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“Raine you flaming bitch!” Twil barked. “You keep away from me with that thing! It’s fine!”
Raine did not get away from her, simply holding the garden hose with its spray-nozzle behind her back as if that would conceal it, making placating motions with her free hand.
“It’s not fine, Twil,” she said soothingly. “Evee doesn’t know why that stuff isn’t affected by whatever paranormal washing-machine your werewolf body puts itself through, but we need to get it off you one way or another.”
Twil kept backing away, feet shuffling through the grass as she tried to circle around Raine, doing her best to pretend that she wasn’t eyeing the garden’s rusty and vine-riddled back gate. The taller woman headed her off expertly, not giving any opening to pass without getting within reach.
“It’ll be fine Raine, I’ll do it myself!” the shorter brunette yapped. “Just give me a day or two to work on it, yeah? I can get it out, it just takes some effort.” She feinted a move towards the garden gate, but Raine didn’t flinch.
“Look. Twil,” Raine said in her Reasonable Voice. “You can’t just leave that stuff in your fur, even if you’re not wearing that particular body right this minute. Who knows what might happen. You’ll get a rash, Twil.” Her nose wrinkled. “Besides, it’s starting to stink. I can smell it even when you’re not cosplaying as the Wolf-Woman.”
The standoff drew out for a few moments, eyes locked, neither backing down an inch. “C’mon Twil,” Raine coaxed. “With me and Praem helping it’ll only take a few minutes, then we can do dinner. Heather’s out getting fried chicken.” This did not visibly budge Twil.
I had gotten fried chicken already, in fact, and had already transferred it to a casserole dish under a kitchen towel. I could still smell it in the low-burning oven where it was keeping warm; hopefully Twil wouldn’t catch the scent of our bribe until after she was clean. I was peeking out the kitchen window with a single tentacle, unwilling to risk opening the door and letting her know food had arrived. It seemed like the pre-dinner cleanup was taking longer than anticipated.
I wasn’t sure quite what Twil and Evee had been doing that had caused the mess, and goodness did that phrasing work better before I inspected it too closely. But apparently Evee had thought up some kind of magical experiment she wanted to try, something to do with Twil’s mosaic of werewolf-binding tattoos. She had coaxed Twil into going along with it, but apparently something had gone wrong and a noxious reagent of some kind bubbled or overflowed or such. Nobody had gotten hurt, and Evelyn claimed the stuff was “as non-toxic as could be expected”, but the goopy, blackish-green splatter that she and Praem were still cleaning off the workroom floor and wall was quite dramatic. And while Evee was lucky enough to have been out of the line of fire, apparently Twil-in-wolf-mode had been doused quite thoroughly. And for some eldritch reason the material was neither present when she reverted to her human self, nor simply sloughing off of her when she changed like blood and grime usually seemed to. Hence the current dilemma.
The standoff in the back garden broke; Twil ducked and weaved in some complicated pattern across the lawn, but Raine seemed to be always a move ahead of her. She hooked an arm around Twil’s midsection in a tackle that looked painful for both of them, and I could make out a muffled ‘oof!’ as Twil’s back hit the turf. There was a brief, complicated scuffle as Raine sought to pin Twil down, thighs flexing under her jeans as one leg hooked across the smaller girl’s calves. Twil automatically summoned her spirit-wolf form to take advantage of her greater size and strength, then realized that was exactly what her assailant had wanted when Raine brandished the hose to take aim with the spray nozzle. The wolf was hurriedly replaced by human again, and Raine cooly re-hooked her leg and leaned over the smaller girl to keep her pinned, using her size and weight to her advantage against Twil’s strength, unnatural even without the wolf manifested. Both grass-stained figures stayed there for a moment as they panted for breath, cheek-to-cheek, Raine using the leverage to get both of her arms wrapped up around one of Twil’s and pressing it back into the grass in some manner that was apparently impossible for the other girl to squirm out of.
I couldn’t help but lean closer to the window to watch the exchange in fascination, but I was glad I’d stayed in the kitchen. At some point in the past I might have been jealous of Twil in such a position, but right now I was mostly just trying to stay focused on the task at hand, rather than imagine ways of getting Raine to do that to me. Twil’s spirit-wolf had indeed been gunked up quite well, in the moment I’d seen it. The russet-grey werewolf had a long splash of the grimy-looking blackish material all the way along her side and back, down the outside of one thigh, and over one arm where she’d shielded her face from it. Whatever the stuff was, and however it stayed stuck to the wolf fur as it went from spiritual to real and back, it certainly looked like it stank, and I was glad to keep the kitchen door closed.
“Raine,” Twil said flatly, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. “Have you gone absolutely spare? I can clean myself up. Just let me the fuck go.”
“Twil, language,” I murmured to myself as Evelyn emerged from the workroom and into the kitchen, cane clumping along stubbornly as her free arm cradled a short pile of dirty bowls and broken crockery against her chest. Evee looked atypically washer-woman-ly with the sleeves of her blouse rolled up and a pair of yellow rubber washing-up gloves clutched in her maimed hand, an old black-and-white checkered apron protecting her front. A dish-towel folded into a scarf topped off the image, wrapped around her head to cover her blonde hair and confine stray strings of it that had escaped her bun. Praem had been doing most of the hard labor of clean-up, but Evelyn was obviously putting herself through penance for her experiment going wrong. She glanced back down the corridor to the work-room where Praem was still mopping, then took a moment to join me at the window. “How are things progressing?” she grumbled, then winced at the sight of Twil and Raine the dabbling pet-groomer engaging in a grass-stained wrestling-match.
“…not great,” I admitted. But meanwhile, the drama was continuing to unfold in the back garden.
“Sorry Twil,” Raine said with a feral grin, skin faintly sheened with sweat by the summer sun as she leaned close and adjusted her grip. “Evee’s orders. Now just sit still like a good puppy and let us give you a quick b-a-t-h, right?” spelling out the letters individually.
“Can’t wash my wolf if I don’t change for ya,” Twil pointed out, lying motionless, obstinant. “Maybe I don’t wanna break your arms, but ya still can’t do shit unless I let’cha.” She gave Raine a smug smirk; I felt if she’d been chewing gum she would have blown a bubble and snapped it between her teeth. I hoped she hadn’t swallowed any during the scuffle. “If you wanted to cuddle so bad you could’a just asked. I know it didn’t work out last time but we’ve all grown up a bit since then, right?”
“Maybe Praem can help?” I worried. “She’s stronger than Twil.” How in the world could we get Twil and Raine out of their entangled impasse?
“More force does not seem a suitable solution here,” Evelyn growled as she peeked out the kitchen window. “This has escalated to absurd heights quite well enough already. Dammit Raine,” she sighed to herself, then jerked the kitchen door open. I followed her out as she stalked into the garden like a very domestic drill sergent, cane ticking on the brick walk with each step.
“That’s quite enough, both of you,” Evelyn snapped in a voice that matched her military bearing. “Raine, for god’s sake, let her go. Twil, stop being a stubborn infant and accept some platonic,” she glared at them both, “help from your friends. I am very happy that our little mishap doesn’t seem to have caused more damage than a nasty mess, but we still need to clean up said mess so we can put it behind us and have dinner.”
“I don’t need Raine putting her hands all over me when’m not human,” Twil growled defensively. Raine herself wasn’t moving yet, perhaps sensing that Twil would retaliate the moment she loosened her arm-lock. Raine’s chest was flat against Twil’s, and their forearms flexed in a complicated knot of lighter and more-tanned skin as Twil subtly tested the hold. “I’m not yer bloody golden retriever Evee, I don’t need you to scrub me like one. Just give me a bucket’f shampoo and lemme use the big upstairs shower.”
“Twil,” Evee’s tone brooked no argument, the mage resting both hands atop her cane as she looked down at the werewolf’s wretched expression. “I love you, but you are being childish. Do you really want to spend three hours fumbling around in a shower trying to look at the back of your head in the mirror, or will you just let us help you with washing-up for twenty minutes?”
“’Sides,” Raine pointed out with a grin, “you’ll have three pretty girls like us soaping you up in a tub. What’s not to like?”
“Yeah, it’s shit like that Raine,” Twil growled, making another attempt to wriggle her arm free of the pin before giving up. “I knew you were gonna make it weird to put your hands all over my wolf. I’m not a fucking furry Raine, don’t treat me like one.”
“Not helping, Raine,” I murmured softly to her as I followed after Evee, carrying some of the bottles of shampoo and dish soap that Praem had supplied. Raine didn’t realize that Twil’s discomfort was more than superficial, or if so didn’t know what to do about it. Twil might have been easier to convince into getting bathed if Evelyn was doing it and they had some privacy, even with the awkwardness of dealing with an alien shape. …plus Evee might have had better judgement than to menace her with the garden hose. But none of us were going to suggest Evee take on that much bending and scrubbing single-handedly, and Praem seemed quite busy enough already. Like it or not, Twil really needed extra hands.
“All right, all right, I’ll back off. Sorry, Twil,” Raine admitted easily, but with genuine contrition. “Really. Sure I tease, but if you’re not having fun I won’t poke fun. I crossed a line. You know you can trust me to keep a promise, strictly business from here on out, scout’s honor. Can I let you up without you trying to do a runner again? No more trying to hose you down.” The hose was nudged through the grass with her one free foot until it was out of reach.
“Raine will be the one sleeping in the metaphorical dog house if she makes you uncomfortable, even if only accidentally,” Evelyn murmured dangerously. “Isn’t that right, Raine?” A sheepish, grimacing nod from the chestnut-haired figure wrapped up with Twil.
Twil glanced up at Evelyn, then heaved a deep, pained sigh. “Awright. Yeah, sure. Fine, let’s get it over with.”
Raine slowly released Twil and sat back on her heels, just the slightest tension in her legs and shoulders as she watched for another trick. There was none; Twil merely sat up with a sigh, rubbed her arm, rolled the soreness out of her shoulder.
“Besides,” I remembered, “I picked up dinner, it’s keeping warm in the oven. Fried chicken, from the good place with all the hot pepper sauces. If we get this done quickly we can eat before it gets old and soggy.”
Twil perked up at this. “Didja get wings, or tendies?” she asked.
“Both.”
“Consider me bribed.” Apparently the bribe was much more interesting coming from Evelyn and I than from Raine wielding a hose. Twil gave us a broad, toothy grin that could have been some cheerful athlete on the front of a sports magazine, before hesitation made her glance around at the sun-dappled grass and overgrown brick path. “…Maybe I shouldn’t change in the middle of the back garden, though?” Twil sighed. “Evee, I know the wall is high and your neighbors know better’n to peek over hedges and all, but…”
“It’s okay, it’s empty,” I reassured her, gesturing towards the large brick house whose back garden faced Evee’s, barely visible across the alleyway and through the line of ill-kept trees that separated the grand old manors. “The old couple who live there are out, I saw their daughter picking them up in her car this morning. It looked like they were going to the seaside so I expect they won’t be back until after dark.” The house next to Evelyn’s was abandoned and boarded up, the one on the opposite side distant, invisible through the trees. Twil still hesitated. “It will be much quicker and more pleasant out here in the sunshine where we have space, over trying to cram three people into the wash-room or such,” I assured her.
“Easier to clean up after as well,” Evelyn muttered to herself. Praem helped the point by choosing that moment to come out the back door with a plastic mop-bucket full of grimy water from her ongoing cleanup in the workroom. White eyes scanned the scene minutely before she walked over to a weedy corner of the garden where nothing desirable was growing, poured the foul, brownish-green water out into the dirt, and returned inside. I faintly heard the kitchen faucet run as she refilled the bucket for another pass.
“Fine, fine,” Twil admitted reluctantly. “All bases covered, I give. Let’s do this.”
I did have to admit, once actual consent was achieved the process was much more mundane. Praem brought out an old tin wash-tub that had been excavated from the basement somewhere, hosed out the dust and antedeluvian spiderwebs, and filled it with a couple buckets of hot water from the kitchen sink. It wasn’t anywhere near big enough for a whole person to fit into like a proper bath, but would at least provide a reservoir for water and keep the splashes marginally contained. Raine added a healthy dollop of blue dish soap, then topped the bath up with cooler water from the hose (under Evelyn’s critical supervision) until the temperature was tolerable.
A small yellow rubber duck bobbed in an ocean of bubbles as the hose water splashed and foamed. Where had that come from? Praem?
Giving us all a final sheepish look, Twil’s own preparation took just an instant. Pretty young woman in sneakers, jeans, and grass-smeared white Brinkwood High baseball shirt was wrapped in a six-foot-plus slavering monster of… well, not much slaver at the moment, managing to still look very awkward and uncomfortable as the massive spirit-wolf glanced at the tub of warm water. She was indeed quite splattered, and absently picked at the sticky gunk on one forearm.
It did stink. Not quite sewage-y, though there was a whiff of that. Not quite old vegetables, though that was closer. Twil’s own canine nose wrinkled as she growled with disgust, then stepped over into the bath.
“Whyyyyy is this so bloody weird,” Twil glowered, golden looking down at the ankle-deep water, then the blackish splatter along her arm and side. “Jeez the medicine is gonna be worse than the disease, innit. Never doing this again, that’s for damn sure.”
“Let’s get it over quick then,” Raine said cheerily, reaching over to take a large soft sponge from me. “Ready? Heather, grab the shampoo–”
Twil just growled at Raine and I as we approached, lip curling and muzzle wrinkling automatically to show off her long white teeth. She couldn’t help glance over at the hose lying a safe distance away, then glared back at Raine. Apparently there were still some hard feelings.
“I’m being professional here Twil,” Raine said soothingly. “Cross my heart, nothing off-color, I’m just a hospital nurse helping clean up a patient.” I wasn’t sure that was the best analogy to attempt for a professional mein, personally, but at least she was trying. “Don’t want to make Evee do all the manual labor, do you? That’s what she keeps us around for.”
Praem saved the day once more. Her sensible heels clicked quietly on the back steps as she brought out a large serving platter of the now-warmed fried chicken, complete with the assorted spicy sauces poured from their packets into small glass bowls and arranged artfully around the edge of the plate. Twil’s nose twitched with audible sniffs as Praem settled the large plate on a broken-down garden bench, and with the promised temptation within sight she sat back in the metal basin, legs dangling over the edge of it, massive feet resting in the grass. The werewolf overflowed the old washing-tub absurdly, but it at least let some of her fur soak as Raine eyed the greenish-black droplets spattering Twil’s ears and the back of her head.
“Guess we’ll start at the top and work our way down, hey?” Raine said amiably, selecting a sponge and dipping it in the water before getting to work. Twil rolled her eyes with a deep, put-upon sigh but complied, absently soaping and rinsing the sludge on her forearm as she tipped her head to let Raine reach her face. I hesitated, not sure how to help.
At least the soap seemed to do a good job of covering up the smell of the glue-like gunk, so we didn’t have to hold our breath. Twil herself heaved a sigh of relief as we started rinsing her down, damping down the stench and letting it be overpowered by lavendar, sun-drenched grass and the promise of an unhealthy, greasy dinner. Unfortunately the stuff seemed to be as sticky as it looked, mostly unaffected by water alone, clinging and balling up stubbornly under the assault of dish soap and hair shampoo. I had no idea to what end Evelyn had concocted it, but up close it seemed to have all the worst properties of rubber cement and chewing gum. Twil fidgeted and grumbled as Raine and I tried to work it out of her fur without tugging bunches of it out, alternating between giving Evelyn mortified looks and glancing over at the plate of hot chicken every time the breeze shifted.
Twil’s stomach rumbled, audibly. Lunch hadn’t been that long ago, but she also had a werewolf’s full sense of smell now. The big black pad of her nose was twitching non-stop, snuffling audibly; when Raine and I paused for a moment she reached out one dripping claw for a chicken wing only to have it rapped by the head of Evelyn’s cane. “You are NOT touching food while sitting in a filthy bath,” Evee snapped. “I said the byproduct of our little blow-up should be mostly non-toxic. I stand by that statement long as the material remains outside of you.”
The wolf just looked unspeakably betrayed at being forced to smell but not touch the fried chicken, and I automatically scooped up a nearby chicken strip with a tentacle, transferred it to my fingers, and offered it to Twil. I don’t know how Twil made a wolf’s face look insulted, but she gave it a pretty good go. But the golden-yellow eyes only met mine for a moment before returning to the chicken I offered. She glanced at me, then the chicken, giving the faintest of humiliated whines.
“I know, I know, you’re not a dog, I’m not trying to treat you like one,” I soothed. “But you can smell like one. I can see the effect it has on you.” I moved the fragment of fried chicken side to side, and Twil’s muzzle followed it automatically, focused on it like a laser. “Trust me, I know plenty about sensory dysfunction and dysmorphia. It’s nothing you have to feel embarassed about,” I coaxed. “Just enjoy the enhanced smells and let yourself get distracted a bit from being uncomfortable.”
“Yeah,” Raine grumbled from behind her, “stop fidgeting and let me get this chunk out, I’m trying not to pull your fur. Why is this crap getting chunky? Evee, are you sure it’s not good enough to just shave it out?”
“Soap and water solve an extraordinary variety of problems,” Evelyn ordered firmly.
Twil heaved a gigantic, resigned sigh, and nipped the chicken tender delicately from between my fingertips. A toss of her head and it was caught neatly in her maw, chewed twice, and then swallowed. Then the heavy wolf’s head turned back toward me again, inhuman eyes just watching expectantly. I kept my face carefully immobile as I contemplated the effect of those gigantic teeth digging into the chicken, and my front-row seat to it. But now that the ice had been broken it seemed like an acceptable diversion.
Despite my assurances I didn’t meet Twil’s golden gaze for long. Another tender vanished instantly before I started feeding her smaller fragments; we needed to make the dinner last after all, and Twil seemed just as fixated by the scent of a small nibble as a full portion. I pretended to be distracted watching over Raine’s shoulder I offered Twil a smaller piece of chicken, and she did her best to ignore me as she pulled it from my fingertips as carefully as she could. Apparently moderation was not a concern when one had jaws and teeth so large, or a nose so large for that matter, so I tried not to blush and moderated for her.
“Dip?” Twil rumbled after another piece of chicken was gone, glancing at the plate. Her cool nose bumped my still-outstretched palm, massive tongue automatically swiped over my skin once in a hopeful little brush before she sat back with chagrin.
“Oh dear, I don’t know if the sauces are okay for you to eat while like this,” I admitted, flustered. I should have checked ahead, somehow, looked up the ingredients. “Isn’t garlic bad for canines or something? Or was it hot peppers?” What else might be in the assorted dips?
“Go ahead, it will all end up in a human stomach anyway when we’re finished,” Evelyn waved my concerns away as she moved up beside Raine to better micromanage her. “Just go easy on them and give her small bites. Twil, give us some warning if you start feeling nauseous or anything. It’s not as though having a werewolf vomiting in my garden will make today any more of a disaster…” Evelyn grumped. I fed Twil another tender, then rinsed my hands of chicken and stepped in to help Raine scrub. Twil’s face followed my motions hopefully, head scanning between myself and the platter of chicken, but Evelyn rapped her cane on the edge of the bath.
“You’ll get more once they’re done with your head,” she commanded. I tried to figure out how to best help Raine and steeled myself for the awkwardness of touching a philosophically-still-clothed Twil.
Honestly though, once we fell into a rhythm it wasn’t too difficult, and I got my assorted limbs into the soapy fur alongside Raine’s. I’d never had any pet, let alone a large dog, and it was a distinctly odd experience to work shampoo over the incredibly soft, silky doggie-ears that belonged to my friend, massaging it into her scalp while trying to pick the crusty gunk away from the fur as gently as possible. But the tension started to ease as we all settled into a routine of washing-up, and as long as the suds didn’t get into her ears Twil just leaned back into my hands, closed her eyes, and occasionally made soft ‘hrr’ noises. Raine knelt on her knees and did the bulk of the work, since her grey t-shirt and worn jeans was already grass-stained and some more wouldn’t hurt them, nor would the occasional splash of rapidly-darkening bathwater that slopped over the edge of the tub. Mostly I merely served as extra hands and tentacles: distracting Twil with scraps of chicken, standing by with fresh sponges and scrub brushes, being sent into the kitchen for another plate of warmed chicken, or ruffling towels over Twil’s soggy mane and hanging them up on the laundry line to dry.
Meanwhile, Evelyn supervised. Or put less diplomatically, she fidgeted and fussed and got in the way. Raine steadfastly refused to let her do any of the work that might involve bending over or crouching, which was all of it, and I knew that pushing and scrubbing couldn’t be good for her hands either. But she also refused to go inside and yield to us entirely, or even let me bring a chair out of the kitchen so she could sit down.
“Here, Evee, you take over with the treats,” I said at last. Twil’s ears perked up at the word ‘treat’ before she sheepishly pretended they hadn’t, and Evelyn just shot me an angry-embarassed why-are-you-doing-this-to-me look, brow furrowed. “C’mon, it’s easy, and I need to go in and get more shampoo.” We were running out at a prodigious rate, needing two or three washes to get each patch of the stubborn gunk out of the wolf’s thick fur. “Here, try the orange-ish sauce, I think that’s her favorite.” I tore a chicken tender in half, dipped it in the indicated sauce, and pushed it into Evelyn’s free hand. Before she could protest I darted inside, Twil’s head following my departure with a betrayed expression.
I did stop inside the kitchen a moment to make sure neither of them were too mortified at the idea, though. Evelyn held a little sliver of chicken pinched between two fingers in front of Twil’s nose, looking like she was concerned about losing one of her remaining digits. Twil just stared at the kitchen door for long enough to make me concerned she was considering going back on the deal and making a run for it, but finally she heaved an audible sigh and turned to accept the treat from Evelyn. Evee didn’t meet the wolf’s eyes as massive teeth delicately tugged a nibble of chicken out of her grasp, but when it was gone the water in the washtub swished as Twil’s tail gave a hopeful little wag and she looked up at Evee for another. I stopped watching when Evelyn reluctantly tucked her cane against her chest and pulled another fragment of chicken off the piece she was holding to offer it to the werewolf.
Raine, face out of sight of either of them behind Twil’s bulk, was suppressing a grin.
I did my best to be quick, but Raine had already progressed halfway down Twil’s back by the time I returned with more soap, the steady soaking slowly starting to finally loosen up the gunk and make it easier to remove. Twil and Evee were more meditative, the werewolf’s eyes mostly closed as Evee leaned on her cane and slowly fed her scraps of chicken. Twil was doing her best not to give in to the overlay of canine instincts that came with wearing her wolf, and only mostly succeeding. For her part Evelyn was very firmly not watching the wolf eat, but didn’t jerk her hand away either when the occasional swipe of pink tongue cleaned grease and spicy sauce from her fingertips, and she couldn’t help but respond to the automatic doggie-nuzzles with equally habitual strokes of the werewolf’s cheek and chin. At least it seemed to be keeping both of them sufficiently distracted from anything else.
“All right, lift your arm up so we can do your side?” Raine said easily, kneeling beside the sudsy werewolf as I returned to her own side. There was the faintest snarl of warning from the wolf as Raine’s hands worked shampoo over her ribs and one side of her chest, but I headed off the argument by handing Evee another piece of chicken. We were out of boneless strips of breaded chicken breast, down to the more fiddly wings and drumsticks. Raine’s touch was as impersonal as she’d promised though, and as far as I could tell under the sopping fur Twil’s werewolf-self didn’t seem to have much to be unprofessional about anyway. But I had the sudden mental image of the human version of Twil in the same position with Raine, still wearing the same pouty and bedraggled expression, and had to curl my toes tight in my sneakers to try not to let the thought show on my face.
Instead I snuck another glance to see how Evee was managing in her role as beast-tamer, holding a sauce-dipped chicken wing to Twil’s mouth as she worried and licked at it. “There we go,” Evelyn said awkwardly. “Good… girl?” A blush colored her cheeks as she tried decide if that was the right thing to say, but then she snapped with automatic sternness as Twil tugged harder at the wing. “Hey, no! Bad!” she commanded, tightening her grip on the wing as the wolf tried to snatch it from her fingers. The bone began to crack between enormous teeth as they played tug-of-war. “No bones!” The wolf looked up stubbornly at her with flattened ears and the faintest of growls, not letting go of the wing as Evelyn tugged at it. “Bad Twil! Give. Giiiive,” she commanded. Twil reluctantly released the wing and let Evelyn pull off a piece of the meat for her instead. “Honestly Twil,” Evee grumbled, tone softer, “there’s a difference between healing from a stab wound or such versus needing broken chicken bones fished from your throat…” Twil grumbled and whined in reluctant assent as she accepted the offered sliver of meat, pink tongue lapping sauce from Evee’s fingers in apologetic little swipes.
“Okay, stand up and let me do your bum,” Raine said easily, deliberately casual and unbothered even as Evee’s brow wrinkled in a suppressed wince at the phrasing. “Yeah yeah there’s no way for it to not be awkward, but it won’t take long, we’re almost done. Evee, another treat?”
Twil gave one more of those deep, put-upon sighs as she stood with a cascade of soapy water and allowed Evelyn to feed her fragments from a drumstick. It was an even more incongruous match-up with her standing, the werewolf head and shoulders above Evelyn as the hunched mage in her cleaner’s clothing slowly held up little morsels to be caught by gleaming white teeth. Each disappeared into the ferocious maw with dainty little smacks of lips and tongue, and Raine kneeled behind her to work on the last of the stubborn goop. Raine was as good as her word as always, relying as much as she could on scrub brush and sponge instead of having to rub soap on Twil’s rump and thigh with bare hands. I moved over closer beside her to help, ostensibly holding and pouring shampoo where directed or dipping a plastic cup into the tub of murky water to rinse on cue. Really though I was just there to block Twil’s wagging tail from whacking Raine in the face without seeming intentional about it, and ponder ways of getting Raine in a similar situation with me where she wasn’t sworn to professionalism.
“Well I think that’s about the last of it,” Raine admitted at last, though I noticed it wasn’t before Evelyn had run out of easily-reached chicken. Damp, tanned arms glistened in the sun as she stood up and stretched, popped her back and shoulders, contemplated her sodden shirt and soggy, grass-stained knees. “Heather, can you get Praem to give me a hand emptying the tub? We can refill it and do a quick rinse to clean off the soap.”
I was halfway to the kitchen door when Twil turned and looked thoughtfully at Raine, then shrugged and gestured toward the hose lying half-forgotten in the grass.
“You sure?” Raine asked, as Evelyn backed away as hurredly as she could. Twil just shrugged again.
“Not like’m gonna get more wet,” she said roughly. “’N it’s nice and warm out.”
So the already-surreal afternoon was capped off by the vision of the russet-grey spirit-wolf turning in the middle of the yard with eyes closed and tongue lolling, arms outstretched as Raine hosed soap suds from the monsterous thing’s coat. Once or twice Evelyn pointed and Raine paused to let me rush in with a soapy sponge and a brush to free some stray goop that had been missed, scrubbing hard and combing gently before standing back to let the hose wash it free from the thick fur. Twil seemed to be genuinely enjoying the cool water after the lukewarm bath and hot sunlight, ducking her face into the spray a couple times, then took the hose from Raine and held it over her head like a shower to let the cascade slick her fur down.
But that seemed to be that, at last. The rest of us might even still have some chicken left of our own, too. The wolf hunched, then paused and looked over to make a polite little shoo-ing motion towards us with her fingertips, the gesture incongruously dainty from the killing claws. Raine, Evee and I hurriedly backed off even further, taking the plate with the few remaining pieces of chicken with us. Twil crouched down on all fours to give a massive shake, sodden fur flapping from ears to tailtip, showering the entire yard with water. The late-afternoon sunlight made cheerful little rainbows as the mist settled.
“Whew,” Twil said with a bright grin, abruptly human again, still dripping as she smoothed shoulder-length wet hair back from her face. “Thanks, all. I’ll say it, you were right, that wasn’t as bad as I expected. ’N I do feel way better with that shit gone, I didn’t know a body could itch when it wasn’t around. Is there enough chicken left for seconds?” she asked as she wrung out the corner of her soggy white shirt. She was very visibly not wearing anything beneath it.
Evelyn turned toward the kitchen and cleared her throat, cheeks pinkening far more than they already were as I rushed forward to drape a towel over Twil’s shoulders.