Another Furry Resident

 

              Myrand retrieved a small decanter from the bathroom cabinet underneath the sink. He brushed his thumbs against its embroidered face, pulling dust layers off spearheaded flowers and vines, the glass unhampered by time. It's emerald transparency revealing thick content. The liquid seemed to hug the bottle's neck, more than enough Lavender to finish his needs. He pulled the stopper. An aroma invaded the bathroom steam, heavy sunflower and tulip musk, plumed into his nostrils. His landlord had given him the Lavender Decanter, along with other body fragrances, as a housewarming gift.

 

    Myrand dotted a nickel's portion onto his hand and coated his palms. "This has a pretty swell scent to it." He told Nadya. "Now let's see a foot."

 

    The female obeyed. She lifted her leg so the ankle rested on the bathtub's lip, toes wrinkling at him awaiting treatment. The man went to work using both hands, one grasped her instep and arch, massaging the oil past her fur into skin where her muscles felt tender, squeeze, rotate, push the wiry tissue firm. The other went between each toe. He wrapped a digit in a fist, massaged in oil, and moved to the other three. She purred throughout his menstruation. Sometimes he grinned seeing her face curl into a smile. They continued on her other foot and Myrand threw away the empty bottle, hands rubbing excess Lavender into his palms.

 

    Nayda's eyes settled on him. "What's next?"

 

            "Now we dry off all the water soaked into your fur. Yours is a little thicker, it might take a while, but the blow dryer should evaporate a good portion." Myrand plugged in the drier and turned its dial to maximum. "You're gonna have to hold still again."

 

            "I'm ready."

 

    The dryer whirred awake. Myrand gently corralled Nadya's maw in his palm, gliding its nozzle across each hair strand. Soon her head fur puffed outwards, but the progress was suffering, absorbing ten minutes to dry a small area. He let her go and started on her torso area. Turns out she had never lost a single hair; just years of excrement hardened over her flank in a thick, unnatural shielding. And after an hour's shampoo she watched the sludge filter down the bathtub drain.

 

    The Jade Dragoon progressed down to her crotch. He hovered the nozzle above on her stomach. "You want the honor's of drying down there?"

 

            "I can handle it." Nadya said. She took the drier and continued. "This feels so weird, like a giant face breathing on you."

 

            "Want something else?"

 

            "No," She countered. "Weird in a good way. It tingles my fur, makes it warm and soft."

 

    Myrand scratched between her ears. "Feels it too."

 

    She preened dead roots off her leg. She applied the drier across its clean surface awaiting for young fur stalks to poof like static cotton, which did in minutes, soft yet firm to touch. Myrand saw she was completely silver aside the Renamon white. But as he leaned forward the glow light above shifted and shattered her color, rearing estranged patterns that melted together. Some areas around her arms dissolved their edges, bleeding into powdery silver that reminded him of diamond sediment, alluring at a glance right where light shines strongest, then vanishes as if never there.

 

    Her eyes glanced at him. They appeared transparent yellow yet thick like honey. "All done. Can I get out of this bathtub now?"

 

            "Can you stand?" Nadya obeyed. "Look dry enough. How's the backside feeling?"

 

            "Dry."

 

            "Great, just step out and I'll lead to the living room then."

 

    Nadya rested a paw on his shoulder leaning considerable bodyweight—feathers to Myrand—across the bathtub lip. Hands clasped together they shuffled into the kitchen. He asked Nadya to pick a comforter in the living room for bed, she left, and he poured two glasses of milk. Crossing the threshold, the Tamer found his second partner burrowing a home with one comforter. Rix and Kiyra shared another between themselves at the couch's opposite end. Nadya accepted Myrand's offer. After setting his cup on a coaster, Myrand scratched around her ears.

 

    The female purred against his hand.  "You wouldn't have something to eat in that kitchen?"

 

            "Drink your milk. Considering what had happened, your stomach might be weaker than your bones. The fatty acids should juice it for more solid foods, but until then it's the white stuff."

 

    She sat up next to him, glass cupped in both paws with her eyes staring at her lap. "I never thought it'd get that bad."

 

            "What?"

 

            "Being starved for so long that eating isn’t considered healthy."

 

            "I'm not saying you can't eat, just not yet, not until you get a little stronger. Give it a day and you'll be eating different things in no time."

 

            "The airfield was a nightmare." Nadya said, whispered over the rim of her glass as she took three swigs. "The food worth eating were the rats I could catch in the chemical shed. Weeks went by and soon the rats disappeared from my hunting and my hunger re-emerged to gnaw at me again. When the pains grew too great, I begged the scientists, who gave me their pity but yielded edible food. The guards acted the same way. I can’t reminisce the last time my tongue could taste." 

 

            "That's all behind you now." Myrand toasted her with another drag of cow's milk. "And there's plenty of goodies to remember here."

 

    Nadya settled her milk stained glass on the table. She collected the pillows beneath her, another comforter above, and crushed them between her arms. The comfort following seemed too extreme to bear. Myrand heard a distinct purr before her dusted tail shot out, tickling his entire body in a few careless laps. Minutes later it came to a gentle rest across his lap, flat-edged.

 

            "Tell me something about yourself Myrand," she asked.

 

    Myrand refrained to shrug off the question, although he hesitated in answering. "Curious are we?"

 

            "Just interested to know my Tamer's roots."

 

    The marine hesitated again. He had forgotten his Digivice, its bleeding siren wailing his second Partner's location, at rest in his armored vest pocket. "What do you want to hear?"

 

    The twinkle in her eye color faded. Perhaps she expected a better answer, or a story. "Anything. Do you have a female to your liking?"

 

            "Not recently. Not after joining the military, but there was one girl I met before then."

 

            "Does she have a name?"

 

            "She did, or so I think. I met her at a bar the day after my graduation."

 

            "Did you like her?"

 

    He cocked an eyebrow towards her. "Kind of. I remember she also was celebrating her success, a model or something, and she drank heavy. I sat to her left. She offered to buy the first drink, or my first and her fifth, and I bought more." Myrand burrowed deep in thought. "Nonaka. That was her name."

 

            "You must've liked her, you remember that much."

 

            "And the sex." Myrand paused to swallow more milk. "Terrific sex."

 

    Nadya bristled. "You mated?"

 

            "One thing led to another. She was too drunk to drive to the hotel so I got her a cab. She invited me to her room."

 

            "And you were both drunk."

 

    Myrand threw up his hands. "She started. The next morning, I find myself naked in bed and her long gone. Never heard from Mrs. Nonaka again."

 

    A yawn drew his attention. Nadya snuggled for extra comforter space, drawing her tail underneath its protective cover. Myrand scratched her ears and she fell into it, eyes closing, vibrating purrs inside her thick neck to compliment him. In minutes of silent menstruations she went asleep in his hands. He smiled and dropped her gently on the pillows. With all the Renamon asleep around him, he stood to check his confiscated weapon.

 

    Morning loomed in the living room window. He guessed around four in the morning, judging on where the moon and sun shared their domain. Stars scattered across a navy-blue sky, but tapering into lighter colors in the horizon, giving enough visible light to read small print. Cloud clusters burst into scarred fragments, red and bitter pink, tailing towards a rising star. The chrome of his sub machinegun illuminated in the rare light.

 

    Myrand set it on the living room table, hoping anything could lead to its manufacturer. The barrel and handgrips belittled evidence, but a section on the weapon's butt was filed away by something coarse like sandpaper, yet considerably tougher. He assumed the past owner disguised the maker on purpose. On one face, a deep gash grooved alongside the barrel chamber, almost exposing it. Another clever disguise perhaps.

 

    He picked up the weapon with both hands. It felt heavier than a standard submachine gun. Pivoting the gun at different directions, tucking its butt against his shoulder, aligning his hands on the grips and sometimes the stock, it left an impression of a Stub Rifle. Even its standard magazine housed the twenty rounds a Stub took. The difference lay in its sights. The manufacturer had swapped the iron to a compact scope, centered by a traditional black crosshair. Myrand decided to keep it and would have to scavenge magazines from future cadavers.

 

            "They call that gun a Puncture Rifle. I've seen the guards carry them around from time to time."

 

    Nadya's voice surprised Myrand. He turned and saw her eyes awake and placed his rifle on the table. "I thought you were asleep."

 

            "Hard to with so much noise," She said, "Besides, I can't."

 

    He sat beside her. "This Fourth Reich has me too puzzled for sleep."

 

    Nadya rose to rest against his shoulder. "I only know what was in the airfield."

 

            "You seem to know a lot about their equipment."

 

            "A certain number of guards were issued Puncture Rifles. When the scientists gave me walks around the fence I saw them on the catwalks, rigid over searchlights. Footmen armed themselves with shorter versions of them, and once in a while a scientist was given a pistol."

 

            "Why the security?"

 

    The female shrugged. "Something to do with all that equipment inside. Lots of wild digimon are drawn to its activation, and that made the scientists restless."

 

             "A big experiment then."

 

    She nodded. "They called it The Foundry."

 

            "Code word, or the title of it then. Maybe that's why DeTrest left in such a hurry. His project was in danger."

 

            "DeTrest?" Nadya looked up at him. "You, you saw him?"

 

            "Him and Odin. He left before the airfield was attacked. I managed to kill Odin, but the General left with his trucks. The digimon wrecked everything else."

 

            "Good." She whispered. "Myrand?" He nodded, "Could I sleep on your shoulder; to keep me comfortable?"

 

            "Sure. If there's anything else you'd like I'll be happy to oblige. Get some rest, we have some things to do tomorrow." He settled down next to her and fell asleep. 

 

 

 

    Myrand dreamed little. But minutes after falling asleep, an image entered his mind. It was a man dressed in a cheap gray suit. His face appeared transparent, so white it thinned his contours and sunken cheeks. He traced a mutton-colored finger through his oil-cropped hair. The most confusing—or alluring—notice took shape of his eyes. Deep-water blue, but Myrand felt something different, something piercing about them, like multi-layered mask. The man stood in the pooling darkness of Myrand's subconscious, looking at him.

 

            "The right man in the wrong place; can make all the difference in the world." He said. "The grain of sand to start an avalanche."

 

 

 

    Myrand bolted awake. Sweat beaded through his undershirt and slid down his face, cooling the thrash of his heartbeat. The comforter over his chest had toppled on the floor. Nadya clung to him, sleep unwavering, and kept her head against his shoulder. He swabbed excess droplets away with his free hand. A throat cleared. Kiyra stood close by, eyes a careful study, her expression neutral and slim. She sat down on his other side.

 

            "Rika's plane has landed."

 

    Myrand yawned. "You're leaving then?"

 

            "I gave Rix my goodbyes. If he has any problems, tell him I'll talk to him soon."

 

            "Don’t worry, we'll all be fine while you're away. It's not like you live in another city."

 

    Kiyra stood in front of the window. Stray sunlight highlighted the tips of her yellow fur. "Thank you for letting me stay." She bowed. "I am in debt to you, Myrand."

 

            "Think nothing of it."

 

            "Rika told me there was a Digimon Card Expo in New York City, she might've bought powerful equip cards. I'll to her what you did this winter, sheltering me, and she'll understand."

 

            "That's not necessary." Myrand peeled Nadya off and rose, scratching Kiyra along her maw with a free hand. "Just take care of Rika and yourself." He led her to the window. "There'd be nothing worse than seeing you and her in their hands. Promise me that neither you nor Rika will get into this Fourth Reich business. The Jade Dragoons can handle it, not to mention the Japanese military, in the worst cases."

 

    Kiyra nodded. "I haven't forgotten. There's still business with the Devas we need to solve, them and their Sovereign. Maybe this Yomaki will help us."

 

            "Yomaki eh? Perhaps our paths will cross after all."

 

    The Renamon cocked an eyebrow. She turned towards the coursing daylight, whispering her thanks to Myrand, then dissolved from his apartment. He wondered the nature of teleporting. It kept him preoccupied as he fixed a coffee pot on the stove. From point A to B, from any location in the world, and to arrive in perfect condition. He couldn't fathom such an invention, let alone a natural ability. Between coffee percolations, Nadya and Rix shuffled awake in their respective snorts and yawns. Quiet murmurs followed. Myrand went to take breakfast choices when the phone rang.

 

    He plucked its receiver from the kitchen wall. "Hello this is the Myrand residence, Myrand speaking."

 

            "What happened at Alabaster's?" A thick voice asked. It was Sergeant Rolland. "What went on here?"

 

    Aside the sergeant's labored breaths, sounds of pressurized water buzzed in the background. "You're there?"

 

            "Yomaki, Emmerson, and Dias are here with me" A pause. Rolland's voice grew lower, nearly audible above the backwash. "Myrand this isn't good. There's paperwork and machines that survived whatever blazed through here, and even animal cages holding those digital monster things. The men are trying to confiscate as much as they can before Yomaki pushes us out."

 

    Myrand stiffened. "Tell them to look in the hangar with the chemical shed in the back, the one with the empty animal cage." He paused. "The chemicals should still be there and I kept some papers I found on a nearby table. "I bet the hangar itself holds something too."

 

            "After the airfield is good I'll need those papers."

 

            "Yes sir. What about the digital monsters?"

 

    Rolland paused, hesitated. "I think Yomaki isn't telling us the whole truth. The poor creatures were baying for help when we found them, some begged, before Yoamki's lackeys shut the room off."

 

            "So you're saying they're not all bad."

 

            "Sure. My mother-in-laws Chihuahua hated me more than that."

 

    Myrand leaned to see Nadya still curled in a comforter. "I might have more than papers to show you."