Cover art for a future story I'm getting from anon of Zeydaan transforming into Grey Ryder under the unintentional influence of their new friends in a group of smoggies.
Grey Ryder belongs to Dommerik
Zeydaan was a wolf with time on their paws. An opportune time for a break had landed right in their lap, and they were more than happy to take time away from their job, if only for just a few days.
Not content with just being cooped up in their house all the time, Zeydaan decided it was time to go some place. Certainly not someplace in the world; they didn't have the disposable income for that much frivolity. But someplace in the country, yes. And the best way to decide that, in their mind, was to pull out an atlas of the UK, flick through the pages, stop randomly and poke blindly. And so it was that Zeydaan's finger landed upon the Tees Valley. Very much an industrial part of the UK to his knowledge, but surely such industry would beget heritage… and perhaps heritage of other varieties too? Definitely worth research in that respect, and respect of lodgings too.
Thus, Zeydaan booked their place in a hotel in Stockton, a room amongst the upper floors with a view that overlooked the River Tees, the dividing line separating Stockton from Middlesbrough, County Durham from North Yorkshire. For a few days in their life somewhere new to explore, all without taking off to the skies, just a rail journey north to a home away from home.
Zeydaan had taken their time in research all there was to see and do in the region. A weekly bus ticket offered them freedom of movement within the area, with a boundary stretching from Darlington to the west towards a wide swathe of England's east coastline. Having checked into their hotel room in the mid-afternoon, Zeydaan would have to keep it super-local for their first day, but luckily the town had just what they needed after hours spent seated on various trains heading northwards; an indoor waterpark. Refreshing water, a nice time paddling, a little exhilaration on the slides to reawaken them.
After that, the wolf spent some time on Stockton's shopping streets, eyeing up the town's retail offerings as the evening approached. Not enough time for shopping now, certainly. But they had already come to the conclusion beforehand that they would have to extend their net wider if they wanted to get the most out of the region.
To conclude the day, Zeydaan took their seat in a small eatery that stood under the hotel's imposing shadow. Looking up at the hotel, Zeydaan noted its incongruity; such a recent development, having only been constructed over the last couple of years, towering over rows of older buildings. Perhaps a chance for a town perceived as grimy to clean up its act. But such thoughts reminded Zeydaan of their own incongruity; up north, there were so many humans and so few anthros compared to his hometown, where things were mostly even. Was Britain's anthro population really so localised to the south? Did that even make sense, given how cold things get the further north you go? They'd spent so much time researching tourism in the area, and now they had another thing to check.
It was a fine meal; a hearty stew, a perfect meal of meatiness for a wolf like Zeydaan. But sitting there at a table for one… the loneliness hit them. The next time they'd spend a week elsewhere, they'd have to invite a friend to come with them. And the next time they'd spend an evening out on the town here in Stockton, they'd have to find some local company, even if it meant hanging with humans.
Day two took Zeydaan west to Darlington, a town of railway heritage a fair distance away from the rest of the Teesside conurbation. Although they'd made their journey from Stockton by bus, it was those two towns that found themselves connected by a world-first railway almost 200 years ago, which ran from collieries up in the hills down to those towns, plying them with freighted coal. The trains that plied the line today were much more modern than the steam engines that hauled their goods all those years back, but it was the line itself that was historic, running up from Darlington to Shildon and Bishop Auckland. And museums and exhibitions along the line preserved the heritage of a bygone era, letting Zeydaan see just what iron beasts ran upon the rails all those years ago, hauling a cargo that was no longer in demand, the world having moved on from such a polluting source of energy. All in all, a very worthwhile jaunt, but Zeydaan would have to return east eventually.
As the bus sped non-stop down the trunk road (as fast as a bus could speed), Zeydaan thought back to the promise they made to themselves. To not be a loner and socialise with the locals. What harm could it do? It wasn't as if the whole town was going to show prejudice to a furred outsider; they'd seen a few anthros during his brief time up north, but there was no way of telling if they were local or tourists. What mattered was they weren't being bullied for their pelts.
Zeydaan stepped off the bus as it came to a halt at the south end of Stockton's main thoroughfare, and looked in front of them. A pub! A tavern that trumpeted their cheap pints of beer and range of spirits. What a nice coincidence; this would be the perfect place to experience the Stockton social life, and Zeydaan reckoned they'd made it just in time for happy hour, judging from the slightly darkening sky. Hopefully that meant the non-alcoholic offerings would be discounted too; Zeydaan wasn't a drinker, in the alcoholic sense of the word 'drink'. The wolf steeled themselves, and stepped inside.
Loud music blared from the jukebox standing against one of the walls of the pokey pub, as its human clientele quaffed booze and made merriment. Zeydaan tried not to stand out, as hard as that was being the only one covered head to toe in fur, rather than having clothes keeping them warm and modest. Keeping their profile low for now, they walked up to the bar and gave it a quiet tap to get the attention of the woman behind it.
"Oh!" she said, putting down the glass she was towelling dry. "One of… yous! Don't get many of yer kind 'ere." Zeydaan stepped back; was there a hint of prejudice in the landlady's voice?
"I… I'm just visiting," Zeydaan said, drawing out the first syllable. "You… got any soda?"
"Soda? Sure, sure, if that's 'ow yer wannit." Zeydaan watched, having suspicions that the landlady herself was suspicious; they kept their eyes peeled, looking around the pub. Nothing had kicked off yet; they'd rather approach the patrons than have the drinkers gang up on them.
"'Ere y'are," the landlady said, placing a pint glass on the bar with some force, sloshing a little of the deep red beverage out of the vessel's bounds, the floating ice cubes clinking. "One blackcurrant an' soda, that'll be two quid, boyo." Zeydaan took off and unzipped their backpack and pulled out their wallet from a secure pocket deep within it, and placed a two pound coin on the table.
"Was wonderin' how yous got by without pockets," the landlady replied, taking Zeydaan's payment as they took their drink off the sodden bar towel and walked towards a small group of drinkers, consuming much stronger beverages than theirs. Zeydaan willed themselves to keep calm, act naturally, and try not to make a big deal about the difference in their species.
"H-hello…" Zeydaan stammered, still a little nervous about the ordeal they had consigned themselves to.
"Ey up, oo'se this fuzzy bugger?" grunted a gruff voiced man with a pint of strong lager in his meaty hand. Decidedly an overly large glass for such a strong beverage, Zeydaan reckoned silently.
"Ye'er, 'ees a wolfo, ya dolt!" said another patron, this one with a shot glass, a couple more at the table, still undowned.
"I know 'e is! I mean, yer lot aren't really seen 'round these parts."
"Yeah, I'm just visiting," Zeydaan said, stating the obvious. "Just felt a little lonely being a lone tourist, thought it wouldn't do harm to hang with the locals."
"Y'certainly look it, standin' there with yer soda like a soft southerner." Zeydaan kept their composure in the face of rebuke.
"Ye'er! If ya really want to be friends with us, ya gotta prove yer worth it! Put down the weak stuff and join us for a round!" The merry drinker picked up one of his shot glasses and offered it to Zeydaan. "This stuff'll put hair on yer chest… I mean, s'already pretty hairy…"
"And… what exactly is this stuff?" Zeydaan asked, taking the glass and sniffing it, reeling a little as the strong scent of alcohol hit their sensitive nose.
"Y'don't recognise a shot o' whisky when yer see one? Maybe you'd be better off with a beer. Everyone knows beer, right? Right? Oi!" the gruff drinker grunted, signalling to the landlady. "Add another pint o' the usual to our tab, would ya?" The landlady was happy to comply, pouring a pint of ale, a head frothing atop it as the liquid poured into the glass. The grunty man staggered to the bar, only slightly drunk, picked up the glass and thrust it into Zeydaan's paws, covering them with foam as it splashed out of the glass.
"So… bottoms up, I guess?" Zeydaan murmured, taken aback by being thrust so swiftly into this situation. "First time for everything…" They raised the glass to their muzzle and took a drink…
Bitter! So bitter an ale! Well, it was on the name printed on the handpull, but Zeydaan had no idea how bitter it would be. Their taste buds overwhelmed, Zeydaan rejected the beer in an incredibly uncouth manner, spitting it out all over the man who had handed him it, soddening his clothes. As the liquid hit him, his expression slowly shifted to one of fury, eyebrows rising, face reddening.
"What… what d'ya think yer doin'?" Zeydaan backed up as the bulky man approached them, sweating with fear. "I paid good money for that shirt! An' that drink! I'm gonna deck ya, I am! I'll do ya in, I will!" Words as strong as the beer they held, until their back hit the side of the bar, a sudden shock that caused them to loosen their grip on the glass, letting it fall to the floor. The sound of shattering glass drew a cheer, as it always seems to do in pubs, and caused heads to turn towards Zeydaan and the humans that were looming over them. The wolf who had entered trying to keep a low profile had found themselves the centre of attention for all the wrong reasons.
"Alright, that's it!" Zeydaan felt meaty hands tightly grip his shoulders and toss him to the floorboards. The wolf weakly picked themselves up, their body aching, as the man came up again and threw a few punches at them, swearing loudly and incoherently as the eyes of the pub watched the bar fight play out, cheering on the humans and laughing at the wolf's misfortune. Were prejudices laid bare, or were the people here just always biased against the underdog?
"Okay, you lot, break it up, break it up!" The landlady left her post behind the bar, heading towards the ruckus; her oncoming presence sent the menacing man back to his friend's seat, while Zeydaan crawled as fast as they could out of the pub before the landlady had the chance to bar them or reprimand them any further.
Zeydaan panted, clambering back up onto two legs, using the brick wall of the pub as a support to climb up on and raise themselves to their natural stance. Bruised and aching, humiliated, and afflicted with a terrible mood, Zeydaan rued ever entering that place. Their stomach rumbled, and the dry bitterness of what little beer they drank left them with an ironic thirst. They gingerly walked up the road, putting distance between themselves and the pub, turning the first corner they came upon. They clung to the walls of the business to steady them; charity stops, taxi hires, solicitors...
Zeydaan lurched forward, his paws clinging to the side of a litter bin, and turned their head left. On the frontage of the unit facing them, below the windows, were images of burgers stuffed with thick layers of fillings, trays of kebab meat and chips, a massive rectangular pizza laden with mozzarella and pepperoni, and all sorts of other takeaway food that Zeydaan had no idea about. Sustenance of all forms. They looked up to the sign declaring the establishment's name; the 'Stockton Parmo House.' A… parmo? A what? There was only one way of answering that question, and that was to head inside.
Inside, people sat on diner-style chairs, their food on the countertop running along the side of the wall dripping with unhealthiness. Behind the retail counter and the woman manning it was the kitchen, where Zeydaan could see kebabs spinning on their skewers, logs of meat which had been carved into for serving up to the masses. Zeydaan let their paws rest on the counter and looked up to the lady… human, of course.
"Hello, and what can I get you?" she asked. Already Zeydaan felt a little better; this one wasn't taking umbrage at their species.
"Well, I was wondering… what exactly is a parmo?" Zeydaan said, looking up to the menu suspended above, printed perspex panels backed by fluorescent lights.
"Heh, not from around here, huh?" chuckled the woman behind the counter.
"How could you tell? All the bruises on my face… or the fact that I'm a walking, talking, wolf?"
"That yer dunno what a parmo is! Mustn't have them down your end, I take it?"
"Oxford," Zeydaan explained, happy to at least have a second chance at human interaction. "It's not something I've noticed all my time living there."
"Those students dunno what they're missin'!" The counter lady said, happy to sell Zeydaan on her provenance. "Parmo's pretty much our local delicacy! Chicken Parmesan! See, we take a chicken breast, get it all nice an' flat, bread it an' fry it, then top it with oozing bechamel and cheese," she told Zeydaan, drawing out that 'oo' to make it sound as appetising as possible. "You can even put toppings on top of that topping. Just think of it as a pizza but with chicken instead! You wolves like chicken, right?"
"Heh, you could say that," the carnivore said sheepishly. "Sure, I'll dip my toes into the water," they said, looking up at the menu, observing what was included in the price. "Think I'll start with the classic, plain'n cheesy, with the chips and salad. Oh, and a can of cola on the side." Into their backpack they dug, getting out their wallet as the counter staff let them know the price. An exchange of money and an information of how long to wait, then to the kitchen she went to pass across their order and fetch the desired drink. Zeydaan took it and took an empty seat next to a diner who was enjoying a veritable slab of pizza, its thick crust loaded with cheese and chopped chunks of spicy chicken. Such a square shape would mean no wasted space if such a pizza were boxed up and delivered.
Zeydaan sat, sipping their drink, watching the world go by. People popped in to pick up their orders, be they those bringing food to their own home, or those thrall to the gig economy transporting takeaway fare to someone else's. But mostly the wait was contemplative, with relief that not every human in this town held biases against their kind. There was every chance that Zeydaan would be left hungry and thirsty, walking to the high street back to that restaurant from the first night… the humans serving them were nice there too. Zeydaan shrugged; they guessed that some humans were just better than others, and that they really ought not to hang about with the wrong crowd.
"'Ere y'go!" said the lady happily, placing a cardboard pizza box and a tray filled with salad in front of Zeydaan. The wolf licked their lips and gave their thanks, then opened the box to reveal the delights within; a chicken parmo, their first, just as advertised, just as seen enjoyed by the clientele. Nestled up next to it were enough chips to fill the rest of the box. Zeydaan opened the tray, revealing a mass of shredded lettuce leaves topped with slices of cucumber and tomato, took out a knife and fork from the caddy beside them, and tucked in.
The food definitely wasn't to the quality of their previous dinner. The chips were hard, dry and salty, scratching against the roof of Zeydaan's mouth; they needed a squirt of sauce to alleviate their problems, and Zeydaan had to order another drink to offset the salt. As for the salad, it tasted rather odd, as if the lettuce leaves had been tossed in oil rather than a more palatable dressing. But there was no way they could fault the parmo itself. The meat was still tender despite being shaped into flatness, the breading was crispy, the cheese and bechamel gooey… This was what they had come here for, and they grew to love it. Another fragment of relief; this day had a happy ending.
Ascending alone in the lift to their hotel room, Zeydaan thought to themselves. If they wanted company during this time by themselves, and wanted company they can trust, surely the answer was just to sit down, get out their phone, and call a friend? Humans were so unreliable and unpredictable; an anthro friend was a known quantity.
Sitting down on their comfy bed, Zeydaan pulled their phone out and scrolled through their list of contacts. So many friends back home; which one to call?
Reinsford.
Reinsford was a goat, working as a junior doctor. Surely he'd be the one to lend an ear and acknowledge Zeydaan's problems, assuming they weren't busy. That was the problem with doctors; they had to be on call at all times. But, it was best to hope for the best, and make the call. They'd know if he couldn't answer… luckily, he did.
"Hey there Zey," said the friendly voice of the goat on the other side. "How's the holiday?"
"It's… had its ups and downs," Zeydaan said frankly. "Although I'd rather talk about the downs than the ups. You free for a chat?"
"Currently," explained Reinsford, "but I'm sure you know that I might have to go at any moment."
"Hopefully I can keep it brief, then," Zeydaan said, and he began to tell his tale that led him into trouble with the humans at the pub. Reinsford, usually a friendly voice, sounded dismayed with his friend.
"Oh, Zey, Zey…" he sighed. "You said you wanted to be social with those humans, and yet you walked out harbouring a prejudice against them equivalent to that which you felt against you. You're just as bad as them!"
"I wasn't trying to be!" Zeydaan protested. "They set me up! They were the ones who made me take that drink!"
"You need to redeem yourself, Zeydaan, you can't leave with such a low standing. I want you to make another attempt. You wanted to do this, didn't you?"
"I guess-"
"Yes! So do it! Surely you can find something redeeming! I've worked with humans, and let me tell you I hardly got one who protested they were being cared for by a goat!"
"I… I'll do it. For you, Reinsford."
"Not for me, Zey… for them, and for you."
The next two days were spent visiting attractions on the east coast, north and south of the mouth of the Tees. Zeydaan's jaunts were punctuated by another evening meal back at the restaurant they had called in at a couple of days back; they took a small table in the corner, away from that which was loud and busy, and relished the time alone, disturbed only by the waiter who took their order and set it at their table. Time alone, yet still… they'd made a promise, and tomorrow they'd uphold it. Zeydaan planned their moves carefully as he awaited their meal, which, although tender, made them feel a little melancholy. Yes, it was a flavourful stew, but it didn't seem to compare to the oozing, creamy, cheesy bechamel that covered the breaded surface of the parmo. Zeydaan knew where they were going tomorrow evening… after their trip to the pub.
Back again, facing the pub entrance. Fingers crossed that Zeydaan wouldn't face the same fate twice. Back in they went, through the corridor to the internals, vibrant with activity. As before, they kept a low profile, taking glances as they kept close to the wall. Luckily those two blokes who had dared them to drink were here again, and even more luckily the landlady from last time was nowhere to be seen, a different barman in her stead. Zeydaan breathed a sigh of relief, had she been there she'd have noticed them and likely would have turfed them out. Zeydaan steeled themselves and approached the bar.
"Hey, er… do you have anything on the mild side?" Zeydaan's eyes scanned the pumps, looking for the ale with the lowest alcohol levels. 3.5%... that was relatively weak, right? They'd seen stronger, much stronger: they cast their mind to the litter seen strewn around Oxford; empty bottles of cheap, strong, irresponsibly priced cider and half-litre cans of super lager. The detritus a byproduct of rowdy student revelry. Zeydaan would have expected better from Oxbridge students but they couldn't tell them what to do. The barman saw their eyes settle on the mild, and nodded. "Yeah, pint of that, thanks," Zeydaan requested, noting the barman's quietness. Was he hiding feelings of resentment? No, don't go there, thought Zeydaan, you're not here to make any more enemies. Best just pay the cost, take the drink, and return to those drinkers who had caused them so much trouble two days ago, and not dwell on the past.
"Hey…" Zeydaan said gently as they approached the much more frequent drinkers, choosing to interrupt them while they weren't busy imbibing.
"Heh, look 'oose back," grunted the thick set man who had given him such a beating last time. "Come for another losin' battle, eh?"
"I think you'll find I'm on your side this time," Zeydaan replied, producing their beer.
"If y'think ye'll impress us by just standin' there with a pint, yer sorely mistaken!" said the drinker of spirits, as his friend rose to approach Zeydaan.
"No, look!" Zeydaan said desperately, raising the glass to their muzzle and taking a sip. A slow, deliberate sip, one that wouldn't overwhelm their tastebuds. Even a mild beer was still strong on account of some level of alcohol, but 'gently does it'… did it. The taste wasn't that bad when they limited their intake. Everything in moderation as one might say.
"Yeah right, I know you just got a mild like the typical southerner like yous are."
"And yet I can still handle it!" Zeydaan said, taking a more vigorous sip, trying to swallow it quickly and stomach the taste. "See?"
"...alright, alright, looks like ya win this time…" sighed the man in front of them. "Whad'ya want?"
"I want… the same thing I came here for last time. To be social." Zeydaan put out a paw, but the man didn't budge. "Can definitely say I failed last time, didn't even get your names."
"Clive. An' 'e's Mike," said the front man, evidently Clive, gesturing to the man behind him.
"Zeydaan," said the wolf, his paw still outstretched, waiting for handshake that never came.
"Zey-wha'?" said Clive, confused. "Yous furry folk an' your weird names. How 'bout we just call ya Grey? Coz that's what y'are! A scuzzy grey wolfo!"
"Yeah!" shouted Mike. "Can't forget that! Come on then, Grey, 'ave a seat!" He patted the cushioned seating affixed to the wall, their cosy corner that Zeydaan was about to become a part of, as they and Clive made themselves comfortable.
"Well you two have certainly had a change of heart. Guess I was wrong to doubt you," Zeydaan said.
"An' the very same t'you, Grey," Clive said. Zeydaan looked down at their glass; the wonders a pint of beer could do. Minds instantly changed. "So yer a tourist, then? Where you been moochin'?"
"Well, Darlington, Hartlepool, the Saltburn seafront…"
"Yer wha? You haven't been down town yet?" Clive asked, to Zeydaan's confusion.
"I've been to plenty of towns here…"
"Middlesborough! Like, the big town in the middle of it all! Yer can't miss it, an' yet… you 'ave!"
"But what's there to see? It's… just a town, right? Most of the stuff I've been seeing is more out of town, or small town…"
"Look, tomorrow, you're gonna meet us an' our friends, and we're gonna show you the real Teesside!" Zeydaan nodded, taking a longer sip; the more time they'd be spending with these humans, the better, as far as they were aware. Already things had patched up, and they were moving beyond that.
"Sounds good, how about you meet me outside the hotel after breakfast? It's that big one near the river. Just like Middlesborough, you can't miss it," Zeydaan chuckled, knowing that these locals knew what they were talking about.
Over the course of two pints of mild, Zeydaan and the humans got to know each other better. What they did, what life was like in their necks of the woods. And it was no surprise to Zeydaan that when they recommended the Parmo House round the corner, Clive and Mike's faces lit up with delight.
"We're no strangers to that place, aren't we Clive?" Mike said. "Proper mint, that."
"Hmm… how about a meal on me, then?" Zeydaan offered, not really caring that they may have been moving too fast in this developing relationship.
"Champion!" Clive exclaimed, as Zeydaan quickly downed the remnants of their beer and checked their belongings. They got out of the way, allowing their new acquaintances to follow after them, out of the pub and onto the street. Again they were staggering, but it was not through injury, but through an indescribable giddiness. Was it drunkenness, or something else at play? Not something they put too much thought into, not when another delicious parmo lay ahead of them. As scary as all of this was to some part of Zeydaan's mind, to another it was a rush the likes of which they had never felt.
Breakfasted and prepared, Zeydaan checked his phone. 9:30. They should be waiting for them. Lo, there they were, loitering outside the entrance awaiting their new friend; not just Clive and Mike but two more besides.
"I see you've brought company," Zeydaan observed. "Hopefully they're not gonna be… you know…"
"Nah, we made sure," Clive explained. "Grey, 'ere's Mags, an' this is Bert." He gestured to the two unfamiliar faces; Mags was a woman who looked to be reaching her high fifties yet her face showed she still knew how to have fun despite her age. Bert was younger, wearing a striped beanie over his shaved head, keeping it insulated, doing the job any other person's hair would do. But hairless, that just seemed to be how Bert rolled.
"Coo, a fuzzy little one, aren't you?" Mags called. "So, ready to discover our idea of a good time?"
"We'll lead the way, just an hour or so's walk along the Tees," Bert offered. "Come on, s'good exercise! How else d'yer think we keep all lean an' trim despite all that parmo?"
"I cannot say no to good exercise, especially in the company of you," Zeydaan said. They made sure that everything they needed was safe and secure in their backpack, before giving the command for the humans to head off.
Under grey skies they progressed, heading eastwards, switching sides as they crossed the river at the Tees Barrage Bridge. Zeydaan felt a little revolted to see them surreptitiously spit in the river, crowded around each other so that three could disguise the fourth performing their foul act. Under two more bridges their path took them, passing underneath roaring traffic traversing concrete and metal, before they forked right to mirror the curves of road and railway that formed an arc around the town, finally turning right to head south under the wide trunk road, crossing a plaza covered by the dual carriageway. Concrete gussied up.
Zeydaan followed as they led, leading them down a grim backstreet intended more for service traffic than pedestrians, as was evident from the lack of pavement and the vehicles parked up at the sides, leaving the five to walk down the middle, thankful that no traffic intruded on them.
"An' 'ere we are!" shouted Clive, as best as he could shout, as the group came to a stop outside a gated off fire exit, the staircase caged away, the rusted metal lattice topped with barbed wire. He unpocketed a hairpin and pushed it into the keyhole of the lock that kept the fire exit inaccessible to the public.
"Are you… sure we're allowed to do this?" questioned a concerned Zeydaan as the door swung open and the humans ascended the stairs.
"Nah, nobody here cares or notices," Bert said. "All hunched at their desks, like, lookin' at their screens an' not the folk standing on top of the roof. They're all too focused on their work to notice us, anyway. That, and looking forward to the weekend!" It hit Zeydaan that it was Friday; time away from work had really made them lose track of the days, freed from the schedule that those in the block still had to adhere to.
"Are you… skiving off work?"
"No skin off our back! They're too dumb to know we don't have the lurgy!" Mags exclaimed quietly, as Zeydaan and the gang emerged, striding out to the rooftop. Yes, certainly in view of the office block towering a few stories over them, but if the humans inside really were that ignorant...
"This doesn't feel very safe," Zeydaan said with a shiver, exposed to the elements, wary of the wind that threatened to blow them off if it picked up. It wasn't that far up, but there was plenty of barbed wire around. As they cuddled themselves, Clive unzipped into Bert's backpack and pulled out a wooden baseball bat. Zeydaan watched as they huddled, as Clive walked up to some empty glass bottles that were placed on the roof, and started smashing them to pieces with a hammer.
"This is your idea of fun?" Zeydaan asked loudly over the sound of breaking glass. Whose bottles were they? Did other lowlives of the Tees Valley frequent this rooftop, getting their kicks and their drinks in here at this unsafe place? They just stood there, watching these humans hand the bat to each other, taking their turns to smash the bottles. Zeydaan winced; what if shards flew off the edge of the roof? Did these people have hearts?
"Your turn," grunted Clive, throwing the bat at Zeydaan, who caught it more out of wanting to save themselves from injury than wanting to join in. But their impatience was palpable as they stared at them.
"OK, OK…" Zeydaan mumbled, approaching the bottles, their head swiftly turning left and right, looking down at the back alleys to make sure they were empty of life, then back to the bottles. A few still unbroken… "Here goes nothing," they thought, as they brought the bat down…
The sound of shattering glass echoed in their sensitive lupine ears. Reverberations. Good reverberations. A sound that agreed with them. They struck the bottles, becoming shards, then fragments; the humans supplied more, placing them in front of Zeydaan as they egged them on. They lost track of time; the bottles just seemed to come from nowhere. Zeydaan was left panting as they lazily, yet heavily, slugged the bat down upon the pile of green fragments again and again, their pace slowing but their force still there.
"Well, looks like someone's well knackered!" exclaimed Mags as Zeydaan flagged. "Betcha worked up an appetite there; how 'bout some scran?"
"Yeah!" added Clive. "And since you we're so kind as to buy us dinner last time, 'ow 'bout we return the favour?"
"Yeah… yeah… thanks…" Zeydaan panted, dropping the bat, free from the pressures of the humans, free from the repeated motions of swinging down and breaking bottles.
Everything was on them, as they took Zeydaan to some out of the way bolthole, its clientele more traditional than hip. Not just the ploughman's lunch, but all the beer that came with it. Half a pint of something mild at first, but every glass was stronger than the last, and it was all at no cost to the wolf. It turned into something of a drinking contest… then it turned into a blur. Too much drink for one wolf to handle but something was stopping them from stopping. Too drunk to say no? They just couldn't tell what was going on in their inebriated state; too sozzled to notice their muzzle gradually reducing, retracting ever so slowly, as if the beer was an acid that slowly attacked that which sank into it. They were escorted home by the humans, vision blurred as their hands guided them as they walked, shaping their gait. In fact, by the time Zeydaan's consciousness returned and their stupor faded, they found themselves back in the comfort of their hotel room, lying on their bed.
Zeydaan groaned; hangovers were for mornings, not for the late afternoon. What had they done? Had they really let go of themselves that much? They just lay there, staring at the ceiling… surely there was something better to do than stewing once more? Zeydaan reached to their backpack, to their phone… then gave up. Nah… what good would calling one of their friends back at home do? They'd probably never been in Zeydaan's position. They wouldn't know. Or maybe they'd just look down on them. Whatever; Zeydaan didn't have time for them. Zeydaan just rested, letting their body process and work out all that alcohol, their time in their room punctuated only by a slow stroll down the street to that takeaway, where a pizza was purchased, and consumed on the way back. Zeydaan sat down and ate, watching the Friday night nightlife that they had no desire to be part of. Too much excitement for one day…
If Zeydaan was going into Saturday with no plans in mind, then the plans would come to them. As they stepped out of the hotel, their mind set on a mindless stroll, they found those four humans waiting for them, scowling at the wolf.
"Wha'choo think yer doin', doin' a runner on us?" Mags said. Zeydaan put their hands up, stammering and sputtering in panic, too stunned to declare their innocence or confusion.
"You promised us you'd come down the pub last night!" Bert declared.
"Yeah, stood us up, you did!" Mike complained.
"I promised you nothing!" Zeydaan retaliated.
"Sure yer did, Grey! We asked, you nodded, an' a nod's as good as a wink," Clive proclaimed.
"OK, maybe I did," Zeydaan assumed, "but I was out of my mind! I was too drunk to notice! Maybe you should take that as a sign that I had had too much for one day!" Zeydaan had struck a nerve; Clive shouted something unintelligible and lunged at the wolf, who leapt out of the way with canine athleticism, stumbling to a halt before throwing a retaliatory punch at an unaware Clive.
"Wow, you can fight?" Mags asked, watching a street brawl develop.
"I… guess?" Zeydaan shrugged. "Once again, something's got a hold of me, but if this guy wants a fight, I won't let go of it!" The two belligerents were cheered on, maybe provoked, by the other three humans, until Clive called for time out.
"Alright, you're tougher than you look. Guess it's hard to deal too much damage with all that bloomin' fur in the way!" Zeydaan panted, bruised but not beaten.
"Well, seeing as you're admitting defeat, I guess I win? That was kind of thrilling… actually…"
"You're more than welcome to go toe to toe with us some other time!" Mike piped up.
"Yeah, but… I feel like doing my own thing today. I've got to get a train home tomorrow, one o'clock sharp. I don't want to overindulge beforehand, if you know what I mean?"
"Aww, not even a swift lunchtime half?" offered Mags.
"I won the fight, I get my way!" snapped Zeydaan, still feeling the fire. "Now leave me be!" They stormed off back to the hotel in a huff, leaving the humans with mouths agape. It was a shame they couldn't stick around longer, but to them, the signs were promising.
Zeydaan was their own wolf. They didn't need any humans to tell them what to do. Although getting into a fight was thrilling… maybe they'd get a gym membership when they got back home and find a punching bag to take out their bad feelings on.
It was hardly a surprise to see the humans loitering outside the station as Zeydaan approached. They gave a shrug; may as well not ignore them.
"Guess I said too much," they said with a lukewarm chuckle. "Come to say your farewells?"
"Yeah, we're gonna miss yer, Grey," Mags said in her usual, slightly high pitched voice. "It's been nice having some different company."
"Yeh drink good, yeh fight good," Clive praised. "We'd love to have yer over again some time!"
"Say, you bringin' any souvenirs 'ome with yer'self?" Mike asked.
"No, I mean… what's distinctive about this place? What's truly memorable?" Zeydaan pondered.
"I'll tell yer what'll be memorable!" Bert said, rummaging through the pocket inside his jacket and pulling out a bundled-up black beanie hat, which he shook into shape. "There ya go! Summat to remember us by! Me especially, hah!" He tossed it to Zeydaan, who caught it in one paw, gave it a few observational turns, then pulled it over their head. "How does it feel?"
"Hmm… comfy," they said, wriggling the beanie to make sure it fitted perfectly, tugging it down so the black fabric obscured their ears to the point that it was if they weren't even there.
"There ya go! Twins!" Bert exclaimed, pleased as punch at the sight of Zeydaan in the beanie.
"Maybe, except for the fact that I'm, you know, a wolf", Zeydaan said with a shrug.
"So maybe y'are," Clive said. "But that's not gonna make us think any worse of ya; you've taught us somethin'!"
"Yeah, and yer welcome back 'ere any time!" added Mike.
"Well, that's kind, but I've got a normal life I have to get back to. But… I'll always have something to remember you by now!" Zeydaan said, pointing at the beanie before gathering their belongings and giving their final farewells before heading into the station.
That beanie didn't leave their head all day. It remained tightly on their head, compressing their ears under its ribbed knit, as they relaxed on their seat while the train sped them home, their tail getting squished and shortened by their lazy, laid-back stance.
Zeydaan sat alone in their apartment, spooning hot stew into their mouth, rueing the last few days. Ever since they had returned to work, everyone there just seemed to have become increasingly hostile to them. Shouting at them, admonishing them for constantly wearing that beanie indoors. What was wrong with that? It was only a hat, what harm could it do? And things just escalated from there; likely out of spite, their colleagues and superiors were acting more harsh towards them. But then again… were they really worth their time? What interests did they share? Was such estrangement worth salvaging?
Zeydaan swallowed another spoonful of stew. It just seemed so bland and flavourless, especially compared to that lucious chicken parmo. They thought back to that greasy meal; the molten bechamel, the tough, overcooked and oversalted chips, the oily salad…
They had to go back. Back to Teesside. Back to a place that felt more like home than where they sat. The longer they stayed in Oxford, the more they were feeling unwelcome here. They had only spent a few days in that hotel, but it certainly felt more like home than this place. Time to book another week off.
They had every right to do so, even despite the stern words and warnings of their bosses, and the demands of friends who called for them to call off their journey northwards. What did they know of their plight and estrangement anyway? All through their train trip up, the messages came, and all were ignored.
Back at the Stockton watering hole, and there they were, all four of them. It was the first time Zeydaan had seen all four of those humans in the pub where it all started, but it felt to them like they belonged here. Room enough for them. As Zeydaan entered, their heads turned and smiled, then a raucous cheer broke out; it was as if they were waiting for them. Zeydaan confidently strode up to the bar, ordered a pint of lager, took their drink, and approached the humans, seeing a free seat beside Bert.
"S'been a while, huh?", he said, as Zeydaan sat beside him. "Been keeping well?"
"Actually… it's been a drag, really," Zeydaan explained, moving on to tell of their ostracisation. There were gaps, utterances of "Yikes!" and the like, as they told their sorry tales.
"Well, that's too bad, but yer safe with us," Clive said with a little grunt.
"Eeee, better off with us than 'em," Mags chirped. "And look, you're in yer hat, you're deffo part of us!"
"Feels a bit lonely though, doesn't it?" Clive asked. "Just a hat an' nuthin' else."
"Just as well we got you a bit offa gift!" Mike exclaimed, reaching under the table and extracting a plastic shopping bag, emblazoned with the branding of some cheapish supermarket. "Take a look inside!" He handed it to Zeydaan and let them dig their shortened muzzle in.
Clothes. A lot of clothes, indeterminate in their current resting place, bundled and jumbled inside a bag, but still identifiable as fabric shaped into garments.
"Why don'tcha go round the back to the loo and get changed, Grey? We can't wait to see yer in those duds!" Mike offered. Zeydaan continued to stare into the bag; usually they'd be questioning whether they should be wearing a full set of clothes. It wasn't for any occasion that an anthro would wear clothes. And yet, the humans' presence and influence acted as a silent inhibitor, forcing Zeydaan to ask a different question.
"Sure the landlady doesn't mind a wolf like me using the bathroom?" Zeydaan joked with a chuckle, much more eager to unpack these clothes, discover the contents, and try them on. They gave one more set of thanks before departing for the men's.
Zeydaan found an empty cubicle, set the bag on the fully-lowered toilet seat, and locked the door behind them the best they could; the toilets were a little grimy and unkept, and the door refused to stay 100% secure, but Zeydaan hoped that the message of 'ENGAGED' would come across to any patrons making use of the toilets.
One by one, Zeydaan extracted each article from the bag, inspected it, and laid it atop the cistern. A mustard yellow t-shirt. Deep blue denim jeans. Socks and underpants. A black hoodie, and a pair of fingerless gloves. At the bottom of the bag, providing most of the weight, was a pair of leather boots, which Zeydaan set on top of the empty bag, flattening it against the seat. Certainly a courtesy to put it at the bottom so as not to ruin the rest of the wardrobe.
The wolf took a long glance at the clothes on the cistern. Right down to the underwear… they must really have wanted them to fit in. Rarely did their kind wear clothes, but they certainly had the common knowledge of the order of putting them on, dictated by layering. First the underpants, then the jeans… a task made easier by how short their tail had become over time. The only things that went un-donned by the time Zeydaan tugged the gloves over his paws to finish the task of getting dressed were those socks and boots. They appreciated the thought, but not the pain that would ensue trying to get plantigrade boots to fit around digitigrade paws.
"Heh, ain't you lookin' mint!" said Bert, as all eyes set themselves on the wolf leaving the bathroom. "Stylish little wolfo you are, Grey. 'cept… oo'd wear clothes with bare feet?"
"...a human? Look, I admire the gesture but I'm not gonna fit these paws of mine into-"
"Oh yes y'are!" Clive said, charging out of his seat to grapple Zeydaan and hold them to the table while the other humans swarmed out of their seats. Through a communal effortlessly they kept them in place while one of their number, or maybe two (too hard for Zeydaan to tell in their position) extracted the socks and boots, pulled down the zippers at the boots' sides, and jammed the remaining wear onto their footpaws, shoving the boots with such force as to crack their legs irreversibly into plantigrade stance. A shot of pain, not unlike stubbing ones' toe, shot up their legs. The zips went up, a symbolic sealing of Zeydaan's fate, for as the pain died down, they would find the socks and boots to be so much more comfortable than they expected.
"So, 'ow's that, Grey?" Clive asked, helping Zeydaan off the table.
"They're… they're not bad!" Zeydaan said frankly, their expectations shattered, sliding off the table as the humans behind them put their drinks back on it.
"Yeah, a little bravery works wonders. And speaking of, how about I getcha yer next drink?"
"Bottle of lager?" Zeydaan suggested without thinking.
Minutes and hours passed, and yet Zeydaan had no will to count them passing. Not when they were so ensconced in drinking. As soon as they had finished one bottle, their friends would just plant another in front of them. So much beer was flooding Zeydaan that they were pretty much drowning their identity, allowing it to be eroded, corrupted. The words of the humans around them and the conversations that ensued allowed them to write upon Zeydaan's soul; whatever had been written upon it previously, those words had been washed away by the torrent of cheap booze that cascaded over them. Even reality itself seemed to bend, and yet how could Zeydaan tell in such an inebriated state? They'd believe anything, and whatever was believed was to be truth set in stone.
"Y'know, if you keep buyin 'er beer, you're gonna clear me out!" the barman of the moment called after several drinks, his words already indicative of the direction reality was bending.
"S'alright, think I'll grab a couple more for the road then. Gonna take her out I think." Clive said, having come to add another bottle to the pile of empties piled up in front of Zeydaan. They were clearly in a state; their fur was patchy, regressing to reveal human skin, made more visible by the way the hem of their top had raised to reveal their midriff. Their whole body looked more feminine, as did their hair, dyeing blue as it lengthened.
"This ain't an off-license pal! On premises only!" shouted the barman, with a hint of a wink.
"S'alright, s'alright… add it to the tab, two bottles." Clive asked, knowing they wouldn't mind a bit if they broke the law, just this once.
In some nondescript side-street, flanked by terraced housing, Zeydaan sat, their buttocks on the pavement, back against the wall. With furrowed brow they looked at their phone, their free hand gripping a bottle of booze, both now devoid of fur and clearly human, contrasting against what little wolfiness remained.
"Whazzamatter, Grey?" Clive asked, the skinhead acknowledging the concern on Zeydaan's partially wolfy face. Being out in the fresh air had helped clear their mind, but the mind they had cleared was not Zeydaan's. In fact, the name 'Zeydaan' was a name unknown to the being that identified itself as 'Grey', and a name causing consternation.
"I dun' geddit," they said, in a voice that was more explicitly 'hers' than just 'theirs'. "These morons callin' me 'Zeydaan', like, whuzzat s'posed t'mean? Do I even know these people?"
"Ehh, don't mind 'em, Grey," Clive advised, silently noting that reality hadn't completely shifted, just as Grey hadn't fully formed. Perhaps a few more drinks should do it. "Tell y'what, let's go some place else. Sure there's plenny more bottles still out there, right?"
"Ri... right…" Grey mumbled, uninhibited by any misgivings one might have about excessive alcohol consumption, taking Clive's hand as he led them… her… upwards. With him in front and her following behind obediently, Clive took his phone out to send a message to his friends, letting them know he was taking Grey out for a 'one-to-one', as Grey cast hers aside, tossing it over her shoulder, letting it smash to pieces as it hit the tarmac. Reinsford. Luna. All these weird names… to Grey they were the names of strangers, incomprehensible, off-putting, inciting her to dispose of them.
In some other pub, in some other part of town, they sat, face to face, on opposite sides of a small square table, its compact size most suitable for the most compact of vessels: the bottle. Clive's apparent benevolence plunged Grey back into a state of inebriation and suggestibility, from where he could sow the final seeds that would fix to reality to match his intentions, and shed the final canine traces from she who sat opposite him.
"S'your birthday…" Clive whispered, a little slurred, a little drunk. Grey would get used to drinking the levels of beer Clive did, very soon hopefully; at least her muzzle was gone completely, reformed into a mouth more suited for drinking straight from the bottle. What Clive was saying wasn't completely true… but in this state, Grey would buy everything said, and what was said became gospel truth, set in stone.
"Know all about ya…" At the same time, Grey was paying attention yet not realising anything, as Clive wove reality through words. Where she lived, where she worked. Words peppered with reaffirmations of humanity. To reject those furry folk.
"Jus' shrug it off… jus' shrug it off…" Grey moaned a little, bothered by something… but what? No… shrug it off… just like her friend said. The last part of her that was distinctively Zeydaan was removed, as her black hair started shifting in colour, to a shade of brown that matched the beer she swigged, losing the red dye that made the tips stand out. Not that those tips would last, as her hair was reduced to a scant, short cut, barely anything showing outside her beanie. Patch by patch, a deep ultramarine blue dye would coat across what little hair Grey preferred to have, looking even more artificial than Zeydaan's preferred hair fashions.
"Yeah, I think you've had enough for one night, Grey. Come on… let's take ya home."
Grey awoke, stirred by the sun's light penetrating the gaps in her curtains. Her flat was pretty low down, but so were all the flats in the block, only two stories high, a flat only by the nature of its roof. Flat. The block was more squat than high. If one were to look at it, one would call it 'grim'. But Grey liked it all the same.
Her jaw was aching. Another hangover… Meh, it'll pass. Just had to shake it out. Take it out. Take it out on something or someone. Her actions were harsh and deliberate, shoving the tap on as she took off the clothes she fell asleep in… not pyjamas certainly…
The flat was made to take a beating. It certainly looked damage. Grey shouted herself hoarse as she went through the motions. The motions of the morning of the working day. Shower. Toothpaste. Cheap, affordable, own-brand breakfast. The garage round the back.
She climbed into her beaten up jalopy, turned the ignition key, and wheeled her way along the working day. The daily grind. Five days a week. She knew the roads she drove like the back of her hand; it wasn't as if a bit of remnant drink could do much damage to such a familiar regime. Onwards to the cannery… another working day, another few hours of hourly wage. It was all someone of her standing could get, but for her, enough to manage on. Out of the city, and into the industrial hinterland. Same as it ever was for Grey. Same as ever...
Grey Ryder belongs to Dommerik
Zeydaan was a wolf with time on their paws. An opportune time for a break had landed right in their lap, and they were more than happy to take time away from their job, if only for just a few days.
Not content with just being cooped up in their house all the time, Zeydaan decided it was time to go some place. Certainly not someplace in the world; they didn't have the disposable income for that much frivolity. But someplace in the country, yes. And the best way to decide that, in their mind, was to pull out an atlas of the UK, flick through the pages, stop randomly and poke blindly. And so it was that Zeydaan's finger landed upon the Tees Valley. Very much an industrial part of the UK to his knowledge, but surely such industry would beget heritage… and perhaps heritage of other varieties too? Definitely worth research in that respect, and respect of lodgings too.
Thus, Zeydaan booked their place in a hotel in Stockton, a room amongst the upper floors with a view that overlooked the River Tees, the dividing line separating Stockton from Middlesbrough, County Durham from North Yorkshire. For a few days in their life somewhere new to explore, all without taking off to the skies, just a rail journey north to a home away from home.
Zeydaan had taken their time in research all there was to see and do in the region. A weekly bus ticket offered them freedom of movement within the area, with a boundary stretching from Darlington to the west towards a wide swathe of England's east coastline. Having checked into their hotel room in the mid-afternoon, Zeydaan would have to keep it super-local for their first day, but luckily the town had just what they needed after hours spent seated on various trains heading northwards; an indoor waterpark. Refreshing water, a nice time paddling, a little exhilaration on the slides to reawaken them.
After that, the wolf spent some time on Stockton's shopping streets, eyeing up the town's retail offerings as the evening approached. Not enough time for shopping now, certainly. But they had already come to the conclusion beforehand that they would have to extend their net wider if they wanted to get the most out of the region.
To conclude the day, Zeydaan took their seat in a small eatery that stood under the hotel's imposing shadow. Looking up at the hotel, Zeydaan noted its incongruity; such a recent development, having only been constructed over the last couple of years, towering over rows of older buildings. Perhaps a chance for a town perceived as grimy to clean up its act. But such thoughts reminded Zeydaan of their own incongruity; up north, there were so many humans and so few anthros compared to his hometown, where things were mostly even. Was Britain's anthro population really so localised to the south? Did that even make sense, given how cold things get the further north you go? They'd spent so much time researching tourism in the area, and now they had another thing to check.
It was a fine meal; a hearty stew, a perfect meal of meatiness for a wolf like Zeydaan. But sitting there at a table for one… the loneliness hit them. The next time they'd spend a week elsewhere, they'd have to invite a friend to come with them. And the next time they'd spend an evening out on the town here in Stockton, they'd have to find some local company, even if it meant hanging with humans.
Day two took Zeydaan west to Darlington, a town of railway heritage a fair distance away from the rest of the Teesside conurbation. Although they'd made their journey from Stockton by bus, it was those two towns that found themselves connected by a world-first railway almost 200 years ago, which ran from collieries up in the hills down to those towns, plying them with freighted coal. The trains that plied the line today were much more modern than the steam engines that hauled their goods all those years back, but it was the line itself that was historic, running up from Darlington to Shildon and Bishop Auckland. And museums and exhibitions along the line preserved the heritage of a bygone era, letting Zeydaan see just what iron beasts ran upon the rails all those years ago, hauling a cargo that was no longer in demand, the world having moved on from such a polluting source of energy. All in all, a very worthwhile jaunt, but Zeydaan would have to return east eventually.
As the bus sped non-stop down the trunk road (as fast as a bus could speed), Zeydaan thought back to the promise they made to themselves. To not be a loner and socialise with the locals. What harm could it do? It wasn't as if the whole town was going to show prejudice to a furred outsider; they'd seen a few anthros during his brief time up north, but there was no way of telling if they were local or tourists. What mattered was they weren't being bullied for their pelts.
Zeydaan stepped off the bus as it came to a halt at the south end of Stockton's main thoroughfare, and looked in front of them. A pub! A tavern that trumpeted their cheap pints of beer and range of spirits. What a nice coincidence; this would be the perfect place to experience the Stockton social life, and Zeydaan reckoned they'd made it just in time for happy hour, judging from the slightly darkening sky. Hopefully that meant the non-alcoholic offerings would be discounted too; Zeydaan wasn't a drinker, in the alcoholic sense of the word 'drink'. The wolf steeled themselves, and stepped inside.
Loud music blared from the jukebox standing against one of the walls of the pokey pub, as its human clientele quaffed booze and made merriment. Zeydaan tried not to stand out, as hard as that was being the only one covered head to toe in fur, rather than having clothes keeping them warm and modest. Keeping their profile low for now, they walked up to the bar and gave it a quiet tap to get the attention of the woman behind it.
"Oh!" she said, putting down the glass she was towelling dry. "One of… yous! Don't get many of yer kind 'ere." Zeydaan stepped back; was there a hint of prejudice in the landlady's voice?
"I… I'm just visiting," Zeydaan said, drawing out the first syllable. "You… got any soda?"
"Soda? Sure, sure, if that's 'ow yer wannit." Zeydaan watched, having suspicions that the landlady herself was suspicious; they kept their eyes peeled, looking around the pub. Nothing had kicked off yet; they'd rather approach the patrons than have the drinkers gang up on them.
"'Ere y'are," the landlady said, placing a pint glass on the bar with some force, sloshing a little of the deep red beverage out of the vessel's bounds, the floating ice cubes clinking. "One blackcurrant an' soda, that'll be two quid, boyo." Zeydaan took off and unzipped their backpack and pulled out their wallet from a secure pocket deep within it, and placed a two pound coin on the table.
"Was wonderin' how yous got by without pockets," the landlady replied, taking Zeydaan's payment as they took their drink off the sodden bar towel and walked towards a small group of drinkers, consuming much stronger beverages than theirs. Zeydaan willed themselves to keep calm, act naturally, and try not to make a big deal about the difference in their species.
"H-hello…" Zeydaan stammered, still a little nervous about the ordeal they had consigned themselves to.
"Ey up, oo'se this fuzzy bugger?" grunted a gruff voiced man with a pint of strong lager in his meaty hand. Decidedly an overly large glass for such a strong beverage, Zeydaan reckoned silently.
"Ye'er, 'ees a wolfo, ya dolt!" said another patron, this one with a shot glass, a couple more at the table, still undowned.
"I know 'e is! I mean, yer lot aren't really seen 'round these parts."
"Yeah, I'm just visiting," Zeydaan said, stating the obvious. "Just felt a little lonely being a lone tourist, thought it wouldn't do harm to hang with the locals."
"Y'certainly look it, standin' there with yer soda like a soft southerner." Zeydaan kept their composure in the face of rebuke.
"Ye'er! If ya really want to be friends with us, ya gotta prove yer worth it! Put down the weak stuff and join us for a round!" The merry drinker picked up one of his shot glasses and offered it to Zeydaan. "This stuff'll put hair on yer chest… I mean, s'already pretty hairy…"
"And… what exactly is this stuff?" Zeydaan asked, taking the glass and sniffing it, reeling a little as the strong scent of alcohol hit their sensitive nose.
"Y'don't recognise a shot o' whisky when yer see one? Maybe you'd be better off with a beer. Everyone knows beer, right? Right? Oi!" the gruff drinker grunted, signalling to the landlady. "Add another pint o' the usual to our tab, would ya?" The landlady was happy to comply, pouring a pint of ale, a head frothing atop it as the liquid poured into the glass. The grunty man staggered to the bar, only slightly drunk, picked up the glass and thrust it into Zeydaan's paws, covering them with foam as it splashed out of the glass.
"So… bottoms up, I guess?" Zeydaan murmured, taken aback by being thrust so swiftly into this situation. "First time for everything…" They raised the glass to their muzzle and took a drink…
Bitter! So bitter an ale! Well, it was on the name printed on the handpull, but Zeydaan had no idea how bitter it would be. Their taste buds overwhelmed, Zeydaan rejected the beer in an incredibly uncouth manner, spitting it out all over the man who had handed him it, soddening his clothes. As the liquid hit him, his expression slowly shifted to one of fury, eyebrows rising, face reddening.
"What… what d'ya think yer doin'?" Zeydaan backed up as the bulky man approached them, sweating with fear. "I paid good money for that shirt! An' that drink! I'm gonna deck ya, I am! I'll do ya in, I will!" Words as strong as the beer they held, until their back hit the side of the bar, a sudden shock that caused them to loosen their grip on the glass, letting it fall to the floor. The sound of shattering glass drew a cheer, as it always seems to do in pubs, and caused heads to turn towards Zeydaan and the humans that were looming over them. The wolf who had entered trying to keep a low profile had found themselves the centre of attention for all the wrong reasons.
"Alright, that's it!" Zeydaan felt meaty hands tightly grip his shoulders and toss him to the floorboards. The wolf weakly picked themselves up, their body aching, as the man came up again and threw a few punches at them, swearing loudly and incoherently as the eyes of the pub watched the bar fight play out, cheering on the humans and laughing at the wolf's misfortune. Were prejudices laid bare, or were the people here just always biased against the underdog?
"Okay, you lot, break it up, break it up!" The landlady left her post behind the bar, heading towards the ruckus; her oncoming presence sent the menacing man back to his friend's seat, while Zeydaan crawled as fast as they could out of the pub before the landlady had the chance to bar them or reprimand them any further.
Zeydaan panted, clambering back up onto two legs, using the brick wall of the pub as a support to climb up on and raise themselves to their natural stance. Bruised and aching, humiliated, and afflicted with a terrible mood, Zeydaan rued ever entering that place. Their stomach rumbled, and the dry bitterness of what little beer they drank left them with an ironic thirst. They gingerly walked up the road, putting distance between themselves and the pub, turning the first corner they came upon. They clung to the walls of the business to steady them; charity stops, taxi hires, solicitors...
Zeydaan lurched forward, his paws clinging to the side of a litter bin, and turned their head left. On the frontage of the unit facing them, below the windows, were images of burgers stuffed with thick layers of fillings, trays of kebab meat and chips, a massive rectangular pizza laden with mozzarella and pepperoni, and all sorts of other takeaway food that Zeydaan had no idea about. Sustenance of all forms. They looked up to the sign declaring the establishment's name; the 'Stockton Parmo House.' A… parmo? A what? There was only one way of answering that question, and that was to head inside.
Inside, people sat on diner-style chairs, their food on the countertop running along the side of the wall dripping with unhealthiness. Behind the retail counter and the woman manning it was the kitchen, where Zeydaan could see kebabs spinning on their skewers, logs of meat which had been carved into for serving up to the masses. Zeydaan let their paws rest on the counter and looked up to the lady… human, of course.
"Hello, and what can I get you?" she asked. Already Zeydaan felt a little better; this one wasn't taking umbrage at their species.
"Well, I was wondering… what exactly is a parmo?" Zeydaan said, looking up to the menu suspended above, printed perspex panels backed by fluorescent lights.
"Heh, not from around here, huh?" chuckled the woman behind the counter.
"How could you tell? All the bruises on my face… or the fact that I'm a walking, talking, wolf?"
"That yer dunno what a parmo is! Mustn't have them down your end, I take it?"
"Oxford," Zeydaan explained, happy to at least have a second chance at human interaction. "It's not something I've noticed all my time living there."
"Those students dunno what they're missin'!" The counter lady said, happy to sell Zeydaan on her provenance. "Parmo's pretty much our local delicacy! Chicken Parmesan! See, we take a chicken breast, get it all nice an' flat, bread it an' fry it, then top it with oozing bechamel and cheese," she told Zeydaan, drawing out that 'oo' to make it sound as appetising as possible. "You can even put toppings on top of that topping. Just think of it as a pizza but with chicken instead! You wolves like chicken, right?"
"Heh, you could say that," the carnivore said sheepishly. "Sure, I'll dip my toes into the water," they said, looking up at the menu, observing what was included in the price. "Think I'll start with the classic, plain'n cheesy, with the chips and salad. Oh, and a can of cola on the side." Into their backpack they dug, getting out their wallet as the counter staff let them know the price. An exchange of money and an information of how long to wait, then to the kitchen she went to pass across their order and fetch the desired drink. Zeydaan took it and took an empty seat next to a diner who was enjoying a veritable slab of pizza, its thick crust loaded with cheese and chopped chunks of spicy chicken. Such a square shape would mean no wasted space if such a pizza were boxed up and delivered.
Zeydaan sat, sipping their drink, watching the world go by. People popped in to pick up their orders, be they those bringing food to their own home, or those thrall to the gig economy transporting takeaway fare to someone else's. But mostly the wait was contemplative, with relief that not every human in this town held biases against their kind. There was every chance that Zeydaan would be left hungry and thirsty, walking to the high street back to that restaurant from the first night… the humans serving them were nice there too. Zeydaan shrugged; they guessed that some humans were just better than others, and that they really ought not to hang about with the wrong crowd.
"'Ere y'go!" said the lady happily, placing a cardboard pizza box and a tray filled with salad in front of Zeydaan. The wolf licked their lips and gave their thanks, then opened the box to reveal the delights within; a chicken parmo, their first, just as advertised, just as seen enjoyed by the clientele. Nestled up next to it were enough chips to fill the rest of the box. Zeydaan opened the tray, revealing a mass of shredded lettuce leaves topped with slices of cucumber and tomato, took out a knife and fork from the caddy beside them, and tucked in.
The food definitely wasn't to the quality of their previous dinner. The chips were hard, dry and salty, scratching against the roof of Zeydaan's mouth; they needed a squirt of sauce to alleviate their problems, and Zeydaan had to order another drink to offset the salt. As for the salad, it tasted rather odd, as if the lettuce leaves had been tossed in oil rather than a more palatable dressing. But there was no way they could fault the parmo itself. The meat was still tender despite being shaped into flatness, the breading was crispy, the cheese and bechamel gooey… This was what they had come here for, and they grew to love it. Another fragment of relief; this day had a happy ending.
Ascending alone in the lift to their hotel room, Zeydaan thought to themselves. If they wanted company during this time by themselves, and wanted company they can trust, surely the answer was just to sit down, get out their phone, and call a friend? Humans were so unreliable and unpredictable; an anthro friend was a known quantity.
Sitting down on their comfy bed, Zeydaan pulled their phone out and scrolled through their list of contacts. So many friends back home; which one to call?
Reinsford.
Reinsford was a goat, working as a junior doctor. Surely he'd be the one to lend an ear and acknowledge Zeydaan's problems, assuming they weren't busy. That was the problem with doctors; they had to be on call at all times. But, it was best to hope for the best, and make the call. They'd know if he couldn't answer… luckily, he did.
"Hey there Zey," said the friendly voice of the goat on the other side. "How's the holiday?"
"It's… had its ups and downs," Zeydaan said frankly. "Although I'd rather talk about the downs than the ups. You free for a chat?"
"Currently," explained Reinsford, "but I'm sure you know that I might have to go at any moment."
"Hopefully I can keep it brief, then," Zeydaan said, and he began to tell his tale that led him into trouble with the humans at the pub. Reinsford, usually a friendly voice, sounded dismayed with his friend.
"Oh, Zey, Zey…" he sighed. "You said you wanted to be social with those humans, and yet you walked out harbouring a prejudice against them equivalent to that which you felt against you. You're just as bad as them!"
"I wasn't trying to be!" Zeydaan protested. "They set me up! They were the ones who made me take that drink!"
"You need to redeem yourself, Zeydaan, you can't leave with such a low standing. I want you to make another attempt. You wanted to do this, didn't you?"
"I guess-"
"Yes! So do it! Surely you can find something redeeming! I've worked with humans, and let me tell you I hardly got one who protested they were being cared for by a goat!"
"I… I'll do it. For you, Reinsford."
"Not for me, Zey… for them, and for you."
The next two days were spent visiting attractions on the east coast, north and south of the mouth of the Tees. Zeydaan's jaunts were punctuated by another evening meal back at the restaurant they had called in at a couple of days back; they took a small table in the corner, away from that which was loud and busy, and relished the time alone, disturbed only by the waiter who took their order and set it at their table. Time alone, yet still… they'd made a promise, and tomorrow they'd uphold it. Zeydaan planned their moves carefully as he awaited their meal, which, although tender, made them feel a little melancholy. Yes, it was a flavourful stew, but it didn't seem to compare to the oozing, creamy, cheesy bechamel that covered the breaded surface of the parmo. Zeydaan knew where they were going tomorrow evening… after their trip to the pub.
Back again, facing the pub entrance. Fingers crossed that Zeydaan wouldn't face the same fate twice. Back in they went, through the corridor to the internals, vibrant with activity. As before, they kept a low profile, taking glances as they kept close to the wall. Luckily those two blokes who had dared them to drink were here again, and even more luckily the landlady from last time was nowhere to be seen, a different barman in her stead. Zeydaan breathed a sigh of relief, had she been there she'd have noticed them and likely would have turfed them out. Zeydaan steeled themselves and approached the bar.
"Hey, er… do you have anything on the mild side?" Zeydaan's eyes scanned the pumps, looking for the ale with the lowest alcohol levels. 3.5%... that was relatively weak, right? They'd seen stronger, much stronger: they cast their mind to the litter seen strewn around Oxford; empty bottles of cheap, strong, irresponsibly priced cider and half-litre cans of super lager. The detritus a byproduct of rowdy student revelry. Zeydaan would have expected better from Oxbridge students but they couldn't tell them what to do. The barman saw their eyes settle on the mild, and nodded. "Yeah, pint of that, thanks," Zeydaan requested, noting the barman's quietness. Was he hiding feelings of resentment? No, don't go there, thought Zeydaan, you're not here to make any more enemies. Best just pay the cost, take the drink, and return to those drinkers who had caused them so much trouble two days ago, and not dwell on the past.
"Hey…" Zeydaan said gently as they approached the much more frequent drinkers, choosing to interrupt them while they weren't busy imbibing.
"Heh, look 'oose back," grunted the thick set man who had given him such a beating last time. "Come for another losin' battle, eh?"
"I think you'll find I'm on your side this time," Zeydaan replied, producing their beer.
"If y'think ye'll impress us by just standin' there with a pint, yer sorely mistaken!" said the drinker of spirits, as his friend rose to approach Zeydaan.
"No, look!" Zeydaan said desperately, raising the glass to their muzzle and taking a sip. A slow, deliberate sip, one that wouldn't overwhelm their tastebuds. Even a mild beer was still strong on account of some level of alcohol, but 'gently does it'… did it. The taste wasn't that bad when they limited their intake. Everything in moderation as one might say.
"Yeah right, I know you just got a mild like the typical southerner like yous are."
"And yet I can still handle it!" Zeydaan said, taking a more vigorous sip, trying to swallow it quickly and stomach the taste. "See?"
"...alright, alright, looks like ya win this time…" sighed the man in front of them. "Whad'ya want?"
"I want… the same thing I came here for last time. To be social." Zeydaan put out a paw, but the man didn't budge. "Can definitely say I failed last time, didn't even get your names."
"Clive. An' 'e's Mike," said the front man, evidently Clive, gesturing to the man behind him.
"Zeydaan," said the wolf, his paw still outstretched, waiting for handshake that never came.
"Zey-wha'?" said Clive, confused. "Yous furry folk an' your weird names. How 'bout we just call ya Grey? Coz that's what y'are! A scuzzy grey wolfo!"
"Yeah!" shouted Mike. "Can't forget that! Come on then, Grey, 'ave a seat!" He patted the cushioned seating affixed to the wall, their cosy corner that Zeydaan was about to become a part of, as they and Clive made themselves comfortable.
"Well you two have certainly had a change of heart. Guess I was wrong to doubt you," Zeydaan said.
"An' the very same t'you, Grey," Clive said. Zeydaan looked down at their glass; the wonders a pint of beer could do. Minds instantly changed. "So yer a tourist, then? Where you been moochin'?"
"Well, Darlington, Hartlepool, the Saltburn seafront…"
"Yer wha? You haven't been down town yet?" Clive asked, to Zeydaan's confusion.
"I've been to plenty of towns here…"
"Middlesborough! Like, the big town in the middle of it all! Yer can't miss it, an' yet… you 'ave!"
"But what's there to see? It's… just a town, right? Most of the stuff I've been seeing is more out of town, or small town…"
"Look, tomorrow, you're gonna meet us an' our friends, and we're gonna show you the real Teesside!" Zeydaan nodded, taking a longer sip; the more time they'd be spending with these humans, the better, as far as they were aware. Already things had patched up, and they were moving beyond that.
"Sounds good, how about you meet me outside the hotel after breakfast? It's that big one near the river. Just like Middlesborough, you can't miss it," Zeydaan chuckled, knowing that these locals knew what they were talking about.
Over the course of two pints of mild, Zeydaan and the humans got to know each other better. What they did, what life was like in their necks of the woods. And it was no surprise to Zeydaan that when they recommended the Parmo House round the corner, Clive and Mike's faces lit up with delight.
"We're no strangers to that place, aren't we Clive?" Mike said. "Proper mint, that."
"Hmm… how about a meal on me, then?" Zeydaan offered, not really caring that they may have been moving too fast in this developing relationship.
"Champion!" Clive exclaimed, as Zeydaan quickly downed the remnants of their beer and checked their belongings. They got out of the way, allowing their new acquaintances to follow after them, out of the pub and onto the street. Again they were staggering, but it was not through injury, but through an indescribable giddiness. Was it drunkenness, or something else at play? Not something they put too much thought into, not when another delicious parmo lay ahead of them. As scary as all of this was to some part of Zeydaan's mind, to another it was a rush the likes of which they had never felt.
Breakfasted and prepared, Zeydaan checked his phone. 9:30. They should be waiting for them. Lo, there they were, loitering outside the entrance awaiting their new friend; not just Clive and Mike but two more besides.
"I see you've brought company," Zeydaan observed. "Hopefully they're not gonna be… you know…"
"Nah, we made sure," Clive explained. "Grey, 'ere's Mags, an' this is Bert." He gestured to the two unfamiliar faces; Mags was a woman who looked to be reaching her high fifties yet her face showed she still knew how to have fun despite her age. Bert was younger, wearing a striped beanie over his shaved head, keeping it insulated, doing the job any other person's hair would do. But hairless, that just seemed to be how Bert rolled.
"Coo, a fuzzy little one, aren't you?" Mags called. "So, ready to discover our idea of a good time?"
"We'll lead the way, just an hour or so's walk along the Tees," Bert offered. "Come on, s'good exercise! How else d'yer think we keep all lean an' trim despite all that parmo?"
"I cannot say no to good exercise, especially in the company of you," Zeydaan said. They made sure that everything they needed was safe and secure in their backpack, before giving the command for the humans to head off.
Under grey skies they progressed, heading eastwards, switching sides as they crossed the river at the Tees Barrage Bridge. Zeydaan felt a little revolted to see them surreptitiously spit in the river, crowded around each other so that three could disguise the fourth performing their foul act. Under two more bridges their path took them, passing underneath roaring traffic traversing concrete and metal, before they forked right to mirror the curves of road and railway that formed an arc around the town, finally turning right to head south under the wide trunk road, crossing a plaza covered by the dual carriageway. Concrete gussied up.
Zeydaan followed as they led, leading them down a grim backstreet intended more for service traffic than pedestrians, as was evident from the lack of pavement and the vehicles parked up at the sides, leaving the five to walk down the middle, thankful that no traffic intruded on them.
"An' 'ere we are!" shouted Clive, as best as he could shout, as the group came to a stop outside a gated off fire exit, the staircase caged away, the rusted metal lattice topped with barbed wire. He unpocketed a hairpin and pushed it into the keyhole of the lock that kept the fire exit inaccessible to the public.
"Are you… sure we're allowed to do this?" questioned a concerned Zeydaan as the door swung open and the humans ascended the stairs.
"Nah, nobody here cares or notices," Bert said. "All hunched at their desks, like, lookin' at their screens an' not the folk standing on top of the roof. They're all too focused on their work to notice us, anyway. That, and looking forward to the weekend!" It hit Zeydaan that it was Friday; time away from work had really made them lose track of the days, freed from the schedule that those in the block still had to adhere to.
"Are you… skiving off work?"
"No skin off our back! They're too dumb to know we don't have the lurgy!" Mags exclaimed quietly, as Zeydaan and the gang emerged, striding out to the rooftop. Yes, certainly in view of the office block towering a few stories over them, but if the humans inside really were that ignorant...
"This doesn't feel very safe," Zeydaan said with a shiver, exposed to the elements, wary of the wind that threatened to blow them off if it picked up. It wasn't that far up, but there was plenty of barbed wire around. As they cuddled themselves, Clive unzipped into Bert's backpack and pulled out a wooden baseball bat. Zeydaan watched as they huddled, as Clive walked up to some empty glass bottles that were placed on the roof, and started smashing them to pieces with a hammer.
"This is your idea of fun?" Zeydaan asked loudly over the sound of breaking glass. Whose bottles were they? Did other lowlives of the Tees Valley frequent this rooftop, getting their kicks and their drinks in here at this unsafe place? They just stood there, watching these humans hand the bat to each other, taking their turns to smash the bottles. Zeydaan winced; what if shards flew off the edge of the roof? Did these people have hearts?
"Your turn," grunted Clive, throwing the bat at Zeydaan, who caught it more out of wanting to save themselves from injury than wanting to join in. But their impatience was palpable as they stared at them.
"OK, OK…" Zeydaan mumbled, approaching the bottles, their head swiftly turning left and right, looking down at the back alleys to make sure they were empty of life, then back to the bottles. A few still unbroken… "Here goes nothing," they thought, as they brought the bat down…
The sound of shattering glass echoed in their sensitive lupine ears. Reverberations. Good reverberations. A sound that agreed with them. They struck the bottles, becoming shards, then fragments; the humans supplied more, placing them in front of Zeydaan as they egged them on. They lost track of time; the bottles just seemed to come from nowhere. Zeydaan was left panting as they lazily, yet heavily, slugged the bat down upon the pile of green fragments again and again, their pace slowing but their force still there.
"Well, looks like someone's well knackered!" exclaimed Mags as Zeydaan flagged. "Betcha worked up an appetite there; how 'bout some scran?"
"Yeah!" added Clive. "And since you we're so kind as to buy us dinner last time, 'ow 'bout we return the favour?"
"Yeah… yeah… thanks…" Zeydaan panted, dropping the bat, free from the pressures of the humans, free from the repeated motions of swinging down and breaking bottles.
Everything was on them, as they took Zeydaan to some out of the way bolthole, its clientele more traditional than hip. Not just the ploughman's lunch, but all the beer that came with it. Half a pint of something mild at first, but every glass was stronger than the last, and it was all at no cost to the wolf. It turned into something of a drinking contest… then it turned into a blur. Too much drink for one wolf to handle but something was stopping them from stopping. Too drunk to say no? They just couldn't tell what was going on in their inebriated state; too sozzled to notice their muzzle gradually reducing, retracting ever so slowly, as if the beer was an acid that slowly attacked that which sank into it. They were escorted home by the humans, vision blurred as their hands guided them as they walked, shaping their gait. In fact, by the time Zeydaan's consciousness returned and their stupor faded, they found themselves back in the comfort of their hotel room, lying on their bed.
Zeydaan groaned; hangovers were for mornings, not for the late afternoon. What had they done? Had they really let go of themselves that much? They just lay there, staring at the ceiling… surely there was something better to do than stewing once more? Zeydaan reached to their backpack, to their phone… then gave up. Nah… what good would calling one of their friends back at home do? They'd probably never been in Zeydaan's position. They wouldn't know. Or maybe they'd just look down on them. Whatever; Zeydaan didn't have time for them. Zeydaan just rested, letting their body process and work out all that alcohol, their time in their room punctuated only by a slow stroll down the street to that takeaway, where a pizza was purchased, and consumed on the way back. Zeydaan sat down and ate, watching the Friday night nightlife that they had no desire to be part of. Too much excitement for one day…
If Zeydaan was going into Saturday with no plans in mind, then the plans would come to them. As they stepped out of the hotel, their mind set on a mindless stroll, they found those four humans waiting for them, scowling at the wolf.
"Wha'choo think yer doin', doin' a runner on us?" Mags said. Zeydaan put their hands up, stammering and sputtering in panic, too stunned to declare their innocence or confusion.
"You promised us you'd come down the pub last night!" Bert declared.
"Yeah, stood us up, you did!" Mike complained.
"I promised you nothing!" Zeydaan retaliated.
"Sure yer did, Grey! We asked, you nodded, an' a nod's as good as a wink," Clive proclaimed.
"OK, maybe I did," Zeydaan assumed, "but I was out of my mind! I was too drunk to notice! Maybe you should take that as a sign that I had had too much for one day!" Zeydaan had struck a nerve; Clive shouted something unintelligible and lunged at the wolf, who leapt out of the way with canine athleticism, stumbling to a halt before throwing a retaliatory punch at an unaware Clive.
"Wow, you can fight?" Mags asked, watching a street brawl develop.
"I… guess?" Zeydaan shrugged. "Once again, something's got a hold of me, but if this guy wants a fight, I won't let go of it!" The two belligerents were cheered on, maybe provoked, by the other three humans, until Clive called for time out.
"Alright, you're tougher than you look. Guess it's hard to deal too much damage with all that bloomin' fur in the way!" Zeydaan panted, bruised but not beaten.
"Well, seeing as you're admitting defeat, I guess I win? That was kind of thrilling… actually…"
"You're more than welcome to go toe to toe with us some other time!" Mike piped up.
"Yeah, but… I feel like doing my own thing today. I've got to get a train home tomorrow, one o'clock sharp. I don't want to overindulge beforehand, if you know what I mean?"
"Aww, not even a swift lunchtime half?" offered Mags.
"I won the fight, I get my way!" snapped Zeydaan, still feeling the fire. "Now leave me be!" They stormed off back to the hotel in a huff, leaving the humans with mouths agape. It was a shame they couldn't stick around longer, but to them, the signs were promising.
Zeydaan was their own wolf. They didn't need any humans to tell them what to do. Although getting into a fight was thrilling… maybe they'd get a gym membership when they got back home and find a punching bag to take out their bad feelings on.
It was hardly a surprise to see the humans loitering outside the station as Zeydaan approached. They gave a shrug; may as well not ignore them.
"Guess I said too much," they said with a lukewarm chuckle. "Come to say your farewells?"
"Yeah, we're gonna miss yer, Grey," Mags said in her usual, slightly high pitched voice. "It's been nice having some different company."
"Yeh drink good, yeh fight good," Clive praised. "We'd love to have yer over again some time!"
"Say, you bringin' any souvenirs 'ome with yer'self?" Mike asked.
"No, I mean… what's distinctive about this place? What's truly memorable?" Zeydaan pondered.
"I'll tell yer what'll be memorable!" Bert said, rummaging through the pocket inside his jacket and pulling out a bundled-up black beanie hat, which he shook into shape. "There ya go! Summat to remember us by! Me especially, hah!" He tossed it to Zeydaan, who caught it in one paw, gave it a few observational turns, then pulled it over their head. "How does it feel?"
"Hmm… comfy," they said, wriggling the beanie to make sure it fitted perfectly, tugging it down so the black fabric obscured their ears to the point that it was if they weren't even there.
"There ya go! Twins!" Bert exclaimed, pleased as punch at the sight of Zeydaan in the beanie.
"Maybe, except for the fact that I'm, you know, a wolf", Zeydaan said with a shrug.
"So maybe y'are," Clive said. "But that's not gonna make us think any worse of ya; you've taught us somethin'!"
"Yeah, and yer welcome back 'ere any time!" added Mike.
"Well, that's kind, but I've got a normal life I have to get back to. But… I'll always have something to remember you by now!" Zeydaan said, pointing at the beanie before gathering their belongings and giving their final farewells before heading into the station.
That beanie didn't leave their head all day. It remained tightly on their head, compressing their ears under its ribbed knit, as they relaxed on their seat while the train sped them home, their tail getting squished and shortened by their lazy, laid-back stance.
Zeydaan sat alone in their apartment, spooning hot stew into their mouth, rueing the last few days. Ever since they had returned to work, everyone there just seemed to have become increasingly hostile to them. Shouting at them, admonishing them for constantly wearing that beanie indoors. What was wrong with that? It was only a hat, what harm could it do? And things just escalated from there; likely out of spite, their colleagues and superiors were acting more harsh towards them. But then again… were they really worth their time? What interests did they share? Was such estrangement worth salvaging?
Zeydaan swallowed another spoonful of stew. It just seemed so bland and flavourless, especially compared to that lucious chicken parmo. They thought back to that greasy meal; the molten bechamel, the tough, overcooked and oversalted chips, the oily salad…
They had to go back. Back to Teesside. Back to a place that felt more like home than where they sat. The longer they stayed in Oxford, the more they were feeling unwelcome here. They had only spent a few days in that hotel, but it certainly felt more like home than this place. Time to book another week off.
They had every right to do so, even despite the stern words and warnings of their bosses, and the demands of friends who called for them to call off their journey northwards. What did they know of their plight and estrangement anyway? All through their train trip up, the messages came, and all were ignored.
Back at the Stockton watering hole, and there they were, all four of them. It was the first time Zeydaan had seen all four of those humans in the pub where it all started, but it felt to them like they belonged here. Room enough for them. As Zeydaan entered, their heads turned and smiled, then a raucous cheer broke out; it was as if they were waiting for them. Zeydaan confidently strode up to the bar, ordered a pint of lager, took their drink, and approached the humans, seeing a free seat beside Bert.
"S'been a while, huh?", he said, as Zeydaan sat beside him. "Been keeping well?"
"Actually… it's been a drag, really," Zeydaan explained, moving on to tell of their ostracisation. There were gaps, utterances of "Yikes!" and the like, as they told their sorry tales.
"Well, that's too bad, but yer safe with us," Clive said with a little grunt.
"Eeee, better off with us than 'em," Mags chirped. "And look, you're in yer hat, you're deffo part of us!"
"Feels a bit lonely though, doesn't it?" Clive asked. "Just a hat an' nuthin' else."
"Just as well we got you a bit offa gift!" Mike exclaimed, reaching under the table and extracting a plastic shopping bag, emblazoned with the branding of some cheapish supermarket. "Take a look inside!" He handed it to Zeydaan and let them dig their shortened muzzle in.
Clothes. A lot of clothes, indeterminate in their current resting place, bundled and jumbled inside a bag, but still identifiable as fabric shaped into garments.
"Why don'tcha go round the back to the loo and get changed, Grey? We can't wait to see yer in those duds!" Mike offered. Zeydaan continued to stare into the bag; usually they'd be questioning whether they should be wearing a full set of clothes. It wasn't for any occasion that an anthro would wear clothes. And yet, the humans' presence and influence acted as a silent inhibitor, forcing Zeydaan to ask a different question.
"Sure the landlady doesn't mind a wolf like me using the bathroom?" Zeydaan joked with a chuckle, much more eager to unpack these clothes, discover the contents, and try them on. They gave one more set of thanks before departing for the men's.
Zeydaan found an empty cubicle, set the bag on the fully-lowered toilet seat, and locked the door behind them the best they could; the toilets were a little grimy and unkept, and the door refused to stay 100% secure, but Zeydaan hoped that the message of 'ENGAGED' would come across to any patrons making use of the toilets.
One by one, Zeydaan extracted each article from the bag, inspected it, and laid it atop the cistern. A mustard yellow t-shirt. Deep blue denim jeans. Socks and underpants. A black hoodie, and a pair of fingerless gloves. At the bottom of the bag, providing most of the weight, was a pair of leather boots, which Zeydaan set on top of the empty bag, flattening it against the seat. Certainly a courtesy to put it at the bottom so as not to ruin the rest of the wardrobe.
The wolf took a long glance at the clothes on the cistern. Right down to the underwear… they must really have wanted them to fit in. Rarely did their kind wear clothes, but they certainly had the common knowledge of the order of putting them on, dictated by layering. First the underpants, then the jeans… a task made easier by how short their tail had become over time. The only things that went un-donned by the time Zeydaan tugged the gloves over his paws to finish the task of getting dressed were those socks and boots. They appreciated the thought, but not the pain that would ensue trying to get plantigrade boots to fit around digitigrade paws.
"Heh, ain't you lookin' mint!" said Bert, as all eyes set themselves on the wolf leaving the bathroom. "Stylish little wolfo you are, Grey. 'cept… oo'd wear clothes with bare feet?"
"...a human? Look, I admire the gesture but I'm not gonna fit these paws of mine into-"
"Oh yes y'are!" Clive said, charging out of his seat to grapple Zeydaan and hold them to the table while the other humans swarmed out of their seats. Through a communal effortlessly they kept them in place while one of their number, or maybe two (too hard for Zeydaan to tell in their position) extracted the socks and boots, pulled down the zippers at the boots' sides, and jammed the remaining wear onto their footpaws, shoving the boots with such force as to crack their legs irreversibly into plantigrade stance. A shot of pain, not unlike stubbing ones' toe, shot up their legs. The zips went up, a symbolic sealing of Zeydaan's fate, for as the pain died down, they would find the socks and boots to be so much more comfortable than they expected.
"So, 'ow's that, Grey?" Clive asked, helping Zeydaan off the table.
"They're… they're not bad!" Zeydaan said frankly, their expectations shattered, sliding off the table as the humans behind them put their drinks back on it.
"Yeah, a little bravery works wonders. And speaking of, how about I getcha yer next drink?"
"Bottle of lager?" Zeydaan suggested without thinking.
Minutes and hours passed, and yet Zeydaan had no will to count them passing. Not when they were so ensconced in drinking. As soon as they had finished one bottle, their friends would just plant another in front of them. So much beer was flooding Zeydaan that they were pretty much drowning their identity, allowing it to be eroded, corrupted. The words of the humans around them and the conversations that ensued allowed them to write upon Zeydaan's soul; whatever had been written upon it previously, those words had been washed away by the torrent of cheap booze that cascaded over them. Even reality itself seemed to bend, and yet how could Zeydaan tell in such an inebriated state? They'd believe anything, and whatever was believed was to be truth set in stone.
"Y'know, if you keep buyin 'er beer, you're gonna clear me out!" the barman of the moment called after several drinks, his words already indicative of the direction reality was bending.
"S'alright, think I'll grab a couple more for the road then. Gonna take her out I think." Clive said, having come to add another bottle to the pile of empties piled up in front of Zeydaan. They were clearly in a state; their fur was patchy, regressing to reveal human skin, made more visible by the way the hem of their top had raised to reveal their midriff. Their whole body looked more feminine, as did their hair, dyeing blue as it lengthened.
"This ain't an off-license pal! On premises only!" shouted the barman, with a hint of a wink.
"S'alright, s'alright… add it to the tab, two bottles." Clive asked, knowing they wouldn't mind a bit if they broke the law, just this once.
In some nondescript side-street, flanked by terraced housing, Zeydaan sat, their buttocks on the pavement, back against the wall. With furrowed brow they looked at their phone, their free hand gripping a bottle of booze, both now devoid of fur and clearly human, contrasting against what little wolfiness remained.
"Whazzamatter, Grey?" Clive asked, the skinhead acknowledging the concern on Zeydaan's partially wolfy face. Being out in the fresh air had helped clear their mind, but the mind they had cleared was not Zeydaan's. In fact, the name 'Zeydaan' was a name unknown to the being that identified itself as 'Grey', and a name causing consternation.
"I dun' geddit," they said, in a voice that was more explicitly 'hers' than just 'theirs'. "These morons callin' me 'Zeydaan', like, whuzzat s'posed t'mean? Do I even know these people?"
"Ehh, don't mind 'em, Grey," Clive advised, silently noting that reality hadn't completely shifted, just as Grey hadn't fully formed. Perhaps a few more drinks should do it. "Tell y'what, let's go some place else. Sure there's plenny more bottles still out there, right?"
"Ri... right…" Grey mumbled, uninhibited by any misgivings one might have about excessive alcohol consumption, taking Clive's hand as he led them… her… upwards. With him in front and her following behind obediently, Clive took his phone out to send a message to his friends, letting them know he was taking Grey out for a 'one-to-one', as Grey cast hers aside, tossing it over her shoulder, letting it smash to pieces as it hit the tarmac. Reinsford. Luna. All these weird names… to Grey they were the names of strangers, incomprehensible, off-putting, inciting her to dispose of them.
In some other pub, in some other part of town, they sat, face to face, on opposite sides of a small square table, its compact size most suitable for the most compact of vessels: the bottle. Clive's apparent benevolence plunged Grey back into a state of inebriation and suggestibility, from where he could sow the final seeds that would fix to reality to match his intentions, and shed the final canine traces from she who sat opposite him.
"S'your birthday…" Clive whispered, a little slurred, a little drunk. Grey would get used to drinking the levels of beer Clive did, very soon hopefully; at least her muzzle was gone completely, reformed into a mouth more suited for drinking straight from the bottle. What Clive was saying wasn't completely true… but in this state, Grey would buy everything said, and what was said became gospel truth, set in stone.
"Know all about ya…" At the same time, Grey was paying attention yet not realising anything, as Clive wove reality through words. Where she lived, where she worked. Words peppered with reaffirmations of humanity. To reject those furry folk.
"Jus' shrug it off… jus' shrug it off…" Grey moaned a little, bothered by something… but what? No… shrug it off… just like her friend said. The last part of her that was distinctively Zeydaan was removed, as her black hair started shifting in colour, to a shade of brown that matched the beer she swigged, losing the red dye that made the tips stand out. Not that those tips would last, as her hair was reduced to a scant, short cut, barely anything showing outside her beanie. Patch by patch, a deep ultramarine blue dye would coat across what little hair Grey preferred to have, looking even more artificial than Zeydaan's preferred hair fashions.
"Yeah, I think you've had enough for one night, Grey. Come on… let's take ya home."
Grey awoke, stirred by the sun's light penetrating the gaps in her curtains. Her flat was pretty low down, but so were all the flats in the block, only two stories high, a flat only by the nature of its roof. Flat. The block was more squat than high. If one were to look at it, one would call it 'grim'. But Grey liked it all the same.
Her jaw was aching. Another hangover… Meh, it'll pass. Just had to shake it out. Take it out. Take it out on something or someone. Her actions were harsh and deliberate, shoving the tap on as she took off the clothes she fell asleep in… not pyjamas certainly…
The flat was made to take a beating. It certainly looked damage. Grey shouted herself hoarse as she went through the motions. The motions of the morning of the working day. Shower. Toothpaste. Cheap, affordable, own-brand breakfast. The garage round the back.
She climbed into her beaten up jalopy, turned the ignition key, and wheeled her way along the working day. The daily grind. Five days a week. She knew the roads she drove like the back of her hand; it wasn't as if a bit of remnant drink could do much damage to such a familiar regime. Onwards to the cannery… another working day, another few hours of hourly wage. It was all someone of her standing could get, but for her, enough to manage on. Out of the city, and into the industrial hinterland. Same as it ever was for Grey. Same as ever...
Category Artwork (Digital) / Transformation
Species Human
Gender Non-Binary
Size 2200 x 2620px
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