Despite years of experience, Nadine did not know a whole lot about how magic worked. Mostly because it was fucking dumb.
For instance: where the hell did the rest of her body go? Did the laws of conservation of mass just not apply, or was it some weird quantum thing, or what? And how did a tiny brain support a human mind? This was a major philosophical issue for a material monist.
Nadine's answer to these questions was: who the fuck cares, this is so dumb.
Turning into a tiny dog during daylight hours was a lot less inconvenient than it was probably intended to be. She usually preferred to sleep then, anyway, and dogs got away with sleeping in much weirder places than human women. Though clothes were kind of an issue. Especially glasses. And the ears.
Probably less of an issue if she were more willing to hang out with furries, but a girl had to have some standards. Curse or no curse.
Finding good places to sleep was an art form. A perpetual black fur coat could be excessively warm. Lucky for her it never grew any longer; asking for a haircut would be awkward. So, shady spots were ideal. Anywhere that children or teens liked to congregate was right out. Old people, too, although they were easier to get away from than kids. Dog breeders were fucking dangerous, not least because who ever heard of a green-eyed poodle? Nightclubs hurt her ears these days, but when she made it to a nice gay bar she got so many hottie snuggles. It was pretty rad.
Okay, so. Maybe a crime scene wasn't, like, ideal. But her sense of smell was amazeballs lately, and while that was hella gross 99.99% of the time, whichever cop that car belonged to smelled fuckin' great.
In sort of a sexy way? But, human brain sexy. Not dog body sexy. Dogs weren't sexy, even when they were her.
It got complicated.
Fortunately for being a goddamn dog, her plan to look conspicuously cute and her plan to get her nap on were super compatible.
Less fortunately for being a goddamn dog, she was more likely to be picked up without warning. Which was, honestly, saying a lot more than it would be for other people. When she was a toddler, it was normal to be picked up all the time. Less so the older she got. And yet, well into her twenties, strangers picked her up like this was normal behavior for adult human beings. Even so, it was an unsettling way to wake up, and she didn't think she could be blamed for some mild -- mild! -- flailing.
Oh hey hello good to see you look as good as you smell. Rawr. Or... woof? No, that still sounded bad. There weren't a lot of sexy dog noises. Struggle status: real as hell.
She didn't even have to cry at him to get him to take her home. Dude was making it too easy. Although the fact that he didn't smoke was going to suck. She didn't exactly have pockets.
She'd considered just carrying her cigarettes with her when she transformed, but that didn't seem like it would work out too well. Walking down the street, a tiny dog with a pack of cigarettes in her mouth... yeah, no, probably not. Much easier to just go home with smokers.
He hadn't looked like the type to live in a suburb, and she probably would have made fun of him for it if she had the capacity to say words. That didn't stop her from trying to say, "I have some ideas," which sounded suspiciously like, "ruff." Her nails clicked on the hardwood of his floor, because her curse had the side-effect of a fantastic manicure whatever her form. Occasional smells would distract her, because her attention span had never been great and people were a lot less touchy about nosy dogs.
Try to look in a dude's pantry as a lady: weird. Do the same thing as a tiny dog: adorbs. Such unfair double standards.
"Hey. Hey. Heeeey. Heeeeeeeey. Who takes a dog home and doesn't offer her ham? Dude. C'mon. It'll cost, like, waaay less in the long run if you just gimme some ham right now. C'mon, bruh. C'moooon."
But he ignored the "rurawrawrawr" in favor of showering. And didn't even let her watch! Rude. She made a note of where the bathroom was for later. There were certain bodily functions she refused to have when not a person, thankyouverymuch.
She discovered after repeated failures that she could not reach the top of his bed. Knocking over his furniture to get onto his other furniture and steal the good pillows would probably not get her on his good side. So she curled up and she waited, and was rewarded for her troubles with prime snuggly real estate. She made herself comfy with a yawn, and listened to his heartbeat as she settled into a nice drowse.
She'd figured out that the first sign was a sort of tingle in her toes. She got up and stretched, then took a flying leap out of bed. It wasn't intended to be a flying leap, but just about everything was at her size. Dainty steps to the bathroom, getting taller all the while, and by the time she'd reached her destination she could even close the door behind her.
Aside from the obvious things to take care of, she still sort of smelled like dog. So she stole his shampoo. And his toothbrush. Puppy breath: not as attractive on a grown-ass woman. Based on all that medication in his cabinet, he probably wasn't going to be too happy about that particular violation of his personal space.
Well, whatever. He could buy a new toothbrush.
She probably could have stolen his clothes, but instead she stole his phone. She figured out his passcode based on the fingerprints on his screen, and wandered into his kitchen with his phone in tow. Having his payment information attached to his device turned out to be a terrible plan, because in no time at all she had subscribed him to a music streaming service so she could listen to all the Hot New Hitz. She set it on the counter with the volume relatively low, and dug through his fridge until she found something she could fry.
Which was why, in the middle of the night, Grayson had a naked woman with ears and a tail in his kitchen frying bacon and listening to Kendrick Lamar.
For instance: where the hell did the rest of her body go? Did the laws of conservation of mass just not apply, or was it some weird quantum thing, or what? And how did a tiny brain support a human mind? This was a major philosophical issue for a material monist.
Nadine's answer to these questions was: who the fuck cares, this is so dumb.
Turning into a tiny dog during daylight hours was a lot less inconvenient than it was probably intended to be. She usually preferred to sleep then, anyway, and dogs got away with sleeping in much weirder places than human women. Though clothes were kind of an issue. Especially glasses. And the ears.
Probably less of an issue if she were more willing to hang out with furries, but a girl had to have some standards. Curse or no curse.
Finding good places to sleep was an art form. A perpetual black fur coat could be excessively warm. Lucky for her it never grew any longer; asking for a haircut would be awkward. So, shady spots were ideal. Anywhere that children or teens liked to congregate was right out. Old people, too, although they were easier to get away from than kids. Dog breeders were fucking dangerous, not least because who ever heard of a green-eyed poodle? Nightclubs hurt her ears these days, but when she made it to a nice gay bar she got so many hottie snuggles. It was pretty rad.
Okay, so. Maybe a crime scene wasn't, like, ideal. But her sense of smell was amazeballs lately, and while that was hella gross 99.99% of the time, whichever cop that car belonged to smelled fuckin' great.
In sort of a sexy way? But, human brain sexy. Not dog body sexy. Dogs weren't sexy, even when they were her.
It got complicated.
Fortunately for being a goddamn dog, her plan to look conspicuously cute and her plan to get her nap on were super compatible.
Less fortunately for being a goddamn dog, she was more likely to be picked up without warning. Which was, honestly, saying a lot more than it would be for other people. When she was a toddler, it was normal to be picked up all the time. Less so the older she got. And yet, well into her twenties, strangers picked her up like this was normal behavior for adult human beings. Even so, it was an unsettling way to wake up, and she didn't think she could be blamed for some mild -- mild! -- flailing.
Oh hey hello good to see you look as good as you smell. Rawr. Or... woof? No, that still sounded bad. There weren't a lot of sexy dog noises. Struggle status: real as hell.
She didn't even have to cry at him to get him to take her home. Dude was making it too easy. Although the fact that he didn't smoke was going to suck. She didn't exactly have pockets.
She'd considered just carrying her cigarettes with her when she transformed, but that didn't seem like it would work out too well. Walking down the street, a tiny dog with a pack of cigarettes in her mouth... yeah, no, probably not. Much easier to just go home with smokers.
He hadn't looked like the type to live in a suburb, and she probably would have made fun of him for it if she had the capacity to say words. That didn't stop her from trying to say, "I have some ideas," which sounded suspiciously like, "ruff." Her nails clicked on the hardwood of his floor, because her curse had the side-effect of a fantastic manicure whatever her form. Occasional smells would distract her, because her attention span had never been great and people were a lot less touchy about nosy dogs.
Try to look in a dude's pantry as a lady: weird. Do the same thing as a tiny dog: adorbs. Such unfair double standards.
"Hey. Hey. Heeeey. Heeeeeeeey. Who takes a dog home and doesn't offer her ham? Dude. C'mon. It'll cost, like, waaay less in the long run if you just gimme some ham right now. C'mon, bruh. C'moooon."
But he ignored the "rurawrawrawr" in favor of showering. And didn't even let her watch! Rude. She made a note of where the bathroom was for later. There were certain bodily functions she refused to have when not a person, thankyouverymuch.
She discovered after repeated failures that she could not reach the top of his bed. Knocking over his furniture to get onto his other furniture and steal the good pillows would probably not get her on his good side. So she curled up and she waited, and was rewarded for her troubles with prime snuggly real estate. She made herself comfy with a yawn, and listened to his heartbeat as she settled into a nice drowse.
She'd figured out that the first sign was a sort of tingle in her toes. She got up and stretched, then took a flying leap out of bed. It wasn't intended to be a flying leap, but just about everything was at her size. Dainty steps to the bathroom, getting taller all the while, and by the time she'd reached her destination she could even close the door behind her.
Aside from the obvious things to take care of, she still sort of smelled like dog. So she stole his shampoo. And his toothbrush. Puppy breath: not as attractive on a grown-ass woman. Based on all that medication in his cabinet, he probably wasn't going to be too happy about that particular violation of his personal space.
Well, whatever. He could buy a new toothbrush.
She probably could have stolen his clothes, but instead she stole his phone. She figured out his passcode based on the fingerprints on his screen, and wandered into his kitchen with his phone in tow. Having his payment information attached to his device turned out to be a terrible plan, because in no time at all she had subscribed him to a music streaming service so she could listen to all the Hot New Hitz. She set it on the counter with the volume relatively low, and dug through his fridge until she found something she could fry.
Which was why, in the middle of the night, Grayson had a naked woman with ears and a tail in his kitchen frying bacon and listening to Kendrick Lamar.
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