the most exalted, and here, the most appreciated.
Blessed be the smell of thine hair.

Else walked from the north of the circle eastwards, lighting each
of the candles as she went in a clockwise fashion:

Breath: the essence of your life, the smell of your mouth. Blessed
be the smell of thine breath.

Feet: the four paws upon which you walk, padded and clawed, the
scent of all that you walk upon mingled with the scent that is
thine own. Blessed be the smell of thine feet.

Anus: that which you smell of your own kind, that which speaks to
your health as well as to your virility. Blessed be the smell of
thine anus.

Urine: the scent you leave to be found from afar, and the scent
you leave upon those to whom you come the closest. Blessed be the
smell of thine urine.

After lighting the last of the five candles, Else sat back against
a boulder, and withdrew the final item from the drum: a jar of
thick slime. She removed her garments, and as she waited, she
coated an arm with the slime, and began at herself. She had
prepared earlier in the day, taking Rosh in full: it was not long
before she relaxed back against the rock, her hand and forearm
fully encompassed.

As she made herself ready, the winds in the field grew stronger.
The five candles flickered in the five winds, carrying the scents
all towards the center of the field, where gradually, as a smell
comes to a nose, the scent became flesh. There in the center of
the field stood a dog the size of a horse, his coat the color and
appearance of smoke from a candle.

Else removed her hand from herself, stood, and walked to the dog.

The enormous dog turned to her. Seeing it was her, he wagged his
smokey tail. Already, he made a grabbing motion with his paw,
ready to know her. When she arrived at him, he lowered his nose to
her penis, and deeply inhaled the scent of her testicles. She
stroked his warm head with her dry hand, and turned to face away
from him, getting down onto her hands and knees. Teasing, she
began walking forward on her hands and knees, away from him.

The enormous canine wrapped his left paw around the left side of
her hip, then the right paw around the right side. All at once he
was upon her, as large as a stallion, and she cried out from the
overwhelming sensation. He moved rapidly for a short while, and
then held her rump pressed firm against his warm underside. He
pulsed inside of her.

When he was finished, he dismounted. The front of her hips was
bloodied with yet another year's set of scratch marks. He licked
the side of her head, and in the process of doing so, his smokey
being dissipated into a greater plume, floating over the ground
into the forest. Before Else's very sight, the brown of the dead
grass gave way to green, to new life sprouting, to buds eager to
flower.

Else collapsed flat onto the wet cold ground and sighed a sigh of
relief, pleasure, happiness, fulfillment. She laid a long while in
the afterglow, smelling the five candles of hair, breath, feet,
anus, urine, happy that she was blessed to spend any time at all
with the person spawned of the five.




[2]

Dorian Gray

or; The Picture of Dorian Gray But It's A Completely Different
Story About Something Else

i

Agatha idled the car up the quiet dark driveway, eased on the
brake to stop before the closed garage door, and then pressed down
fully on the brake to come to a complete stop. There in front of
the garage door she remained for a while, staring blankly ahead,
until after some time she put the car in park and took her foot
off of the brake. With the car in park, she took the key out of
the ignition, and sighed in the quiet that followed now that the
engine was turned off. Well, it was something of quiet. A relative
silence that was at once the least and the most that one could
hope for in a neighborhood as pleasant as hers and Harry's:
crickets or frogs or something chirped and/or ribbited; somewhere
a few streets away, a dog was barking at something; faintly, the
noise of a TV show could be heard coming from some neighbor's
house, the volume evidently turned up very high, but not so high
that Agatha could hear what show was on while sitting out here in
her car.

Though it was no fault of the new trainee, Sibyl had gotten on
Agatha's nerves that day. "Miss Agatha, where can I find the size
on these types of Wranglers? Miss Agatha, where do these coats go?
Miss Agatha, I noticed this coat doesn't have a price tag, I don't
think--do we print a new one off somewhere or--oh, here it is--do
you think we should move the tag to somewhere else more
noticeable? If that's allowed? Miss Agatha, Miss Agatha, Miss
Agatha..."

The new girl was just learning, of course. 'Miss Agatha' herself
had asked a lot of those same questions, she was sure. Some of
them probably more or less word for word, after replacing 'Miss
Agatha' with 'Mrs Narborough.'

As she sat in the car, her thoughts began to wander from the week
at work passed to the weekend home ahead, and all of the free time
she would get to spend with Harry--Hell, maybe if the weekend
shook out to be nice enough she would quit on Monday, fuck it:
Live Free Die Whenever, as she had once seen on a probably
home-made bumper sticker, on the back of a mini van that was
adorned with a truly masterful collage of various bumper stickers;
she had followed that car around for about a minute reading as
many as she could before she realized that if she kept at it she
would soon be lost, and should get back to her course to the
grocery store. They had been new to this place then. Now they were
settled. Now, if she had had the opportunity to follow the mini
van today instead of back then, she would not get lost anywhere
here.

Agatha got out of the car, closed and locked the door behind
herself, and went into the front door of the house. In the
entryway, leaning back against the coat closet door, Harry stood
in a tweed suit holding a bouquet of flowers, smiling at the
Agatha who had finally stepped inside.

Agatha let out a sad, apologetic, drawn out noise, and asked, "Why
do you think I'm mad at you?"

Harry gave a silent laugh, turning his head away into his armpit
with a sharp exhale. He stood up from leaning against the coat
closet door, and sauntered a few steps to stand face to face with
his wife. "You, Mrs Wotton, are not mad at me: You are in fact
quite pleased with me as we are going to stay in, smell these
ridiculous flowers for a second each, and then watch one of the
movies I rented for your consideration on this, our year and three
quarters anniversary."

Harry extended the flowers with both hands.

Agatha smiled as she snorted. "You're such a dork!"

"Yeah well you chose to marry me, Mrs Dork, and this is what you
get."

Agatha took the indeed ridiculous flowers, stuck her nose into
them, and breathed in. They smelled like flowers. It was a wholly
unsurprising smell, and yet perhaps by way of this fact, they
served their purpose well: they smelled lovely, and Agatha drew
out her smelling of them for more than the instructed second,
making the one inhale last as long as she could make it. When she
was finished, she extended the bouquet out to Harry's nose for his
appraisal. He drew in a similar breath, and let it out with a
smile that was trying very hard to be a serious, contemplative
frown. "Flowers," he asserted. "Quite," Agatha concurred, and
stepped forward and gave her dork husband a kiss.

She gave the flowers back to Harry as she sat down to take off her
shoes. When she had done this and proceeded into the living room,
she saw Harry fussing with getting the flowers into a vase on the
dining room table. She called to him, "What movies did you get?"

"On the couch," he called back, not looking up from his work.

Agatha went to the couch and picked up the four VHS tapes that sat
in a neat stack on the leftmost cushion.

Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Dirty Dancing, Groundhog Day, and Pulp
Fiction--four movies straight from the top of Agatha and Harry's
shared 'to watch' list.

"What's Pulp Fiction about?" Agatha called.

"I don't know," Harry said back at a rather regular volume and
from nearer by than Agatha had expected, making her jump. "I think
it's kind of an action comedy thing," he added.

She turned to him, and cursorily looked the Pulp Fiction tape over
front and back. "Want to give it a try?"

"Absolutely," Harry said. She extended the tape to him as he
walked past. He took it, removed it from its case, and got
everything set up as Agatha settled in on the couch.

With the tape placed inside of the VCR and playing from the start,
Harry came over to the couch as well, and the two of them settled
in together, and were soon watching Samuel L. Jackson and John
Travolta discussing quarter pounders with cheese.

The movie went on, with many gasps and laughs from the Wottons.
Eventually, after John Travolta had jabbed an enormous syringe
straight into the center of Uma Thurman's chest, Harry commented,
"This movie is amazing."

"Do you have to pee?" Agatha asked. As rule, Harry did not comment
on movies until he needed to get up for something--Though once
this seal was broken, commentary on the remainder of the movie was
usually fair game.

Harry gave Agatha a kiss on the side of the forehead and gently
stood up from the couch. "Be right back."

"You can pause it," Agatha mentioned.

Harry did pause the movie, and went to the bathroom that was
nearby to the drawing room to pee. When he returned and pressed
play on the movie again, John Travolta and Uma Thurman stood in
front of Uma's house, talking about everything that had happened
with them that night. Harry and Agatha settled in together once
more.

As the conversation with Uma and John was drawing to a close, Uma
with dried tears streaked down her face recited a joke. "Three
tomatos are walkin down the street: papa tomato, mama tomato, baby
tomato. Baby tomato starts laggin behind, and papa tomato gets
really angry, goes back and squishes him--says, 'ketchup'.
...'ketchup'."

John gave a pity laugh, and then John and Uma found themselves at
least smiling a little for real, in spite of the terrible night.

"See you around," Uma said, and then turned and walked away
towards her door, and the scene cut to a shot inside of the house,
in a bedroom.

"Woah," Harry said.

Agatha took a second longer than Harry to realize what the scene
had cut to: on a bed there was a woman in a black dress, and she
was gently fingering the lady parts of a large female dog.

"Oh," Agatha agreed. "This movie does not stop surprising me."

"No kidding," Harry said, in agreement with that as well.

"Do we know her?" Agatha asked.

"I don't think so. She wasn't one of the drug dealer's friends was
she?"

"No, unless I missed one. Have we seen the dog?"

"I don't think so."

"What breed is that?"

"Uh, I don't know," Harry said. "Maybe a mix. Seems Boxer-ish and
also kind of Lab-ish."

As Harry and Agatha talked, the movie went on, showing sweeping
shots of the woman and the dog together, close ups of the dog's
lady parts being fingered by a hand that glistened with some type
of lubricant, and A B shots of the dog's face and the woman's
face, smiling and reacting to each other. A cover of Earth Angel
performed by a female vocalist played in the background.

"Is she supposed to be Mia Wallace's sister or something?" Agatha
wondered.

"I could see it," Harry said, nodding.

Earth Angel faded out, and the woman stopped fingering the canine.
The human and dog shared a mouth to mouth kiss, and when they
parted, the movie showed a close up of their nearby mouths, as she
whispered to the dog, "And mustard."

Agatha snorted in a laugh, head reeling back in confusion. "Okay?"

The movie cut away to the next title card--Prelude to "The Gold
Watch"--and moved on to an entirely different scene, of a kid
sitting in front of a TV in a living room in the daytime, watching
cartoons.

In reference to the scene with the dog, Harry said, "Whether we do
get an explanation for that scene or whether they never bring it
up again, this movie is kind of genius."

By the time the credits rolled, the movie did not give the Wottons
an explanation for the fairly lengthy scene in Pulp Fiction of a
dog being lovingly fingered; though the explanation did exist, and
would in time be found out, and in fact made the beginnings of its
appearance the next Monday while Agatha was at work.

ii

"So anyways," Mrs Narborough said, coming to the conclusion of the
story of her own weekend, "how was your weekend, Ag?"

Agatha and Mrs Narborough were in one of the store rooms, doing
something that was in essence a form of taking inventory, though
the regional managers liked to give these things more unhelpful
names when they could accomplish it.

"It was good," Agatha said with a smile, and paused to do some
figuring. After writing down a number at the bottom of a column on
a table on the paper on her clipboard, she continued. "Harry and I
stayed in most of the weekend and watched a couple of movies. Pulp
Fiction, Ferris Bueller's Day Off."

"I, LOVE, Pulp Fiction," Mrs Narborough said. "It's honestly my
favorite thing ever made."

"Ooh, really?"

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah it was great," Agatha said honestly. "Can't believe all the
different things they tied together and made it still completely
work."

"I know! Which one was your favorite?"

"The gangster guy and the gangster guy's boss's girlfriend going
on a date."

"John Travolta and Uma Thurman. Yes. Same."

"Really?"

"Uh huh."

"And what was with that scene after that?" Agatha asked.

"After what?"

Agatha blushed slightly as she realized what she was bringing up
with her boss, but in fairness Mrs Narborough had said the movie
was her favorite thing ever made, and so Agatha continued on about
the particular scene in the movie that she was talking about,
while scanning the end of a pencil down the table on the paper on
her clipboard. "After the two get back from after their date,
after she tells him her joke, there's that scene with the dog? Did
that ever tie in to anything?"

"Dog? I... Are you talking about something in the background that
I missed? I don't remember any dogs in the entire movie."

"You can NOT have missed this dog, she was extremely the focus of
the entire scene." As Agatha had to go on about it in specific
terms, she could feel her cheeks absolutely burning up. She
lowered her clipboard, glanced all around to make sure they were
alone in the store room, and said quietly, "The scene where the
woman is... fingering, her pet dog, on the bed?"

Mrs Narborough let out a piercing shriek of a laugh, and then
covered her face with her clipboard.

As she eventually lowered it, her face was red with choked, silent
laughter. Letting out high pitched wheezes, she dropped her
clipboard, gently grabbed Agatha by both wrists, and eventually
composed herself enough to say, "Ag--honey--I'm sorry, I do not
think the movie you watched was Pulp Fiction."

That night Agatha went straight home, got straight out of the car,
and burst in through the front door to report this news to her
beloved husband. She marched inside down the hall, and Harry came
marching towards her in exactly the same fashion from the living
room.

"That dog fucking scene isn't in Pulp Fiction," Agatha asserted,
as though making an argument of the point.

"That scene of a beautiful mixed breed dog having her weird animal
vaginal parts lovingly touched by a beautiful human woman's
lubricated fingers to both of their enjoyment and pleasure is
absolutely not in any way shape or form in the 1994 major
blockbuster movie Pulp Fiction directed by Quentin Tarantino,"
Harry agreed, taking Agatha's side of this argument that was now
apparently occurring against some unknown third party--the
universe, maybe, or the movie rental place that had given the tape
to them. Harry had returned the tape yesterday.

"I--" Agatha began, and then vaguely held up the tape of Pulp
Fiction that Mrs Narborough had lent to her as a trustworthy copy,
and then lowered the tape back to her side again, and then leaned
over and set it on the counter, apparently not needing it anymore.

"How did you find out?" Harry asked.

"Pulp Fiction is Mrs Narborough's favorite movie." Agatha glanced
at the tape. "She did not recall that scene of a dog's pussy
getting played around with."

Harry winced his mouth into a small o shape.

"How did you find out?" Agatha asked.

"Towards the end of my shift I had what sounds like it may have
been a similar conversation with my boss also."

Agatha winced her mouth into a small o shape as well.

The two of them stood in silence for a moment, both of their eyes
soon settling on the tape that was placed on the counter.

"Is that the same--"

"It's Mrs Narborough's copy, not the copy we got from the rental
place."

"Ah," Harry said.

The two stared at it for another contemplative moment.

Agatha sighed. "Should we... do anything? Call them and let them
know what's on that tape that they're giving out to people?"

"It... I mean, we could call them and let them know, yes. We could
do that if you wanted to."

"Go on."

"I think it's a better cut of the movie with the dog scene?" Harry
said, employing quite some degree of played up uncertainty--Agatha
could quite plainly tell that her husband was not uncertain of his
opinion in the least, though he was, in kindness, ready to drop
the topic and let it go if she gave the slightest hint that it
would be wise of him to stop saying the things that he was
presently and tentatively saying. "Not better, I take that back
actually, but more interesting," Harry clarified.

Agatha nodded. "I agree."

"Oh do you now?"

"I do," Agatha said, and smiled a little, and shrugged. "What if
we just leave it? Let the next person see this 'interesting' cut
of the movie too?"

Agatha and Harry shared a kiss, and the two of them went to go
start on making dinner.

iii

For a time of approximately five months, three weeks, and some
small additional number of days beyond that, nothing more came of
the tape that the Wottons had watched. It was, by their
estimation, the strangest thing that had come into their lives in
that time, but it was not the most worthy to remark upon: They had
seen it, yes, but aside from the occasional speculation about
whether the tape was still in circulation and whether some other
unsuspecting couple was watching it right now and what, do you
suppose, they think of it, there wasn't much more about the tape
to discuss. Harry got a promotion from engineer to project
architect. Agatha had Thursdays dropped from her schedule at work
in order to pursue painting lessons and generally other creative
endeavors. The Wottons around this time were discussing at length
whether they wanted to start trying for a baby--they both did want
to start trying eventually, but were in agreement as to their
tepid uncertainty that now was the right time. Many Saturdays, the
two went out on dates, to lunch or to a park. One muggy Saturday
afternoon, Harry and Agatha were in the midst of an enjoyable and
very sweaty walk down a trail at a state park, when they walked
around a bend in the trail, and Agatha stopped in her tracks and
barred her arm out in front of Harry, stopping him in his tracks
as well.

Up ahead, a woman sat at a bench. There was also a dog lying down
at her feet. The woman wore athletic clothing, and had her long
black hair back in a ponytail. The dog was panting; the dog
happened to be facing the Wottons, and wagged at them as the
panting and lying continued.

"That's HER," Agatha said.

"Do I know her?" Harry asked.

The Wottons were both catching their breath a bit.

"She's the woman from Pulp Fiction. With the dog."

Harry wheeled around to face away from the woman and the dog. "I
think you're right."

"Wait, we are going to talk to her, aren't we?" Agatha asked.

"Yes, I want to," Harry agreed. "I'm just, actually nervous. I
think we could have happened upon the entirety of the actual cast
and it wouldn't be as big of a deal to me as this."

Agatha tugged at Harry's wrist. Harry turned back to facing
forward on the trail, and the Wottons approached.

The sweaty woman gave a polite though rather indifferent wave as
the sweaty Agatha and the sweaty Harry neared. The dog continued
to pant and wag, and seemed to be smiling at the approaching
couple.

Agatha and Harry, both smiling as well, stopped in front of the
woman.

"Hi," Agatha said, and Harry also threw in a "Hi" of his own.

"Heya," the woman said, and gave her little wave once again. "Need
any water or anything?" she asked.

"I think we recognize you from somewhere," Agatha said.

The woman did then smile a little too, and glanced away. "Oh yeah?
Where from?"

Seeing the woman's face up this close, Agatha felt absolutely
certain that this was indeed the woman from the movie. Harry felt
much the same way as his wife did, though more from looking at the
dog.

"'And mustard'," Agatha whispered in her best impression.

The woman squirmed and gave a few little stomps as she smiled
completely. "You've seen it!" she said. Looking down to the dog,
she repeated, "Someone's seen it!"

"Truly great performances," Harry said. "Big fans. Always a
pleasure to meet your heroes."

"This is my husband Harry, my name is Agatha," Agatha said, and
extended her hand.

The woman shook the hands of each of the Wottons. "Dorian," she
said, introducing herself. Pointing down at the dog, she added,
"And this comely young lady is Gray. Do you wanna say hi?"

The dog stood up and went to the Wottons. Harry crouched down and
pet Gray, stroking down her back and rubbing at the front of her
chest as she wagged. Agatha threw some approving headpats into the
mix, and then turned her attention back to Dorian. "Do you mind if
we sit down?"

"Please," Dorian said, and made room.

Harry sat at one end of the bench, petting Gray who had come to
sit in front of him. Agatha sat in the middle, with Dorian on the
other far end.

"I suppose you're wondering what the hell you watched on that
tape," Dorian said.

"We hadn't seen it before, we legitimately thought it was part of
the movie," Harry mentioned.

Dorian fist pumped to herself.

"But yes," Agatha went on, "after learning that was NOT part of
the movie..." She looked back and forth between Gray and Dorian,
and asked, "Is it a kink thing?"

"Art project," Dorian said, and turned her head back to have a
drink from her water bottle. "She and I ARE together--"

"Oh, alright."

"--but if you're asking about our apparently SEAMLESS appearance
in Pulp Fiction, yeah, that was just an art project, not even my
idea."

"Oh, really?"

Dorian nodded. "Some friends of mine from New Mexico, going to art
school there, they came up with this project to try to add in
ridiculous scenes to movies but do it well enough to make it look
like it was always supposed to be there. And apparently they
thought of me and Gray." She craned her head forward to look at
Gray when she said the dog's name. The dog wagged, and came over
and laid down at her feet again. Dorian gave Gray a couple of pets
down her back and then left her alone. "But yeah. Heh. It was fun
to make for sure, and I'm sure my friends would love to talk with
you sometime. As far as I'm aware you're the first people 'in the
wild' who have definitely seen any of these."

"I love that idea," Agatha said. She glanced both ways down the
trail, and then asked, "Is it legal?"

"It is!" Dorian said. "A legal expert signed off on the project.
Apparently as long as the movie you're working with is labeled as
rated R, you can show animal fun parts doing pretty much anything.
It's only human nudity that gets you in legal trouble."

Harry chimed in to say, "Against store policy, surely."

"Oh, yes," Dorian nodded. "Fifty dollar fine for taping over any
of the films, which my friends do have set aside and are more than
happy to pay if the matter should come up."

Agatha snickered, and shook her head.

Dorian looked both ways down the trail, and then leaned a bit
closer, and said, "I also have an appearance in Reservoir Dogs if
you want to see it."

The Wottons looked to each other. As subtly as could be silently
screamed, Harry's eyes were pleading, as were Agatha's.

Agatha turned to Dorian, and reported, "Absolutely we want to
see."

Arrangements were made to meet up at Dorian's on next week's
Saturday. An address was written down and handed off, phone
numbers were exchanged, and the two couples got back to continuing
their hikes in opposite directions down the trail.

"I think I like her," Agatha commented, when they had gotten a
very far distance away so as not to be overheard.

"You sound a little surprised to," Harry noted.

"I mean I'd like to get to know her more, but yeah. I am actually
looking forward to meeting this lady and her dog again next week."

iv

Agatha and Harry pulled up the driveway to Dorian and Gray's.

"Nice place," Harry commented.

"Really nice place," Agatha agreed, and the two of them got out of
the car.

Agatha went to the trunk, took out a rolled up poster, and brought
it with as she and Harry proceeded up the little path from the
side of the driveway to the front door.

When they rang the doorbell Gray answered first, coming scampering
and barking. Eventually Dorian arrived after, and actually opened
the door for the visitors.

"Hiii," Dorian said, keeping Gray held back.

Harry crouched down. Dorian let Gray go, and the dog shot forward
and said hello to the man, and to his wife who stood beside him,
holding a rolled up poster high over her head, away from the dog.
The dog, incidentally, had very much noticed this, and seemed to
be considering jumping up on Agatha to see what the visitor was
keeping from her.

Harry reached up and took the poster from Agatha, and handed it
over to Dorian.

"What's this?" Dorian asked, holding it.

"Open it and see," Agatha encouraged.

Dorian worked off the rubber band that was around the poster's
center, and unrolled the thing.

Dorian gasped.

The poster was the movie cover for Pulp Fiction, but instead of
featuring Uma Thurman on the bed, it featured the actors from the
added scene, the human woman in a black dress and her canine
counterpart. The human and the dog both laid on their chests
beside each other and looked towards the viewer with a distant,
disapproving but almost seductive gaze.

Dorian looked between Agatha and Harry. "Did you--"

Agatha raised her hand. "I paint. After I did that one I had it
scanned and printed. I can give you the original too."

"Oh my god. Well, thank you. This is really impressive."

"Oh yeah and you only make movies."

Dorian snickered, and carefully rolled the poster back up. "Would
you two have any interest in grabbing lunch before we watch the
movie? I know of a couple places near here. Or we could order
delivery."

Agatha and Harry looked to each other, and each made a face that
said they were agreeable to that. "Yeah we could eat," Agatha
said, turning back to Dorian.

"Want to walk?" Dorian asked Agatha, though Gray, also hearing
this, gave a vehement 'yes' of a bark. Dorian smiled and shook her
head, and added, "It's like half a mile. Dogs are allowed inside,
but honestly the weather's nice enough we could sit outside
anyways."

The Wottons agreed to this. Dorian clipped a leash onto Gray, and
the four proceeded out of the house, and began away down the
street on foot.

"I found this place when I first moved here a couple years ago,"
Dorian mentioned, in reference to the cafe that they were heading
for. "I have no idea what they do differently to everywhere else,
but they have kind of the best sandwiches I've had in my life.
Like, consistently. I have not once had bad food here."

"No pressure, then," Harry said.

"Do you two live around here? I think you said you do."

"Other side of the city, but yes, not far in the scheme of
things."

When the four had arrived at the cafe, Dorian cupped a hand over
her eyes and pressed her face against the window to look inside
past the reflective glare that the sun made on the rest of the
window otherwise. Apparently catching someone's attention she gave
a wave, and then a thumbs up. "We can sit down," she said to the
Wottons.

The three humans took seats around a round wooden table, and the
dog remained standing for the time being, nearby to the human who
had hold of her leash.

"May I ask what it is you do?" Harry inquired.

Dorian planted her chin in her cupped hands. "What, like, job,
hobbies, interests?"

"Anything notable that passes the time of modern living for you."

Dorian learned back in her chair, tipping it so it stood on just
the back two legs. "For hobbies, tennis and running. For a job,
computer programmer."

"Oh really," Harry said, and now he leaned forward. "I'm curious
how similar our jobs are."

"Yeah?"

"Architect."

"Oh, interesting. I think mine is more boring than you would
guess, actually, but it does pay the bills, that's for sure."
Dorian looked to Agatha, and asked, "Painter, you said?"

"Well, not as a job."

"What? Hey, why not?"

Agatha shrugged, and smiled down at the table.

Harry leaned in with his wife, and mentioned, "Really might be
something to look into in the coming months, if it's something you
think you might be interested in."

Agatha gave Harry a kiss on the cheek, and then, turning back to
Dorian, explained, "We're going to start trying for a baby."

"Oh! That's exciting. Do you have any kids already?"

"This would be the first," Agatha said. She and Harry held hands,
one over the other, on the tabletop.

Shortly after that moment, a waiter came out and handed out menus
and took drink orders and gave Gray a pat on the head, then
returned inside.

As the humans looked over their menus, Harry said, "So, do you and
Gray have any puppies?"

Agatha elbowed Harry.

"As a matter of fact we do," Dorian said, and set down her menu.
"I am not their biological mother, though. We 'borrowed' a stud
dog for a little while and, hey whadaya know, puppies. They're
grown now though, all off to other homes. Some of the families do
still send us Christmas cards."

The waiter returned with drinks, took every human's orders,
collected the menus, gave a treat to Gray who very clearly knew
from past experiences that he would be giving her a treat, and
departed again back into the building.

"Agatha has a mean serve, you know."

Agatha rolled her eyes. "I had an okay serve, back when we were in
college. I haven't swung a tennis racket in about two years."

"Would you want to sometime?" Dorian asked.

"Honestly?" Agatha said. "Kinda."

"We should!" Dorian said. "Let me know when, I can make the time."

Agatha had a sip from her lemonade, and Harry had a sip from his
soda.

Dorian, the Wottons then noticed, had two glasses of water in
front of her, one with ice cubes and a straw, the other with just
water and nothing besides. Dorian took a sip from the water with
the straw, and as she did, Gray came and sat down beside her,
looking actually rather polite. Gray picked up the unadorned glass
of water and began pouring it out in front of Gray's face: Gray
turned her head and began lapping at the stream, and finished off
the glass of water in one go, albeit with half of the water ending
up on the ground.

"Have either of you two ever had dogs?" Dorian asked, and took
another sip of her own water.

"No, I never did," came Agatha's answer, while Harry said, "The
family had a couple growing up."

Agatha then added, "I did have hamsters, if that counts for
anything."

Dorian laughed a little. "I wasn't trying to keep score or
anything, just curious. What were your hamsters like?"

"Cute," Agatha answered. "Digging holes, hiding things in their
cheeks, running on their wheels. You know, hamster stuff."

The waiter emerged with a tray of food.

"Oh, that was fast," Harry commented.

Three plates were set down in front of the three humans, as well
as a bowl of many various meat scraps set down in front of Dorian
to be given to Gray. The waiter also set down a new unadorned
glass of water in front of Dorian, and again went back into the
building.

Dorian set Gray's bowl down in front of her, and the dog began
wolfing everything down. As Gray ate, Dorian looked to the Wottons
expectantly. "After you," she said.

Harry bit into his sandwich. "Holy mackerel."

Dorian glanced to Agatha.

Agatha bit into her sandwich as well. "What the fuck, did they do
to make this so good?"

"Right??"

Agatha did then cover her mouth with her hand, and, continuing to
talk with her mouth full, added, "Pardon my language."

"What? Oh, yes, language. I was very offended, but apology
accepted." She then began eating her sandwich as well, and the
four of them made short work of their lunches.

When the meal was over and paid for--Dorian in the end managed to
insist on the bill, leaving as a compromise that the Wottons could
leave as generous a tip as they wanted--the four made the short
return walk back to Dorian and Gray's house, and all proceeded
inside, Gray being taken off the leash once all were in.

"In spite of being such a movie star," Dorian pretended to boast,
"I don't actually watch many movies. So my theater set up is just,
y'know, a TV in the living room if that's alright."

"Lead the way," Agatha encouraged.

Dorian did lead the way down the hall, and into a living room
furnished all around with couches and chairs, a fire place against
one wall, and the promised television set against an adjacent
wall. Hung up on all four walls were many framed pictures of dogs,
horses, goats, and various other animals as one might see on a
farm. On the floor were an assortment of rugs that one might well
not in the least mind taking a nap on.

One of the couches, comfortably big enough for three, was centered
in front of the television set. Gray went and laid down in front
of this couch, and Dorian invited the Wottons to have a seat.

"I already have it set up to just before our scene," Dorian
mentioned, turning on the VCR.

Harry and Agatha glanced to each other. Harry mentioned to Dorian,
"We actually haven't seen the original Reservoir Dogs at all."

"What!" Dorian exclaimed. "Okay, look away from the screen then,
I'm rewinding it to the beginning. Unless you two need to be going
actually, I wasn't trying to take up all of your time today--"

"No, not at all!" Agatha said, she and Harry both averting their
eyes from the screen as instructed. "We'll stay if you'll have
us."

"Awesome. This isss going to take a minute to rewind. Do you want
anything? Popcorn, drinks?"

Harry and Agatha again looked to each other. "We're usually good
without snacks when we watch movies at home," Harry said, "but we
are in no way averse to the idea either. We'll have what you're
having."

"Not exactly traditional movie food, but I was actually going to
have some coffee I think," Dorian said.

"Oh, now that you mention it I could really go for a cup too,"
Harry said, and Agatha concurred with, "Same."

"And. The. Movie. Issss. Al. Most. Reeeee... Wound, done. Okay,
I'll be right back out with coffee and then we'll start this."

Dorian departed from the living room, leaving the Wottons alone
with their host's better half, who laid in front of the couch with
her chin buried in the carpet, eyes closed.

Agatha curled up close beside Harry, and in her smallest whisper,
asked, "Is this weird?"

Harry whispered back, "Existence? Yes."

"This," Agatha insisted. "I'm pretty sure we're about to watch
that dog get fingered. Like, again. It seems weirder to watch
knowing it's coming, and knowing it's not actually part of the
movie."

"Should it?" Harry asked. "Seem weirder?"

"I don't know," Agatha whispered. "That's kind of my point, is
that I don't know."

"Do you want to leave?" Harry asked. "Give me a signal and I will
extract us as politely or expeditiously as you want."

Agatha leaned forward and looked down at the sleeping canine for a
moment. Above all other things, the dog in that moment appeared to
be, in Agatha's estimation, as contented as a creature of any sort
at all in the world possibly could be.

Agatha leaned back in with Harry, and added in yet another
whisper, "She IS a MOTHER, apparently."

"I think it's fine," Harry agreed. "At least going on what we saw
in the last film, assuming this one goes along the same tracks. I
remember when we were watching that scene and we still thought it
was part of the movie, one of the things that struck me as the
entire point of the scene was how caring the woman was to the dog,
how loving, how empathetic she was to this creature who
traditionally would be considered 'below' her. It seemed like
everything was for the dog's--Gray's, as we now know--It seemed
like everything was for Gray's enjoyment, and nothing else."

"Don't let me think it gets you too excited, dear," Agatha said,
and gave him a kiss on the cheek. After a moment, she asked,
"Actually, like completely for real now, would you do that? With a
dog?"

"You're asking that question about two years and ninety five days
too late for the answer to be anything other than an unqualified
no, my love," Harry said, and kissed his wife on the cheek as she
had kissed him. "But back before I found that lovely young woman
at the tennis courts who would let me awkwardly try to flirt with
her?" Harry gave a hum, and then a sigh, and then a head wobble as
he considered it. "I really don't think I would ever be interested
in an escapade with the tetra-legged. Maybe if one had ever begged
me enough and made puppy dog eyes, I wouldn't have been able to
say no just for her sake."

"Really really?" Agatha asked. "No joking, I want to know if you
actually could have done that--say it was before you had ever met
me. Swear, I'm not trying to make it a jealousy thing, I just want
to know."

"I do think I could figure out the mechanics and perform some very
robot-esque service if it seemed sufficiently demanded of me, yes.
But you know I tend to be much happier with words than with
actions. I wouldn't be happy for a minute with a girlfriend who
didn't appreciate my goings on, and who didn't have at least a
fighting chance of talking my ear off as much as I talk off hers."

Agatha gave Harry another kiss. "I didn't realize I still had
things to learn about you, Mr Wotton. I thought you had blabbered
everything there could possibly be to blabber about."

"Just wait until you get me in the same room as a goat, Miss
Agatha."

"Oh stop," Agatha said, and playfully pulled away from her husband
who playfully continued to cling to her.

"Til death do us part, but some things--those things being goats,
of course--a man can't be held responsible."

"You shut up, you're going to embarrass me in front of my new
friend."

Harry did drop the subject of goats, and on the subject of dogs,
only returned briefly to add, "I suppose the succinct version of
my thoughts on the matter of sensuality au canine would be to say
that I feel no attraction, but I also feel no revulsion either.
Which is how it goes with most things, I like to think. They
merely are, it merely is, I merely am, and other such materialist
drivel."

"Quite," Agatha affirmed, in hopes of actually shutting her
husband up about the topic before Dorian did make her return.
Switching the topic and no longer whispering, she asked, "Pulp
Fiction and Reservoir Dogs--Wait, do I have that right? This one
is Reservoir Dogs? Re-ser-voir?"

"Reservoir, yes. This movie is Reservoir Dogs."

"Aren't Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs written by the same guy?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Starring the same people?"

"Oh I'm not sure."

"Do you think that's part of the art project thing? That they're
both from the same writer?"

"We could ask," Harry suggested.

Before much longer, Dorian did return with coffee for the humans,
pressed play on the VCR, and settled in on her side of the
couch--Gray scooched onto Dorian's toes as the human was settling
in. Dorian reached down and pet her partner a few times.

"Is this the same writer as Pulp Fiction?" Harry asked.

"It is," Dorian affirmed.

"Was that part of the reasoning in choosing which films the two of
you would make your appearances in?"

Dorian produced an amused contemplative face, and tilted her head.
"I think it was kind of a coincidence actually, but you'd have to
ask my friends. It really was them who set most of this up, we
really did just play our roles as actors."

Harry was prepared to raise another question, but as the dialogue
of the opening scene began, he dropped the questioning and
watched.

A while into the movie there were two men in a car: one of them
had been shot and was panicking, and the other--the driver--was
trying to calm the shot man down. At a certain point the scene cut
to an exterior shot, and showed the car careening off the road and
down into a dried up concrete river. The camera rotated to follow
the car as it continued along down the concrete, but in rotating,
the camera came to Dorian and Gray closer in the
foreground--Dorian wore a sharp black suit, and was on her knees
on the concrete fingering her partner who stood there and received
the stimulation. The camera lingered on the two new characters,
and allowed the car to continue driving out of the frame.
Eventually, in a continuous shot, the camera came closer up to
Gray's sexual parts and Dorian's fingers working their way in and
out of them in an almost business-like fashion. Eventually Gray
seemed to lose interest in the fingering, and she turned to kiss
Dorian. The woman and the dog did begin making out--"improvised,"
Dorian commented from the couch--until eventually, the sound of a
car's motor could be heard growing louder again, and then the same
car as before returned into the frame, drove back up out of the
dried up concrete river where it had gone in, and the camera
rotated away from the woman and the dog to resume following the
car. Suddenly there was a cut back to the car's interior, and the
dialogue between the shot man and the driver continued.

"Amazing," Harry said.

Agatha gave a golf clap, and Harry joined in. Dorian did a small
bow, inasmuch as she could without getting up from the couch.

"But yeah," Dorian said. "Some copy of that might still be in
rental circulation somewhere. Dunno. What do you think, Gray?"

Gray looked up at Dorian. Dorian bent forward, and Gray stuck her
tongue out and the woman and the dog shared a little kiss before
Gray then turned away and planted her chin on the soft rug again.
Dorian gave her a few strokes down the back and then sat upright
again.

The Wottons remained at Dorian and Gray's a while longer, chatting
on this and that, and Agatha arranged a tennis date with Dorian
for the following Thursday evening.

v

A couple of months passed. It was a Sunday morning, and the
Wottons were lounging in the living room, Harry reading a book on
Kierkegaardian philosophy, Agatha reading a newspaper.

"Mets won their last game," Agatha mentioned.

"Oh good," Harry said.

"Harry I will clean every room of this house spotless right now if
you can tell me what sport the Mets play."

Harry lowered his book, and looked up at the ceiling. "Hockey?"

"No, dear."

"Well." He shrugged, and went back to his reading.

With a smile and a shake of the head, Agatha went back to her
reading as well.

Shortly after that moment, the phone rang. Harry, being closer to
the nearest receiver, answered the phone call. "Yellow."

"Hi Harry," came a friendly voice.

"Dorian, hello," he said, and then looked over to his wife and
mouthed the name 'Dorian,' which received an eye roll and a thumbs
up.

"Is Agatha there? I wanted to talk to you both."

Harry pressed a button. "Got you on speaker. Agatha, Dorian,
Dorian, Agatha."

"Hi Dorian!"

"Hello! You two won't believe the enigmatic troupe of people who
have just arrived in town."

The Wottons looked to each other. Agatha shrugged, and Harry
shrugged as well. Harry asked into the receiver, "Who would that
be?"

"Only my film friends."

Agatha made an excited noise. "When do we get to meet them?" she
asked.

"THEY get to meet YOU at your soonest convenience at my house,"
Dorian answered. "If this arrangement is agreeable, of course."

Harry held down a mute button on the phone, and turned to Agatha.
"Right now?"

"Right now," Agatha said with several nods.

Harry released the button on the phone. "How does immediately
sound, Mrs Dorian and Mrs Gray?"

"Most agreeable, Mr Wotton. You are as always welcome any time.
Take care."

With that, the line went dead, and Harry hung up their end as
well.

"Was she making fun of me?" Harry asked.

"Making fun of you in what way?"

"Enigmatically, I just feel I was the butt of something."

"I'm sure it's all in good fun, dear," Agatha said, and gave Harry
a kiss on the cheek.

The two of them made brief work of getting ready and getting into
the car, and making the short drive across the city to the
Dorian-Gray residence.

When they arrived, they found two vans parked outside, and several
people in very cute or very ratty clothing standing in front of
the garage smoking. Dorian and Gray stood outside with everyone,
though neither of them held a cigarette at present.

The Wottons parked on the street, and stepped happily up to meet
this new host of long spoken about strangers.

"Basil," one of them said as they walked up, making quite a
coordinated shuffle of blowing out a plume of smoke to the side,
moving their cigarette to the other hand, and extending a hand out
to shake with the Wottons. Basil introduced everyone who was
there, and Harry and Agatha introduced themselves.

Many compliments were given and questions asked all around.

"We were about to do a shoot for a third movie pretty soon here if
you wanted to join us," Basil offered.

"Oh?" Agatha inquired.

The impenetrably androgynous individual nodded, and then looked
Harry up and down, and said after blowing smoke out of the side of
their face, "You might not be a bad fit for one of the roles,
actually."

"What film?" Harry asked.

"Army of Darkness--"

"I. am. IN," Harry said, and stepped forward and shook Basil's
free hand in both of his.

"Harry, you should ask what the scene is--"

Harry unhanded Basil, and said promptly, "I do demand to know what
the scene is before agreeing to this."

Basil went to one of the vans, opened up the back, and returned
with a rubber mask of a face that was comically stretched out
vertically--the stretched out face of Bruce Campbell, the star of
Army of Darkness.

"You know the part where he gets sucked into the book?"

"Off my heart."

"We're gonna add a scene that takes place inside of the book. Dude
gathers his bearings, stands up, walks down a short hall, and sees
Dorian fingerbanging Gray there."

At this Basil gave a high wave to Dorian and Gray, who had moved
to the yard and were standing with a ring of people who were
drinking. Dorian waved back, and Gray wagged, and came over.

Basil went on. Harry crouched and pet Gray as Basil did so go on:
"We get a bunch of over the shoulder shots of him raising his hand
like he's about to interrupt, but then he gives it up, walks back
down the hall the way he came in, and jumps back out of the book.
We were going to have James play the role, but HE'S A BITCH!" The
last part was said loudly over to the other group, apparently for
James's interest.

One of the young men, probably James, lifted up a middle finger
over his head without looking.

Harry stood up from petting Gray. He leaned in with Agatha, and
said, "It is a bit risque."

"He doesn't join at all?" Agatha asked Basil.

"Nah," Basil answered. "Mrs and Mrs wouldn't be into it."

"Oh you kids have fun," Agatha said, and shoved Harry lightly
forward.

Basil received Harry by grabbing him by the wrist, and raising Mr
Wotton's hand up high as though a wrestling match had just been
won. "Mount up!" Basil shouted to everyone, "We have our Bruce!"

Cheers and claps came from all around. Harry met Dorian's eyes,
though only briefly before Dorian blushed and put her head down in
her hand.

"On set by eleven, rolling by noon!" Basil called to everyone, and
at that point they lowered Harry's hand and went off to one of the
two vans that awaited.

"This really is alright?" Harry asked Agatha discretely, as a
river of art students poured around them.

"I know it's just fun between friends," Agatha said. "Really,
don't touch them while they're literally in the act and I don't
even care in the least."

"Gray is very friendly, I do need you to confirm there's no
cooldown time between 'in the act' and me being permitted to pet
her."

"I trust you, dear, I'm sure you'll do fine."

Dorian joined in with the conversation between the Wottons. "Mind
if we catch a ride with you two?"

"Please," Agatha said, and the four proceeded to the Wottons' iron
chariot.

"Crash course, what do I need to know about being an actor?" Harry
asked from the driver's seat, as he pulled out onto the street to
follow after the departing vans.

"You'll be more embarrassed if you don't go for it than if you do
go for it."

"Wonderful, I feel possessed by the theatrical spirit already.
Anything else?"

"The director is right."

"Perfect."

A short while later, the two vans and the car pulled into the
otherwise empty and weed-ridden parking lot of a vaguely
industrial, corporate, brutalist cement building.

Everyone piled out of their vehicles. Basil lead a parade of
actors and observers and people holding film equipment into the
building--there were no front doors and there was in fact a lot of
water damage and evidence of wild animals having at least passed
through at some stage in the time since the doors had gone
missing. The parade proceeded down a large stairwell, and at the
bottom of this stairwell, they found a small concrete room wherein
the stairs ended, a small concrete hallway, and a small room on
the other side thereof.

Lighting and cameras and boom mics were arranged. Harry was given
his wardrobe, and went around the corner with Agatha to change.
She carefully pulled the rubber mask down over his face, made sure
it was aligned correctly, stepped back, and then doubled over
laughing.

"Was zo funny, doll?" Harry asked, doing his best Bruce.

"Stop!" Agatha squealed, unable to get up from the floor.

Harry did stop, and offered her a hand for when she was ready.

When she was, she accepted it, and Harry helped her to her feet.
The two returned around the corner. Harry, aware of all the eyes
on him, stopped and did a pose of shooting finger guns out to
either side.

"Yes!" Basil said. "Ohhh my god yes. Places, everyone, we're
starting in two minutes. That means places NOW."

Harry did take notice of the bed, or perhaps altar, that had been
constructed in the non-stairwell room while he had been changing.
Coming up to waist level was a platform draped in red cloth, and
decorated on top with a careful arrangement of black and crimson
pillows and blankets. Around the platform were poles from which
red gauzy curtains hung, like an old-timey bed. In all, the
platform was the most thoroughly lit thing on the set,
sufficiently attention-grabbing for purpose.

As Basil had called places, Dorian lifted Gray onto the platform,
and the two found their places on the platform's center, Gray
standing upright on all fours, Dorian in a red dress lying on her
side behind her, propped up on an elbow to have her face level
with the mixed breed dog's sexual organs. Noticing the Wottons
looking, Dorian gave a big smile and a friendly wave.

"Mr Campbell?" Basil called.

Harry wheeled around, and then followed the beckoning director.
Agatha lingered back with the other observers, out of line of
sight with the upcoming shots.

In the other room, vines had been hung from all the stair
railings, including those far above, such that they hung down from
overhead into the frame. Standing face to rubber face in this
room-like area, Basil gave Harry the rundown. "We're here to get
four shots, three starring you. The first one, you're sitting in
the center of this room on your ass, legs straight out to either
side, head rolling around a little. Camera's gonna do a tilting
blurry thing and make it clear that your dizzy, you've just been
dropped into this place, you don't know what's going on yet. Got
it?"

"Got it."

Basil gave Harry a pat with both hands onto both shoulders, and
then stepped back, calling, "Places!" one last time.

Harry took a seat on his ass, as instructed.

"Hands limp at your sides, wrists up!"

Harry adjusted his arms.

"Rolling? Action!"

Harry lolled his head around for what seemed like a long time,
but, the director was right.

"Cut!" Basil called. "Look good on your end?"

Someone behind the camera nodded.

Basil came forward and knelt with Harry. "Okay, this next one is
your main shot. We're cutting to a new angle, closer up on your
face. You're going to stop rolling your head, touch your fingers
to your face--just a little bit, you don't have to mug about it or
anything, just kind of feel it and quickly accept it--and then
stand up, walk down the hall with maybe a little stagger once or
twice, and then stop at the threshold of the next room. Camera
will be following behind you. Watch Dorian and Gray doing what
they really do do such a good job of. Raise your hand every now
and then like you're about to try to cut in and get their
attention, but never do. We'll be intercutting this with close ups
of Dorian and Gray, so we'll leave it rolling here on your part
for longer than we'll actually need to use, and we'll take the
best parts. Eventually when I call it, do one last hand raise,
visibly give up, and turn back down the hall."

Everyone got into their proper places, Basil called action, and
the scene went smoothly as described: after staggering down the
hall, Harry stood and watched his new human friend perform very
thorough cunnilingus on his new dog friend; every so often, he
raised his hand as if to stop them, and they went on as though
they couldn't see him there. When they had as many takes as they
wanted, Basil gave the call, and Harry gave one last hand-raise,
lowered his hand and slumped forward for a brief moment, and then
turned and went back down the hall.

Afterwards they quickly filmed Harry's last scene, which only
involved setting up a new camera angle from the other corner and
lower down, and then having Harry jump up as though he were
jumping all the way back up the stairwell. He made it one,
possibly two entire inches off of the ground--apparently with some
very clever freezeframing, cutting, and audio design, this would
be sufficient to make it seem like he had jumped all the way up
the stairwell and back out of the book.

The final shot of the night was the close-ups of Dorian and Gray.
Harry and Agatha stood side by side, hand in hand, alongside many
others, watching as the woman made her partner's female dog parts
look as appetizing as anything in the whole wide world.

When Basil called cut, a round of applause came. Gray wagged, and
Dorian stood and gave a curtsy.

As everyone packed up, Harry disappeared around a corner to change
back into his street clothes, and Agatha followed after him to
make sure that he knew his anatomy was every bit appreciated by
her as Gray's was by Dorian. During, Harry's mind wandered to the
previously seen acts less than he expected--hardly at all, except
for two brief times when he felt like it maybe should be on his
mind and he tried to impose it on the present circumstances, but
then it slipped from his thoughts without his even realizing it,
as the present moment more strongly allured his facile and fickle
attention. Agatha felt similarly during, though had tried to
impose thoughts of human on canine cunnilingus four times during,
to still equal unsuccess, and also to less feelings of wanting to
gag than she might have expected some time prior--having known
Dorian and Gray for some while, and now having seen the act
personally for some time, it was, in the most benevolent usage of
the word, nothing. One private shoot and change of clothes later,
and the Wottons returned up the stairwell, out of the building,
and returned the cloak and mask back to Basil, who bowed as they
accepted it.

As all of the art students were getting back into the vans, the
Wottons, Dorian, and Gray began ambling back towards the car that
they had arrived in.

"Well that was fun," Dorian said, conspicuously looking forward
off into the distance instead of looking at the Mr or the Mrs
directly.

"That LOOKED fun," Agatha said, and then stooped down to give Gray
a few pats as they walked. "How was it for you?" she asked the
dog.

The dog did not answer, though in the moment, it had indeed seemed
to look like fun from start to finish.

The four got into the car.

"What's the turnaround time for these like?" Harry asked. "How
many years before my debut on the--"

"Years!" Dorian interrupted, and shuddered as she put on her
seatbelt. "We'll probably be watching the tape a few hours after
we get back and then we'll drop it off later tonight."

When all had arrived back at the house, large quantities of
alcoholic beverages were put up for grabs in the kitchen as Basil
and a select few others marched upstairs with the tapes.

"Care for anything?" Dorian offered the Wottons. Dorian herself
held one of her water bottles. "White wine?" she offered Agatha.
Looking to Harry, she noted, "I don't believe I've ever seen you
drink, Mr Watton."

"Well, perhaps I've earned a beer and a shot of whiskey."

"Okay macho man," Agatha said, and then gave Harry a kiss. "Let's
start you off with a beer and see if I'm not holding your hair
back in an hour."

"Wise," Harry acknowledged, and grabbed a beer from off the
counter. He twisted off the top, and had a long and shallow sip of
the cold and revolting beverage. Agatha accepted the glass of
white wine that Dorian offered, though then remembering that she
and Harry were trying, she set the glass of wine down on the
counter shortly after Dorian departed to go speak with someone
elsewhere, and left it there as she and Harry made their leave of
the kitchen as well.

Finding an unoccupied love seat in the living room, Harry and
Agatha sat down together and eavesdropped on the gossip of all of
these strangers who surrounded them.

Some hours later, Basil and their company marched back down the
stairs with the copies of the tapes in hand, and applause
resounded through the room. The rest of the night was marked with
many occasions for applause--applause at the movie being placed
into the VCR, applause at the movie starting, applause at Bruce
Campbell's many one-liners, uproarious applause when Bruce was
sucked into the book, applause and whistling at Dorian and Gray,
and applause when the credits began to roll.

Basil, Dorian, Gray, Agatha, and Harry all climbed into one of the
vans, as well as a couple of the other art students, and the seven
of them were deacclimated from the party with a final sparser
round of applause from those who were outside as they drove off.
Agatha and Harry held hands on the drive.

When they had arrived at their destination, it was dark out. Basil
parked across the street from the movie rental place, and began
walking across the street with the rented tape in hand. The other
occupants of the van piled out, and lingered around the van,
watching into the store windows as casually as they could manage
while one of the art students somewhat casually filmed. Casually,
Basil went into the store, set the tape on the counter, and
returned the picture of Dorian/Gray.




[3]

The Tale of Erskine Faern

A street in the Town of Terreh
Thomas Faern is 14

The Faerns's cart, stacked tall with barrels of pine syrup, was
drawn by a pair of mules. Thomas's Ma and Da rode on the seat at
the front of the cart. Thomas walked alongside. They had come from
their farm at the break of dawn that day. As they neared Terreh's
riverport, it was getting into the evening. A woman in white robes
with black holy symbols slowly moved from one side of the street
to the other, lighting the streetlamps with a candle balanced atop
a tall wooden rod. Thomas had a keen eye for the symbols. On the
left shoulder of the robe was an intricate outline of a human
heart, with a thick line stitched across it. On the right shoulder
was the outline of a human brain, and a line stitched through it
vertically. On the sleeves were stitched the corresponding arm
bones that would be below them. On the body were stitched dozens
of faces with the eyes made to look sewn shut. This light-bearer
was an acolyte of the temple of the death queen.

Thomas realized that he had stopped walking to stare. He jogged to
catch up with the wagon, coming up with an excuse along the
way--he would say that he'd thought he'd seen something fall off
the cart and was trying to retrieve it, but he must have been
mistaken. When he caught up, it was of no matter. His parents had
not realized he had gone. Thomas was the youngest of four, though
for quite some time, he was more or less an only child. His older
siblings had each disappeared on trips to Terreh in years past,
while Thomas had stayed at home. Jack had died in an inn collapse.
Moira had run off into the woods and was never found. Danielle had
fallen in love and run off with a strange man. Thomas had his
doubts about all of these tales.

At the port, Thomas stood beside Ma while Da had a long
conversation with a ferryman. After some time--many eons, by
Thomas's estimation--the ferryman counted out a sum of silver
coins into a sack and handed it to Da. Thomas and Da got to work
unloading the barrels onto the ferryman's boat. When the work was
finished, Da handed Thomas a silver coin. "Get your Ma and you a
meal," he instructed. "Bring me back the change."

Thomas nodded, took the coin, and he and his Ma walked off.

After a short while, raindrops began to sprinkle. Thomas and Ma
looked up at the dark night sky.

"I'll get the umbrella," Thomas offered, and jogged back to the
cart.

There at the cart, Thomas grabbed the umbrella, but he also
happened to overhear Da and the ferryman in conversation.

"The boy's worth double that," Da said.

"He ain't," said the ferryman, who had lit a cigar and held it in
his mouth as he talked. "Scrawny. You did near all the work
yourself with the barrels. Thirty silver."

Da gave a contemplative groan, mulling the offer over.

All at once, the rain grew from sprinkles to downpour. Thomas
opened the umbrella and walked away from Da, away from Ma, into
parts unknown of Terreh. He wondered whether he was following in
the footsteps of any of his older siblings, or if they had all
been whisked away by the ferryman unawares. Thomas stomped through
the forming puddles. Eventually he found an alley to sit in and
cry in relative private, aside from a few others who had taken
shelter in the alley to escape the rain.

One of the others, seemingly an older man though it was hard to
tell in the dark, was drinking from a bottle and grumbling to
himself. Thomas sat with his head down, ignoring him.

The grumbling grew louder, until eventually Thomas heard
distinctly that the man was calling out, "Oi! Kid!"

Thomas pretended he couldn't hear.

The man started insulting Thomas, calling him a bum, a starving no
good no work orphan, a brat, a spoiled brat, anything to raise
Thomas's ire.

From behind him, reverberating through the wall, Thomas could hear
the rising of a steady clap, and then a hearty chorus of voices
singing. Thomas got up. The man got up too. Thomas ran out of the
alley, brushing past the others, and darted into the common room
of the inn.

Just inside the door a meaty hand caught Thomas's chest, knocking
the wind out of him.

"All booked up tonight," said a thickset man, seeming bored. He
looked down at Thomas, and seemed to realize he might have been
mistaken. "Are you that fishmonger's lad?"

Thomas nodded.

"Apologies, sir," the man said, still seeming bored, but he
stepped aside.

Thomas walked briskly into the inn and disappeared among the dense
crowd. He snickered as behind him, he heard the drunk man calling
after him but being stopped at the door.

Standing on a table at the center of the room, there was a man
dressed from head to toe in ribbons of red, green, and yellow.
Strapped to his side was a drum, which he struck slowly in time to
lead the beat of the clapping patrons. He was in the midst of
leading them in a song, singing a line which the crowd then
shouted atonally back. Feeling sufficiently anonymous in the
crowd, Thomas joined in on the fun.

"Yoho diddle doe diddle dum diddle deer!"
YOHO diddle DOE diddle DUM diddle DEER!

"Our man Johnny bought the dancer two pints of beer!"
Our MAN Johnny BOUGHT the dancer TWO pints of BEER!

"Spilled half of each as he was ogling her rear!"
SPILLED half of EACH as he was OGLING her REAR!

"Spilled the rest on her bosom and his heart filled with fear!"
Spilled the REST on her BOSOM and his HEART filled with FEAR!

"Yoho diddle doe diddle dum diddle daughter!"
YOHO diddle DOE diddle DUM diddle DAUGHTER!

"Just then down the stairs came the dancing girl's father!"
Just THEN down the STAIRS came the DANCING girl's FATHER!

The song continued on a long time. Eventually the man in the
ribbons stopped beating on the drum, but kept the crowd clapping
in time by clapping his own hands high above his head for a few
beats. As the crowd went on, the man unstrapped the drum, and then
seemingly from nowhere, produced a slew of colorful balls which he
began juggling. Members of the crowd whistled while others
continued to clap, and Thomas just stared in awe, unable to even
count the number of balls the man kept up. With his foot, the man
began stomping in double time, and the crowd followed suit,
doubling the pace of their clap. The man stopped juggling the
balls in one big arc and instead juggled in two separate little
circles, one with each hand. The crowd whistled as he crouched
down low to the table, the backs of his hands nearly touching the
surface, and then rose up and up to his tippy toes, the balls
nearly hitting the ceiling. Coming back to center, the man juggled
in a way that Thomas could not make heads or tails of: the balls
danced in a variety of arcs from hand to hand, but always there
came one to rest centered at the man's chest, seeming to pause
there impossibly for multiple seconds before resuming its arc and
being replaced by a new ball of a different color. Thomas noticed
as the man quickly crouched between tosses to grab something off
of the table. Whatever it was, the man was now lighting the balls
on fire one by one until they all were ablaze. The crowd cheered
and cheered, although those nearest the man backed off a good
distance, and many began eyeballing the exit. Thomas stepped
forward to take the place of those who had left the front row.

Still juggling the flaming balls, the man in the ribbons looked
down at Thomas, sweating and wearing a wide smile. "I like your
bravery, son," the man said, speaking over the crowd just loud
enough for Thomas to hear. "Catch!"

From the whirling arcs, one lone flaming ball left the pattern in
an easy lob towards Thomas. On reflex Thomas caught the ball,
which went out in his hands.

The crowd roared for Thomas. Thomas, beaming, turned to them,
holding the ball in a hand high above his head. Then remembering
that he wished to remain relatively unnoticed in this place where
he actually was not supposed to be, he dashed back into the crowd.
Someone in the crowd handed him a pint. He had never drank before,
but he was his own man now, so who could tell him no. He drank
some and suppressed the urge to gag as he swallowed it down.

Later on that night, after the show had finished, Thomas still had
well over half of the same pint left as he sat by himself at a
booth in the corner of the common room.

Suddenly sitting beside him, there was the man in ribbons, though
he had now changed into a drab shirt and trousers. Thomas had
learned in the show that the man's name was David. "Havin a good
night, are we?"

"Not..." Thomas considered, and then decided not to bother the
performer with his troubles. He shrugged. "The show was amazin. I
wish I could juggle like that."

"Ye wanna be a jester, eh?"

"Oh, I suppose." Thomas tried to take a bigger drink from his
pint, regretted it, and put the immense glass back down after
letting most of the mouthful fall back into the drink.

"I could show ye to juggle."

Thomas felt his eyes widen.

"Still have my ball?"

Thomas set the red ball on the table. It was not a light object,
as he'd expected when he'd seen them in the air. In fact it was
heavy as a stone, larger than Thomas's fist, perhaps about the
same size as David's.

David picked the ball up, stood, and encouraged Thomas to stand up
out of the booth too. There in the corner of the inn, David tossed
the ball in an arc from one hand to the other.

"Easy as that," he said, and handed Thomas the ball.

Thomas tried, and threw the ball back onto the seat in the booth.
He tried a second time, and it landed on the floor with a loud
bang that drew the eyes of many who were still lingering around
the common room that night. Thomas cringed at the attention, and
crouched to find where the ball had rolled to.

David knelt and picked it up for himself. Thomas hadn't even
blinked and the ball disappeared from David's hands.

"Maybe we can give it another go in the morning. Outside on some
grass, eh? I give lessons you know."

"Oh?"

"Five silver for a session."

Thomas deflated.

"Too steep? I'm often told I should charge more."

"I have a silver to me name," Thomas admitted.

David glanced around, determined that nobody was in earshot, and
knelt slightly to speak into Thomas's ear. "One silver now, and
I'll meet you in the morning for breakfast and a lesson."

Thomas reached into his pocket and pulled out his silver coin. He
paused only to ask, "Meet me outside the front of this inn at
daybreak?"

David nodded.

Thomas gave David the silver.

The jester pocketed the coin and then yawned. "I think that's it
for me tonight, kid. I'm beat. See ye in the morning."

Thomas looked around. He saw the thickset guard at the door of the
inn, standing and staring at him. He considered trying to retire
up to one of the rooms, but recalled that there was no vacancy,
and so it was unlikely he could find any place to hide away for
the night unnoticed. Ashamed, he left past the guard, who tutted
as he passed.

Thomas made his way to the river, and spent the night hidden away
under a dock. He slept very little, his stomach growling in
hunger.

Before sunrise, Thomas rose and returned to the inn. He sat
outside of it, eagerly awaiting the jester. For breakfast,
firstly, and because maybe this was the start of his new life.

The sun rose, and Thomas sat alone. Noon came, and Thomas had
relocated to a nearby alleyway entrance, as it had started to
dribble rain. He still watched the inn, but he knew that he'd been
had. The jester was not coming out.

In the evening, Thomas saw the thickset guard come out of the inn
to replace the thinner one who had stood there the day so far.
Thomas walked through the rain to him.

The guard raised his hand to block Thomas, but Thomas was making
no attempt to get in.

"Is David in?"

"The jester?"

"Yes."

The guard furrowed his brow. "Don't believe so. Wait ere a
minute." The guard turned and walked into the inn. Thomas watched
him walk through the door into the kitchen, and then shortly
thereafter, walk back. "He left this morning. Packed up his
belongings onto his horse in the stable in the back and rode out.
Didn't seem to Hamish as though nothing was amiss."

Thomas sniffled.

"What, are you HIS lad?"

Thomas shook his head. "I gave him me only silver. He was going to
give me lessons this morning."

The guard chuckled. "Gave ye a lesson alright."

Thomas lost it and stomped away.

By the time he had gotten over his tears and gotten back to the
hunger in his stomach, it was dark. The rain continued to fall at
a dribble. Thomas stood around a darkened corner of a dockyard,
staring at a riverside restaurant where patrons ate by decorative
lanternlight beneath umbrellas. He watched, and watched, and when
one of the couples left with a good amount of food left untouched
on their plates, Thomas sprinted up, hopped the rope fence,
grabbed the sandwich from one plate and threw it onto the other
with the half eaten meat pie, and ran off with the pieced together
meal. Nearby patrons had gasped and shouted at him, and he heard a
great many more shouts behind him as he ran off down a dark
street, but by the time he had gone a block it was clear that
nobody was giving chase. He walked past a couple of alleys that
were occupied before finding an especially narrow one that was
clear: one of the buildings leaned as it went upwards, making the
alley ideal for a kid such as him, and unideal for anyone taller.

Thomas shuffled deep into the alley and sat down.

Just as he was bringing the sandwich to his mouth, he froze at the
sound of something else in the alley. Fear rippled down him. Quite
nearby, there was a rapid sniffing. Thomas tensed, ready to lash
out if something attacked him.

The creature in the alley with Thomas whined.

"Are you a dog, you are?"

Thomas heard another whine in response, and the dragging of the
creature shuffling closer over the dirt ground.

Cautiously, Thomas reached out a hand.

The dog growled.

Thomas quickly pulled the hand back. "Well you mind yourself and
I'll mind myself, then."

Thomas bit into his sandwich. He had been shaking with hunger, and
immediately, he felt energy returning to himself. Not to mention
that the food was delicious. Spiced meats he'd only had once
before in his life, on another trip to Terreh with his sister
Danielle. Thin cuts of vegetables and a good helping of
condiments, on toasted bread. He tore through two more bites, and
then paused to finish chewing so he could tear through some more.

The dog whined again.

Thomas sighed through his nose, his mouth being still overfull. He
took the time to chew, and swallow.

The dog whined once more.

Thomas held his plate tight. "What, you here to rip me off too?"

The dog whined sadder.

Thomas gripped his sandwich for one more moment of defiant
resilience, and then sighed, put the sandwich on the plate with
the meat pie, and pushed the whole collection over to the dog.

The dog hopped up and began devouring the food as fast as it would
fit into its mouth. When it was finished it spent a long time
licking the plate, and then a while after licking its lips.

Upriver from the Town of Terreh
Thomas Faern is 14
Erskine Faern might be 1

In all, Thomas had ended up stealing very little from Terreh. He
had found great big tangles of fishing line and lures by wading
through the river banks. The knife blade--or sword end, or some
such--he had found jutting out of a fence post, and had not waited
around to see if anyone was coming back for it. The flint and
steel, he had nabbed off the side of a traveler's backpack, and
had been caught and walloped for it before Erskine had come
barking and snarling to liberate the boy.

Thomas and Erskine sat now at a campfire beside the river, Thomas
cooking the three fish he'd caught, Erskine supervising. It was
noon and only partially overcast. Erskine, though still clearly
quite young, was already just as large as Thomas. He was a great
big mutt with long shaggy hair that was tangled and littered with
odd bits of trash he'd picked up in gods-knew-how-long of going
ungroomed. Though only on his own for a matter of days, Thomas was
beginning to look quite the same.

When the fish were cooked, Thomas divided the bounty evenly for
himself and Erskine. Both of them ate like animals and afterwards
licked the flat rocks their meals had been served on.

Thomas went and rinsed off his hands and face in the river. As he
did, a river stone caught his eye. It was more or less round as a
ball, and a bit larger than his fist. He picked it up, bounced it
up in the air a couple of times in his hand. It had a nice weight
to it. He waded upriver until he had found three such stones in
all, and then returned to the campfire, where Erskine had been
standing, watching him.

Standing near the fire, Thomas tossed the ball from one hand to
the other. He missed it completely, and the rock thumped to the
ground. Erskine bolted towards it and tried to grab it in his
mouth. Thomas laughed as the dog wagged and fussed with the stone.

"Go find me a stick and we'll play."

Erskine looked up at Thomas and barked. Whether or not the mutt
was being playful or mean, the volume of the bark stung Thomas's
ears, and he flinched.

Thomas left the stones on the ground near the campfire for the
moment, and went to go find Erskine a stick.

As the day went on, Thomas threw the stick for Erskine, threw the
stones to himself, and in the evening he set a lure in the water
to get dinner started for the both of them.

A street in the Town of Merrom
Thomas Faern might be 15
Erskine Faern might be 2

Thomas stood on a street corner, juggling his river stones that he
had gotten painted red, orange, and blue. They were not evenly
weighted, but they were what he'd learned everything he knew on.
On the one occasion he'd had to use evenly weighted stones, he was
completely thrown by them.

A fair few people stopped to watch him juggle throughout the
busiest market hours of the day, and most who stopped were kind
enough to toss a few coins of change to the boy's straw
basket--woven himself, which would likely be of little surprise to
anyone.

When the day's performance was over, Thomas bowed, stowed the
stones in the basket, wiped the sweat from his brow, and sat for a
while on the market corner, petting the shaggy brown dog that had
laid at his side throughout the show. Later on in the day, he
bought a sandwich for himself and a meat pie for Erskine, the cost
of both easily covered by a portion of the day's earnings.

A crowded beer hall in the City of Tinst
Thomas Faern might be 17
Erskine Faern might be 4

Thomas sat at a secluded table, idly running a hand over the
well-groomed Erskine who sat close at his side. It was a cool
night, the air smoky with the cookfires of nearby restaurants.
Thomas stared daggers at a jester in ribbons of red, green, and
yellow. It was David, unmistakably. Earlier he had done the same
song from all those years ago, and a juggling routine with flaming
balls. Thomas was a much more skilled juggler now than he was
before. David's routine was certainly still impressive, though
Thomas could now put a name to all of the tricks.

At present, David had produced a lute--none of his trademark
slight of hand on drawing out that one, which Thomas did consider
fair enough, given the instrument's size. As he strummed, he told
a classical tale of Leigus and Tinira:

The widowed Leigus waded through the shallow waters of the land of
death for fifty days and nights, the days waning duller and the
nights waning greyer, until the two were a single thing, as fogged
as the air and the water. Leigus's handsome complexion was wracked
with mourning the fifty days and nights of his walk. At the end of
his journey, in a mist of grey nothing, Leigus stood face to face
with a figure whose white and black robes contained naught but
whitened, faded, and now grey bones. "What will you trade?" the
skeleton hissed. Leigus produced Tinira's garden sheers, and with
them, cut off his nose. His fetching looks were nothing to a world
without his beloved. His nose fell to the ground, and there it
grew larger and larger, forming into a torso, arms, legs, a head,
a face--Tinira. The new body gasped at life anew as Tinira's soul
entered it.

David's rendition of the tale continued. Thomas waited patiently
for the jester's show to end.

When the jester took his final bow and descended from the table,
Thomas melded into the lingering crowd and followed the jester out
of the beer hall and into the common room of a nearby inn. These
days he looked respectable enough to usually get into such places
uninterrogated. Near the common room's hearth, Thomas stopped to
kneel face to face with Erskine.

"Wait for me here, if you would."

Erskine sat.

Thomas stood and followed David up the stairs, spied which room
the jester went into, and then hid himself away around a corner
until hearing the door open and close again a while later,
followed by the opening and closing of the door to the bathing
room. Thomas skulked down the hall, eased his way into the
jester's room, and took quick stock of the jester's equipment,
which had been strewn on the floor near the foot of the bed.

There were the balls, though Thomas cared little. In addition to
his favored river stones, Thomas had procured through legitimate
means a set of twenty colorful weighted balls. There was the lute,
and although he was tempted to steal it and learn to play, it was
not what he had come for: he could get a lute in any city, if he
saved his coins. What he had come for was the pair of devices that
the jester had not tossed onto the floor, but had placed carefully
on the room's little desk. Thomas hadn't seen them during the show
all those years ago, but he had been watching keenly this time. In
each of David's sleeves had been some type of apparatus that lit
the balls on fire, only for a second as they left David's hand,
and going out in time to be caught again safely.

Thomas nabbed the devices, fled the room, darted down the stairs,
and walked briskly out of the inn, giving a c'mere wave to
Erskine, who wagged, stood, shook as though flinging water from
himself, and followed out at Thomas's side.

Early the next morning, Thomas awakened at his and Erskine's
latest riverside camp. They'd found a secluded spot east out of
Tinst, in a dried up divot of dirt where the river used to flow,
but didn't anymore, finding an easier route just nearby. They
hadn't need of a fire for that night. Thomas had spread out a
blanket and laid on his back and Erskine had burrowed up against
his side, and the two had slept warm enough.

First thing that day, Thomas beheld the new gadgets he'd stolen.
He sat in the divot of dirt looking the things over. Each one had
a cuff to hold the device to the wrist. Besides that, there were
also a few little tubes connecting a few little opaque tanks.
Thomas held the device up to his left ear, and shook it to hear if
the tanks were filled with anything. As he shook it, his hand
slipped on the device, pushed a toggle, and snapped one of the
tubes--the next thing Thomas knew, the entire left side of his
face was on fire, sizzling and smoking. Screaming, Thomas dashed
to the river and leapt in.

Afterwards he laid on his back on the riverbank for a time, trying
to take deep steady breaths, trying to push down the pain. Erskine
tried to lick him. He held the dog at bay, but thanked him all the
same, and stroked him comfortingly.

When the burned Thomas felt ready enough to travel, he went and
packed up the meager camp, kicked dirt over the pair of cuffs, and
made the hike back towards Tinst. In the suburbs thereabout, he
found an apothecary and purchased salves suitable for his burns.
"A lesson indeed," the boy muttered as he counted out sixty silver
and change for the witch.

Though not eager to stay in the city proper, where his thievery
might quite well be deduced, Thomas decided to spend the time it
took to heal camped near enough to the city, in case anything
about his condition did take a turn. Thomas rented an inn room in
the suburb of Wrelt. He and Erskine shared a bed and three square
meals a day. They went on walks and played fetch in the field
behind the inn. Each night by the hearth, Thomas picked the
brambles out of Erskine's coat and brushed the good boy, while
Erskine rested his chin on Thomas's knee, or in the crook of the
young man's elbow.

A booked performance hall in the Capital City of Verruskt
Thomas Faern might be 25
Erskine Faern might be 12

Though far from the only act of the show that night, Thomas was
more than eager to rise to the occasion of being chosen as the
closer. He still enjoyed juggling the river stones in his idle
time, but he had graduated from that in his public performances.
Torches, axes, hammers, and swords were in his repertoire, to name
a few. In among all of these, Thomas also juggled seven shoes that
had been volunteered from seven members of the audience, and a
hairpiece more-or-less volunteered that he had taped around one of
the hammers to give it the needed weight to throw in the enormous
arcs of this final routine. In closing as all of the items fell
back to Thomas for one final time, the juggler threw each shoe
back to its owner, threw each sword at a target behind himself,
let each torch go and ignite a fuel-soaked pyre, let each axe fall
and chop a log of wood, and let each hammer crash up through a
colorful pane of sugarglass suspended at the ceiling, making the
glittering pieces come raining down over the stage. The audience
erupted as the glass dust came down, and showed no signs of
quieting as it settled. Thomas stood looking out at them, beaming,
catching his breath. He beckoned the owner of the hairpiece to
come on stage and collect it. The owner came up. Thomas guided him
to face the audience, and together, the two of them bowed.

Thomas felt transcendent as he left the stage. And although coming
down from the most exceptional performance of his life thus far,
he felt a deeper happiness swelling in him as he neared his
dressing room.

Pulling aside the curtain, he smiled down at Erskine, who was
resting on a pile of folded blankets, wagging up at his friend.
Thomas came and sat there on the floor with Erskine, back against
the dressing room wall, staring blankly at the ceiling as he pet
the old dog.

Eventually, Thomas's gaze lowered down to the full-body mirror
that was across the dressing room. He looked at himself. His upper
body was very muscular. Half of his face was disfigured and
immobile from burn scars. The other half of his face, he had
decorated in tattoos: a little star below the eye, the name FAERN
spelled out in an arc above the eye but under the eyebrow, three
imperfect circles in a triangle on the cheekbone, and a canine
noseprint on the cheek proper.

Thomas lowered his head down to Erskine. Erskine licked the
human's forehead with care. Thomas stroked the dog's scuff
likewise.

A road north of the Capital City of Verruskt
Thomas Faern might be 25
Erskine Faern might be 12

Thomas and Erskine slept soundly, cuddled up in their little tent,
which they had pitched to the side of the trade road.

Thomas awoke with a start when Erskine let out a loud bark.

Bleary-eyed, Thomas rested a hand on Erskine's back. "What do you
hear out there?"

The hair on Erskine's back was raised. He released a string of
barks, body tense, facing the tent door. At a pause in the barks,
Thomas strained his ears, but could hear nothing outside.

Clearing the sleep out of his eyes, Thomas got to his knees at the
tent door and began unfastening the little knots that held it
shut. After pulling the last string free, Thomas moved the tent
door aside, and found that his face was an inch away from a bear's
face. The bear fully eclipsed the view of the world outside the
tent, and was raising a paw to strike.

Erskine bolted past Thomas and latched onto the bear. Thomas gave
a wordless, mourning shout. The bear roared and spun around away
from the tent, swiping at the dog that was attacking it. Erskine
yelped but did not stop. The bear and the dog's struggle brought
them onto the road, well lit by the full moon on that clear night.
Thomas ran to his pack that sat against a nearby tree, and
retrieved an arsenal of swords. He hurled them one after the
other, and then the axes, and then the hammers, until the bear was
motionless. But the damage had been done. Thomas held his friend's
lifeless body and wept.

The shallow waters of the land of death
Thomas Faern might be 30

Walking through the shallow waters for fifty days and nights was a
balm, not a burden. For Leigus seeking Tinira, perhaps this had
been the difficult part. They had lived quite near the land of
death to begin with. Thomas had crossed an ocean and three
continents. But it was worth it. He had arrived.

On the close of the fiftieth night, Thomas came face to face with
a figure in the grey whose white robes were decorated with the
black symbols of the death queen, whose face was a skull, whose
hands were bones.

An ancient wind blew from behind the skeleton, passed through
their bones, and brought their message hissing faintly to Thomas's
ears: "A life for a life. What will you sacrifice?"

Thomas gave a sendoff to his life as a juggler with a final trick.
He drew an axe from his belt. With his right hand he tossed the
axe in the air, where it spun once as it rose, once again as it
fell, and then chopped off the selfsame hand which had thrown it.
Then he drew a second axe, and in the same fashion, cut off his
left hand as well.

The wounds on his forearms seared shut. In the shallow waters, his
hands floated to one another, and formed together. They grew, and
took the shape of a barrel of a canine chest. Four legs. A head. A
tail. Long brown fur.

The servant of the death queen turned and floated away on the
shallow waters, into the grey fog.

Erskine, anew with youth, barked playfully at Thomas, head down,
haunches still in the air, tail wagging. In tears, Thomas dropped
to his knees before Erskine in the waters, and rubbed the dog's
coat up and down as the dog licked the scarred man's face. "I
missed you, friend," Thomas said, and repeated it again and again
as he and Erskine were reunited. "I missed you, friend."




[4]

Sister Shim and the Priestess Om

We send our most holy to wreak miracles, and our best monsters to
protect them on the long walk back.

I sit in the frontmost pew beside Brother Elia, sharing a bottle
of wine with him. He is filling my second glass. The sleidr have
been groomed and fed, and there is little else to do until dinner.
It's an exceedingly pleasant Fall day. Orange and yellow leaves
have blown in through the archway, and the smell of them fills the
air. Brother Elia hands my glass back to me. I give it a little
raise towards him before having a sip. The wine has an almondy
taste, which I'm ordinarily not a fan of, but it seems to
compliment the cool Fall breezes, the stirring of the little
leaves that have made their way into our holy place. Not to
mention, Brother Elia came a long way bringing this bottle back,
and so even if I didn't care for it--though I do--I would likely
not mention distaste aloud to him. Nobody is in the pews besides
us. He leans back, head facing the ceiling, eyes closed.

"It's good to be home," he tells me. "The work abroad was worthy,
but the day to day bolsters one's soul."

"You still haven't told me of the trouble you were attending to."

Still facing the ceiling, he swirls his wine glass. "I suppose I
ought to, Sister Shim." He sighs. "Where to begin, where to
begin..."

This was his third time being whisked away by a priest or a
priestess for work abroad. He has a very conspicuous wound on his
forehead now: a slash, with many blisters great and small
surrounding it.

It is a cool day, and I realize that his forehead is shining with
sweat.

From my bandolier, I flick out a dagger and whirl it at the
ceiling. The blade strikes one of the many colorful strings which
hold things up there--broomsticks, dustpans, pitchforks, shears,
unlit candles, bouquets of flowers. In this case, I have snapped
the string holding up a clay vase filled with water. It falls
towards my lap. When it arrives at me, I catch it. I hand it to
Brother Elia.

"Al sai," he says: Thank you in the holy tongue. He lifts the vase
to his mouth and has a long drink.

He and I became followers at the same time. I have yet to be
called away once. On most days I accompany the priests and
priestesses on walks through the city.

Before Brother Elia has decided where to begin on the tale of his
journey, and as if beckoned by my thoughts, I hear the clacking of
a sleidr approaching over the ceramic floor, and I perk up in my
seat and turn. Coming up the aisle is the priestess Om. She glides
like a leaf on her six legs, two hind, four fore. The footprints
she leaves behind glimmer just as her black, oily coat.

She comes and plants her chin on my knee.

I smile. "Shall we walk?"

As soon as I say walk, she lift her chin off of me and prances for
the archway, black shimmering coat waving with each step.

"Tell me all when I return," I ask, setting the remainder of my
glass on the pew.

"Of course," he says with a smile, eyes still closed, head still
lolled back, facing the ceiling. He has another long drink of the
water.

As I walk up the aisle after the priestess Om, I draw a length of
red ribbon from a trouser pocket. The priestess Om waits for me
under the archway, wagging as she faces the courtyard outside. I
tie one end of the ribbon around my wrist. I tie the other end
loosely around her neck. When I'm finished with the knot, I pat
her side and she begins walking at a fast pace, and I walk quickly
to keep up.

To the south there is a garden with a pond which she often likes
to visit. To the north one would eventually arrive at the gate out
to the countryside, where the priestess Om would be free to be
untied and run to her heart's content. In an unusual choice, the
priestess Om leads me straight away across the courtyard, towards
the road leading east, towards the market district.

Distinct from the city's other districts, the market district has
no tallstanding buildings, and few that are more permanent than a
wooden stall. It is akin to a miles-across colosseum, stuffed with
tents and tables. As we walk past a cloister of seafood stalls,
the priestess Om keeps her nose to the ground, following the trail
of a scent. She spends quite some time sniffing the side of one
fish vendor's booth. The vendor eyes us disapprovingly, but soon
has customers to attend to. Once the priestess Om is satisfied
with her sniffing, she moves onwards, and I follow.

We proceed through an immense tunnel out of the marketplace and
arrive at a road to the king's palace, and I realize that this
actually might be what I had resigned myself to no longer hope
for.

The palace stands atop a hill, the base of the hill fenced off,
the slopes of the hill a multitude of hedges and gardens. The
priestess Om leads us to a small, nongrandiose gate in the fence,
manned by a guard with a well kept beard and an eye missing. He
sees the priestess Om approaching and opens the gate for us. He
nods and wishes us a good afternoon as we pass by, and closes the
gate behind us.

The priestess Om stops. I come up to her and untie the ribbon from
around her neck. She shakes and then darts forward, running up the
hill to a patch of purple flowers. I follow after her, untying the
ribbon from around my wrist as I go.

When I arrive, she is sniffing the purple flowers. She sniffs the
underside of one for a time, intently, and slowly works her way
around the petals until sniffing the upper side. With a final big
inhale, she moves over to another flower, and smells it just as
closely. When she is finished with this one she bites it off,
chews it a bit, and swallows. She progresses slowly along the side
of the flower patch, passing by many flowers, eating the
occasional one. When she has eaten five, she walks up the hill a
little farther until arriving at a patch of long strands of grass.
She eats this grass indiscriminately, and soon, she is heaving.
She vomits, leaving a pile of yellow slime on the ground, which
contains long blades of grass and purple flower petals. I go to
the vomit, pick out the flower petals, and eat them.

When I have chewed and swallowed, I look at Om. She is panting,
mouth drawn back in what looks like a smile, though she is
nervous. I look around. The world is undulating. Parts of reality
are slipping off of other parts. Things melt. I feel the priestess
Om gently take my hand in her mouth. She pulls me. I follow. We
walk down a hill into the melting world. When we arrive at a
figure by a gate, I try to look at him to see if he is the same
guard, but it is difficult to say. The world no longer looks like
much, and he is no exception. A smudge of a human form. If I
concentrate I can see his shining armor, his spear, but the idea
of recognizably seeing his face is laughable. The wind blows, and
I am nearly knocked back by the smell of him. He wreaks of human
sweat. The smell of the leather in his armor is overpowering, the
smell of the copper and the steel mere afterthoughts. I am not
even that near him, but I can smell his unwashed hair, his breath
that is a mixture of onion and mint. I feel Om brush past my leg,
continuing forward down the melting, blurry hill. I follow after
her. The guard, whether or not he is the same guard, opens the
gate for us. We proceed through melted canals of streets, her feet
clicking on the ground with each step, my footsteps producing
light thumps. I follow after her form, and after her scent. She
had been beautiful before, with her sleek black coat, her
expressive whiskers and long ears, her multitude of legs. I am
delighted to find that she is beautiful again, with the scent of
her fur drenched in the electric tingle of black magic, her breath
smelling of the cooked rabbit that we feed the sleidr, but more
deeply of the scent of her yellowed teeth, her gums, her tongue,
her lungs, her throat, all healthy and well, all good, all sleidr,
all Om. We find our way out of the city rivers and into the ocean
world, and Om jumps in, and I follow after. I have seen her and
many other priests and priestesses swim in a lake before, but had
never known sleidr to put their heads under. She does, and I
follow after, down into the ocean, where I am surprised to find I
can still smell, still breathe. I can no longer see, but I no
longer feel I am missing much for it. I follow after the smell of
Om's coat, and in time, I realize what we are following. Within me
I hold the knowledge of the scents of five flowers, as distinct as
five paintings by five masters, as distinct as the faces of my
five closest friends, as distinct as five letters, as distinct as
five numbers. We are following after the first one that Om ate to
give to me. It was in the king's garden, but there is another, an
entangled pair, somewhere far away, that we are swimming to.

When we arrive at it, we emerge from the world ocean. I lay heavy
on the ground, splayed out, exhausted. Om walks to a flower bed
and sniffs a patch of purple flowers. I look around, realize the
current ineffectiveness of sight, and instead take big breaths in
through my nose. Inhaling, we are surrounded by a multitude of
grass, and there is corn growing here nearby. Exhale. Inhaling,
there are chickens here, their waste so overpowering I'm surprised
it hadn't come to me first, for now I can't ignore it, and
everything else I smell is tinged with it. Exhale. Inhaling, there
are horses as well, goats, sheep, and a small number of humans.
Exhale. Inhaling, the scent of the humans is nearest, most present
in the air, and we are in a flower garden just outside of their
house on a farm. Exhale. Om lies down beside me. Nestled together,
we sleep through the night.

In the morning, we resume our journey, diving back under. We
continue on, five flowers, a day for each. We are not the only
ones who swim. It is a populous ocean with schools of hares and
termites. Above are the light thumps of millions of footsteps on
the water's surface, packs of wolves, dens of foxes, colonies of
mice. Each acre of forest, a city district. At the final flower,
as I emerge from the ground, I feel a sadness, for my sense of
smell has dulled to near uselessness, and my vision is restored,
and the world is all solid again.

We are standing on a mountainside, somewhere cold. The sky is red
with morning light. Down the mountain, there is an endless expanse
of fir trees, broken up only by other mountains that rise too high
for the firs to grow on. It feels a bit strange to me, remembering
how crowded the forest was as we passed under it, and now seeing
not a soul from this vantage where we can see so far. A lone plant
is nearby us, its single purple flower drooping. I look to my
side, and find the priestess Om. She wags and barks at me. I kneel
and hug her, rub her, bury my nose in her coat and take a big
sniff. Up this close and with enough concentration, the scent it
is at least an approximation of what it was before, at least
enough to know that it had been real, the other world that the
priestess had shown me.

"Lead the way," I tell her.

She does.

We go around the mountainside, traveling down a ridge, then up
another, my shoes crunching the snow underfoot. When we arrive at
the crest of the ridge, I see the landscape beyond us and gasp.
For miles and miles, as far as I can see from the mountainside,
the world is charred black or in the process of burning. I look
back at the expanse of forest, and forward at the expanse of
inferno coming to claim it. The sky is not red with morning light.
The sky is a reflection of a world engulfed.

Om continues forward down the next ridge. I follow after, but she
turns and barks viciously at me, snarling. I am startled in the
immediate moment, but I intuit that she is speaking practically,
not emotionally: showing me a drop of venom so I will not dive
into a sea of it. I stop where I am on the ridge. She continues on
alone.

When she has reached the bottom of the next valley, she stops,
sniffs the ground, and then raises her face to the sky and bellows
out a howl. Even from afar I can feel my inner ears vibrating at
the volume, and then underfoot, I can feel that the mountain is
trembling. She howls and howls, and then all at once, lightning
erupts from her and blankets the expanse of the mountaintop above
us. She stops howling, the lightning goes away, and the
mountaintop which once held snow now holds an immense conical
lake, ready to flow outwards.

Om turns and sprints down the mountain valley, keeping just ahead
of the flood that is rushing down after her. She makes it down to
the forest and disappears into it, and the water follows after. I
watch from the mountainside all day as a new river is carved
through the forest, cutting off the burning land from the unburnt.
By evening, Om has made it to the next mountain. I faintly hear Om
howl, and I see lightning flash over this mountaintop too,
bringing water down its side, drawing a complete river to stand
between the mountains, a barrier for the fire.

I set off down the mountainside, and follow the river all night.

As the morning sun is rising, I arrive at a clearing in the
forest. In the center, there is a sleidr, splayed out on her side,
asleep. Her coat is a patchwork of white and light browns, and has
no gleam to it. I approach her. I bury my nose in her side, and
inhale deeply. This is her. Her tail begins thumping against the
ground as she wags. I nestle in beside Om, and we rest all through
the day and night. The magic is drained from her coat, but she is
still a swift hunter by her corporeal merits alone, and she
presents me with rabbits throughout the day. I get a small fire
going, and cook them for us. Aside from eating and sleeping, we
pass the time sitting around, her sniffing the air, me petting her
as I try to discern what the priestess smells. Sometime in the
night, the inferno arrives at the river, and the river holds, and
the fire burns through its remaining fuel and is gone, leaving an
immense realm of charred ground behind it, but now finished, at
least.

I tell the priestess Om that she has done well, and she appears
pleased.

The next morning, we begin the long walk back.




[5]



38 Haiku About Dogs

i
Summer: sniffing grass
Scent an unseen mystery
Winter: footprints shown

ii
The smell of dog feet
Beloved to more than pervs
It is transcendent

iii
Awakening warm
Happy, everything is good
Face in doggy fur

iv
Between desk and chair
Diligent companion's post
Head asleep on foot

v
New pleasure one night
Leaves much research to be done
With furred assistant

vi
Curious intent
A wagging tail is lifted
To sniff a dog's butt

vii
Human lies awake
Dog hops onto the bed too
Together they snore

viii
Green sprouts up from dirt
Esoteric dream from rest
Boyfriend from dog food

ix
Dog squats on the grass
Yesterday it was liquid
Glad to pick up shit

x
Crossroads on a walk
Dog insists on the long path
Dog lover obeys

xi
Dog lies smug on back
O ye of infinite chest
A belly is rubbed

xii
hghagh, auauau, oghhh
Interspecies sarcasm
Teasing words of love

xiii
Calm night in July
Suddenly exploding sky
Dogs justly displeased

xiv
A visitor knocks
Arrarrarrarrarrarrarr
Welcoming tail wags

xv
Dog spits out carrots
Empathy across species
Vegan cooks him steak

xvi
Under large blankets
Face buried in softest fur
Snuggling dog butts

xvii
Do you want some food?
Do you wanna mess around?
At last, tail says yes

xviii
Picture book on Danes
Repressed culture is revealed
Not one cookie shown

xix
Cross-species threesome
Film captures the friendship here
Dog smells sadly gone

xx
Dog relieves himself
Taste of yellow snow is learned
A worthy snow cone

xxi
Circle circle pause
Circle circle circle pause
Poop spot will be found

xxii
A pizza is watched
Six inch line of drool hangs
Slobber looks tasty

xxiii
Small vanilla cone
One soft taco, only meat
Sharing human's fries

xxiv
Human mad at screen
Dog asks human to drop it
Dog is right; they walk

xxv
Human walks with dog
Something in the dark woods stirs
All freeze and listen

xxvi
Dead thing found on road
Human sees it, but too late
Dog wins this time: munch.

xxvii
Human flops around
Inebriated kisses
Dog's tongue is the world

xxviii
Dog is up early
Grumpy human, needed, stirs
Pre-dawn sky serene

xxix
Walking down the hall
Dog puts nose to neighbor's door
Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Okay

xxx
Juice, coffee, toothpaste
Sometimes dog kisses to kiss
Other times, to taste

xxxi
Anticipation
The tags are all taken off
New toy for the dog

xxxii
Mud rinsed down the drain
Dog leans into towel rubs
Dry and happy friend

xxxiii
Big dog passes gas
Non zoos roar about disgust
Zoo at first confused

xxxiv
Stomach makes noises
Salad of grass to puke out
Upset will settle

xxxv
Lickjob in mirror
All proportions stand naked
Contrast hides in rhyme

xxxvi
Hand on the sheath rubs
Hidden anatomy shown
Beautiful secret

xxxvii
At last the birds sing
The bright sun again does warm
Long walks can return

xxxviii
Trotting and halting
Dog teaches human patience
Do not yank the leash



Twilight Forest

There is, in the Land of Nod, a pleasant enough forest
where it is eternally twilight.
Warm, dim hues creep their fingers around the trees and across the
   grass.
Come: let us go there,
away from cars and concrete,
away from the faintly screeching electrical pulses of motherboards
   and gadgets,
away from screens,
away from bright lights and obligations to keep up with things to
   the second,
away from here, away from time, let us go away.

Out in the twilight forest, there is a presentness of being.
You press your hand to the tall trunk of a tree,
pushing your palm as hard or as soft as you like against the bark,
and the tree does not move, it does not break.
It is, and it will be, if you let it.
Lying on your belly and pressing your face to the ground, the
   grass smells like grass.
The dirt smells like dirt.
You spot a weed and pull it up, root and all, out from among the
   grass and dirt.
Holding the root to your face, soil pressing against your upper
   lip and your chin,
you inhale, and the soil smells even more of soil this close up to
   it.
Setting the weed down, you get up slowly onto your hands and
   knees,
and then get up farther, and stand fully upright.
Your breathing is not rushed here:
You take deep, helpful breaths as slowly as you like to.

You take a step, and in the bones of your foot,
your ankle, your knee, your thigh,
you feel the endearing weight of your body against the weight of
   the rest of the planet pushing back, holding you up: steadiness
   beyond steadiness, it will never, ever drop you.
As you walk, you wear a blanket over your shoulders like a cape.
Whatever else you wear, or don't wear, is up to you.
No one will mind here.
As you walk, you walk in whatever shape of being you would like
   to.
Maybe a dog, maybe a human, maybe an ant, maybe a rock, maybe a
   bush.
Maybe something in between.
You are what you like to be, male, or female, or some of both, or
   something of neither.

The air becomes pleasantly cooler as up ahead, there is a gently
   trickling stream which you are approaching.
It is felt and heard a while before it is seen.
When you arrive, it is as though arriving at the side of a tunnel.
This tunnel is made of the gentle stream at foot,
dim tree trunks to each side,
and a meshwork blanket of branches and leaves overhead,
through which you can see the sky.
From where, and to what end, does this tunnel lead?
You walk along on the bank of the gentle stream, seeking to know.



I Did Take Care Of Him After For The Record

The other day we had the air conditioning on
and so I missed
when my dog grunted and huffed
and rolled over
asking for a belly rub
but I did happen to turn around at some point
and see a gremlin on the bed
halfway between presenting his belly and lying down on his side
   again,
his limbs bunched up but also splayed,
his jowls shown,
his eyes wild
and staring directly at me
me
who had missed his belly rub demands
in the noise.

In that moment still, he was beautiful.