Vines of Deceit

BY : Manifest Destiny
Category: Pokemon > General
Dragon prints: 13172
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon. Pokemon is copy write by GameFreak, INC. and Nintendo. I make no money from this story, nor do I seek any.


Chapter 8: The Calm


Two o’clock.

Tristan dimmed the screen of his XTransceiver, annoyed that only a few minutes had passed since he last checked the time. He remembered that his ticket said that they would arrive at the Castelia City station at five in the morning, another three hours from now. The sound of the bus driving down the silent night road droned on around him. Tristan closed his eyes, leaning back in his seat.

He wanted to sleep, but his mind wouldn’t let him.

Too much had happened, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that even more was going to happen.



Five Hours Ago


“Cheren, wait up! We don’t have to run!”

Tristan picked up the pace and struggled to keep up with his friend as they ran down the sidewalk. Bianca was behind him, panting heavily.

“Y-Yeah… Come on, give us a break…” she whined.

“We can rest when we get there!” Cheren yelled back.

As he sped up and turned a corner, Tristan was glad it was late at night; less people to see a couple of fools running down the streets after their friend the better. On Tristan’s back, further weighing down an already overstuffed backpack, Draya—bright green and leafy—clung on tightly.

“What’s with the rush?” the Servine-looking Draya asked Bianca. “Do you know?”

“He told me some things,” said Bianca, grateful that Tristan slowed down to keep even with her. “He’s found out some information about Team Plasma. But we need to be in Castelia City by tomorrow, or it’ll be for nothing, at least he says so anyway.”

“Of course he says so,” Tristan says, under his breath.

He and Bianca slowed to a walk when Nacrene City’s bus station came into view. Cheren was nowhere to be seen, so the two decided to head inside. Tristan spotted his black-haired friend already in a one-sided conversation with a sales clerk, with Cheren spitting out question after question at the clearly overwhelmed older woman behind the counter.

Tristan motioned for Bianca to follow him and they went over to the many rows of empty chairs in the room. Setting his hastily packed backpack in an empty seat—with Draya now curled up in her own—he sat down in an uncomfortable plastic seat. Despite the rigidness of the chair, Tristan felt instantly relieved to give his legs a rest.

“That… was… rough…” Bianca said, breathing heavily. She sat in the seat next to Tristan, holding a cramp in her side. “I can’t believe we did that.”

“What’s this Team Plasma business?” asked Tristan. “He told you about that at least, right?”

“No, not really. He pretty much just told me what I said on the way here. He said he didn’t want to have to explain everything again once we met up with you.”

Tristan rolled his eyes, chuckling a bit. “That’s Cheren for you; never a wasted effort.”

“And for good reason,” Cheren said as he came up to his friends. He set his own belongings down on the ground and sat beside them in front of his two friends. “I wouldn’t have gotten our lead otherwise.”

“Uh, you want a seat?” Tristan asked. “I can scoot over—”

“No thanks, our bus will be here in ten minutes anyway.” Draya sat herself up in her seat and glared at Cheren, to which he only looked back at her, uninterested expression on his face. “What?”

The Zoroark in disguise looked around the interior of the bus station, content that the only other humans in the room were far enough away so they wouldn’t hear.

“Would you mind telling us why you dragged us from our nice, comfy room in the middle of the night?” Draya said in a hushed voice. It was more an angry demand than a question.

“It’s okay,” Tristan spoke up. “He had a good reason to, remember?”

Draya gave him an annoyed, knowing look. She stuck out her thin tongue and pouted back into her seat.

“Yeah Cheren,” said Bianca, “tell us what you found out.”

“Gladly,” he said, smiling. “First of all; Tristan, Bianca… and Draya… I’m sorry for dragging you all into this on a moment’s notice. I can understand how inconvenient it might have been.”

“I doubt it…” Draya muttered.

“But,” Cheren continued, “I promise you this is important, and I wouldn’t be taking this as serious as I am without reason. Now, between the three—or four of us, Draya—we have encountered Team Plasma a total of four times—”

“Five. I saw one of their presentations at Accumula Town before I met up with you guys,” Tristan said. At Cheren’s flat stare, he quickly apologized for interrupting him.

“Right…” Cheren began again, “Five times we’ve encountered these people. Apart from their televised and seemingly nice public appearances, they’ve been nothing but trouble. Stealing Pokémon, hurting an innocent Munna—Bianca’s Munna—and seemingly able to get off without so much as a simple arrest from the police. Now, why is that?”

“For one thing, their ringleader is clearly a bigshot,” Tristan suggested. “He bailed out the group of thugs I had cornered before the cops even arrived. He’s clearly got some clout and enough money to throw around to run damage control for all of his… What, underlings? Followers?”

“Right. But it’s not just that—they haven’t been caught doing anything very serious yet.”

“Bullshit they haven’t!” Tristan yelled suddenly. He looked at the shocked expressions of his friends. “Sorry, but that’s the truth. Brutalizing innocent Pokémon and stealing from children isn’t ‘serious’ enough for you?”

“Oh don’t worry, it is for me,” Cheren said, putting his hands up, “but for the police, they don’t have any evidence of that. We gave those kids back their Pokémon before we tried to turn them in. Doing that, we ruined what little evidence we had that it even happened. The children were too afraid to talk to the police afterwards too. They thought they would get in trouble.”

Tristan recalled his experience with the local police force, and how uncooperative they were. “So what do you suggest then?”

“While you were here, Bianca and I were going over the things we confiscated from the grunts—that’s what I call the low level members. Anyway, I took this from one of them,” he pulled out a small, palm sized electronic device. Its back plate was emblazoned with Team Plasma’s insignia. “This had its most recent email still up when I got a chance to read it; since then, the thing hasn’t worked at all. Moving on, the email said that tomorrow, in Castelia City, there are three different missions that Plasma is set to carry out. I plan on stopping all three, and bringing the police’s attention to that.”

“What makes you think it’ll work?” Bianca asked. “Is what they’re planning that bad?”

“Perhaps. One in particular caught my eye because of how vaguely it was worded. Another is just a ‘shipment’ being processed in a location somewhere in the city, and the last one is just one of their public demonstrations they’re holding in the city’s Central Plaza. The point is that if we bring these to the public’s attention in a city as large as Castelia, and they get found to be illegal, then we’ll have them. These all take place sometime tomorrow afternoon, going by what I read.”

Tristan yawned. “Then why are we getting on a bus now when these aren’t even going to be happening until later on in the day?”

“I’m worried that our recent attempts to have them arrested might’ve gotten us noticed, in a bad way. If so, and we’re seen entering the city, we might be tipping them off that we’re coming, or maybe worse, Team Plasma might try and take us out. So,” Cheren said as he handed a bus ticket to each of his friends, “we’ll be getting into town at the least likely time to be spotted.”

“Five A.M.?” Tristan groaned. “Really?”

“I recommend, for all of us, to get some sleep on the ride there.” Cheren stood up. “Our bus is here.”

By the time Tristan had even stood up, Cheren had already made it halfway to the door. Bianca shouldered her belongings, and looked to see that Tristan wore a newly acquired Basic Badge.

“Hey, you beat the Gym Leader!” she said, smiling. “How was the battle?”

Subconsciously, Tristan looked over at Draya, still lying on the seat she was sitting in. The look of fear and worry on her face seemed to scream: “Please don’t tell.”

“It was easy,” Tristan said. “Cole did most of the work. I wouldn’t bother looking up any highlights.”





Tristan blinked, his eyes needing a break from staring at the same spot for the past twenty minutes.

He looked to his left, taking the opportunity to look out the window. They were on the largest bridge in the Unova region, the Skyarrow Bridge. A sight that he assumed would have looked more impressive during the day. Dull white railing and support lines sped past the glass, making a faint sound as they zoomed by him. Cloud cover made the water below him look featureless and black.

Glancing down, his eyes fell on Draya—his Zoroark.

Zoroark, not Servine.

She was a Zorua, not a Snivy.

That kiss.

So many things that had been hidden came to light about Tristan’s mysterious Snivy. The most pressing of which came within the past twenty-four hours.

She was still in her Servine form, curled up in a neat coil of green scales and leaves on the seat next to him. Tristan knew full well how large—and heavy—and very soft—she really was. He tentatively reached a hand out, probing the space he suspected she really occupied. His hand felt only the back of the seat; the smooth fabric and seams felt authentic.

Tristan shook his head to keep his mind from reeling at the possible mechanics at play with her illusions. They could make him see, hear, feel, and smell anything, a fact that unsettled him on some deep level.

Falling asleep seemed less and less likely for him as the night dragged on.

Across the aisle from him, an overhead light flicked on, causing his eyes to recoil at the sudden brightness. Tristan thought he heard Draya wake up, but she merely murmured in her sleep.

A man sat in the now-illuminated seat, scribbling on a sheet of blank paper. He wore simple looking clothes; a long sleeved shirt, no jewelry or headwear to be seen. His most eye-catching feature was his large head of brown, curly hair. Tristan couldn't’ tell if it was natural, or if he had it done that way.

What caught Tristan’s eye was what the man was scribbling on the page. At first glance, they seemed like random lines, drawn at random intervals in random places. At times, the artist would make a few strokes on a clean sheet of paper, then flip it over to a new page entirely, as if unsatisfied at the first few attempts. Others, he would spend minutes on a single page, an image almost becoming clear, before starting new once more.

It wasn’t until the eighth or ninth new sketch that the curly haired man noticed he had an audience.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said in a whisper, putting his pencil down. “Is my light bothering you?”

“No, no,” Tristan replied, just as loud. “I can’t sleep anyway. You don’t mind that I was watching you, do you?”

The artist chuckled, “Oh not at all.” He put his sketchbook down on his lap and extended a hand, “My name’s Burgh, and just to clear it up, I love when people watch me work. It’s like letting them get a look into the real me.”

Tristan shook Burgh’s hand, trying to not make an amused face at his overly enthusiastic response. “I’m Tristan,” he said. “Do you normally do that? Do so many little sketches and just ignore them?”

“More than I’d like to count,” said Burgh. “You see, my mind thinks and feels one way, then my hands take me in their own direction. Sometimes, they don’t quite match up, and what I draw doesn’t match what I’m feeling. So, when at first you don’t succeed, and so on.” Burgh smiled as he flipped through his failed sketches. “And I wouldn’t say I ignore them. They’re all creations by my hand, and thus, art. In their own way. No matter how many lines something is, if it has meaning behind it, it can mean something.”

“That’s…” Tristan mulled over his words, “really something.”

“So, why can’t you sleep?” Burgh asked with a quizzical look on his face.

Tristan was a little shocked to see such genuine interest. “I, well, um…”

“Fascinating,” Burgh said.

“Hey, it’s hard to explain,” Tristan defended himself.

“Oh, Tristan, I know. You wouldn’t believe how many pieces I’ve made over the years could be described as ‘Well, you know… stuff and things…’ You can imagine the looks I get.”

Tristan smiled, laughing quietly as he can.

“I’ll bet.”

“So?” Burgh pressed, still eager to discuss what was keeping Tristan from sleeping. He began to sketch again, taking a few seconds to look back at Tristan to let him know he still had his attention. “I’m a stranger on a bus; how likely is it that you’ll ever see me again? What do you have to lose? More sleep you’re not getting? There’s clearly something bothering you, and you’re not sure if you can put it to words, am I right?”

Tristan turned back in his seat and stared at the back of Cheren’s seat ahead of him. He could see a black head of hair resting on Bianca’s shoulder between the gap of the seats. A great deal was on his mind and keeping him awake, but how much could he talk about and feel comfortable discussing? Their impending move against Team Plasma didn’t seem to be on his mind too much. It was something he wanted to do. As his mind came around again, it drifted to where it lingered just before.


“Like I said,” Tristan started, Burgh looked up from his page at the sound of his voice. “It’s really… complicated, and kind of confusing.”

“I’ve heard those words before,” said Burgh, smiling. “Love troubles?”

Tristan hesitated for a moment before answering him.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Burgh flipped to a new page of paper. “Is she—or he, I don’t point fingers—on this bus, perhaps?”

“You sure you don’t already know what’s bothering me?” Tristan asked.

Burgh simply smiled and waved at him to continue.

“Yes,” Tristan said, “she is. In fact, it’s become more of a… love triangle somehow. Or a square… it’s complicated.”

“Well, let’s focus on what’s really bugging you,” Burgh said. “The most vivid image in your head right now. What is it?”

A tall, dark furred creature straddling me on a bed, arms around my neck, claws gripping me. Kissing Draya. Her eyes are closed.

“Uh,” Tristan said, after a moment of reflection. “Well, okay. This girl, who I met a little while ago…”

“Good, go on.” Burgh moved onto another sketch. “Who is she?”

“Well, in this case, it doesn’t really matter to me who she is. It’s the situation that’s getting to me. We got to be pretty close pretty quickly, and I really began to enjoy having her around. Then, yesterday I found something out about her.”

“Hmm? And what was that?”

“She had been lying to me,” explained Tristan. “She said she wanted to tell me about it on her own, but she kept stalling, or never found the time, or something.”

“Then her heart’s in the right place,” Burgh said simply. Another new page.

“I guess so, yeah. In fact, what she lied about isn’t what I’m… stuck on. It’s that she’s… into me. Like, a lot.”

Burgh raised an eyebrow, but still smiled, “And this is a bad thing? You two are close, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but not that way,” said Tristan.

“Are you sure?” the artist asked him. “I’d say, if you were sure, that this wouldn’t be keeping you up at night. You could simply turn her down and think nothing of it. Or maybe you just can’t sleep on busses. I can’t tell.”

“I mean… I don’t know. We weren’t like that before, I hadn’t even thought about her that way—it never even came up—and now that it’s out there in the open, I’m just—,” Tristan paused, unable to pin down right word.


“Yeah,” Tristan said. “That. What do you think I should do?”

Burgh pondered for a moment, sketching as he thought. His pencil in hand flew across the page faster than Tristan had seen it previously that night.

“You are a leaf in the wind,” Burgh said. He held up his sketchbook to show Tristan the current page. It was remarkably well done considering the time it took to draw. A tree stood on the shore of a pond—or a lake, Tristan couldn’t tell—with the tree’s many branches hanging on either side of its trunk. A single leaf had fallen off a branch, and was now falling toward the ground.

“A leaf in the wind, specifically this one, has two fates: to land in the water and get wet, and to land on the shore to stay dry. You and I and everyone else know that leaves do not fall in straight lines. They twist and turn, they glide and float however they please. Sometimes there is wind to guide the leaf to its destiny, and sometimes there isn’t. So, if I were to ask you, what will happen to the leaf, what would you say?”

“It could go either way?” Tristan asked.

“Whatever you want it to be!” Burgh said. “It’s art! Interpret it how you wish.”

“Well, how would you answer that question then?”

“I would say,” Burgh started, “that the leaf will either be wet or dry. Neither answer is more prominent or more likely than the other.” He tore out the sketch and handed it to Tristan. “All that you can do, is wait and see how it ends up. Let the leaf take its time. Then you can safely say whether it fell in the water, or landed on the shore.”

Tristan looked at the drawing, staring at the lone leaf, trying to find if it was closer to the water, or the dry land.

“Take my time?” he asked Burgh.

“If this girl is as close to you as you say, I think she’ll understand.”


Hours later, Tristan found himself staring bleary-eyed at a pamphlet Cheren handed him. A nice looking illustration of a lighthouse surrounded by the sea and light, thin clouds made up its cover, with a message reading: [Come See Liberty Garden Island. Where the Light of Freedom Shines!]

“A tourist trap?” Tristan asked, looking at it.

“It’s what the mission description said.” Cheren handed a similar looking item to Bianca, a map of Castelia City, with directions to the park in the center of the city.

Tristan looked over the included map in his brochure, visualizing this path to the pier he would leave from. The three of them sat in the corner of Castelia’s primary bus hub, going over their plans for the day. The sun was almost up, the sky beginning to lighten as the morning continued on in its eventual transition into the day.

He had managed to get some sleep in the final hours of their bus ride into the big city, but Tristan could still feel his body react sluggishly. He yawned and turned his pamphlet over and noticed that Cheren had circled the scheduled trips to the island.

“Did that email say what time their ‘mission’ was going to take place on the island?” he asked.

“It only said that whatever they have planned would take place this afternoon. I assume more detailed instructions were sent out afterwards,” said Cheren. He continued, looking to Bianca, “I need you to make sure you look for any suspicious activity in the crowd. It wouldn’t surprise me if Plasma has agents in civilian clothing seeded in these crowds, doing whatever they may need them to.”

“You can count on us!” Bianca said, proudly. “Chao, Moony, and I won’t let you down.”

“Your two jobs have goals,” Tristan spoke up, “but mine doesn’t really make sense. Why is Team Plasma going to Liberty Garden Island?”

“I mentioned before that that operation wasn’t very descriptive, but it was higher on their priority list than the other two targets, which means it’s obviously important,” said Cheren. He gestured to the two badges Tristan wore, “I’m entrusting you with that location, since you’re clearly the better battler among us.”

“But what is it, though?” Tristan asked, mostly for himself. Anyone could go to Liberty Garden Island. Hundreds of people did every day. “Maybe someone important is going to be there? Are they abducting someone?”

“I don’t know.” Cheren picked up his backpack and began walking toward the door. “We have a few hours before we need to be in our locations—Bianca does, at least. Her target event starts at one o’clock.”

“Good,” Tristan said, going over his map to find the nearest Pokémon Center with a hotel. “I’m going to get a quick nap at the Center before I head to the pier.”


“What?” he turned back at his friend, who gave him a worried stare.

“Do not miss your deadline. I’d recommend getting on the ten o’clock boat to make sure you’re there when Plasma starts anything. That’s the earliest one.”

“I’ll be fine, I won’t oversleep,” Tristan said. He wished his friends good luck in their missions and walked out of the bus station.

Draya, who had been expectedly silent in the crowded waiting room of the station, leaned in close and whispered into Tristan’s ear.

“When we get to our new room,” she said, “how about we pick up where we were… interrupted last night?”

“I’m going to get some sleep when we get our room, Draya. I have a feeling today’s going to be a long day.”

Tristan could hear her disappointed huff, grateful that she didn’t press the matter further. A strong gust of wind blew as he crossed the street, surrounded by a crowd of people. Of the many people walking on the road at that moment, just one of them looked up and stared at a leaf, as it blew south toward the sea.


It took Draya four minutes after Tristan had fallen asleep on the bed to realize she was still in her Servine form. It didn’t seem to be worth the trouble to keep herself shrouded in an illusion, at least while the two of them were alone. Letting go of that mental link in her mind’s eye—the picture in her head of what she wanted to look like—her fake face shattered like glass.

For the second time in two days, a Zoroark stood in a hotel room, stretching her arms and flexing her new, bright red claws.

The elevator up to their room above the Pokémon Center had taken a long time, Draya remembered. Curious, she made her way over the large window, carefully pulling back the white curtains to peek out. She saw a gorgeous view of Castelia Bay. Many boats and ships could be seen parked at various docks along the coastline. Directly below, Draya could barely make out the large population of the city moving about on the sidewalks and roads. She felt so high up, she flung open the curtains, no longer fearing that any prying eyes could see her.

Behind her, she heard a groan, and Tristan rolled over towards the wall opposite her.

She quietly muttered an apology, forgetting how tired he looked on the way up to their room.

Did he not sleep on our way here? He was falling asleep standing up on the elevator ride up here.

Silently, Draya crept up to the side of the lone bed in the room, almost afraid to make any noise.

I bet I could make him more comfortable. He’d like that.

As Draya eased herself onto the bed beside Tristan, he began to stir, grumbling at her.

“I need to sleep… Please leave me alone…”

She sat on the side of the bed for a moment, a little shocked at the irritation that seemed to come from his words. She reached out a hand towards him, meaning to comfort him or reassure him of her intentions, but she drew back. Standing up from the bed, Draya looked down at Tristan’s tired face. He didn’t seem angry, not to her eyes, at least.

But since yesterday, he’s been…

Dropping that train of thought as fast as she could, Draya then sought from something to do in the meantime.

The simple room they had rented presented few options. Two chairs sat neatly pushed under the small, round table by the window. If she couldn’t bother Tristan, at least she could sit and watch the Pidove and Swanna fly around the bay area.

Fifteen minutes of sitting in a chair sluggishly moved by before Draya gave up.

She didn’t feel tired, and felt it would be a wasted effort to try and sleep like Tristan had now successfully managed to. Draya listened to his light breathing, entranced by the rise and fall of his chest beneath the blankets. She found herself desperately wanting to be close to him again. To hold him in her arms—or be held—without the fear of anyone coming to interrupt, or for anyone to see her real form.

Anyone but Tristan, she thought to herself. The longer she stood in the sunlight streaming into the room, staring down at the human unaware of her gaze, the sooner she found herself back to thinking about how the last twenty-four hours had gone.

She had lost control over her illusion during the Gym Battle, letting her true self show to so many humans. The memory of it was still vivid in her mind; the gasps from the crowd, the annoying voice of the man narrating the battle, and Tristan’s look of shock.

He wasn’t mad then. Maybe a little disappointed I wasn’t what he thought I was… but not mad.

Tristan was more than kind to her after she had been found out. A bit confused, she allowed, but overall accepting. He had made the mistake of ignoring Draya’s cries to leave at the time, but he apologized for that. That was over. He even ran around that forest on his own—Not entirely, N was with him—just to find her.

Because he cared for me. He said he missed me, even though I was only gone for a few hours. He was afraid I was gone.

Then, they got into that stupid fight.

It was supposed to be a calm, civil discussion about what had happened. Things got out of hand—words were thrown around that probably shouldn’t have. Then Draya let herself evolve. The feelings and sensations that followed overwhelmed her and clouded her better judgment, or so it seemed. Draya didn’t feel like she made a mistake. She definitely did feel drawn to her human. Her first foray into kissing went well, she thought. She had been worried at the possible problems that might arise—physically—were she to come forward as a Zorua. Evolution seemed to just put those urges, thoughts, and desires, at the forefront of her mind.

She had wanted to tell Tristan so badly, just before she ripped that collar off. After she did, the two of them shared a nice, tender moment together. His arm around her, comforting her. Pushing him down onto the bed just felt like the right thing to do at the time.

It felt good doing it, too, she thought.

Looking down at her paws, Draya landed on a thought: she just evolved yesterday, and spent most of the time between in disguise. She didn’t really know what she looked like now. It’s a miracle, she thought, that she had managed to do her new illusion so well without really knowing what she had been changing from.

Mother had always taught me: “The first step in changing anything, even your shape, is knowing what to change.”

As quietly as she could, Draya made her way into the room’s washroom and turned on the light. She didn’t recognize the face that stared back at her in the mirror. Her muzzle was longer than it had been, her nose seemed to be of similar shape, she noticed. Draya reached up and felt her ears, still mostly the same apart from the fine, red fur that now lined the inner parts of them. Her eyes then moved to the top of her head, admiring as she did her new large mane of long, black and red fur. She spun on the spot, watching it bounce and sway with her. It went all the way down her back, ending in a ponytail as it continues past her waist.

Her arms felt much stronger, now that they weren’t just two front legs. She could grip things in her shiny, new, red claws. Her legs were much longer, stretching them, she could feel the rising urge to leap and run. She quickly suppressed it and went back to surveying her new body.

I’m not little anymore. I’m tall.

Draya tried to think back to when she first stood on her new legs. Was she taller than Tristan? The same height? She knew she didn’t have to look up at him when they shared a seat on the bed the night before.

She stopped looking at the details of her body, and focused merely on herself as a whole. She looked into her own eyes staring back at her in the mirror, trying to find something in them that might tell her the answers she was asking herself.

What did I do wrong? Am I not… good looking anymore?

She brought up a clawed paw, experimenting with her illusory abilities. She shifted the colors of her furred arm. First to the only other color she thought Tristan might like. Bright yellow— blonde like Bianca’s hair. She turned her claws black. A few moments of scrutiny passed, and Draya canceled the spell, letting her normal colors flow back into view.

That’s not me. Is it not me that he wants?

Draya shifted her form again. This time, she stared into the eyes of the dark-skinned girl in the white dress she masqueraded as in the forest. N had seen through her disguise, perhaps because of the things she had said to him, but it concealed her identity well enough. She felt something was off about it, however. The girl looked too young—she looked too young. The clothes were too simple, she felt.

She let her form shift, growing taller, matching the height of her true form. Draya let her human form’s hair flow out down her back, like her mane, a large mass of dark brown curls.

As she looked at her new self, Draya shook her head, letting it fall apart in pieces.

What’s the point? If I’m going to be his, if I’m going to be with him, it’s going to be me he’s holding in his arms. Not some nameless human girl. Not some fake snake. Me!

Before she left the washroom, a playful thought danced in her head, and she turned back to the mirror.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t play around with things to see what he likes. Maybe big breasts? Those are what human women have that the males seem to like. And what else? Wider hips?

Draya spent the remainder of her time experimenting with her self-image. Not one specific alteration seemed to catch her eye, but she decided, it wasn’t her eye she was trying to please. When the sound of Tristan’s alarm startled her in the middle of seeing what colors might make her mane more appealing, she let her illusions fade away and went back into the room.

Tristan slept for an extra five minutes while his XTransceiver blared an annoying tune, all the while Draya sat in her chair out looking the bay.

I know I can make this work. I just need to find out what’s making him hold back. I’ll get his attention somehow…

The first chance I get.


To Be Continued…


You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story