Got a report back from my beta reader. It was incredibly helpful and while I still have work to do, it was overall very encouraging and I'm excited for the future!
Shafts of golden light glowed between the tall reeds, shimmering in the soft breeze. Malachite paused her work to watch, chewing a reed and enjoying the view. On the eastern edge of Copperdale, she was as close to Bridgeview as still within city limits. Miles of unbroken marshland and untended channels of water cut the land just ahead of the sculpted beds of shallows.
Behind her, a row of large fish hatchery barns glowed against the steep shadows of foreboding smokestacks of the Corps. Once, she had been told the light stretched on, but industry had gradually swallowed the land around them until it only graced the way to Bridgeview.
“Mal!”
The Geo Apus turned her head, grabbing her reed with a dexterous feather-like finger, and followed the call to a raised pathway at the edge of her pond. A cluster of humans in business casual had gathered. In her two decades of experience, groups of executives meant a change was occurring. Sometimes good. Usually frustrating. She clenched the reed in her beak in anticipation.
With a simple motion of her wings, Malachite used her deft control of element to steady the silt under the shallow waters, and so as she waded toward them, her steps were sure and solid, if not slow going. Even with her legs encased in wader-like boots of hard mud, she knew these ponds well and a hole had twisted her up one too many times in the past, evidenced by an old limp. Bubbles of curious fish followed in her wake, trailing her in hopes she would drop food from her pouch for them.
“Malachite! Hey ol’ gal!” Mr. Ochab shouted down, waving from the path. “Come on out of there! We’ve good news.”
With a click of her beak in understanding, the stoic and muddy monster flicked her wing, and with practiced skill, a staircase of stone rose from the pond and allowed her to rise up to their level. She didn’t bother smoothing any stray feathers or reeds that jutted from her form, didn’t care her boots seeped mud and made one of the men in suits step back, didn’t care she stunk like pond scum and fish food. These were things she took pride in, because these were reflections of her years of work and experience.
“Howdy,” she greeted plainly, nodding her head to the executives.
“Congratulations!” a woman burst, and another elbowed her and laughed.
“Not yet!”
“Oh! Oops.”
“Mal,” Mr. Ochab said enthusiastically, reaching and taking her feathers in hand. Malachite blinked but didn’t pull back. “My dear, today is a wonderous day.”
“Well,” Mal drawled. “We had five dead from Atlas’s broodstock pond. What’s wonderous about that?”
Ochab laughed, but it was a pitch she didn’t recognize. He made a dismissive motion. “No, ol’ girl! Didn’t you know? Malachite, you’ve been promoted. Today’s your transfer day. The truck is already out front. I thought you were just taking in the view.”
Malachite blinked. They’d used words she had never heard together, especially not in reference to her.
“What in the devil are you going on about, sir?” Mal asked flatly, tilting her head. “You can’t get promoted higher than the broodstock ponds.”
“Not here, no,” he agreed quickly. “But a new hatchery was constructed on the west side of Aspira. They’re trying to get established, but none of their monsters have the experience someone like you has.”
“You know city monsters,” a man spoke up.
“Why not send them the hardiest country Apus we know?” the woman cheerfully said. “We know you don’t put up with anything, Mal.”
“Oh do we know it,” Mr. Ochab agreed heartily. “You were the first monster that came to my mind at the request.”
“Yeah?” Malachite asked, perking up a little. The humans nodded fast. Mal itched her head, before risking a nervous smile. “Well…Thanks, sirs and ma’ams. That’s real honor, to be thought of first. I didn’t know. But I have to leave, now?” She looked out to the ponds reflecting the fiery sunset, to the shadows of other monsters wading, working just as she had been to tend to fish and their waters. “Do I get to say good bye?”
“Aw, Mal, I thought that was what you were out there doing,” Mr. Ochab said with disappointment, patting the feathers still in his hand. “Unfortunately, it’s time to go. But, I can set up a video call for you when you get there, if that would be alright?”
A video call? Malachite balked at the honor. Had she ever remembered a monster who left being allowed to reach back out to their peers? Would she be the first? Afraid to use the wrong words, she merely tossed her reed back into the pond behind her and nodded, and the humans shared noises of contentment.
“Congratulations!” one cheered again. “We’ll miss all you’ve shared with us, Mal.”
Malachite had never expected her throat to tighten at the thought of leaving this mudhole. Hours of her youth had been spent griping she had been purchased by the hatchery of all places, but now it was hard to consider learning the earth of a new set of ponds after finding home in the soil here. Bowing her head to the waters and those she was leaving behind, she left with Mr. Ochab for the barns beyond the ponds and walkway.
The other humans stayed behind.
As Malachite and her manager stepped onto solid land, two others stepped from the shadows of the barn and made for their direction. A man in a suit next to a suit of armor styled like a reptilian. It wasn’t a monster she recognized at first, but her stomach dropped to her feet when the hard angles and humanoid shape registered. Hearing whirring as the artificial monster passed them by, she twisted her long neck to follow them as they traced back the path she had just left.
“An Autonix?” she asked quietly.
“We’re going to try something while you’re gone, see how it works,” Mr. Ochab said.
Golden light reflected off the shiny casing of the Autonix as it approached the humans, who cheered its approach. Malachite kept walking but couldn’t quite fully look away as the manmade monster took the stone steps down to the pond. It sunk into a soft spot in the soil once, readjusted, and started using Geo element to resculpt the shape of the pond. Its outline joined the others, shadowed in the orange light.
Malachite turned forward. Silly robot. It did not stand a chance. She suppressed a snort, not wanting to offend Mr. Ochab. Humans could be misguided about their technology, after all.
After turning the corner, the executive motioned to a vehicle further down. Once they had joined it, Malachite’s excitement to see the Corp she was joining had become butterflies within her. Instead of a logo, the van was plain. They stepped toward the back, not to the front. There she was greeted by a truck framed by Autonix, sleek units that did not need to turn their heads to make her feel like they were watching. The slots on their helms glowed with sensors. A driver smoked and watched from by the cab.
Mal turned to her manager, but Mr. Ochab had a tear running down his cheek.
“Sir?” she asked.
“You’ve been good to me, Mal. Whip them into shape there in Aspira, okay?”
There wasn’t time to talk. There wasn’t time to think. She had been feeding fish and moving soil moments ago, but now, the truck was there, and she was expected to get on board – as a monster always should.
Brow creased, the Apus nodded. He sniffled and waved her off, and with reluctance, the back opened, and the Autonix guided her onboard. Behind her, the doors to the light sealed tight, and the humans out spoke just inaudibly. Malachite blinked into the poor lighting of the back of the van, wondering if promoted monsters got to sit on benches or chairs, before her eyes adjusted.
Toothless, balding, featherless, gray monsters. Monsters missing eyes, horns, limbs. Monsters bound and muzzled. Different species, different elements. They all turned to her. She searched for where promoted monsters went, but only then did the truth strike her.
“Help,” someone whispered, and the head of the Autonix to her left snapped the direction of the voice. A red sensor scanned the heads, and the whispering fell grave silent. The artificial monsters guided Malachite to a spot where she could sit on the van floor, next to a frail elder, and there, she started hyperventilating. The van rattled to life, and the world lurched forward.
She didn’t understand. What had she done wrong? Fish had thrived under her. Management said she contributed to profits. She had been given perks. She had been moved to broodstock. Blinding blizzards or stifling summers, she had shown them for years she would tow the line at any cost, because good monsters retired.
So what was this promotion, then!?
These didn’t look like monsters destined to help with aquaculture. Tension so thick she could choke clogged the air. No one was speaking. She was afraid to break the silence, but all she saw were faces of fear, confusion, or rage. Wherever they were going, she was now sure it could not be Aspira.
Maybe ten minutes into their journey, the van hit a bump hard enough to toss a smaller monster or two. Malachite rubbed her neck as the others recovered with grunts and muttering. The Autonix readjusted but were quick to keep their sensors on the cargo.
Then, the gate to hell opened.
With the subtly of a warhead, an impact rocked the side of the van. Malachite was thrown from her seat as the world was slammed sideways, tangling with the bodies of another monster or two, but even stunned and pinned, she bore witness to a shaft of fiery light lashing across them like a slice from the feral devil himself. Metal torn by a large horn was followed by the ghastly visage of a beastly skull, and as two powerful hands tore the slice open further, several cloaked bodies dropped into the tipped van. Frantic shouting, the woosh of a flame, the crystalline snap of ice, gunfire and alarms – it all happened in less than a moment.
Someone shouted.
“Bonefire!”
An Autonix cuirass slammed the floor in front of Malachite. It was missing the rest of its body.
A cloaked assailant slammed into the Autonix, but a voice cried out overhead just as it dug its claws into its chest.
“Save the cores!”
Metal groaned around them, and above, the beastly skull lifted to reveal the face of a bull-faced Taurage monster, swallowed by dancing fire both in and out. With obedient cries or acknowledgment, the Bonefire attackers pried the blinking and whirring cores from the chest pieces of the guards and clutched them like precious jewelry. Dramatically then, the back of the van opened, and there the Taurage stood alongside several more cloaked figures, peering inside. He lifted his hand, and incredible walls of stone rose behind them, carving a path through the fire and into the forest beyond the road.
Mal’s wide eyes reflected the awesome might of his Geo element. She could only imagine his experience with the earth and fear kept her where she was, because she knew then she could never outmatch him.
“Sacrifices!” the Taurage shouted, motioning to them. “Hear us! You lot were bound for MTI and its laboratory! So, our queen bid us to intercede. Your lives have become invalid. Disposable. You will never know safety among the humans again. Now, you must reject your relationship with them! Those who throw you away - you must adopt a new foundation to support yourself where they will not.”
Hidden by their masks of bone, the other members of the Bonefire circled like beasts. One let out a puff of fire, disappeared, and then reappeared directly in front of the Taurage, holding piles of folded plain black robes. Another monster held an arm open and directed down the path to the woods.
“You have forever been denied choice, so we grant you this gift! The choice is yours! Take the path, flee,” the Taurage said grandly, then dropped his tone. “We will send you to the farm.”
Voices fearfully murmured. Mal looked down the path once, twice, then back to the one-horned Taurage.
“Or,” the intruder continued stoically, staring them down. His eyes burned. “You can take up a cloak, join our fire, and burn with us! It is not an option to not choose. The time is now; pick your fate!”
A few monsters stood, balked, and one went to fight but the large figure raised small stone chips in threat of combat. The fighter hesitated, then instead grabbed a cloak. One walked toward the path, head low. Slowly, the bodies around Malachite picked themselves up. Again, she knew she was waiting, but she didn’t know for what. For reward? For a hint of the best choice? The only mud she was stuck in now was her mind. Fiery light reflected off the body of the Autonix.
But, as she slowly put her legs under her and pushed to her height, she did settle on one truth. She had not chosen her life, this terrible lie of a transfer, or this attack. But she would not allow them to take this last choice from her. Malachite did not flinch under the leers of the bony masks.
Whatever choice she made, it would free her from the shadows of the smokestacks. For that, this was indeed an upgrade.
Nelly was his favorite monster. Unlike Opal, she didn’t nag him for leaving his clothes on the ground. Miss Ruby was his mom’s monster, twenty-three and going blind. Abel’s disposition was as inviting as a brick wall. Yet, here Nelly was, standing at his bedside with his day’s outfit in her hands, her long neck arched as she peeked into his four-poster bed, smiling when their eyes met.
“There you are. Your mother is waiting, Mr. Deveraux,” she hummed, using her horn to part the curtain. Sascha fumbled to get his arms under him, his slender bare body exposed to the light as drapes of blankets slid away. Rubbing his eyes crunchy with last night’s eyeliner, he muttered, yawned, stretched with the leisure of a house cat, and finally numbly reached out for the clothes. When he missed, Nelly chuckled and moved her hands to help him on his second try.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, thick with sleep. Reaching for a remote by his bed, turned on the lights for the room at a dull level. Always so sensitive to his morning condition! With a pleased sound, he rolled from the bed and stumbled into his boxers and pants. Nelly swept in behind him, grabbing his discarded old clothes and then stripping the bed of the sheets. He pulled on his shirt in a practiced motion and gazed the monster over, shaking his mess of hair from his eyes.
Like all Prismark monster employees, the five-year-old Chloro Capra was groomed and professional; mantled in a dress tailored for her, flexible enough for her work but formal enough for presentation. Her grassy mane was pulled back into a row of tight buns down her long neck. Politely, she held her lengthy tail aloft, so it did not drag the ground. She always met the formal expectations gracefully. His mother was quite the enforcer of the dress code – for her and him both.
“She’ll say you need a shower,” Nelly minded, heading to the door with the armful of sheets. She lowered her brow playfully. “I think the worst of it is coming from your clothes, though. It’s no problem. I put your energy drink and some medicine on the desk.”
“What would I do without you?” Sascha laughed, drowsily rubbing on some lotion and cologne from his dresser.
“I’m sure about the same, give or take an article of clothing. Anything else I can do for you this morning, Mr. Deveraux?”
“Yeah, Nelly,” he groaned, stepping to the desk and grabbing a couple different colored pills and juggling them in his palm. “Did Abel already prepare breakfast?”
“Prepared, and I believe your parents have mostly finished. It is nearly nine thirty.”
“Awesome,” Sascha muttered to himself, cracking the energy drink and tossing back the cocktail of medicine. Shaking some of the drink’s spray from his hand, he jerked his head toward Nelly. “I’ll be there shortly. I just have to grab my…” Sascha looked about the room – first to the empty charger, then to the empty bed stand, then to the clothes in Nelly’s arms. The monster flicked her ears patiently.
“Your pillow.”
“Ah, of course,” Sascha agreed, hurriedly grabbing his phone and frowning lightly at the device. With so many notifications, it was impossible to tell if anything genuinely new had come through. He had voicemails, missed calls, texts, emails, messages through his socials; surely stressful to most, but his secret was that he ignored them all until he just happened to reply to one randomly. It made him feel like a god, reaching through the sky to enlighten a chosen peasant.
“Can you make sure those little mints end up on my pillow?” the man asked. “Maybe have some of them sent to my office too. Like a big ol’ bowl of them. The chocolatey ones, you know?”
“I do, Mr. Deveraux. As many as you want,” Nelly agreed readily, bowing her head.
“Good lass. Anything I can get for you?”
Nelly’s eyes lit up. She hesitated, then drew a playful circle on the wad of fabric in her arms. “Well,” she drawled. “You haven’t forgotten what I did for you last week, right?”
Sascha stared, quite self-conscious as he probed his memory and found only a haze of board meetings, awkward breakfasts with his parents, and excessive evenings spent in the towers of the wealthy. He smiled brightly when nothing came to mind.
“Of course not, my good ol’ Nelly Belly. Taking care of me like always! Listen; fire away. Whatever you’d like.”
“Well,” Nelly replied, her voice a little more cautious. “If you insist? Um…So, as you know, Abel, Opal and I share a dormitory right now, and I was hoping I could move into one of the empty flats just a couple floors down? It won’t affect my work. The elevator is maybe a minute ride, tops – I’ve actually timed it.”
‘She’s going to leave!’
She’s not going to leave, he told himself.
Jewelry, special food, drink, clothing; Sascha had been fully ready to hand it out, and then some. Pox, if she had asked for money, he would have considered it, just for her. But the Prismark Playboy could only laugh in the face of the request, making a dismissive motion and heading toward his connected bathroom, needing time to process.
“You don’t like living in the penthouse?” Sascha asked skeptically, calling from the bathroom as he styled his hair back.
He could hear Nelly scramble to answer.
“No, I didn’t say that! I just… Well, you know! Sometimes living with other people can be hard. It’s the same for us.”
What if she leaves?
She could be hurt! Stolen! Arrested!
What would he do?
“Aww, Nells,” he chuckled, gripping the edge of the sink as he thought. “Miss Ruby can’t be that long along now, right? Once she, er, retires, Abel will move up, and –”
“Mr. Deveraux, you’re bad!” Nelly laughed, her voice tight. “We both know Miss Ruby will be around surely ten years after me, so that’s a long shot. Better yet, you’d be welcome to crash in my flat if you can’t make it up to the penthouse?”
‘My flat’?
“Thought you liked being in a herd or something,” Sascha said defensively. He poked at the bags under his earthy eyes, trying to not make direct eye contact with himself at the same time. He would see the inexplicable fear her question brought him, and if he didn’t acknowledge it, he hoped she wouldn’t either.
“Not as much as you, Mr. Deveraux,” she replied firmly, and Sascha stilled, fixated on the drain at the bottom of the sink.
They hung on the same breath.
Sascha turned on the water to drown out her words and his view.
“You make an enticing deal, Nells. Listen, let me think about it. I’m already late for breakfast.”
Silence.
Then: “Of course! Thanks, for considering it, Mr. Deveraux. I’ll see you later. I bet you can’t guess the shape I’ll fold your towels today.”
Sascha perked immediately, peeking his head out to be greeted by her smile as always.
“Oh! Do an animal! I like those.”
“You da boss,” Nelly agreed, then stepped backwards through the door, her disappointed frown the last thing to leave the room. Sascha grabbed his sunglasses off his end table and slid them on like armor. Without even a glance back to his room, he followed after and parted opposite directions on purpose.
Now with Lumo and Vilo flavors! Read on for a lore dump :3
I originally designed the first Capra for a different project altogether back in 2015; a prototype Pyro Capra emerged from a rudimentary RPG maker concept for a monster farmer game. Back then, I was combining an idea for a monster system that operated as a hybrid between all the monsters being a type of Eevee, with flexibility, and with constellation Zodiac as 'inspirations' for the different kinds of monsters and their shapes, somewhat like how Digimon applies its armor digivolutions through inspiration by animal types (mammal for friendship, insectoid for knowledge, etc).
This idea stagnated for a bit as I struggled with focus while I tried to manage regular life. Then, in 2020, as I and so many others were disrupted, I lost my job but had the time to pursue some creative projects. I engaged in two pursuits -- I committed to writing a novel (omg the manuscript became 120,000 words of unpolished modern romantasy goop) and I began a complex illustration project where I wanted to work on my skill and explore my original content. Thus, these designs were born.
This was when the real guts of this monster system was put into practice; in my Copperdale universe, all baby monsters are Eevees -- empty little piggy banks waiting to be filled with 'Element'. Element is all around, and everything has influence by element. Except for humans and animals, of course, don't be silly, we can't be influenced by that stuff.
Each individual monster is predispositioned to absorb certain element over others, but this can also be tailored by environmental factors and direct influence and training. A baby Capra born with a Geo inclination may still evolve Freo if shoved into a fridge, pending survival.
But even with enough element, a monster has to be physically old enough to handle to evolution.
Most Capra evolve in 1-3 years. Until evolution, the monsters act as toddlers or small children; they learn to speak and read in their first months, and by their first year act like a human 5 year old or so. Following a fresh evolution, a monster is more like an eighteen year old -- considered an adult, and definitely no longer a child, but with much to learn. This can create situations where a monster may be older, like a 3 year old, but be immature and childish if they haven't evolved, while a younger monster, if evolved, may be able to grasp reality in a way the other can't.
Alongside the Capra family, I also designed the Apus and Tarro families (stickers to follow in the future!) but didn't have the focus to apply this project /to/ anything. But, in 2024, as I learned more about the writing industry and trying to become a professional author, I had a really hard time at work at the same time. I felt stuck and wished to vent my frustrations about the world around me, and decided I needed to start a new writing project anyway because my second manuscript STILL wasn't commercial enough or up to task.
I decided to write about my monsters. It's been over a year since I began my querying journey for my current manuscript, as every failed attempt means I grind harder and sharpen it more. I've been invested in these little critters for a long time, and they come from my heart. I spent hours researching, sketch after sketch designing, and I want to share them and their feelings with you all so badly.
“If you can’t stand for your full shift, then you can’t complete your job.”
Brady Beckett clenched the guard rail until his knuckles turned white. Like crooked teeth, the rickety stairs to his apartment leered down at him. With a practiced exhale, he hoisted himself up first one step, regathered his balance and his warm beer, and then grunted as he went up the next. One at a time, he told himself. A step or a day, it didn’t matter. One at a time. Any faster, and he would fall.
Two years ago, Brady reported not to a factory floor but to the green of a stadium. A childhood joy for sports turned into passion and sweat, and as reward for his hard work, a taste of Aspira had touched his lips. He had known, if only for a small time, fine wine, hearty meals, and the influence of freely spending marks. What he had hoped would be a long, golden summer of his life turned cold in an instant; a prestigious career ended with blood and broken bone.
Now, instead of an Aspiran apartment filled with nice things, Brady lived out of a low-rent Copperdale complex. He spent his days watching monsters toiling on the assembly line – until his hip threatened to fold like wet paper towel after the long hours. Then, he spent the rest of his shift typically enduring reminders he was replaceable. Even his occasional hopeful low-budget betting investments proved fruitless. If Brady was a captain, his ship was listing wildly, and he knew control was nearly fully slipped from his fingers.
But, at the top of those godforsaken stairs, safe in his apartment while he was at work all day, was a little monster named Kalt.
Brady knew he was worth everything. He could turn this all around.
Part of the way up, one of the steps shivered under him, then slid about an inch down, accidentally misaligned. Lurching and losing one of the bottles through the slip between the steps, he clenched his back molars so hard he thought one would crack. Releasing a sound between a gasp and a defeated sob, he spent only another moment crumpled halfway up before pushing his way back up to his feet. Staring ahead with all the heaviness of a veteran, the former athlete limped his way up the last steps.
There was some comfort in his apartment. He just had to get there.
Finally surviving the climb, with exhausted triumph Brady unlocked the door with a few presses on a keypad. Slowly and purposefully, he stepped inside, muttering about the chill. Passing framed pictures of a smiling man in a jersey, a shelf of ribbons and trophies, and barely used crutches, he limped first stubbornly to the kitchen. He fumbled into a cabinet, fishing out a few pills from a small orange bottle. Bracing a beer up to a cracked spot on his counter, he popped off the top with a brutal motion and used it to wash down his prescribed mercy. Sitting on the counter with his head back, he rubbed his hip and traced a finger along his surgery scars, sighing in anticipation. Finally, he turned his head.
“Kalt, I’m home!”
The apartment was quiet.
Where was he?
Brady realized the baby Capra had not come to greet him. It wasn’t easy for him to get about if Brady closed any doors, and for a moment, he panicked he had left the monster locked in the bedroom all day. Hobbling mostly on his good leg and holding walls or counters, Brady navigated the small apartment. It wasn’t a long journey; no sign of the monster in the living room, nothing in the bedroom – which left only the bathroom.
The door was closed.
“Kalt, pox, I’m sorry,” Brady groaned, swinging the door open. A burst of cold air stopped him in place, and he blinked about the room. Frost had collected on the mirror. Some feeble moan raised the hair on his arms, and the color left his face when he realized it was creaking from behind the shower curtain.
His monster… his partner! Something was wrong!
“Kalt!” Brady launched himself across the room, falling at the side of the tub and smashing his ribs along its edge. Ripping back the curtain, he finally saw Kalt, and his wheezing of panic stalled in his chest.
In the belly of the tub, his throw-pillow shaped Capra convulsed, eyes open but unseeing. Frost collected on his fur like dew.
Brady shifted slowly as upright as he could, pain forgotten in the face of the spectacle. It was something you could see on TV, could find on the internet, could read about in books, but in person, it was unlike anything he had imagined. Evolving was always painted as this natural process of maturation, as what happened to a monster who was old enough and had accumulated enough element. Cool, he had called it.
But in person, all he felt was terror.
Before his very eyes, his monster, soft and warm to hold at night, began to glow. First his fur, then the light consumed him whole. Kalt’s eye swiveled to Brady just as it spread across his face, and Brady reached out, wondering if he was mistaken about the whole thing, but as the intensity grew, he had to shield his eyes. Between his fingers, he was witness to his baby monster dissolving into brightness.
People smarter than Brady argued about what happened in the moment of a monster’s evolution. All he knew was that it looked like his monster was there and then was like a glowing, bright mist.
Its shape shifted, and the light faded.
Kalt remained but was changed.
Gone was the brown fur, replaced instead by gray with blue bands on his chest and limbs. Standing surely five foot tall on two bandy legs, with long, thin, arching horns adding surely another foot of height to him, Brady tilted his head back in astonishment at the creature before him. A mop of curly white wool sat just over the monster’s crystal blue eyes, very similar to a thick scarf of wool draped about his shoulders. Struggling to his good knee, Brady reached out with a shaking hand and touched one of Kalt’s three new fingers.
The monster turned his sharp gaze to Brady, and the human flinched.
“Kalt?” he whispered, searching those unfamiliar eyes. “Is… Is that you?”
“It’s –” the Capra began to reply, but the sound of his voice intimidated him, and he touched at his throat. Suddenly aware of his hands, Kalt stared in fascination, opening and closing them into fists and flexing his digits, before probing and poking his body in exploration. Brady touched at Kalt too, leaning forward over the edge of the tub, but both realized that what had been cute pets for a small baby Capra made neither of them comfortable. Brady pulled his hand back.
"Sorry, mate. But, just, wow. You’re…”
Kalt turned about, flicking a fluffy deer-like tail, then stretched his long legs and attempted a step, only to immediately wobble. His tamer reached to support him, but faltered under the awkward angle and swore, dropping like an awkward rock to the side. This time, just as he was about to lay out fully, a hand grabbed him and kept him from making contact.
Kalt figured out his feet in time to seize him, and with effort, he helped pull the human up and to perch on the edge of the tub. There, flushed, Brady’s wild grin appeared for the first time in Kalt’s entire life, and he thumped Kalt’s shoulder excitedly. The monster touched the spot, eyes wide. Brady continued, too focused on the muscle and stature of his partner.
“I’ll be damned! Look at you! Holy freaking moly… You’re perfect! You’re amazing! Kalt, holy cow, who knew you had it in you!? That’s it, ol’ boy!”
Kalt snorted, allowing a shy smile. He rubbed his arm nervously.
“I can work with Freo, if you like it.”
“Like it? Now that I think about, was there ever another option?” Brady laughed. When Kalt turned to stare at himself in the bathroom mirror, using his palm to melt the accumulated frost, Brady sat and rubbed his unshaven jaw. When his monster turned back, Kalt’s ears pinned at the look in his tamer’s eye.
“You want to start tomorrow, then?” Brady asked.
Kalt was quiet.
“The arena,” Brady pressed, just to clarify, but Kalt nodded in understanding.
“I can,” he confirmed, and at the sense of hesitation, Brady tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah? You feeling it? We can build up your ice horns tonight. We’ll watch a video. I’m sure we can do it.”
Kalt stared. After a long moment, he slowly nodded. Brady grinned in return and he pumped a fist in excitement, and the monster’s hard stare softened. Fully committed, rubbing his ribs as he pulled out his phone, he looked up ‘FREO CAPRA NEW EVOLVED ICE HORN HELP’, and as he sifted through a few perceivably low-quality results, he offhandedly made a motion.
“Sorry about the door, mate.”
Kalt, touching the base of his horns, glanced to Brady. “It’s fine.”
“So, your horns? Those are just bones. Anyway, you apparently can control Freo element through them. So, just make them super cold, we shove your head under water, and they’ll build up! It’s easy. I’ll throw a pizza in and…” Brady paused. “Well… Okay, but if we enter you tomorrow, I want you as light on your feet as possible...”
He smiled crookedly. “Guess I can’t spoil you like a little kid anymore, huh? Tomorrow won’t be much of a hatchday without cake though, so I’ll tell you what. If you win, we’ll still get you sweets for your first year. Imagine! We could be Copperdale’s youngest victors!”
Kalt nodded, and Brady reached out for help getting to his feet, and upon his doing so, the human pat his shoulder affectionately. There, standing together, Brady had never felt so stable and strong.
“Kalt. I’m so proud of you. Really. You’re going to change everything for us.”
“Yes sir. Thank you. I won’t let you down. I promise.”
Sitting in the corner of the betting lounge, Wonton watched the day's tournament on a large tube TV perched nearby, gnashing on bar snacks in mounting frustration. Crumpled betting slips sat by his webbed elbow, peanut shells surrounded him in a runic circle, and the bartender leered at him, but the Hydro Tarro paid only the televised fight any mind. He may have only had one good eye, but even he could see things weren't looking good for the little guy, and he had a lot riding on the underdog.
Again.
Okay, so it was his second underdog of the day. A fella could test the field, right?
Long shots kept his blood pressure high, but every now and again, he'd strike a solid score. Always just short of what he needed, but enough to roll again. Variables involved were endless: wins, shows, places, attacks dealt and taken, stats, age, element, tamer, celebrity status – everything affected the tickets placed on BetBeast. Unlike humans, who could use BetBeast from their phones, Wonton was forced to participate more manually. Most monsters found it difficult to obtain money to gamble with, let alone a phone, but Won wasn't most monsters.
After brushing crumbs off his scaly front, the overweight Tarro slid a crumpled bill across the bar and flicked his fins, his mutilated stump of a tail idly swaying as he leaned forward.
“I won't serve you alcohol,” the bartender said dully. “Not after last time. I almost lost my job.”
“Kid, wasn't asking you to,” Won huffed, glancing quickly to the other humans in the bar. He had been, but there were too many people in the parlor this afternoon to make a fuss. Instead he scoffed, motioning peacefully with his claw. “I'm not that monster anymore. I'm turning over a new leaf. That's just for more wings.”
The bartender raised an eyebrow. “New leaf. Is that because of all... that?” She motioned with a pinky to the lanyard about the monster's thick neck. Flashing a nest of needle teeth, Won sat back on the stool with a big grin, tugging on the lanyard until its ID slid into his clutch.
“It's been a game changer. My tamer thanks you for understanding.”
“Yeah, alright. I'm cutting you off after this, I'm sure your tamer will appreciate that more.”
Won's earfins flicked. “I'm a breadwinner, Miss. Would you really deprive an old monster his source of income? Just one more, c'mon.”
“Won...” Her tone was warning. “Look, aren't you pushing things? You're not even supposed to be here. You're banned.”
“Banned from the Arena,” Won clarified, choosing to look at a new bet slip and struggling with a tiny pencil to fill it out.
“That's funny; where is this lounge located?”
Won flicked up his gaze, one blazing citrine and the other scarred and milky, and kept his smile frozen in place. “Details, Miss. Details. How about those wings, yeah? Little B-B-Q on the side? I always leave a good tip.”
When the parlor doors opened behind him, the air sucked from the room. Humans tightened their postures. The bartender's face fell. Won didn't have to turn to know what company had joined them, and he sighed in disappointment.
“Did you call them?” he asked, mock-betrayed, and the bartender, eyes wide and locked on beyond him, shook her head minutely.
“Sure security just caught up,” she muttered under her breath, holding up her hands and stepping back from the bar. “Luck's run out, Won.”
“Oh, I wouldn't put money on it,” the heavyset Tarro grunted, snagging his marks before raising up his claws and turning on his stool slowly.
Before needing the confirmation, he knew they had been joined by none other than the one and only Monster Control. Bothered by monsters with no tamers in your area? A monster freak out and lose his mind over the bullshit he has to deal with and start killing people? Who you gonna call? Why of course, the boys, gals and monster partners of Control; dressed in storm-cloud blues and trained in all methods of peacekeeping that began and ended with a baton.
The real gamble was who had reported to the call.
A typical officer would be a wild card, but escape was manageable and even likely with enough charisma. All this gambling money was for something after all, and encounters like this were on his contingency list. Living in Copperdale meant dodging Control was practically an everyday experience.
However, there was a worst case scenario. If the officer was instead Field Lieutenant Kai Ravelle and his bigass partner Surge, or even any of his bloodthirsty raiders, there would be no conversations. Only a violent exchange would await him, and he just wasn't the monster he used to be; maybe twelve years ago, when he was in his fighting shape, Won might have stood a chance. Those days were long, long past.
But, to his relief, when he turned to the officers fully, a crisply uniformed woman with a scarred cheek approached instead. A Hydro Apus moved smartly at her side. Won immediately let out a soft breath.
“Officers Rowe, Nimmo,” he greeted warmly, lowering his claws. “How are –“
“Out,” the officer commanded, drawing her baton and snapping it to its full length. Won clamped his mouth shut. Everyone else in the parlor tensed and turned away, but Won didn't expect anything less. Nobody wanted to get involved, because Control's jurisdiction didn't just end with monsters. Little stopped that baton from turning on them. And from there? The Kennels. Won swallowed at the thought. Nimmo, a heron-like monster with long legs and a sharp beak, stepped forward and motioned with a wing to the door.
“You are not allowed to be here. You have been warned before, Wonton.”
Wonton made some grumbling noises, heaving himself off the stool. With money still clutched in one claw, the monitor-like monster dropped to his fours and dragged himself to the door.
Rowe snapped her baton and its length to meet the bartender at her eye level. The scarred woman stood solid even when the employee cowered back. “Do not tolerate his disturbances. Even just a drip of bad water will poison the whole well.”
“Pox,” the bartender swore, flinching. “Please, just take him and go! Don't gotta wave that thing at me.”
Nimmo escorted Wonton to the door, popping it open with his dexterous claw. Dipping his head in encouragement, they stepped out of the lounge ahead of Rowe and into the lobby of Copperdale Arena. Fortunately, with the tournament ongoing, most fans were in their seats and not crowding the entrance hall, but some folks waited in line for merch or snacks nearby. Breathing in the aroma of grilled meats and popcorn, the Tarro stalled, picking his teeth and staring idly at a distant food counter.
“We don't got time for a snack along the way?”
Without hesitation, eyes distant, Nimmo plunged his powerful beak right down between Wonton's shoulder blades, twice in a row, and ripped a scale right off his back. The Apus tossed the scale aside in a small crimson arc.
“Silence. Outside.”
Agony radiated from Won's back. Several eyes from the scattered patrons and staff turned to bear witness to his reaction, and it would be easy to give them what they wanted – but as always, he reminded himself that a performance was already on display, just not the one they expected. Thrashing in place with a snarl, he bared his teeth. Muttering but restraining himself from returning the favor, he continued his crawl of shame toward the side doors, scarred tail sliding along the ground behind him.
Just nearby, laying on the lobby floor, sat a heart-shaped blue scale.
Heavy thuds from Rowe's boots joined them before they left the building through the quietest of the exits and into the January snow. Visibly bracing in the chill, all three, without discussing the situation, slid around the far side and toward the loading bays. Only there, in a spot away from street view and behind a semi-truck, where the cameras couldn't quite catch them, did Rowe and Nimmo turn to him.
They stood in silence, alone.
Then, Wonton sat back on his stout legs like they were a chair, brushing snow off his large belly. He folded his arms and flicked his fins.
“You say I make a scene,” he grunted, flicking a long forked tongue between his teeth. “That don't grow right back, y'know.”
“Wonton, we have been over this!” Officer Rowe exclaimed, compacting her baton and holstering it. “Why do you keep coming back here? I've bailed you out twice this year already. That coordinator woman is about to kill you herself and Ravelle has been increasing patrols in Copperdale.”
“Ravelle is always increasing patrols; it's like the cost of peanut butter, price only goes up,” Wonton dismissed.
Nimmo snapped his beak. “Do you look forward to your life in the Kennels so much, fool? You are this close to being declared feral by the department!”
Won pretended he didn't flinch after by examining his claws. The words echoed down his brain stem. At his lack of a reaction, both officers shook their heads in frustration.
Rowe held out her hand. “Give me it. I was looking for you anyway.”
Not doubting what she wanted for a moment, the crumpled, snow-damp bills in his claw were dropped unceremoniously into her palm, and she accepted them stonily.
“You are welcome,” Won said pointedly. No manners, typical Control. “It's enough, alright? Some extra on the side. I was gonna get some wings, we could have shared, but it's whatever.”
Nimmo leaned his head over and Rowe nodded, tucking away the bills. The two said nothing but exchanged several looks, before Rowe turned back to Wonton. She motioned to his lanyard.
“That thing is strictly for what you need to do, Wonton. Gambling? Eating chicken wings? If your tamer is as sickly and ill as you say he is –“
“Oh, he is,” Wonton piped up immediately.
“Then act like you give a damn about him!” Rowe barked. “You burned up all your good will with everybody, and pity doesn't last you forever. It doesn't keep you out of the Kennels.”
“Wonton, you have two fates in the Kennels,” Nimmo insisted, motioning with a wing. “You join the tide, or it pulls you under.”
“Can you lot not use your dumb water metaphors, for ten minutes?” Wonton snapped back. “Yeah, I hear you. Look, you won't have to worry about it. My world is out here, and as long as I have you two keeping an eye on my back, I'll make sure I keep you paid for it, yeah?”
“You're screwed the moment we get a raise,” Nimmo clacked, but Wonton only grinned. They said that, sure, but that too was just another part of the act, wasn't it? If they meant it, this charade would have ended years ago.
“Okay, I get the picture – and you got what you came for. Officers, am I good to go?” Won asked, making a grand motion, and both Rowe and Nimmo regarded the other before sharing a nod with the reptilian.
“Stay out of trouble,” Nimmo minded sharply.
“Also, you gotta stop betting on the underdogs,” Rowe sighed. “I saw those tickets. They're just gonna let you down.”
“Ah, officers, c'mon!” the Tarro laughed, dropping forward and starting to wind away. “Aren't we all underdogs sometimes? We all could use a bet in our corner now and then. You know who is invested in you guys, that's for sure.”
Leaving their bewildered expressions behind, Wonton disappeared around a corner, briefly panicked that he really might be screwed. Broke again. Feral. Then as he touched at his lanyard for comfort, he wondered.
What if next time, there were more monsters in the room than just him?
It was kind of a long shot, but that was just the way he played.
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