A mile-tall bunnygirl wants to paint your picture.

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You had known from the start that a university for anthros would mean trouble, but you thought the benefits would be worth it. There was simply no better college in the country for your career choice, or at least none within your means. The university's Scholarship for Human-Anthro Integration made it totally free for you, once you aced the admission test. But a few weeks at the Moreau Institute disowned you of the notion you'd be leaning any more here than you would at even a middling human university. Sure, the professors were all experts in their fields, and the facilities well-stocked with all the resources a bright young mind could ever want for its education, but it was hard to learn much or even attend your classes when you spent most school days under the paw of some random anthro.

There wasn't any malice on their part, or at least, not usually. Most anthros were happy to help when they discovered your awkward position. It's just that humans like you were the size of fleas to those giants, easily overlooked by an anthro hurrying to some important lecture. For instance, Rebecca Stone, a second year arts student whose furry paw landed on you just outside the main entrance.

Rebecca was a dainty girl, as anthros judged things. The black-furred rabbit measured a flat five feet on their scale, and had little in the way of curves or thickness. Her step wasn't anywhere near as heavy as the lion who had stepped on you yesterday, though at this scale it hardly made a difference whether they weighed a million tons or a hundred million; the result either way was that you went flat under her foot and were driven between fur strands thicker than your arms. That's where you spent the many hours it took for her to notice an odd squirming under her sole and scratch it away. Her claws picked you out from her fur, and carried you up for what would have been a brief inspection and a violent flick out into space had she not realized what she was looking at. “Human,” she said in her soft Londoner accent, as though that were your name. It's what most everyone called you, for that matter. You were the only human at the institute, and it wasn't exactly easy to tell them your name when the only way to be heard was to get right inside their ears and shout your lungs out.

Her dark eyes shone at you through her round, rimless glasses, weighing how hurt you were and how apologetic she should be. “Have you been there long? I think I felt something before, but... well, you can't blame me for not knowing it was you. You wouldn't think it was a person either if you felt something so small under your foot. Not to imply that you're not a person. It's just you humans are so little. I don't know why they let you in the Institute if you can't even get to class on your own.”

She finally dropped you on her palm, that field of black, glossy stems which hardly bent under your weight. It was hard to stand on it, so you sat instead and cast a look around. Seemed you were in the art room. The scent of paint mixed with other smells you weren't familiar with, including one you figured must belong to this girl. Opposite her was a gigantic yet relatively modest blank canvas. Hemmed in between it and her, you could see little of the room, but it looked and sounded like there was no one else there.

As for Becky, you found her wearing a beige smock over her white shirt. The smock showed signs of frequent use, with spots and streaks of many colored paints. Faint ones mostly, but all together it was likely more than enough to give every house in your neighborhood a fresh coat. Amazing to think how much use humans could get from the wastefulness of even a single anthro.

Above that frock, Becky stared at you with an unreadable look. “Say... you don't have anywhere to be right now, do you?” You checked the time on your phone, and shook your head when you saw your last class had ended an hour ago. “Then can I borrow you for a painting? I think you've given me some inspiration.”

It was a surprise, but a flattering one. And since you had no more classes to miss, you graciously accepted her request. “Perfect.” She proceeded to describe the pose she wanted from you. Seated facing her, legs forward and half-bent, hands on the ground behind you holding up your body, face turned towards her. Now satisfied, she picked her brush up straight away and began to paint.

After a minute you glanced over your shoulder hoping to see her progress, but you could see nothing of the canvas past her big black fingers, and Rebecca quickly barked at you to hold your pose. Many long minutes passed with you in that pose before she brought her hand closer, almost right against her face. Warm breath rushed from her nose and swept over you, whipping at your hair and clothes; you gripped her fur tighter to not be blown away.

By reflex you shrank back as her dark eye stared at you with a wordless focus, its black pit devouring every detail it could find. You expected a reprimand for breaking pose again, but she didn't comment on it save for a satisfied-sounding hum which soon blew over you. You could feel the intensity in her gaze even as her brushstrokes took on a more delicate quality, and you stilled everything, even your breathing, until some time passed without her even glancing at you. All her focus was on the canvas now. At times she leaned in close or pulled back from it before adding some fine touches with her brush. Finally she gave a nod. “It's done,” she said, and turned her hand around for her model to admire the work.

Your excitement disappeared with a pang when you saw her work. Perhaps vainly, you'd expected a portrait of yourself, something like staring into a mirror. Well, it was a bit like that, if the mirror were a hundred yards away.

Most of the canvas was taken up by shades of black, with lighter highlights masterfully depicting depth and volume. Even with the choice of color, it could have been taken for a landscape painting if not for the thumb on the left side and the four half-curled fingers in the background. In a sense it still was a landscape painting, though the landscape was Rebecca's hand. And lost in the middle of that dark field was lone little figure whose frightened eyes you faintly saw staring back at you.

“So? What do you think?” she said, and gave you her phone number after remembering she couldn't hear you.

“It's... really incredible,” you said. It made you uncomfortable, but that was probably an artistic triumph, especially if it could make others feel the same way. There was no better depiction of the smallness you felt around anthros.

“It is, isn't it.” It wasn't a question, nor even a boast. Rebecca stated it as a straightforward fact, with a confidence too great for such a “dainty” package. “I think I really captured your awe even with such little space to work with. At first I considered bringing the perspective closer to give myself more room, but it would have lost the sense of scale it needed.” She fell into silent contemplation again, and gave one final nod. “I'll definitely win an award with this.”

“This was for a competition?”

Rebecca looked at you as though you'd asked if fire was hot, though her glare softened right away. “Yes. I forgot, you're not in the art sphere so you've probably never heard of it. It's a state competition, taking place next week.”

“Well, good luck to you. I hope you win.”

“You're not convinced I will yet?” Rebecca smirked. “No matter. I'll tell you what, though: when I win, I'll take you out to celebrate.” The way she said it, you couldn't find it in yourself to doubt that she really would win top prize. Man, what you wouldn't give to have a fraction of her self-confidence. “It might need some touch-ups before it's ready, though. Or maybe... Hmmmm.” Her fingers almost closed over you as she pondered the painting, pensively petting her chin. “Human, are you willing to be my model again? Not right now; tomorrow, maybe, or whenever I need you. I'm thinking of turning this into a series.”

“You want to paint me on other parts of your body?”

“No, no. That is to say, maybe, but mostly I want to paint you juxtaposed with common objects. With a pencil on a desk, or climbing a stack of coins, to give some possibilities. Why do you ask? Do you want to be put on other parts of my body?”

Her eyes appraised you with that unreadable gaze again. It didn't look like she'd be upset if you answered “yes”. “I just thought that's what you meant. I'm fine with posing for you anywhere. Er, almost anywhere. Though it'll have to be when I'm not in class. Or under some other anthro's paws.”

“As to the second thing, if you're ever in that unfortunate position again, feel free to call me and ask for help. I'll get you free of whoever's stepping on you, and set them straight if they think to keep me from my model.” An image of Rebecca confronting that lion quarterback from the other day popped into your head. Odd to say, but if it ever came to that, you wouldn't hesitate to put all your money on her.

“You do that for me and I'll pose anywhere and anyhow you ask, no questions asked.”

Rebecca chuckled. “I doubt I'll ask for anything you'd object to regardless, but I appreciate the offer.”

“Shall we shake on it?” You held out your hand, such a pitifully tiny thing beside the monster you were standing on, and Rebecca smiled and offered up a single clawtip in return. Even that was far too big for you to wrap your hand around, but you grabbed it and managed to hold on while she moved it up and down.

“It is settled. You're mine, human; from now until the day I'm through with you.”