THE OTHER KIND
“Am I to understand what we tell you or show you will remain privileged and you can’t disclose it?” I asked.
“That’s correct,” he answered. “I may decline to represent you further based on the information or evidence you provide, but I cannot reveal what you tell me.”
“Even if we are what they say we are?”
Oscar chuckled. “Yes, Doctor White, even if you’re a pack of werewolves.”
Encouraged by his answer I morphed, with fangs, pallor and red eyes. Oscar instinctively jumped back but recovered and said with another chuckle, “What an excellent effect. How did you do it?”
By then I returned to human form. “You don’t understand. I really am a vampire,” I said.
Oscar stood and sternly replied, “Doctor White, if you think this is all a joke perhaps you should seek other representation.” He retrieved his briefcase, preparing to leave.
A vampire morph is not dramatic. Most of it happens internally, expanding joints and modest bone growth. Except for the fangs I could pass for large pale man with a bad hangover. We needed a more dramatic demonstration.
I turned to Cynthia. “Show him what you can do.”
“Do I have to?” she complained. “This is a brand new outfit.”
“Please, it’s important.” Sam added. “Besides, I sewed in Velcro morph seams.”
Cynthia stood and stepped to the middle of the room. She faced Oscar who paused at the door. Shimmying out of her panties, she kicked them to the side with a last flick of a bare foot. Stretchy lingerie fabrics didn’t tear. Because a lycan grew when morphing, most underwear bound them painfully. Ed’s eyes locked onto the sexually aromatic wrinkle of white material shimmering at her feet. She stood erect with legs apart and hands on hips. As it molded to her butt, the black miniskirt sparkled with sequins, round like half of a disco ball. I surveyed the pleasingly dramatic arching cleft of her spine under the white blouse.
“Okay,” she said. “You asked for it.”
With a rip of Velcro, the garments separated and fell away. She expanded in all directions nearly touching the ceiling, seeming to fill the room. Arms and legs elongated as if made of modeling clay. A curved fanged snout grew out of the face some said could launch a thousand ships. Upon completing the morph she peered down on Oscar. Casual predation emanated from the height of coal black eyes.
“Convinced now?” I asked above the sound of Cynthia’s low growl.
Bug-eyed, Oscar slowly retook his seat.
“That’s correct,” he answered. “I may decline to represent you further based on the information or evidence you provide, but I cannot reveal what you tell me.”
“Even if we are what they say we are?”
Oscar chuckled. “Yes, Doctor White, even if you’re a pack of werewolves.”
Encouraged by his answer I morphed, with fangs, pallor and red eyes. Oscar instinctively jumped back but recovered and said with another chuckle, “What an excellent effect. How did you do it?”
By then I returned to human form. “You don’t understand. I really am a vampire,” I said.
Oscar stood and sternly replied, “Doctor White, if you think this is all a joke perhaps you should seek other representation.” He retrieved his briefcase, preparing to leave.
A vampire morph is not dramatic. Most of it happens internally, expanding joints and modest bone growth. Except for the fangs I could pass for large pale man with a bad hangover. We needed a more dramatic demonstration.
I turned to Cynthia. “Show him what you can do.”
“Do I have to?” she complained. “This is a brand new outfit.”
“Please, it’s important.” Sam added. “Besides, I sewed in Velcro morph seams.”
Cynthia stood and stepped to the middle of the room. She faced Oscar who paused at the door. Shimmying out of her panties, she kicked them to the side with a last flick of a bare foot. Stretchy lingerie fabrics didn’t tear. Because a lycan grew when morphing, most underwear bound them painfully. Ed’s eyes locked onto the sexually aromatic wrinkle of white material shimmering at her feet. She stood erect with legs apart and hands on hips. As it molded to her butt, the black miniskirt sparkled with sequins, round like half of a disco ball. I surveyed the pleasingly dramatic arching cleft of her spine under the white blouse.
“Okay,” she said. “You asked for it.”
With a rip of Velcro, the garments separated and fell away. She expanded in all directions nearly touching the ceiling, seeming to fill the room. Arms and legs elongated as if made of modeling clay. A curved fanged snout grew out of the face some said could launch a thousand ships. Upon completing the morph she peered down on Oscar. Casual predation emanated from the height of coal black eyes.
“Convinced now?” I asked above the sound of Cynthia’s low growl.
Bug-eyed, Oscar slowly retook his seat.
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