Here's the deal. I write about evil people gorging themselves on smut and vore, and in return I get to spend wayyy too much time thinking about why they became so evil. Pretty much every one of the Court has about several dozen of these strange, sad little vignettes behind them. It's probably not everyone's thing, but it's fun for me to do these, and it's a great exercise to write about people who aren't gluttonous sociopaths or terrified out of their minds for once.

This is another one for Christine, my non-natural foxtaur, written a while back and describing some of the events of her difficult childhood. Please let me know your thoughts. The foxtaur watches. The foxtaur hungers.

Not So Easily Mended

The only reason Dr Jennifer Yiang agreed to meet with the fox was because he offered to take her to her favourite restaurant. And because he was charitable, and she should at least thank him in person.

That’s what she told herself.

She didn’t mention that it was her favourite restaurant. In fact she had never spoken to him at all, until her secretary told her that a gentleman who did not wish to give his name had made an offer of lunch at the Singing River, to discuss an opportunity.

At first she said no. If he wanted to discuss anything, she said, he could make an appointment during office hours. She did not accept lunch invitations from strangers.

Her secretary said that the gentleman had thought she would say that, and that was why he had donated one hundred thousand dollars to the National Disability Council, which had honoured her last year. He included the transaction number.

And so she sat at the bar, drinking a very expensive glass of wine, scratching her scales (she was an iguana, a second-generation immigrant from West China, and the New York air still dried them out far too quickly) and trying to tell herself that she would simply thank him for the dinner and the donation, and refuse to talk about anything else. But the truth was that she had agreed because she was curious as to what on earth could make a man spend so much money just for an off-the-books meeting.

He arrived exactly on time. He was a fox, tall and slender and not quite young anymore, with deep brown eyes and a very well-pressed suit. He wore a black rose in his lapel, as if mourning for someone, and there was a calm, still quality to him which was rather disconcerting.

“Dr Yiang. It’s an honour to meet you. My name is Riccardo.”

Jennifer smiled politely, expecting a surname.

“Our table has been reserved. Or shall I join you at the bar?”

“Um. No, that’s fine. We can go.”

He offered her his hand as they want, leading her as if onto a dance floor. He was rather good looking, especially from behind. Foxes did have sublime tails. He’d even managed to get them a table by the window, next to the simmering view of the twilight skyline. More expense.

“May I?” He pulled her chair back for her. He had a faint accent, something European. Italian, perhaps.

“Thank you.” She sat, and Riccardo moved sinuously to lounge in his own. He looked at her for a moment, then out at the city. Unconsciously, his trimmed claws fingered the dark rose. Then he smiled, charmingly.

“I must apologise for meeting like this. You’re an exceptionally intelligent person, so I’m sure you’ve seen through my ruse. Normally I would go through official channels, but… this is a sensitive matter. I hope you understand.”

Jennifer had been expecting a lot more small talk. She froze, caught off guard. “Um. Well, yes. No. No, actually I don’t. Or I’m not interested. I’m here to thank you for your donation, and that’s all.”

Riccardo chuckled. “Admirable determination. I hope it goes to good use. I’ve been following your work for a few months, both with the charity and at your surgery. You really have done some remarkable things.”

She shrugged, curling her tail around her feet. “That’s… thank you. Honestly, I’m just trying to help people.”

“Aren’t we all. I read your papers, by the way. Active Skeletal Restructuring During Childhood Growth and Muscular Tissue Reassignment, and a few of the others, too. Had to break out the dictionary a dozen times on every page, and even then I don’t know how you do it. It’s genius, pure and simple.”

“Thank you.” She’d found her stride by now. “So, can we move past the flattery? You want to consult me for something, and I’m not going to unless you make a proper appointment. I am not interested in “sensitive matters”, I am interested in helping people, through the proper channels.”

Riccardo sighed. “ I quite understand. If I can defend my case-”

“I said no.”

“-the issue is nothing nefarious at all,” he continued, smoothly ignoring her. “It is a case of publicity, that is all. I am here on behalf of a patient who I think could greatly benefit from your help, but I worry that with it being a public case, she would… become a sensation. I would like to preserve her privacy.”

Jennifer shrugged. “That would happen normally. It’s basic Doctor-Patient confidentiality. I can’t tell anyone details of a case without the patient’s permission.”

Riccardo smiled ruefully. “Oh, certainly you wouldn’t discuss it. I trust that. But registering with an official practice, having our names on a database... there are people who watch, and people who are watched. I try very hard to be the former.”

Jennifer took a swig of her wine. “So it is something nefarious.”

“A little.” The fox flashed her a shining smile. “We like our privacy in my family, and we have enemies who might see it denied to us.”

“Is that why you haven’t given me a last name?”

“If you enter my employment, I will happily give it to you. I will also give you full lodging in my home in Sicily, where the patient is stationed, a colossal number of perks, and… shall we say one million dollars a year?”

Jennifer spilt her wine. Riccardo chuckled.

“I am sorry, the lady is insulted. I meant to say a million and a half.”

She glared at him. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“I am one and a half million dollars, a year, rising with inflation, for the next… well, however long it takes for you. Is that enough for perhaps a consultation?”


The reptile almost hesitated, and that made her even angrier. “You are a bribe, then.” she snapped, standing up abruptly. “Do you think I do this for money? Do you think throwing figures around will solve everything in life? Goodbye, Mr “Riccardo.” Call my office when you’re prepared to treat me like a damn doctor, not a prostitute.”

She picked up her handbag, turning to go. Riccardo did not move. Instead, he said, very quietly.

“She’s my daughter.”

Jennifer stopped.

“I started looking for you straight after her birth. She’s only two weeks old. The fools I’ve hired so far have all said she won’t make it to her first birthday.”

Slowly, Jennifer turned around. The fox wasn’t looking at her. He was looking out of the window again, stroking the rose.

“She has... her mother’s eyes. Indigo. Deep blue. It’s a striking combination, especially with her fur. But there’s none of the same joy as her mother had. She’s in pain. It’s all she knows.”

There was a pause. He looked down at the flower, blinking several times.

“Already, one life has been lost to this. I would like to stop it there.”

Jennifer sat down again.

“What’s,” she licked her dry lips, covering them delicately with a napkin. “What’s her name?”


“Christine. After her great-grandmother.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise it was…”

“Not at all. I quite understand.”

“What exactly is her problem, then?”

Riccardo gave a wan smile, drawing a slim folder from inside his jacket. The sadness seemed much more genuine than the laughing charm of before. “I have the notes here.”

He handed them across, and Jennifer flicked them open, still trying to pretend she was just being polite. The first thing she saw was an X-Ray.

After five minutes, Riccardo ordered another bottle of wine. Jennifer didn’t hear him. She flicked back and forth, words springing out at her - Regressive Genome Syndrome, hybridised cardiovascular system, Neurospinal connectivity - but even they paled in comparison to the diagrams and photographs and X-rays.

Slowly, she raised her head. “Taurism,” she said, quietly. “Perfect taurism.”

Riccardo frowned. “Perfect?”

“Well, not perfect perfect. Perfect in the medical sense of being true taurism. It’s never been recorded. Ever. It was only a hypothetical. The two bodies would never bond, they’d reject each other, they’d have parasitic brains rather than proper neurospinal absorption of one into the other, a thousand reasons. But if… if this is accurate…”

“It is. I’ve seen her. I’ve held her.”

“I can’t believe how close it is. Even the genitalia are aligned. This must have been embryonic - no, maybe even zygotic fusion. Unbelievable.”

“She is.” Riccardo’s voice held an odd note, something slightly stilted. Jennifer glanced up at him, remembering something in the first few lines.

“I’m… I’m sorry about her mother. If I’d known at the time, maybe I could have… extracted her.”

“What has passed has passed,” said the vulpine, quietly. “Thank you.”

“Your doctors are right, though. She won’t survive. This body wasn’t designed to work. It wasn’t designed at all. It just happened. Unless-”

She stopped, looking at Riccardo again. The fox looked back at her. It didn’t matter who he was or why he had such a hard-on for secrecy. He was in pain.

And Jennifer was a doctor.

“Unless,” she said slowly, “We reassemble the ribcage to allow a better flow of blood between the two halfs. We’ll need to rewire musculature, too. Growth stimulation will be necessary, otherwise the sizes won’t match. There’s a build up of neurospinal tissue near the union, likely the vestigial remains of the twin. That’ll need cleaning up. And this doesn’t even detail how her digestive tract works.”

“Yes, all we know right now is that she’s a very hungry little thing.” Riccardo sipped the last of his wine. “Have you perhaps had a change of mind?”

“No.” Jennifer handed the folder back to him, and drained her wine. She felt the old excitement in her belly, the sense of new ground, and good cause. “Just one of heart.”

And far away, a very little girl (who was already not quite as little as most very little girls) woke up crying at her own body. No-one came, in the dark of the Sicilian night, and so after a while, her wails faded, her body curling her strange tiny form atop the mattress and feeling it wiggle. The pain was still there. Slowly, whimper by whimper, she began to build herself up against it.