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draco-rex99 · 1 month ago

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Filling In for the Boss

Something I wrote for my bestie Bowsiosaurus involving my own cast of OCs. Vee enjoys the scenario of finding verself having simply REPLACED an existing character, and experiencing reality catching up with the change and making ver "fit" into that character's spot. This time vee replaced one of my characters! I hope you enjoy that process, as well as getting to see more of the Lapras Lounge =^w^=

CW: Big Lady TF

Here's a little art vee did, as an eye-catch for ny'all <3

Bowsie, not for the first time, and likely not for the last, awoke in a room that wasn’t vers.

An unfamiliar alarm clock was what roused the little sea serpent from ver slumber; the second giveaway was just how dark it was. Usually, in ver own room, there was at least some light leaking in through the window. As vee slithered out from under the covers—the mattress was a lot stiffer than vee was used to, vee noticed—and felt around the room, vee followed a tiny sliver of sunlight that traced the edge of a large windowsill. Pulling back the thick, heavy crushed-velvet curtains, vee found verself looking out at the skyline of a large city: skyscrapers in the distance, a busy street a few stories beneath ver feet, and the sun hanging low in the sky, casting a hazy yellow glow over the world.

Well, vee thought to verself, I guess that’s one clue as to whose life I’ve stumbled into this time. They must be well-off to afford a place like this. Ver eyes swept across the now-illuminated room—it wasn’t opulent, but it was spacious, and in a high-rise in what looked like a downright metropolis. The covers were thin, but quite soft, and embroidered with tasteful geometric designs that reminded Bowsie of the sorts of fabrics vee saw in movies from the 1920’s. That told them something about the owner’s tastes, but…

What kind of person sets an alarm for six o’clock in the afternoon? Vee wondered. At least vee woke up on time for whatever this person’s schedule looked like. Now the only question was, what did vee have to go and do on their behalf?

Vee decided vee would start looking for clues in the closet. Vee jittered slightly as vee approached what looked like a walk-in—yet another sign that this was somebody with a bit of money, and one who cared about looking respectable, at that. This part was always something of a thrill; it wasn’t so much that vee was invading somebody’s privacy, doing something that should’ve been “off-limits”. After all, it’s not like there was anybody around whose privacy could be violated. Once Bowsie showed up, it was only a matter of time before it was ver personal spaces, anyway!

No, more than that, it was the suspense of getting an idea of who vee was about to become. It didn’t help that vee had a knack for being transported into the lives of older… larger… very, very attractive women. The thought that vee would cease to be verself in as quickly as a few hours, and be someone much more experienced, much more confident instead… it never failed to send butterflies fluttering through ver light-scaled tummy.

Vee reached ver stubby paw toward the handle—one of the last times vee would be seeing it, vee faintly registered—and slid the door open to find a large, neatly-organized collection of professional wear. Pantsuits, blazers, pencil skirts, a handful of nightgowns—all, as vee had hoped predicted, several sizes too big for ver as vee was now. Was she some kind of executive? A politician? This was certainly modest housing for ver idea of a CEO, and not quite as secure as vee would expect for someone in a high-profile position, so vee didn’t quite think that was it. Still, it was clear that she was the boss of something, and that she not only had the cash to amass a collection of formalwear like this, but good reason for it to see frequent use. Vee was really going to have to fake it till vee made it, this time around…

Vee reached up again and unhooked one of the simpler, more modest outfits from the rack: a blouse, a straight skirt, and a pair of pumps. While most of the time, vee didn’t need to cover much to stay modest, that didn’t tend to stay true as a day like this progressed, and vee could tell by the size of this woman that there would be a lot for vee to cover. Laying it out on the bed and closing the door behind ver, vee ambled out of the room in search of something a bit more actionable as far as what vee’d be responsible for this evening.

The entryway to the apartment had a number of prominently-displayed pieces of memorabilia along the walls, as well as a few upholstered seats. Whoever owned the place, it was apparently where she hosted guests, or at least was the first thing she wanted them to see if they ever stopped briefly in. Most of them were autographed photographs of a number of people that Bowsie didn’t recognize: a stout Purugly who oozed self-confidence even from the faded glossy paper on which she was pictured; a slender, graceful Altaria featured on a framed piece of instant-development film; a Floatzel, in full color rather than the sepiatone or yellowed paper from the 60’s or 80’s, whose headshot looked like it could’ve been printed yesterday. A further look around confirmed this—their debut posters were mounted in mock marquis frames, like the advertisements outside a movie theater, and the Floatzel’s first performance was someplace called the “Lapras Lounge” just a couple years ago.

Was this woman some kind of… talent agent? It’d make sense for someone like that to live in the middle of the city, and vee supposed it would make decent money. If the Lounge belonged to her, it would also explain the scale of her wardrobe—a Lapras could get up to five hundred pounds! Though, Bowsie had dealt with enough older women to know never to bring up a fact like that to one of their faces (even if vee did find the fact to be very fun). In any case, now all vee had to do was figure out where the Lounge was! Or at least, how to get in touch with one of the employees… The Floatzel seemed like a safe bet.

A small table near the door held most of her day-to-day necessities: a purse, her cell phone (plugged in somewhere apart from her room—she must have had some firm boundaries between her personal life and her “day” job), a pair of reading glasses, so on and so forth. Vee unlocked the phone, pausing as vee realized that certain, habitual things were already slipping into ver mind. Vee really didn’t have much time to get everything in order, did vee? Of course, once everything went through and they fully took over for this woman, vee would just handle everything exactly as she would, but the both of them would be late if vee didn’t get the show on the road now. Collecting verself, vee began scrolling through the phone’s contacts until vee saw one that matched the name on the poster: Eleanor Ángeline. The phone rang a few times, then clicked through to the other end.

“Donna?” came a silky voice on the other end. “You don’t usually call last-minute like this. Is the program different tonight?”

“H-hi, um, Eleanor,” the serpent haltingly replied, struggling to keep ver voice from coming out with the tone of a question. Vee cleared ver throat and tried again: “I just wanted to ask, how were you planning on getting to, to w-work? Tonight?”

“I was just going to drive. What, did so many VIPs decide to drop in on a moment’s notice that I won’t be able to fit?”

“Oh, no! I just—” vee fumbled around for an excuse, and spotted a way to kill two birds with one stone. “I just, was wondering! Would you be able to drive me tonight?”

“Are you feeling sick or something, Donna? You sound a bit different. Your voice keeps catching.”

“Uh—yes! Yes, I��m a little… under the weather, tonight,” vee said, craning ver neck up at the ceilings that were clearly built for someone at least twice ver height.

“Well, it’s not like you to ask for help, either, so it must be pretty bad. Are you sure you’re alright to open at eight?”

“Theeeeee… show must go on?”

“Ha! Now that sounds like you. Let me know if you want me to pick up some cold medicine or something on my way over.” The connection went quiet, and Bowsie’s shoulders relaxed. Either vee was changing a bit quicker than vee thought vee would, or vee was getting better at guessing how ver “host” usually acted. Either way, vee knew vee had to be ready within the hour—city traffic was never fun, and for all vee knew, Eleanor would try to pick ver up early for whatever pre-show preparation she and Donna—her name was Donna! Vee’d have to keep that in mind—usually did. Wait, she had asked whether vee could “open”... vee dearly hoped vee hadn’t gotten it backwards, and that Eleanor was the headliner to ver opening act. Too late now, though. Hopefully, if vee had to go onstage, it’d be after Donna had fully returned.

Bowsie’s confidence in ver Donna act faltered when Eleanor finally arrived. The poster didn’t do her justice—the way her dress and her fluffy tails flowed as she walked her self-assured walk made her seem as though she was always gliding through the water, right at home anywhere she went. She was pretty, too, and her voice was much nicer to listen to when it wasn’t filtered through the tinny grain of a phone line. It didn’t help that she was a head taller than Bowsie—any woman vee had to tilt ver head up to speak to was enough to kick ver heart rate up at least a notch.

The ride itself was mostly uneventful. Thankfully, Eleanor already knew the way, else Bowsie would’ve had to scramble around trying to figure out Donna’s address. Luckier still, the car was clearly made for someone Eleanor’s size. Her brow furrowed as she watched Bowsie climb into the seat—it was a comfortable fit for the little sea dragon, but surely couldn’t have accommodated Donna’s typical form. When vee was all buckled in, though, she seemed to put the thought aside, and sat down herself to start the car. The one exception to the calm ride—as calm as Bowsie could keep verself, silently hoping that Eleanor wouldn’t as her maybe-boss anything too important that Bowsie hadn’t figured out yet—was when she spoke up a few minutes away from their destination.

“Hey, Donna,” she hazarded, apparently unsure of herself. It was a strange look on her, even for someone who had only known her for a half an hour.

“Y-yes?”

“I’m gonna be honest with you: I know you said it wasn't happening, but I psyched myself out a little bit thinking about a crowd full of big names, earlier. I don’t think I’d freeze up or anything, but it’d sure be a lot more stressful to go out in front of them. Do you… do you think I’m ready for that sort of thing? Talent scouts and other artists?”

Bowsie froze. Mercifully, Eleanor could only bring herself to glance over in ver direction—it was as though she was as afraid of the answer as Bowsie was of getting it wrong. That, and she had to keep her eyes on the road. It gave the dragon a little breathing room, but it still wasn’t much time to think. Vee would have to word this very carefully.

“How much have you practiced, Eleanor?” Eleanor took it as rhetorical, but Bowsie was honestly relieved just to be able to ASK a question at this point.

“Years.”

“So wouldn’t you say you’ve prepared a whole lot?”

“Yeah, I know I have. You know I have,” she said, wrongly. “But it still feels like I don’t have it down. Sometimes I feel more like an actor than a singer, ahah.” Bowsie chuckled too, trying to sound more reassuring than awkward.

“Well, if it helps at all, I know how it feels to pretend you’re somebody you’re not.”

“Really? You? Donna?”

“Mhm,” said Bowsie. “Eventually, it’ll just… It’ll just come to you. Like you knew it all along. It’ll just click into place and you’ll feel like a whole new person, but you’ll still be the same one you’ve always been. You’ll just know who that person is.”

“You make it sound so simple. I guess you’re right, though, that it’s almost like muscle memory… Eventually, you practice so much, it’s like you can’t not have the skills you need. Like riding a bike, right? And you just gotta… have faith that it’ll be there when you need it. It’s not like it’ll go anywhere, right? Just gotta… get used to the feeling.”

“You won’t even second-guess it, soon enough!”

“Ha!” Eleanor barked another little laugh. “I sure hope not. I’m gonna have to really put my game face on tonight, I think. But thank you, Donna.”

Bowsie nodded, then turned to face the window, hoping that Eleanor didn’t notice how much ver shoulders relaxed as soon as the attention was off ver. That was certainly one of the closer calls; it was rare vee had to outright guess ver way through a conversation, let alone such a sensitive one!

When they finally pulled up to the Lounge, Eleanor circled around to the back and parked her car in the rear. They only had about 45 minutes before opening, and Eleanor had to get ready; she got out of the car and walked up a few steps into a backdoor. Through it, Bowsie could see what looked like the trappings of a dressing room: a mirror, a dresser, some clothes, and curtains along one of the walls. Best not to follow her in there, then. Thankfully, she was already gone, and didn’t see ver turning a darker shade of blue at the thought.

Instead, vee tried the other door; one of the keys in Donna’s purse opened it for ver, leading ver into an office full of chic furniture and slightly-more-dated fixtures. Several pads of paper sat beside a dusty computer monitor; a rolodex sat on the corner of the desk. Before vee could get too good of a look around, though, vee heard a distant thumping, and left to investigate. Passing through a wide-open restaurant floor, a bar to ver left and the stage and a few rows of tables to ver right, vee approached the source of the sound: an agitated-looking Snubbull woman pounding on the tall, glass double-doors.

“Excuse me,” she cried as Bowsie unlocked the door to speak to her, “are you the manager? I’ve got a flier here that says you all open at 7 PM. I’ve been waiting here for over FIFTEEN MINUTES!”

Bowsie blinked at her, still poking ver head out from halfway behind the door. Given that Donna had the keys to the place, vee assumed that she was the manager—that vee was the manager, now—but vee wasn’t quite sure what this woman wanted from ver? Vee was pretty sure she was wrong about the opening time, too. Maybe it was the wrong day of the week, or maybe the flier was just outdated, but vee was pretty sure that Eleanor knew more about the schedule than this lady did. At the very least, she knew more than Bowsie!

“Mmmmmay I see the flier?” vee asked, forcing a polite tone.

“Oh, you need the flier now? It’s your restaurant, don’t you know when it’s supposed to open?!”

“I just, thought there might have been a mistake—”

“So you’re calling me ILLITERATE now. What WONDERFUL service!” Okay, what was her problem? Bowsie couldn’t tell whether this was genuinely about the time—she seemed entitled enough or that to be the case—or if she was just looking for a problem. Vee rubbed the bridge of ver nose, trying not to show too much frustration.

“I, okay, I’m very sorry, ma’am.” She huffed and crossed her arms. Apparently, the customer service voice was what she wanted to hear, but she didn’t seem satisfied. “We still don’t open until 8 PM, but can we offer you a drink once we do open?” She opened her mouth, probably to say something about how she should HOPE a bar would offer her a drink. “On the house! Uh, of course.”

Her lip curled, showing off one of her stubby little teeth in an obstinate snarl. After a moment scowling that way, though, it seemed to be enough to placate her. She threatened to “ask for the manager again” if she wasn’t served promptly when she came back, then stormed off down the street. Bowsie pitied whoever’s business she was going to patronize—be patronizing in, really—but was glad vee didn’t have to deal with her anymore. Vee groaned under ver breath, shuffling ver way back inside and toward the office; vee still wasn’t quite sure what it was vee was supposed to be doing at the Lounge.

Across from the door to Donna’s office was a wall of shelves, capped with a file cabinet adjacent to her desk. Given the state of the PC, and the organized but intimidatingly-large piles of paper surrounding it, Bowsie figured that any indication as to recent business would be more likely written down by hand than typed out into a text file or a spreadsheet. Vee sighed; that would make it much more of a pain to track down… Vee understood why someone older would want to do things with pen and paper, between old habits and the difficulty of keeping up with the nuances of ever-changing software menus, but honestly, just having a search function makes it more than worth it compared to all this!

Still, as vee shuffled through papers, poking ver nose over the edge of one of the drawers and rifling through sheets of paper with their fingertips, vee couldn’t deny the appeal. There was something satisfying about having the fruits of your organizational work in ver fins, and sometimes it felt like ver brain latched onto things better if vee had a physical location to attach to them. Plus, something about the system Donna used just… clicked! It made it easy to find the sorts of things they were wondering about—inventory, schedules, order forms for food and drinks. Luckily, the Lounge was probably stocked for at least tonight, so vee wouldn’t have to figure all this out right away. Vee had plenty of time to keep sifting through all this and familiarizing themself with it.

Well, vee would have, if vee wasn’t interrupted by an airy voice from over ver shoulder.

“Pardon the intrusion—” she began.

“GRAWAWA!” The poor sea critter jumped, whirling around as papers fluttered from ver fins.

“Ah. Sorry to startle you.” Before ver was… something in the shape of a Gardevoir, with skin the color of the night sky, arrayed in shimmering skirts that twinkled as brightly as its smokey, wispy tiara.

“How, um! How did you get in here? I thought I was the only one who was supposed to have the keys.”

“Are you supposed to have those keys?” She asked. Her tone wasn’t accusatory; more matter-of-fact than anything. “You don’t seem like you’re from around here, little one.”

“O-oh! You can tell?” Vee paused. “Um, how?”

“Well… I’m not from around here, either. I don’t think it’s quite the same, but I can see things most people can’t.” She glided across the floor, leaning down toward Bowsie. “You happened to catch my eye.” Those eyes, burning like stars, scanned Bowsie up and down; it wasn’t the same look of confusion as had crossed Eleanor’s face earlier, but more like the way somebody appraises a painting, or ponders a puzzle. “Where’s Donna?”

“I… Hm. I haven’t really thought about that.” When the Gardevoir cocked an eyebrow at ver, vee put ver fins up defensively. “GRAWAWI didn’t DO anything to her! Just to be clear! I think I technically am her, now? Or at least, I’m in her spot. So to speak.” She squinted; one of her hands went from where it rested, crossed in front of her chest, and rubbed her chin instead.

“...That does seem to be the case,” she finally concluded. “Interesting! I haven’t seen anything like that before.”

“Do you see other strange things often?”

“Well, I don’t mean to boast, but I might be the strangest thing you run into here. I’m something of a… bedtime story. A local legend,” she giggled. “The biggest clue that you’re from somewhere else was that you weren’t immediately shocked to see me in the flesh. So to speak.”

“Who are you, then?”

“Polaris! It’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise!” vee answered, reaching up to shake her hand. “You can call me Bowties.”

“I’ll try to keep it in mind. I have a feeling you won’t be using it very much, soon.”

“Wait, how do you know about that part?”

“I’m watching space shifting around you as we speak,” the Gardevoir smirked. “Your snout didn’t have that curve to it when I came in. Your fins have gotten curlier, too!”

“GRAWAWA?!” Vee whirled around again and started digging through Donna’s purse, looking for a makeup compact or a pocket mirror or even the black screen of her cell phone. Sure enough, ver face had less of its usual roundness, now closer to the draconic shapes of a Lapras. Vee looked back at the file cabinet, and realized that vee could now comfortably see down into the drawer vee had been rummaging through. “Th… this part usually happens all at once!”

“Is that so? Well, maybe you’ll be able to enjoy the journey a bit more, this time around,” Polaris replied, a knowing tone in her voice. “I promise I’ll give you more privacy than you have so far. Evolving is a delicate matter, from what I understand! I’ll still be around, though—any Donna is a friend of mine.” With that, she simply floated out of sight. Not through a door, or even passing through a wall—she simply stepped into thin air as though there was a passageway Bowsie couldn’t see, and then she was gone, leaving ver blushing and stammering and trying to collect verself.

Maybe Polaris was right; that had been the first time anybody had been able to tell what was going on during a swap like this, and vee worried it would upset—or at the very least confuse, like with Eleanor—somebody if they saw the changes progressing more slowly than usual, too. Vee waited for a while (it was already nearly 8 PM), listening to the noise of the Lounge rising and falling. People slowly filled the restaurant—vee could hear somebody, probably one of the other employees, open the double doors properly, and the sounds of chatter, utensils clinking against porcelain, bottles being popped and drinks being poured, all drifted through the closed office door. Eventually, a hush fell over the establishment, which piqued a mixture of curiosity and concern in the sea critter.

Vee stepped quietly out of ver office and walked along the back wall. Thankfully, all eyes were on the stage; the lights had been dimmed and a spotlight had been set over a microphone in the center, drawing them all away. Vee found a place to stand by the bar, where a Shinx girl (a fair bit shorter than vee was, but vee was certain that wouldn’t have been the case a few hours ago) watched intently, patiently waiting. When Eleanor stepped out from the wings, vee watched ver eyes light up, not just metaphorically, but with every sparkle in her sequined dress reflecting in her wide, admiring eyes.

Bowsie couldn’t blame her, either: she was already a beautiful woman, but seeing her all adorned in her stagewear and moving in time with music elevated her to something that rivaled even the otherworldly Gardevoir who had just bullied ver until vee was blue in the face. Vee forgot verself more than vee already would in this situation, lost in her performance, following the flowing motions of her dress and rising with the crescendos of her voice and the house band. Vee was only shaken out of ver trans when it was the Shinx’s turn to notice how enraptured vee was.

“You all wrapped up in pride over there, Donna?”

“Oh! Well,” vee stalled, seeing how enamored the Shinx clearly was with Eleanor, not wanting to admit that vee was also admiring her. Still, a spark of familiar, maternal emotions toward the Floatzel colored ver thoughts, making it a bit easier to come up with something else to say. “Of course I am. She’s followed my advice well, don’t you think?” See? And it wasn’t even a lie! It came so naturally to ver lips.

“She really is something… I wish I had as much confidence as she did. Maybe that’d make it easier to talk to her.”

“You wanna know what I told her?” vee asked, neglecting, for Eleanor’s sake, to mention how recently it was.

“What’s that?”

“I told her,” vee began, another kernel of recollection popping inside ver brain, “you have to just make a leap of faith and go for it, trusting that you have what it takes to back it up. That’s the only way you’re ever gonna get past the ‘am I good enough’ hurdle, and once you’re over it, the doubt is never gonna slow you down again.” Of course, it wasn’t exactly what vee had told Eleanor—vee knew that Ceri needed a different kind of confidence boost entirely. Vee watched the gears turn in Ceri’s head as she mulled over the dragon’s advice, and it slowly dawned on ver that vee hadn’t found out her name secondhand, and that vee shouldn’t have any way of knowing about the Shinx’s anxieties. Whatever change was going to happen it was getting closer and closer.

“Anyway, I-I have to get back to my office and take care of a few things. You, uh, keep up the good work. I know you have what it takes every bit as much as she does!”

“Thanks, Donna,” she sighed, wistfully resting her cheek on her paw, looking back toward the stage. With the attention once again off of ver, vee scuttled back to the office as quick as vee could. It was definitely gonna cause some problems if vee finished ver changes without getting Donna’s proper clothes on!

Taking a moment to lean against the inside of the door and catch ver breath, Bowsie took stock of what was available to ver. The makeup wouldn’t really be an option; vee didn’t know how to apply it properly, let alone how Donna usually wore it. The clothes would at least be easy enough, even if vee expected them not to fit at all. Of course, vee was once again surprised by how much closer the clothes seemed to be to ver own size than they had been earlier in the evening. The sleeves were several inches too long; the skirt refused to sit snugly around ver waistline, having neither the hips nor the tummy to support the waistband; the blouse hung loosely over ver shoulders, and the chest in particular was baggy as all get-out. And yet, a mere few hours ago, none of it would have fit at all. The skirt would’ve fallen clean off, and the blouse would have felt more like a robe.

“BOSS!” came a shrill voice from the bar, interrupting Bowsie bemusedly (and more than a little bit flustered) examining verself in the mirror. With that, something in Bowsie’s mind kicked into action. Someone needed setting straight. Someone in the crew needed a problem dealt with. The only person for the job, the one with the force of personality, with the authority, necessary to run this ship, was Donna, and Donna was going to march out there and see what the emergency was.

That is, after she fixed herself in the mirror. She pulled the cuffs of her blazer down so they sat properly at the ends of her wrists. She tucked her blouse into her skirt. She adjusted her blouse, smoothing out the wrinkles and straining to get one of the buttons in place around her chest—had she accidentally grabbed one of her older, smaller tops? What a pain. She exhaled as much as she could (not that it made a major difference, with the rigidity of her shell), and pulled firmly to fasten the damn shirt. She wasn’t gonna seem very authoritative if she went out there and her buttons started flying open, now was she? She finally turned, threw open the door and marched toward the bar in the direction of Gina’s voice, the booming clack, clack, clack of her pumps heralding her approach..

“Boss,” she began, now that she didn’t have to yell across the restaurant, “this lady said she wanted to—”

“Oh,” Donna steamed. “You again.”

“I beg your pardon?” growled the Snubbull.

“Listen, miss,” Donna pushed right through her uppity routine to lay down the law. “I dunno what came over me earlier—I must’ve been feeling real generous—but if I give you an inch, that does not mean that you get to walk into my restaurant and take a mile from my staff, do you understand me?”

“The only thing I’m taking is the free drink you offered me for your incompetence—”

“What you are TAKING is an ATTITUDE, lady.” She loomed over the Snubbull, leaning down far enough that she was nearly doubled over, utterly unaware that she had had to tilt her head up to make eye contact with the bratty woman before opening earlier. “Now listen, and listen good. You can either TAKE yourself OUTSIDE, or I will TAKE you there MYSELF. Do I make myself clear?”

The Snubbull gritted her teeth, crossing her arms with so much force that Donna could see her claws digging into her shoulders through her clothes. After a staredown that lasted a good ten seconds, the woman finally buckled. She hmphed, just as she had earlier, and huffed her way right out the double doors. Derrick offered her a sarcastic nod as she passed by the two of them; Rhodney remained as stoic as ever.

“Thanks for calling me over, Gi. I had half a mind to find the bitch myself just to take the drink back from her. Glad she gave me an excuse.”

“You know I live to tell the customers to go fuck themselves, boss!” the Maractus chirped, sashaying away to tend to the next happy patron at the bar.

“Oh, Donna!” Ceri said, emerging from the kitchen. “Did you, uh, change clothes?”

“Yeah, I was feeling sick earlier, don’t remember most of this morning. I must’ve shown up in my at-home clothes, but I was handling things around here basically since the moment I got in, so I didn’t have time to slip into something nicer before Eleanor’s show. Don’t mention that to her, though, hey?”

The Shinx mimed zipping her snout shut and throwing away the key before carrying the order in her other paw out to a table. Donna turned and walked along the edges of the main room again, this time making for the entry to the backstage area rather than to her office. She knocked twice as she gently opened the door.

“Eleanor!” she cheered, spreading her arms. “Look at you, you little starlet, what did I tell you?”

“You told me to trust myself, Donna,” she said, sighing and getting up from her seat in front of the vanity to give her mentor a hug. “Trusting you made it a bit easier.”

“Well, you’re not quite there, then,” she joked, “but you’ll learn soon enough. One of these days you’ll impress yourself as much as you impress me.”

“Thank you,” the Floatzel said, stepping back again. “I mean it.”

“I mean it! Now, listen,” Donna continued, “I really hate to pat you on the back and leave, but I think I’m calling it early tonight. My head’s still a bit foggy from earlier, and I don’t think my car is in the lot. I’m not sure how I got in, but I’m gonna have to call a taxi to get out.”

“Oh, I—” Eleanor began, before abruptly stopping, her train of thought seemingly derailed. “Huh. I’m not sure, either.”

“Well, no harm, no foul, huh? You drive safe tonight, sweetheart. Tell the boys they’re in charge—no mercy!”

“You got it,” Eleanor chuckled.

“Oh, and if you know anybody who needs some 4XL women’s clothes, let me know! I gotta get rid of these,” she said, tugging very carefully on her blouse, taut like a spring. “It’s like I forgot how to dress myself today. Imagine—a girl my size forgetting just how much she grows!”

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draco-rex99 · 1 month ago

Text

Author Of Her Own Story

Lil late but hey, this was meant to come out in October so y'know. It hasn't snowed here yet so you get some autumn vibes now instead. Also, this is the first story I'm posting from the commissions I opened up a few months back. More to come! This one was commissioned by @champloon, he's a cool dude! Go check him out!

Summary: Ryan attends the 16th Annual Harvest Renaissance Fair after several year of attempts, clad in the armor of a tinfoil knight and ready to have an incredible time. A disagreement with a vendor leads to a truly unforgettable experience with the patron saint of the harvest.

What to expect: Dragon transformation, TG, apotheosis, macro, forced language change, and some good old fashioned jousting.

Length: 4.5k words.

If you'd prefer to read this story in an easier format, here's a Google Drive link!

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Ryan’s greaves crunched on gravel as he stepped out of his car, raising one hand to block the noonday sunlight. It gleamed off the vehicle and his armor alike, wreathing him as if in some holy mandate—one that included a Honda, at least. He checked his pockets—wallet, phone, keys—then set off on his knight’s divine journey, into the great unknown.

Of course, it was only about thirty yards from his parking spot to the ticket booth for the Sixteenth Annual Harvest Renaissance Fair, but it still felt like some kind of mythical journey. After four years of work, inopportune family trips, and a particularly bad cold, he’d finally made it to the premier local late-summer festivity. Ryan had spared no expense on his cosplay; of course, with amateurish skills at the craft, “sparing no expense” meant using four rolls of aluminum foil to construct the vague approximation of a knight’s armor, but it had still come out alright. The foil wrapped around his arms, legs, and torso in large segments, secured to dark clothing, with a wooden sword slung in a sheath on his back and a shield on one arm with a crest he’d copied from an internet search emblazoned across the front. He’d opted for no helmet, leaving his long, brown hair to flutter in the wind. A leather bag was slung over one shoulder, half tucked under armor, less fitting but a necessity for any convention. He’d seen better, but it was difficult to look at him and think anything other than ‘knight,’ so he considered that an accomplishment.

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Ryan joined the ticket queue behind a witch and some kind of troll, anxiously awaiting his turn. Now that the day was finally here, he could hardly wait. This costume had been half completed at least a year prior, but his failure to attend had killed any motivation. Now, he was determined to make the most of it. The ticket line wait was made even longer by the blazing sun overhead, though fortune was clearly smiling on him this particular day, and the foil armor actually reflected a shocking amount of the heat back out into the sky (and onto those unlucky enough to be standing next to him, not that he could notice).

“Next!” a voice called out. The witch and troll duo shuffled away, leaving Ryan at the front of the line. He rushed forward and pulled out his phone. He flashed a QR code ticket to the elf sitting within the small ticket booth, who flashed him a practiced, tired smile as soon as it went though, and she stamped the back of his hand with a small pumpkin decal.

“The King welcomes you to the Harvest Fair,” she declared, talking fast. “All the kingdom’s greatest performers are present today, and eagerly await your fawning approval.” The elf glanced behind Ryan and groaned slightly, then pulled out a pamphlet, pointing at different sections of it as she rushed. “Map’s on page one and two, lore is right after that, read through it or talk to an actor and you can get an explanation on this year’s quest to serve the Goddess of the Harvest and whatnot. Vendors and food are inside on the left, performances are at the stage, jousting tourney starts in—” she glanced at her watch, “hour and fifteen, and bathrooms are marked on the map. Knight photoshoot times are listed if you care. Good day and happy harvest. Next!”

Ryan blinked. That was… some kind of way to treat a guest. He opened his mouth to ask about the quest, but the elf attendant was already waving the people behind him forwards, and he had to shuffle sideways to avoid getting his toes stepped on by a dwarf.

Well. He wasn’t about to let one rude employee ruin his day. She’s probably just overwhelmed running the booth all by herself, he reasoned. Not an excuse, really, but she had at least given him most of the information he was wondering about. He could always find an actor inside to get the rest if need be. As he walked through the front gate and caught his first glimpse of the fair, his heart swelled again, and he couldn’t stop himself from grinning. Flutey, medieval music floated over crowds who bustled between small, erected wooden castles and shops, while an incredibly colorful crowd meandered through the fair, taking in the sights and smells. Ryan took a deep breath and dove in.

The swell of people enveloped him immediately. Ryan rubbed shoulders with all manner of mythical beasts, races, and t-shirt wearing regular folk. He had to stumble to the side in order to circumvent a witch pushing a stroller covered in a paper mâché cauldron, then immediately duck sideways to avoid getting cleaved by a large ax that was resting on a barbarian’s shoulders. The whole affair was an utter jumble, but there was something magical about it all. And it’s not just the fairies, Ryan thought to himself, grinning.

The flow of the crowd had naturally taken him away from the stage, off to the left, towards the smell and sound of sizzling food. Ryan’s eyes went wide seeing a man no more than four feet tall walking away from a small hut with a turkey leg that seemed nearly as tall as he was. He’d eaten before leaving, though, just in case he was tempted to buy overpriced festival food, so he cut sideways through the flowing sidewalks and ended up getting dumped out into the slower moving foot traffic of what seemed to be the vendors’ area. He took a breath and used the opportunity to pull out that small pamphlet he’d received back at the entrance. One side panel listed events, confirming the upcoming jousting match; opening it up to the proper page on the inside, he found a large, illustrated map. He was shocked to find he’d traveled nearly a third of the length of the fair in arriving where he had. Standing on his armored toes and peeking over the top of the crowd, he was able to confirm that the entrance was quite some distance away, now.

Must be moving faster than I realized, he thought. The vendors’ area, labeled as The Harvest Market, took up a massive chunk of real estate on this side of the festival, which made sense based on how much of a community-built event this was supposed to be.

Might as well start here. Ryan tucked the pamphlet away and turned, stepping up to the first vendor he saw.

Various period-agnostic pieces of armor and filed-down weapons sat across tables and custom-built wooden shelves, providing the air of a blacksmith, perched atop a tablecloth likely purchased at a HomeGoods. A basket full of whittled walking sticks sat off to one side. Behind the tables, in the shade provided by a canopy poorly disguised as a storefront, a somewhat mousey man sat and squinted out into the sunlight (not to mention the light reflecting off of Ryan’s armor), dressed in a brownish tunic and coarse pants to give a sort of peasant-y vibe. A small name tag affixed to the tunic read Phil. He stood as Ryan approached and gave a wan smile.

“Welcome, Sire Knight!” he called, loud enough to be heard over the din. “I’ve wares to sell, should they be of interest to ye of noble ilk. Or nay, is it a quest ye seek?”

Ryan opened his mouth, then closed it before responding. That was more in character than he’d expected; he had some decent practice with voicework, but being put on the spot with an unpracticed tone was still difficult. “Ah. I seek to… browse. Good sir Phil,” he added hastily.

Phil nodded. His smile seemed to be propped against the side of his jaw, as if it were leaning on a wall. “Certainly. Rianne’s blessings to you, then, Knight.”

Ryan let silence fall for a moment, examining a dagger with a leather wrapped hilt. “Uh.” He coughed awkwardly. “If one… were to be seeking a quest, what would that entail?”

Phil, who had been moving to sit back down in his fold-out camp chair, straightened. “Aha! As the gods will it, so it be done, a Knight hath been sent to help!”

“Yes,” Ryan said, shuffling from one foot to the other. “And that help is?”

Phil’s grand presentation deflated slightly. “Why, only the quest of a lifetime? Rianne’s request, an epic journey only the bravest could hope to complete?” When Ryan only gave an apologetic shrug, he let out a disgruntled sigh. “The one on page four of the festival pamphlet and on the website when you scan the QR code on your ticket? That quest?”

“I got stuck on the map,” Ryan joked half-heartedly.

Phil groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Okay, well, doth the great knight feel inclined to consult page four of the festival pamphlet to receive his divine request from the goddess of the harvest, or would he prefer to browse some more?”

“Would you mind giving a condensed version?” Ryan asked, hopeful. That elf at the ticket booth had said to ask an actor, after all.

Phil threw a longsuffering sigh upwards (which, Ryan thought, seems kinda uncalled for, all things considered). “It really would be much easier if you just read it.”

“C’mon, I prefer acting anyway!”

“And I prefer when knights arrive ready to act,” Phil retorted.

Ryan folded his arms. “Aren’t renaissance fairs all about acting and improvisation?” He was feeling more and more put out by this being his first real interaction, after all the hype.

“First of all, it’s the Harvest Renaissance Fair,” Phil corrected, holding up a finger, “and second, I’ve had no less than sixteen tinfoil knights come through here with their dashing looks and ask me to read three paragraphs to them, and I’m getting real sick of it.”

At this point, Phil was looking quite worked up, and it seemed obvious there was no getting through to him. Ryan held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay, listen, I—”

“No, you listen,” Phil growled, cutting Ryan off. “I’m clocking out. If you’re so interested in toying with precise narrative structure, then why don’t you try writing it yourself and see how much you like it? As the gods will it! Or god, in this case.” The man snapped his fingers and made a rude gesture in Ryan’s direction. It was his turn to grunt in frustration as Phil turned away after the frankly very confusing comment.

“Would you just wait one—” Ryan stopped himself and sighed. Whatever. It’s just one sourpuss. Don’t let it ruin the day. “Whatever. May your Harvest be merry, Sir Phil.”

Ryan furrowed his brow. “Excuse me. May the long nights bring light against fell dark.”

What. The hell. Something was wrong. He’d been trying to give Phil a few strong words, and perhaps an expletive or two, but the words came out… wrong. Obviously, that was not in fact what he’d said, twice. If it happened once he could chalk it up to distraction, but this was concerning. For his part, Phil just waved a dismissive hand from the back of his stall behind a large tote and said ‘bah!’

Ryan’s head felt… tight. Like his mind was pressing up against the inside of his skull, straining against the bone. He bent over, grabbing the edge of the table. With his head hanging low, he was able to watch as the sun flickered across his hands with an almost incandescent blue light, and with a series of small pops, claws erupted from each fingernail, poking into the fabric of the tablecloth.

Okay. Revision. Something isn’t wrong, something is seriously wrong. Ryan stumbled backwards, yanking his hands up to his face. Of course, embedded in the fabric as they were, the entire tablecloth came with them. With an enormous clatter, the weapons were unceremoniously tossed against each other and to the floor, crashing together all the way. Ryan couldn’t even attempt to help; the tablecloth was already tangling up his arms, hands balled up into the mass.

It must have just gotten caught on my sleeve. The claws had to have been some trick of the light off his armor. Tin foil was reflective, after all. Of course, he couldn’t actually check until this stupid fabric was taken care of. Unfortunately, each flex only swept more and more of it into the action, wrapping him up in layer after layer of fabric. He tossed one corner over a shoulder to keep track of it and somehow it managed to tangle up his whole arm. A series of knots almost cartoonish in their complexity were forming, and he seemed to be at their mercy. Several passersby were starting to stop and gawk, and Ryan could feel himself sweating as he struggled.

Finally, he hit a sweet spot and felt the fabric start to slide after tossing multiple layers of it over his shoulder. He took full advantage and yanked, the knots unraveling themselves like magic one after the other, hands finally, thankfully, sliding free. Ryan tossed his arms up into the air with a shout of triumph, not even bothering to check and discover that not only were they clawed, they were also blue. This was also the exact moment his chest decided to acquire a new look and promptly exploded outwards.

Ryan stared down in shock. He was used to being able to see his feet; this was distinctly not possible anymore. He found himself tipping forwards, and his arms pinwheeled wildly, trying to step forwards and catch himself. A numb tingling flashed across both legs, and they suddenly erupted into thick blue skin, pants straining. This did nothing to help steady him. He opened his mouth to yell, feeling like he was moving in slow motion, and it opened instead as a muzzle, pushed outwards and fused with his nose into one long snout, the yell emerging as a roar.

Just before he ate it, there was one final shhhRRRIP! from behind Ryan. He felt more than heard as his tailbone dropped the ‘bone’ suffix and became a full-on tail, the weight counterbalancing him. As if he was on a hinge, he swung back upwards. The tail impacted the ground with a dry smack, and Ryan was left standing stock straight, arms by his side, legs pointed inwards from their failed attempts to save him. With two belated flaps, a pair of wings unfolded from his back.

Around him, the crowd burst into applause.

This was so unexpected as to shock Ryan straight out of his stupor. His hands immediately flew to his face, finding a snout, horns poking out from his nose, his cheeks, his head, a pair of whiskers drooping down from either cheek. It only took a cursory glance to determine that the rest of him was similarly lizardlike. His entire knight’s armor had up and vanished; in its place was the tablecloth, tied across his shoulder and draped over his frame like a dress. A belt decorated with hanging jewels cinched it at the waist, and he was barefoot, though there were two large paws rather than actual feet, now. He was covered in vibrant blue scales from head to toe, but the ones across his neck and the front of his body were a hazy golden yellow instead, continuing on down the base of the tail that swayed behind him. He caught a glimpse in a polished shield and saw an unfamiliar reflection of a reptilian face that boasted yellow stripes across the snout, too.

Okay. Take stock. What can you actually do here? Ryan’s mind raced. She had to get out of there, find somewhere private to figure all this out. A change like this was bad enough; in public, it was one of her worst nightmares. The insane dragon body was the biggest factor, obviously. The new clothing was embarrassingly scant compared to a full suit of armor, but functional. She….

Oh. Wait. Okay, point three: Ryan was now most certainly a girl, and somehow the pronoun reference in her own head had already shifted. Disconcerting to think about directly, but it seemed fine to leave it alone, so she let that one slide for a bit. Not like she could pass as a man right now anyway.

Last thing: the crowd. She needed a way through. Ryan raised a hand, and the voices all died down to a murmur. She opened her mouth to politely yell at least one expletive and several panicked requests for people to please get out of the way now.

“Thank you! Thank you!” The raised hand became a wave as a feminine voice cut the silence from deep in her own throat. Ryan swallowed hard. Again. This time, she pictured the words before speaking them. Please get the HELL out of my way. Just eight words.

“Please, refrain from praising a humble goddess, citizens!” Wrong eight words. Ryan felt himself withering inside. This was out of control.

Someone stepped forward from the crowd, an elf with a badge that read ‘Nurse,’ looking concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay, Rianne?”

It’s Ryan, she tried to say. It didn’t work. “Your care lifts an immortal soul,” was what came out instead. “But Her Lady of the Harvest is well. ‘Twas naught but a minor altercation with a disagreeable sword!” Rianne—Ryan—let out a hearty laugh. Inside, she was yelling. She couldn’t stop herself from going along with this.

Maybe… maybe she had to play along. That made about as much sense as the rest of this. She chose her words carefully this time. “Though… if thou insists, take all pains to assuage your doubts as to my safety,” she said, holding out an arm. That was as far as she managed to push it towards Please give me an x-ray and tell me I’m just in some kind of nightmare bodysuit.

The elf reached out and grasped her arm confidently. The moment the nurse made contact, though, she froze. Her gaze connected with Ryan’s, and she could tell that the nurse knew that this wasn’t any kind of improv. That was real, bonafide dragon flesh. A strange haze passed over her eyes, and she stepped back before Ryan could do anything.

“Our Lady Rianne is perfectly healthy!” she declared to a flurry of applause. Ryan tried to reach for her, but she vanished into the crowd, whispering into the ear of some kind of half-demon fellow whose arm she grabbed along the way. There went that lifeline.

Rianne. That wasn’t a mispronunciation of her name; that was the name of the Goddess of the Harvest that Phil had mentioned. The one who was supposedly giving out quests and making requests of brave adherents, and who ruled over the entire festival, granting blessings of bountiful harvests and community bonding. That was…

Oh, gods, that was her. Ryan had somehow become Rianne, and now she couldn’t stop talking like a goddess. She couldn’t fathom the reasons behind it, but that must have been why she sounded like a bad reenactment of the legend of Saint George.

The worst part was, that almost certainly meant that she was stuck here. The goddess of the festival couldn’t very well leave. Even if she tried there was probably some kind of contrived method of keeping her put. She was well and truly screwed.

Although. Although. A thought surfaced that made her flush. This crowd… they were focused on her, yes, but it was positive attention. Clearly the goddess of the fair—one whom they all must assume she was some kind of mascot representing—would be popular, especially among those undertaking her quests. So, if she was so popular…

…what was keeping her from enjoying the fair like this, anyway?

Okay, listen up. “My dear merrymakers!” Okay, that one was better than her original thought. “Let not one accident cause you grief. It is a day of joy! Please, continue the festivities!” Her mind raced, trying to come up with something she could say that would get interpreted in a favorable way by her new rules. “Worship comes in many forms, and today that form is togetherness. So please, show Her Lady how you can bring this community together first-hand!”

A last round of cheers, and the crowd began to disperse—all but a loyal sect clamoring for attention. Rianne did a mental fist pump as one stepped forwards, pointing down the row of vendors, towards the stage. Maybe this would be fun after all.

~~~~~

Tessa the elven nurse dragged her friend, Anthony, through the crowd. Her vision was sharp, the colors bright. By the time she finally stopped, Anthony had gone from laughing and plucking at her grip to worried. He came to a halt and looked down at his shorter friend.

“What’s wrong?” Anthony asked, the demonic costume creating a humorous contrast to the caring question.

“Rianne,” Tessa hissed, pointing towards the dragon. What she’d thought was just an actor.

“Yeah, we get a goddess every year,” Anthony replied. “Is there something wrong? Did she actually get hurt?”

“No!” Tessa almost wanted to scream. “Dude. Look closer. She’s real.”

Anthony cocked an eyebrow. “Did you get hurt?”

“Anthony!”

“Okay, okay, fine, I’ll look!” He turned away from his friend, who raked a hand through her hair. She felt like her skin was on fire. This was… it was good, actually. Her blood was electric. At first she’d thought it was a fever; now she recognized it for what it was. She was filled with belief.

She watched Anthony’s face. Saw the skepticism melt into shock. “Hooooly shit,” he breathed.

“This is insane.”

“I know,” Anthony said, reaching for his phone. “I have got to tell the guys.”

~~~~~

Rianne had no way of knowing that as she was paraded through the festival grounds, word of her divinity was spreading through the fair, and it was spreading fast. The next hour went by in a blur. She blessed vendors, received offerings, gave a toast, she had officiated a real ass wedding. Her head swam. Her paws buzzed with power. Whatever Phil had been on about was nonsense; ‘writing the narrative’ felt intoxicating. What she really needed, though, was a break.

Sadly, breaks were not an option, as just then she found herself being introduced to the festival organizer, who was vigorously shaking her paw and bowing their head in supplication.

“Now, Rianne, could you watch over our most cherished tournament, the Fall Joust?” The organizer flashed a grin full of fake teeth to the crowd. Suck up, she scoffed. Rianne had plans, anyway. Definitely not.

“Nothing could please me more!” she crooned. Great. Her goddess side had other plans. So it was that she found herself sat on an actual, real-life throne in the center of the covered wooden platform that lined the side of the jousting arena, the organizer on her left, a recently-crowned King Of The Festival on her right, who had earned the title by winning a costume party. It felt small; her horns scratched the ceiling of the room. Had she grown taller? Her scales felt itchy, even in the shade. Something felt… off. A paw brushed the side of her buxom chest, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from making noise. Every part of her body was acting up all at once, and she was not keen on sitting through multiple jousting matches.

The viral spread of belief had, by this point, reached its tendrils throughout every part of the fair. It wasn’t quite dominant, not yet, but it was approaching a critical point—one strong enough that Rianne was able to detect it. There was a taste in the air that her godly form translated into the ambrosia of belief, and lots of it.

An announcer droned on from a box somewhere at the end of the field. Conversations continued on either side of her. Rianne heard none of it. She folded her arms over her stomach and tried to keep from hurling as she rubbed against her own sensitive skin.

“...for their contributions to the fair. And lastly, we have one last guest to thank.” A bit of the announcer’s tone crept through into Rianne’s ears. “The one to whom this festival is dedicated. Our… hm?” Feedback came through the mic as it was suddenly covered due to commotion in the announcer’s booth. When he spoke again, moments later, there was true reverence in his voice. “Our immortal goddess, Lady Rianne of the Harvest! Please, everyone, put your hands together for the first TRUE appearance of the Goddess herself!”

Oh, God.

Rianne’s body could no longer take it. She fell forwards from her chair, stumbling out into the jousting arena on all fours as she quite literally doubled in size, body stretching to a full fifteen feet long. As waves of shock and understanding rippled through the largest crowd the festival had to offer, the belief in Rianne grew stronger and stronger, and she grew right alongside it. Paws rubbed along scales uncontrollably as she erupted like a glorious, godly volcano, dwarfing first the attendees, then her own previous size, then the arena itself. It was only once she tried to stand, head now poking at least twenty feet above the roof of the covered seating, that she had the presence of mind to yank her (miraculously growing) dress down and snap her legs together to try to keep from flashing the crowd, face turning a brilliant shade of maroon in the process. She managed to only knock over a couple of wooden fence supports as she wobbled out of the arena, one paw tucked between her legs, the other held tight over her chest.

“B-blessed Harvest!” she cried out, trying to smile and failing to fully remove the flustered expression from her face. She needed out of there fast, and at this size, there was no one able to stop her. “Your grace is EXTREMELY well received! P-please calm your prayers, lest Her Lady expose… f-frighten you all with her godly form! And rest assured she will return, year after year, to ensure Her will be respected and celebrated!” As she spoke, some of the energy crackling across her form was sapped out, and she felt the words cement themselves into reality. She would be back. Rianne’s stomach dropped like a rock. This was going to happen again. Year after year, she’d be back here, transformed into a dragoness once again to celebrate the harvest. She snapped her jaw closed before she could damn herself any more.

The entire festival could see her, now, and they all erupted into raucous applause and cheers. Rianne choked out one final “Happy Harvest!” before turning tail and running, the glimpses of her rear through the slitted dress as purple as the cheeks up above, each softly embedded paw print in the landscape bigger than the last as she dashed off to find a couple buildings to hide herself behind. The only thing that the goddess could think of that embarrassed her more than accidentally flashing a festival of supplicants was that, deep down, she knew that she was excited for next year’s Harvest.

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