Juvenalas Penitatas
Chapter 32 – The Bad Girls of Northrock

In an office building not far from Northrock Correctional Elementary, the fates of rejuves were being decided. Though it was still months away, preparations were already being done for the end-of-year Special Punishment Day.
“Alright, let's finish Mr Kal's class!” Niklin announced as he twirled his seat to face his second monitor. He was an Elimeen, a mouse-like species with a small frame and comically large, rounded ears. He was four feet head to toe, four feet one inch when the lobes were included, with pale, light grey fur and adorably pink flesh on his paw-pads, tail, and the inside of his ears. His cuteness served him well; he'd certainly never wanted for company from females of multiple species.
His Karrian counterpart was not swayed by Niklin's adorable appearance, though he welcomed the mouse's pleasant nature. Nio brought up the file list and scrolled to the first waiting document. “Why are we doing them in class order?”
“Just my preferred way. Next would be... a Miss Rilka. Oh, there's two files here!”
Nio grinned. “The Dafrons have her and another boy, Talek.”
A soft, squeaky tut answered the clarification. “This 'Talek' is messing up my filing system! Points against, I feel!” Both of them laughed lightly as Rilka's file filled the screen. “H3, that simplifies things. Ooh, quite a few notations here!”
“But they are minor notations,” Nio countered. “Probably just little things; talking in class, not putting her shoes away, that sort of thing.”
“Let's see what Mr Kal thinks of her... 'no real trouble, though her conduct becomes slack around friends. Occasionally forgetful, rarely malicious. Has some personal history with Tulu-' oh, this is taking me down quite the rabbit hole!”
Nio let out a dry chuckle. “Ah, yes. I wasn't sure if you'd heard about Tulu.”
“Who hasn't at this point?” The mouse let out a whistle as he studied Tulu's notes. “She'll be having a bad time of it! I'm getting off track here, let's get back to this Rilka girl. Parents report good conduct overall, notes... seem to suggest she's been getting a lot of perks. Ho-ho! And what perks they are! Do you know the Dafrons well?”
“I do. In my opinion, Rilka's one of the better ones. You'll note her sentence modifications.”
“Mhmm. Not much in the way of extra-curricular activities or volunteer work, though.”
“She's keeping her head down, like most of them do.”
Niklin shrugged. “It's points against, Nio. It has to be. What did she get last year? Oh!” He paused as his eyes settled on the logs. “She volunteered for a pink punishment?”
“That she did.”
“Well, that's novel. Wonder why she did that? Maybe...” the mouse scrutinised the scrolling text on his screens, a cold tabulation of Rilka's suffering over the past year. “She's a H3, but like you said, there's nothing major here. Going a little easy this year will balance the books for that pink, so to speak; two reds, two whites?” Nio nodded in approval. “Good, nice and simple. Do you really have no idea why she took that pink? It seems like something that should have been written down.”
“I'll tell you if you promise to keep it off the record.”
Niklin's ears flicked round at the comment. “Oh! Okay, but don't make me regret agreeing to this.”
“The rumour I heard at the bar was she had a bit of a crush on Shon, her father. She wanted a way to sleep with him without getting either of them in trouble.”
Gasping in surprise, Niklin twirled his chair around to face Nio. “Really?”
“That's what I heard! Shon didn't want to discuss it himself. He tried to dissuade her from going through with it, but she insisted, and so he did what was required.”
“A hard lesson indeed!” the mouse swivelled back to his monitor. “I'm second guessing my charity now.”
Nio peered over his own screen. “Plenty of Pennys here choose to upgrade their whites. They don't like risking a punishment that'll run over into their holidays.”
Niklin accepted the information with a nod. “So you think it'll end up being served as a blue or a red? Alright, you're the local expert. Shall we deal with her 'brother' now?”
“No need, he's Soft Time.”
“Alrighty, back to the list! Looking at Miss Lusu now... another H3, another boatload of minor notes. Any thoughts on her?”
Nio smirked. “She's notorious for running her mouth. I think a little extra soap is in order for her. Two reds, two blues?”
“I'll leave a note for her mother to shell game it. I want to be sure she gets that soap.” Niklin answered as he typed his comments into Lusu's file. “Now we're on to the main event. Tulu. H5 facing her first New Years spanking. What's the algorithm recommending?”
“Two purples, two reds, and a blue.”
The little mouse frowned. “That's certainly not going to cut it. Check the notes: our bosses are pushing for a Black Grade rainbow, with seven punishments.”
“She hasn't earned that! Her parents noted a lot of passive resistance, but since she's been enrolled in school her attitude has improved. I used to work with her; she was a headstrong woman, but not as tough as she imagined herself to be. I don't think she can take the recommended spread, let alone the rainbow.”
“Then she shouldn't have broken the law. That girl has earned her misery.”
The comment made Nio frown. “Is that really what you think she deserves, or are you just after a pound of flesh for her betraying the system?”
Niklin, to his credit, paused and considered the comment. “Do you know how unprecedented it is for someone senior in the Department to take a personal interest like this? They want an example made.”
“She's not going to be able to take that!” Nio countered.
“It's not like she has a choice,” Niklin replied as his fingers danced on the keyboard.
“That's cold, Nik.”
“You're too close to this, Nio. This is precisely why I'm brought in: so I can judge off the file and not personal sentiment.”
The albino Karrian flashed a snarl over the top of his monitor. “Except this is personal for you. It's personal for the entire department! Hell, you worked with Tulu longer than I did!”
“I hardly knew her. We shared a building, but little else. Do you want me to raise a formal objection to this request?”
“I do! I've been around long enough to remember what happened when we let vengeance dictate how we treated penitatas!”
The Elimeen's fingers hovered over the keyboard. “Five colour spread. That's as much mercy as we can get away with.”
“What little there is.”
“It's done. Good luck to her. Next Penny...”

The simple act of stepping out of her front door had become torturous for Francine. Autumnal rains, harsh winds, and ever shortening days turned Northrock into a cold, bleak place during the tail end of the year. Still, her parents refused to give her a single shred of clothing to wear, leaving her often cold and routinely soaked to the bone. She was glad the school provided drying arches at most entrances; the quick blast of warm air helped bring life back to her frozen little form.
She was, with some difficulty, learning how to navigate the pain-wracked classroom of Mister Titus.  Being trapped in a young body, the core of her mind – the part that was still Francesco Holdenthorpe – had to constantly fight the flighty, emotional nature of her rejuvenated brain. It required a sort of meditation, a wilful fixation on a constant thought. Not too much though; she had to be attentive of the world around her and the lessons on her screen, lest she catch a harsh beating from her Roferian teacher. Francine's escape was ash'rko. She imagined making it, conjured the scent of the hot, creamy dish wafting out of the oven as she opened the door, and focused on the phantom warmth transferring through oven mitts as she grasped the handles of a glass cooking dish. That waking dream was her mental anchor. It was often all she had to avoid slipping into madness and despair.
Lunchtime arrived, at long last. Francine had a maddening craving for her dream food now, but with a limited menu selection she went with the next most creamy option; a thick soup. Fresh vegetables and a hint of meat all blended together into a warm, amber mixture. Behind her, Malth picked the same. The little lass tottered to what was her adopted social grouping, sliding her tray onto the circular table and planting her white-furred tush on the bench seat. The sharp, peppery scent of spiced meat wafted from Sa'shel, who as usual was enjoying a bespoke Drakonian meal. “Not feeling the fish?” the hulking Saurian asked.
“No.” Francine toyed with the surface of her soup, creating waves with her spoon.
Malth started ripping up chunks to bread to drop into his meal. “We had fish yesterday.”
“And the day before,” Francine reminded him.
“They need to shake up the menu a bit.” Sa'shel gestured to her own plate. “Sometimes I'm stuck eating this same meal three times a week! At least your choices are usually good.”
The rest of their social group filled the table, who were likewise done with fish this week. Malth's features creased into a smirk at the sight of Penelope. “You look ready to pop! Got some juicy gossip for us?”
“Maybe. Saw someone interesting on the way into school this morning; little mouse guy. Grey fur, big ears, really short.”
“An Elimeen?” Tulu's voice had a tremble to it. “What was he wearing?”
The Roferian girl paused, sensing her friend's growing concern. “A dark green suit? I think he was with the Department.”
Tulu's paws flew to her maw, clutching it tight to stifle a whimper. “That's Niklin, I'm sure of it! He used to assess the New Years punishments for Ashfeld! If he's here...”
A visible ripple of anxiety circled the table. “New Years is still ages away,” Sa'shel said.
“Trust me, they plan this stuff well ahead of time.” The girl's fingers crept into her mouth, but chewing her nails brought little comfort. “I'm really going to get it if he's here!”
“Is he extra harsh or something?” Malth asked.
The girl shook her head. “Not really. But he's part of the department I worked in before coming to Northrock. I bet he's here to make sure I suffer!”
Francine let her eyes slide closed. She didn't want this, not now! Her mind fled to her safety dream, seeking solace in the practised false memory. Clinging to the slim sense of calm it won her, she focused on her soup. “Let's just eat and get out of here,” she sighed with a weariness no four year old should ever possess.
They filed out towards the playground, a cold, overcast space that looked more bleak and joyless than ever. Tulu glanced about briefly as she left the building, perhaps looking for the boy who'd once terrorised her, before jerking a thumb towards their usual play activity. “Joining in?” she asked the group.
Francine shook her head. “I want the swings.”
The comment drew a rasping breath from Penelope. “You know Claye runs the swings, right? He doesn't share.”
“Time he learned.” It was hard to sound resolute when you were four, but Francine did her best. Squaring her shoulders, and clenching her jaw against the chills of the dying year, the little white fox marched to her intended destination.
The swings were claimed ground, as Penelope had said a few days after Francine's acceptance acceptance into the group. Claye, whenever he was present at school, took them as his own. He would invariably have several older boys to back up his territorial stake. As a Karrian, Claye was unassuming; a common shade of green, hair an even darker shade that bordered on black, and a stubby, rounded snout that made him look a little chubby. His eyes were what mattered, however; piercing as a diamond-tipped drill, and serious even when the boy laughed or smiled. Playground rumours, of which Penelope was a font, put him as a senior member of a crime family or criminal syndicate, though nobody could agree which one.
Claye was serving cycles of 4-8, appearing in school around his sixth birthday each time. He was there now, swinging merrily, with a boy of eleven occupying the second swing, sat idle. Two other Karrians, each ten or older to Francine's eye, stood around people-watching. They watched Francine as she strode right up to the idling boy and barked, “Get off! You're not swinging, so make room!”
“Who do you-” the boy began, but a sharp whistle from Claye made him silent.
“Let the girl swing,” Claye said, slowing his own motions. All eyes were on the little fox as she stepped up to the now vacant seat. “Need a push?”
“Fuck off.” Her feet couldn't touch the ground when sat on the swing, so she resorted to a backwards jump to create some momentum. The swing's chains rattled as she wobbled in their clutch, but a few kicks and twists got her moving smoothly. Claye watched for a few seconds before seeking to match her rhythm.
“You're Isabelle's sister, aren't you? You must be – you look just like her!”
“We're twins.”
“Twins from a powerful family.” Claye let the comment hang in the air for a time. “I always wondered how a Holdenthorpe ended up in such deep shit. I thought your family looked after their own.”
Francine let the whoosh of air and squeak of chains answer for her. Claye pressed on. “You take after her, it seems. Happy to throw your weight around, like your name means something here.”
“If you plan to fish, bait the hook.” Francine spat, growing increasingly tired of Claye's verbal vagaries.
The little Karrian grinned. There was no warmth in the expression. “You storm up here like you weren't going to get your teeth knocked out. You bark at my lads as if you matter. What makes you think you can do something like that? What makes you think you can disrespect me like that and get away with it?”
Francine slowed her motions. The three older boys had edged a little closer, all wearing smiles and trying to appear casual. Camouflage for the violence to come. Francine faced Claye square in the eye and gave him a snarl. “You think we're outcasts, right? Refuse thrown aside because we weren't worth protecting? You're in the same boat, Claye, so I might accuse you of the same!”
Claye's smile vanished. “That'd be a mistake.”
“Right. Which is why you've not made your move yet; you're scared of me, scared because you don't know what cards I'm holding. One of us here? That's the cost of business, right? You had to take a fall, just like my sister. Instead of thinking how many of us there are, think how far apart we fell. It's the cost of business, same as ever. She suffered, and I suffer more, but that's the way you play the game; it's got to look real from afar so nobody looks too close.”
The little fox kicked the air to get back into motion. “If you're still in doubt about what influence we might hold, think on this: my sister is fucking the faculty, got 'em wrapped around her little finger, and nobody bats an eye. As for me, I've not been here a year and yet I'm sat on your swings.”
She slowed back to a halt, meeting Claye's eye. “That much I told you because it's what anyone with half a brain can work out on their own. If you want a glimpse at my hand, try this one: I've had one of the most dangerous hackers in the galaxy in my bed. My bed here, in Northrock. Useful thing to have, yeah? The rest I'll keep quiet until I need them. Don't push me, Claye, or I will fucking end you.”
She hopped from the swing, foxy paws crunching into the wood shavings used to soften the ground beneath the swings. “I get to swing whenever I want. Do that, and we can be friends.” She turned, fighting to appear calm and composed, yet expecting a sucker-punch to the back of the skull at any moment. That moment never came; Francine walked away unmolested.

Time ticked on, slow and painful as ever for the penitatas of Northrock. The nights grew longer, the days colder, and the sun was more often shrouded in cloud than not. Bleak, grey, miserable; the outside world often reflected the feelings of those trapped inside the town.
Francine did not repeat her little stunt on the swings. For days she pursued other distractions, ideally ones in the warmth of the library or another indoor space, but almost a week after her exchange with Claye, one of the gangster's boys passed by her dining table. “Come out on the swings after lunch,” he whispered to her, barely breaking stride, then hurried on to his table.
The exchange drew looks of surprise from the rest of the table. “You know who he's with, right?” Sa'shel asked.
“I do.”
“You don't want to get mixed up with Claye!” Penelope hissed. “He's trouble, with a capital 'T'!”
Francine snarled at the warning. “So am I!” She stormed away from the table and made for the chilly outdoors, as hateful as ever at her spiteful parents and their refusal to give her a shred of clothing. Claye and his lackeys were only just settling in when Francine reached the swings, having driven off a pair of boys who'd stolen a few joyful moments of play. “There she is!” Claye called with false pleasantry. The two settled into the swings together, syncing into a lazy rhythm. “You were rude to me when last we spoke, Francine. But I know how you can make that up to me.”
The Aspatrian cast a side-eyed glance at Claye. “This ought to be good.”
“I represent the Tellurr Consortium. We took the rioboxxi trade off your family a while back.”
“Yes you did.” A thin scowl formed on Francine's face as she recalled that particular black market skirmish, and how much profit it had cost.”
Claye grinned at her frustration. “Funny thing, after your lot were driven out of town, the local government suddenly got tough on crime. We lost three-quarters of our output within a year, and handling what remained became ever more difficult. I have to figure you had some connections in the state.”
“Connections? No. I have leverage.” Francine added a playful kick to her swings, building speed as a pleasant memory came to the fore of her mind. “In the central bank there's a lock-box, and in that box contains physical and digital assets that would severely damage the reputation of a great many people. My 'little red book'. We never released the information when you drove us out; it seemed a better plan to keep hold of it until we could take the trade back from you.”
“So it's still there? Still primed?”
The girl nodded. “Share a few choice morsels with the right people, and perhaps explain why their lives didn't come crashing down earlier, and their 'tough on crime' attitude will bleed away.”
Claye grinned. “I think that will settle things between us just fine.”
“Too bad I'm not giving it to you.” Both girls swung to a halt and stared each other down. “I have no interest in making you feel better, Claye, especially now I know who you work for. But I'll trade it to you. I want drugs, Claye. I know what's coming, and I don't want it.”
“I'm not so stupid as to get caught up in that. Besides, you've got connections, get it yourself.”
“I don't have a network here yet! Do you want my intel or not?”
The Karrian boy scratched his chin in thought. “If you get caught-”
“Then I'm back where I started. Besides, if you do your job right, the worst I can do is give them the name of a patsy.” 
Once more, Claye considered the prospect. “We can't deal here. Too risky. You need a way to get to the edges of town, like the coast road.”
“I have a friend who lives down that way.”
“Good. I'll tell you when you expect the drops. In the meantime, I suggest you settle things your end.”
Francine exchanged the details, and indulged the swing for the remainder of their playtime. Exactly how Claye would get that information out of town was not her concern; her goal was to find a way to pick up the drugs when provided. A notion came to mind almost instantly: Tulu.

The home time bell was a sweet song of freedom for all, but Tulu bucked the trend of rushing straight for the main gates and getting home as quickly as possible. Instead, she took a detour to the ground floor girl's room, where Francine had asked to meet. “Francine?” she called out, lingering as close to the stalls as she could without invading the privacy of a potential user.
“Hang on!” the little fox called. A flush signalled her emergence, and she dutifully washed her paws. “Thanks for waiting for me.”
“Why did you want to meet, anyway? I thought you were making new friends.”
“Claye is not my friend. Just someone I need to deal with.” The girl shook as much water from her furry paws as she could off into the sink, then let the hand drier handle the rest. “I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I should never have ratted you out to the authorities. I know you had trouble of your own, but I made your time worse than it had to be.”
The apology caught Tulu by surprise. “Oh. Thanks, I guess.”
Francine flicked an awkward smile her way. “I don't trust people easily. Shocker, I know, but it's true. I spent most of my life trying to get one over on everyone else around me, or watching for those who'd stick a knife in my back. I'm still looking for the knife, still scared of almost everyone. But not you. I trust you. Maybe it's because you often look as scared as I feel.”
“Not sure how to take that,” Tulu replied as Francine slunk back out into the corridor and moved for the front door.
“I know they've screwed you over. You barely did anything wrong and they treat you worse than a murderer.” the comment made Tulu's guts churn. She was certainly not going to disagree. “I can't do this alone any more. It's all too much.”
Seeing the little white fox shrink in on herself, tail falling limp and ears flattening, sparked a pang of sympathy in Tulu's gut. Yes, Francine – or Francesco as he'd been back then – had manipulated her, betrayed her even, but she also knew exactly what kind of hell that Aspatrian was going through. The very sort of cruelty and evil she'd wanted to purge from the system, delivered a hundred-fold worse than anything Tulu herself had endured. “I guess we can be friends,” she said, and though her words were delivered without much enthusiasm, little Francine's face lit up at once.
“Thank you, Tulu. You have no idea what this means to me! Do you think I could come over to your place sometime? Maybe even today?”
“What, just like that?”
The fox grimaced. “If you knew what my parents were like you wouldn't want to spend a single second in their house.”
“Actually... I do have a good idea what they're like. Okay, I guess we can ask.” This concession earned a fleeting smile from Francine, who now walked with a subtle spring in her step. They emerged into the controlled chaos of the school's front yard, where parents waited for their charges by the main gate while penitatas entrusted to the Watchdogs formed up and surrendered to their mechanical minders. The board organising the latter flashed names to summon boys and girls forward, with one or two glowing amber to indicate the child in question was taking too long to surrender themselves.
Tulu felt Francine's paw clasp her own. The tightness of the grip drew the Karrian girl's focus, and she followed the fox's trembling gaze to a smiling, grey-scaled Karrian parent. “There's my mother,” Francine whispered.
Scanning the crowd, Tulu picked out one of her own parents, Arno, walking carefully through the gathering towards her. He wore a curious look upon his face, doubtless having seen how tightly Francine clasped his daughter. Tulu gave her companion a gentle tug, leading her down the steps to meet the approaching Arno. “What's the matter, Francine? Lost your mommy?”
A shudder ran down the Aspatrian's spine. “No sir, I know where she is.” The little girl turned her head towards Avelyn, who like Arno wound her way over. “C-can I come over and visit, sir? Please?” the little fox stammered out her request the moment her mother was in earshot.
“What are you trying to wriggle out of, little miss?” Avelyn asked with a scowl.
“Nothing! I swear!”
“Is that so?”
“I just want to be with my friend!” Francine's voice cracked as she spoke, pained tears welling up in her eyes. Tulu grimaced at how fiercely the little fox was squeezing her claw.
“Francine!” Avelyn bit back her frustration, tutting it away and pressing forward with a more calm, professional tone. “Visiting friends is a privilege. It has to be earned, like everything else.”
The girl's reply came out at barely a whisper. “But you let me go t'school. That's a privilege too. Other kids m'age don't g-go t'school.” She clenched her eyes shut, leaking tears as her little jaw trembled. “I need this, mommy!”
Avelyn turned her gaze to Arno, who shrugged. “I know how to handle her if push comes to shove.”
“Alright, we'll give her a little rope.” Avelyn turned her focus back to Francine, who looked up at her with wet, pleading eyes. “If your behaviour is anything less than perfect-”
To the apparent shock of Avelyn, Francine lunged forward and gripped her legs in a fierce hug, burying her face into the Karrian woman's thigh. Speechless, Avelyn simply waited for her newfound limpet to detach itself, after which she provided one last, albeit light, parental scold. “Perfect behaviour, remember? Put a toe out of line and there will be no more of this.”

Now free from her assigned parents, however temporarily it may be, Francine's mood lifted. Though she shivered in the cold, there was a perkiness and optimism to the little fox. She made sure to thank Arno for his hospitality twice during the walk, the rest of which Arno filled with carefully steered talking points that tried to straddle his desire to let the girls have fun with the cold realities of what their positions demanded. “I won't sugar-coat it, you will both be getting spanked tonight. We won't throw you under the paddle straight away; I'll let you both settle and relax a bit first. It'll be a routine swatting, so you don't need to worry too much.”
In time, the turn for home loomed ahead. Alerted by Arno's quiet instruction, Francine took a final chance to turn and gaze about at the farmland, easing up on her toes to gain a little height and peer about. “Some of the kids at school said you can see animals in the fields,” she said by way of explanation.
“No such luck today,” Arno replied after a quick glance of his own. “Come on. You might spy some birds flying over the beach.”
The turn toward the beach led them headlong into the wind. It blew Francine's newfound giddiness away, leaving her hunched and shivering until they turned left again and took shelter behind the raised hill that served as a windbreak for the houses. Tulu's house was at the end of the row. Its warm interior felt sweltering after their trek in the cold. “Go on, head upstairs. I'll come fetch you later.”
Francine helped herself to Tulu's bed, curling up in a ball without so much as a word. Tulu stared at her. “Do you not have your own bed at home?”
“I'm cold!” the vixen replied. “Let me warm up a little.”
With a shrug, Tulu sought her own amusement, settling at her desk and pulling out a selection of coloured pencils to draw with. After just a few minutes, Francine roused herself and wandered over, which prompted Tulu to move her drawing activities down onto the floor, where it was easier to share pencils and paper. They talked little, but even she had to admit there was something pleasant about sharing the activity. Chatter started, odd words at first, but blossoming into full conversations about nothing in particular. It made Tulu realise that the enforced quiet of school stole away something important; when she glanced at Francine, there was a similar look of revelation in the little fox's eyes.
Yet all too soon, the moment both girls loathed arrived; Arno and Reel stepped into the room, both Karrians approaching a girl of their choosing with a folded belt in claw. “Tulu, you're with me.” Arno's words made her whimper. The two parents sat on opposite sides of the bed, took a girl onto their laps, and set the belts to work. The twin cracks of leather on scale and fur came in unison, the subtle differences in sound was lost on both girls, whose attention was instantly drawn to their own pain. Vulpine howls and shrill wails bounced off the hall as the straps rose and fell, swift and fierce, their rapid blows turning buttocks crimson. The sheer pace of the thrashing was something Tulu had rarely endured, and it panicked her; she squirmed and writhed enough to earn her a sharp warning, but still the terror remained. “Wha'didI doo-owowow!”
No answer came. None save the belt. Sixteen swift and merciless strokes from her father's folded leather belt left the girl a broken, bawling mess, but no seventeenth swat came. Lifted from Arno's lap with skirt turned up and panties dangling off her right ankle, she was settled into a kneeling position for a post-spanking cuddle. Reel's own strap halted soon after, and he offered Francine matching comfort. Arno whispered into Tulu's ear, “you didn't 'do' anything. That was one of your unearned spankings. We wanted it over and done quickly so you two could get back to playing.”
A minute of gentle rocking later, Tulu and Francine were ordered against the wall. They stood with paws and claws on heads and tails raised to show the red stripes of the belt. They both cried out their pain, though after several minutes their sobs died down to heavy breaths and unhappy huffs, after which they were invited to return to the room proper. Sandwiches, vegetable sticks, and glasses of fresh juice were waiting on trays for them to enjoy; a thoughtful act that both gave them more time to play and spared them sitting on fresh belt stripes. There was also a board game left for them, albeit a childish one with no actual skill involved. They got bored of it after one game, and resorted to playing hangman instead. When it was finally time to go, Francine once again played doting little fox, hugging Arno and Reel in a clumsy fashion that was a little too toddler-like for her current physical age, but was well received all the same. “Thank you both for having me. I... I really hope we can do this again.”
Arno glanced to Tulu, and smirked at what he saw. “You've put a smile on our little lass' face, which is a rare thing indeed!” To Francine's parents he added, “I think this little visit's done them both some good. Behaviour permitting, I'd be open to making this a more regular arrangement.”
Ross considered the proposal. If he was at all moved by the silent, pleading look in Francine's eyes, neither face nor tone showed it. “Yes, behaviour permitting. I suppose we can trial this. Same time next week?”
“That works for us.”

The next day, Francine returned to the swings and found herself welcome once more. “I have a collection window, midweek after school. Anywhere on the country road before the farm with the two green barns, no further south than the road sign.”
Claye smiled. “We can work with that.”

Though it seemed a simple thing at first, Tulu came to look forward to her mid-week play date. The second such event played out much as the first had; Francine walked home with her, complaining about the cold all the way, and then they enjoyed a brief spell of uninterrupted time together before dinner, and a post-meal punishment. This time, Tulu got a tail strap, while Francine had her thighs belted. Both girls were still firmly in their heavy-punishment periods, and could hope for no respite quite yet.
The third date began on a truly remarkable day. It had been bitterly cold again, a storm having blown in on the previous day and long outstayed its welcome. Tulu's group, along with most other social groups, were complaining about losing their outdoors time yet again when Penelope stopped and began to gawp. Tulu followed her gaze to see a little fox in a bright pink dress. Francine, meal tray in paws, waddled over and took her usual spot. “You're wearing clothes!” the Roferian girl cried, stating the obvious.
“My parents finally relented. It's getting too cold out for just fur.” The white-furred fox flashed a grin. “The socks are the best part. They're really thick and warm!”
“Something's finally going your way!”
Francine flicked a smirk towards Tulu. “A few things are now.”
The rain stopped just as the children left school. They ran out to find parents still with umbrellas open and hoods up, with shallow puddles littering the floor. As she had before, Francine politely thanked Arno for letting her visit, and she and Tulu chatted as they walked. The most popular topic remained her new outfit, and what other outfits might soon follow. They would all have to be girly, of that Francine had no choice, but a frilly dress was better than nudity in her eyes.
As they drew towards the turn for home, their chatter having since died away, Francine made a sharp dart onto the grassy shallow incline inland of the road. “Francine!” Arno barked, but she did not return immediately. She paused in a squat on the grass, looking startled, and returned with a freshly picked flower in her paw. She held it up for Arno to see. It was a common daisy, a little thing of thin white petals and a yellow face.
“I just wanted this,” her voice was laden with fear, but Arno's gaze remained steely.
“Show me your paws.”
After a moment's hesitation, Francine tucked her flower behind her ear, and then offered both paws with palms up. Arno took her wrists and turned her paws over, checking front and back. When he let go she took a half-step back, paws folding behind her back, only to be grabbed by her shoulder and spun round. She flailed and staggered, then yelped as Arno began to roughly pat down her dress front and back. He even lifted her skirt to check beneath, drawing a little yowl as his questing claws slipped inside her underwear. Having found nothing, he relented.
“W-what was that for?” she blurted out.
“Careful with that tone, Francine! You can still be sent home!” Satisfied the scolding had landed, he took a moment to look about the patch of ground where Francine had fetched her flower. After a moment, he accepted there was nought to be found, and hurried the girls indoors.
“What was that about?” Tulu asked once they were alone in her room.
“I just wanted a flower. Can we draw? I want to draw now.”
Bristling at the fox's defensive nature, Tulu offered up some paper and pencils. Francine took one and wrote in light script: Parents listen. Not safe to talk. The little fox stared at her, as hard a glare as a four year old could muster, until she was satisfied Tulu understood. The Karrian girl took a piece of paper for herself and wrote back her question: What going on?
A wry smirk formed on the fox's muzzle. She held up her paw, flicked her fingers, and a small piece of brown paper appeared between her middle and ring finger. She tapped her paper twice.
Tulu nodded. What is? 
Francine opened the paper. It was a tiny envelope, containing even smaller yellow circles. Pills, she realised. Francine threw a finger to her muzzle as Tulu drew in a gasp. The girl lunged at her paper. r u crazy!? She underlined “crazy” twice for emphasis.
They take away pain Francine wrote. She tapped out two of them and held them up. Even in her little paw the pills were miniscule; it'd be easy to lose them. Francine pointed at one, then at herself. The second she pointed at, then to Tulu.
The promise of escaping pain was too good to pass. Tulu bit her lip, and reached for the pill.
Francine hid the rest of the packet inside one of Tulu's pillows, then returned to her drawing. She made sure to scribble over where she'd written, turning that part of the page into a dark, boiling cloud for what quickly became a crude Northrock skyline. Tulu took a similar approach. They talked little. Francine seemed content, but Tulu could only fret, her mind filling with dreadful images of what might be coming...
Then, with no warning, and with no obvious sign of having seen or heard anything untoward, Francine flicked her head up and cleared her throat. With Tulu watching, she tossed the pill down her throat. Tulu did the same, washing it down with a clawful of water from her bathroom sink. Not five minutes later, her parents arrived to call them down to dinner.
Their post-meal spanking was delivered in the living room with one girl over each arm of the sofa. This time it was done with paddles. Both girls lay bent over with their dresses up, rear ends bared and braced for the kiss of wood. The crack of the first strike landing on Francine's tush made Tulu jump, and mid-clench her own swat came. She gasped from the shock. Then came the next, and it was... tolerable. It hurt, but not so much. Not really enough to make her cry.
She cried anyway. Short yelps, soft grunts, sounds that she hoped wouldn't sound too fake. She cried without realising it, a wetness she only became aware of when the droplets blurred her vision. Her body reacted as it always did, but her mind... it was as if she was simply watching someone else's punishment.
The paddling ceased. The ache was there, but it was more like the memory of a spanking than a present, urgent pain. Arno held her all the same, and his tight squeeze made Tulu gasp in a fashion that passed for a blub. “You took that well.”
After the hug, Reel announced both girls would be serving some corner time. The lack of urgency in her backside's ache made it bearable, and she found staring at the plain wall less tedious than usual. Another side effect of the pill, perhaps? No matter. Soon, corner time would end and she'd be back up to her room.
It seemed Tulu had only been stood against the wall for a minute when both girls were summoned out. The front door was open, and Francine's mother stepped through. Francine turned sharply to Arno. “Can I get my drawing before I go? Please? I want to finish it.”
The Karrian raised an eyebrow, then turned towards Tulu. “Can you get Francine's picture?”
Nodding slowly, Tulu headed for the stairs. They seemed further away than she remembered, and both longer and shorter at the same time. She picked up the unfinished drawing and the flower Francine had left, then realised upon returning to the doorway what the little fox had actually wanted. She doubled back, fished the packet of pills out of the pillowcase, folded the paper lip down to secure them a little better, then headed downstairs.
Inside her head, a little voice was screaming in incoherent terror at the idea of being caught with the drugs. But the voice was far away, so she paid it little heed. She walked slowly, deliberately, over to Francine and offered the picture with both claws. “I got your flower too.” She felt the packet slip from her fingers and into Francine's grasp.
“Thank you.” The little fox repeated the words to Arno and Reel, then was led away into the cold and dark of Northrock.
“Someone needs to go straight to bed!” Reel announced. Tulu looked up at him, and after a moment realised she was the one being addressed.
Her head bobbled. “Mmm.”
“All tuckered out? Come on, up we go.”
A satisfied little sigh escaped Tulu's lips. She had all the more reason to look forward to Francine's visits now.

The following day, Tulu was eager to corner Francine for a private chat. They found some semblance of privacy at the edge of the playground, in the shadow of the main building where they could loiter under the guise of having a time out and watching their friends play. The background noise of the playground helped cover their conversation. “Those pills are amazing! I can't believe how well they worked!”
“I was scared you'd forget to play cry,” Francine replied.
“You're getting more, right?”
The Aspatrian nodded. “Same time, same place. “I'm worried about your dad though; he won't like me slipping onto the verge again.”
Tulu rapped her tail against the wall as she pondered the problem. “I think I can get around it. But I want more than just one pill.”
At the request, Francine flashed her fangs. “I don't get many at a time. The bigger the package, the harder it is to hide.”
“Then just give me one more! One I can stash in my pillow for a bad day.”
Francine huffed through her teeth. “Hope you know how often they change your bedding.”
“It'll be fine.”
The younger girl's scowl gradually faded. “Seems you're not as fragile as I thought. Just make sure you behave, yeah? Stirring shit will make them watch us all the closer.”
For their next play date, upon reaching the drop-off point, Tulu sweetly asked permission to pick flowers “to make daisy chains”. Arno obliged, and Tulu was able to scoop up the pill packet along with the longest stemmed daisies she could find. The pills within she saved to take the edge of her worst impending punishments, a feat managed by convincing her parents to give her a few minutes notice ahead of them. They seemed to accept her excuses, and even welcomed how her meditations were improving how she handled her discipline.
The week after seemed at first to be a crisis point; Francine had, despite her best efforts, been pushed too far and lashed out, instantly shutting down her right to visit. Tulu didn't dare go for the pills, but the next morning she spied her chance. Talek and Rilka were walking ahead of them, and as they turned the corner onto the main road, Tulu dared to slip from her father's side. “Wait up!” she called, and ran. Taking a sharp line up the bank, she deliberately tripped herself into the soggy, muddy dirt, buying time to scramble about for the waterlogged paper. The pills inside had survived, their outer coating designed to resist mere water. She took the scolding and endured the wet, messy march to school, resolved that it would be worth it. It was frightening to carry contraband so far, but she managed; Tulu even managed to swallow one under the guise of a brief coughing fit. That helped her immensely, for there was pain in her immediate future. Francine lurked at the front of school as long as she dared, and the pills were successfully palmed off to her before Arno marched Tulu to her fate.
Her spanking was done in front of her entire class, as was custom. Arno informed Mr Kal of her conduct, and Mr Kal took positive delight in seeing that Tulu learned the hard way not to run off from her parent. As she felt the sedative work through her system, the shame of being put over the teacher's desk began to lessen. She cared less that her panties were down and tail pulled up; the paddle's rise and fall was happening to someone else. It was more like the memory of a spanking, something that was painful in the instant, but immediately gone. Even so, she performed as expected, and dutifully cried. Arno watched from the doorway the entire time, his eyes locked firmly on her face. She tried to cry harder, and put in a few kicks and squirms for good measure. His expression was as distant and unimpressed as she herself felt towards the paddle striking her rear.
She spent the rest of the morning facing the wall. That alone allowed her to track the progress of the drug through her system; it wasn't until close to lunch time that she truly became aware of the dull ache in her rear, and how boring it was to examine the wall texture in detail. There was more misery waiting when she got home, and without the shield of drugs, Arno's cane burned more fiercely than ever. She cried herself to sleep, wondering if the blows had been delivered more harshly because of how stoic she'd been under Kal's paddle.
From that day on, Tulu's routine changed. Arno took her to and from school via the beach, or sent her via Watchdog. Sometimes, he would even walk alongside the Watchdog, studying her carefully. Whenever they spoke at school, Francine confirmed a similar increase in security. “I told Claye to call off any future drops. We've definitely been made.” Francine said during one of their playground chats.
“What are we going to do?”
“Nothing. We're going to deny everything, and go on as if none of this ever happened.” The little fox let out a frustrated grunt. “It was good while it lasted, but I figured it wouldn't be forever.”
“What if they've already caught the courier? Or what if they found the drugs? Or-”
Francine span around and snarled at Tulu. “Stop it! Listen to me, and listen good: if you want to survive this, you need to deny everything! They suspect us, but that's all it is right now. What they want is a confession. They don't care who confesses, they just need to be able to say 'we got the one responsible!' and walk away. They'll pressure us, and then they'll hurt us, but it won't be nearly as bad as what we'll get if we confess to something we didn't do!”
“But we-”
“We did nothing, Tulu! Say it!”
Tulu trembled before the awesome size of the lie. “We did nothing,” she answered, her voice weak.
“Say it like you mean it when they come for you.”
It came as a complete surprise to both girls when their mid-week meetup went ahead as scheduled. Both girls walked bound to a Watchdog, Tulu ahead and Francine behind, with Arno following them. They took the usual path along the coast road, with the windbreak hill and occasional housing plot to their right, and on their left the farmland, now entering their winter rotations of cold-weather crops or soil nutrient rebalancing. Neither girl paid such things any mind, especially once they reached the turning for Tulu's home – right on the corner, in the spot where Francine's drug drop had taken place was a police cordon with a security drone hovering over it. At first, Tulu refused to believe it was real; she scrunched her eyes tight and hoped it was simply her imagination, but when she opened them again the scene was unchanged. She had to fight the urge to vomit from the sheer, uncontrollable surge of panic that shot through her body. The nightmare unfolded as she turned right, then left, and saw the distinctive chequer-board markings of a police vehicle parked opposite her home.
“Watchdog, please release Tulu.” Arno was right beside her, claw on her shoulder. “You will go straight inside and sit on the couch.”
Reel held the front door open for her. Francine's parents were present, both wearing expressions of cold fury as they watched the girl enter. A uniformed officer stood beside them, his expression neutral. Tulu was already crying with fear as she took her seat. Francine came in behind her, unable or unwilling to look at her parents. “Good afternoon,” the officer began. “My name is constable Faral. I need to ask you some questions.”
“We didn't do anything!” Francine barked. Tulu was simply too terrified to answer.
“Are you familiar with a penitatas named Claye?”
“No.” Francine answered.
“He currently attends your school. He's in Mrs Yun's class.”
“Neither of us are in her class.”
“You've had no contact with him?”
“Define 'contact'.”
Tulu was left in awe of Francine's gall. She continued to lie to the constable, fighting every step of the way. Although clearly frightened, judging by the tremble in her tone and subtle shake of her body, she powered through it all. She denied any and all knowledge of any incident that took place just around the corner, denied ever seeing or hearing anything suspicious, denied finding anything. Tulu only wished she could be as strong.
“Miss Tulu,” the Karrian constable turned his focus on her. “Last week, you-” he paused to check his notes “-tripped and fell on the corner while chasing after a classmate. The week before, on that same corner, you picked flowers. The week before that, Miss Francine also picked a flower there. Did you locate anything else at that particular plot of land?”
“N-no...” Tulu's face burned hotter than the surface of the sun under the glare of the assembled adults.
The constable answered with a disappointed sigh. “In accordance with the State Surveillance and Public Right Of Privacy Act of 2811, acting upon reasonable suspicion of criminal activity, we have accessed surveillance logs for all traffic in this area over the past few months. We have confirmed sightings of a delivery drone making fly-overs of this site and dropping small packages into the area you two displayed repeated interest in. That drone has since been secured. We believe it was used to bring narcotics into Northrock, and if this is true, you will both be formally charged with conspiracy to bring a controlled substance into a correctional community. That would normally mean a penitatas sentence, which would result in your current sentences being increased in duration and severity.”
Ross' temper, kept at a low simmer throughout the interview, finally boiled over into rage. “Do you hear that, Francine? You know full well how severe we can be with you – just you imagine how much worse your life is about to become! Smuggling drugs? Lying to the police? You are in for a world of pain and suffering beyond anything you can imagine!” Francine may have been able to play brave with the police, but her father cracked the facade. She shook like a branch in a hurricane, silent tears darkening the fur on her cheeks.
A shriek of despair, like the sepulchral wail of a banshee tore from Tulu's throat. Fat, salty tears raced each other down her cheeks as she finally, utterly cracked. “Tell them, Francine! Please, you've got to tell them! I can't take what they'll do to us!”
“Shut up!” The little fox wailed back.
“Just tell them who gave you the pills!” A fresh shriek drew from Tulu's lips as Francine flung herself forward, paws raised and teeth primed to slash and maul. Yet by the time Tulu had registered the attack, Arno had lunged to prevent it. His strong, fatherly arm locked around Francine's neck and jerked her backward, killing the impetus of her leap, and then with firm claws he pushed her back into the seat and held her there.
“Francine, you-” Ross began, but Arno cut him off. Tulu's father did not shout. He did not need to.
“I think I've seen and heard quite enough. Tulu, go to your room and put yourself in time out. Francine, you are going into the dining room. The grown ups need to have a talk about what to do with you both.”
Tulu's legs may as well have been paper straws. She had to drag herself up by the stairs, using the bannisters as handholds before tottering, drunk-like, into her room and finding a wall. It was all now so utterly, unbearably real, and she was losing her mind over the impending consequences. Her heart felt ready to explode; she hugged herself so tight her claws near pierced her soft-scaled flesh. Her sobbing was silent now, for open bawling might draw someone to her, and all she wanted in the moment was to be forgotten by everyone.
The subtle creak of the floorboards in the hall may as well have been the unsheathing of a blade for how Tulu jumped at it. She kept her snout against the wall, deathly afraid to turn. “Tulu, come on. We're going into town.”

The party took two cars; Tulu and her family in one, Francine and her parents in the other. The police constable followed in his own vehicle. She felt certain they were heading for the constabulary, or perhaps a Department office. She had not expected to touch down on the sea front, not far from the pier, and never in her wildest dreams would she have guessed at their ultimate destination: Mr Wu's restaurant.
The adults assembled outside. Reel held the door open and waved for Francine and Tulu to approach. “Head on in. He's expecting you.”
True enough, Mr Wu darted from behind the counter the moment he caught sight of them. The rest of the building was empty save for one of his staff, who was helping with food. “Welcome, ladies! Grab a seat at the big table to your right and I will be right with you!”
“This has to be some weird trick,” Tulu mumbled. “This place is meant to be a treat, right?”
“Maybe it's our last meal,” was Francine's deadpan reply.
The girls settled in. Nobody took their order; instead, Mr Wu appeared bearing plates. “I wasn't sure what you'd like, Miss Tulu, so I went with a hotdog. Everyone likes a hotdog! Fried onions and sauces on the side, just in case you don't want them. And for Miss Francine, there could only be one dish! Tuck in! I'll be right back!”
Both rejuves stared at the meals with suspicion. Nothing was playing out the way they had expected. Surely, after being accused of a crime, there should be punishment? Not sitting alone in a restaurant. Francine was first the break the fast, spooning some of her potato dish into her mouth. “Takes like always. I... I'm going to miss it.”
The sad little statement broke Tulu out of her daze. Her own meal was excellent. It instantly conjured memories of much, much happier times. Tears of regret leaked from her eyes at the mental flashes.
Pulling up a seat for himself, Mr Wu sat at the head of the table and watched the girls eat for a while, letting them be comfortable with his presence. He pitched his questions carefully. “I've been told you two have been accused of some serious crimes. Would you like to tell me about it?”
“No.” Francine shrunk down in her chair. There was no venom in her voice, just simple, childish fear.
The kind old Karrian leaned forward. “I'm not your parents, or your teachers. I don't have to share any secrets with them. If you want to say something, just to get it off your chest, I'll keep it to myself.”
A little sniffle answered him. Francine wiped her nose on a napkin before replying, “I had drugs smuggled in. Little pills to dull the pain of our spankings. They found out, and now they want us to confess to it.”
“B-but if we do,” Tulu paused her inclusion to swallow the lump in her throat. “T-they're going to really, really hurt us! We'll probably get a Judicial Paddling for this!”
Mr Wu put his fingers to his lips. He let the girl's words sink in, pausing until he was satisfied they were not going to add any more details. “I want to tell you two a secret, but you have to promise not to tell any other Penny. Can you do that?” He received their nods of confirmation. “I was a penitatas once. Right here in Northrock, actually. I earned myself one of those Judicial Paddlings when I tried to escape, and so I know what those are like. Right now, you probably feel like there's no way out. I get that. But the truth is always better than a lie. I want what's best for you both. Even if coming clean seems like an awful idea, it really is the best thing to do.”
“M-my parents will.. they'll...” Francine couldn't bring herself to finish the thought. She didn't need to; Mr Wu squeezed her little paw tight to show his support for her plight.
“Oh I know all about your parents,” he growled. “Do you trust me, Francine? Do you trust me to do all I can to help you? What about you, Tulu?”
Tulu squirmed at the question. “I... I don't know what to think.”
Francine at least was more confident. “I want to trust you.”
“Close enough. I'm going to invite your parents in now, okay? You finish your food, and we'll get this whole thing straightened out. Trust me.” He squeezed her paw again, reinforcing his assurance. Flashing a quick, but comforting smile at Tulu, Mr Wu went to the door and ushered the five adults inside. They took their places at the table; Arno and Reel on Tulu's side, Ross and Avelyn with Francine; the constable stood at the head.
“I think the girls can be persuaded to cooperate,” he announced.
Ross responded by glaring at his Penny daughter. Francine shrunk away from his furious stare. “They had better! You are in more trouble than you can possibly imagine, little girl! If you-”
“That's enough!” The barked shout brought the table to silence. Mr Wu shot Ross a glare that was positively murderous. “It can't just be the stick,” he said. “They need hope as well. Hope that there are better days ahead, hope that there's more to life than pain, hope that their long cycles have meaning beyond whatever sadistic pleasure their parents and teachers derive from their tears!”
The older Karrian straightened up and took a moment to compose himself. “Here is what's going to happen. Francine will tell you everything; how she set this affair up, who with, how she paid for it, every sordid detail. In return, she gets to keep coming here. If I go more than two weeks without seeing her, I expect you to get down here and explain to me, in person, what she's done to warrant being kept home.”
“You can't be serious!” Ross protested.
“I bloody well am! And another thing, you will not lay a single swat on her for any of this!”
The assembled adults balked at the claim. Ross scoffed, “There's no way either of them can get away with this!”
Mr Wu folded his arms as if he were addressing a child's tantrum. “They won't. I know first hand what's coming to them because of all this, because I've been on the receiving end of it. So take it from me, neither of you-” his accusing finger shot out at Ross and Avelyn “-are able to give Francine what she'll need to cope with this! Hell, I had my doubts about Arno until he reached out to me!”
Mr Wu softened his tone before continuing. “The courts will do what they do. Francine, Tulu, I won't lie to either of you; there's no way you're getting out of this without a Judicial Paddling, and you'll almost certainly get more time, if not harder time on top. There's no escaping it. I wouldn't wish a Judicial on my worst enemy, and my worst enemy was the sort of man you used to be, little fox. It's going to be the worst day of your life. But the days after? That's up to you. If you fight them now, you'll be able to hold your head up high and say you're no snitch, but you won't see a friendly face again for years. If you think you can be alone in their house, with no-one to support you, then you're a much tougher kid than I ever was.”
“Or, if you cooperate, you could be back at this table before the new year, and you can tell me whether or not my ash'rko is as good as the real deal. You'll still get to see your friends, even if it's only here. If you really, really work hard to prove you've learned your lesson, you might even be back in school before your next cycle. But you have to give them everything, Francine. No half measures.”
It took seven tries before the little fox regained the ability to speak. “You're going to make real ash'rko for me?”
The kindly old chef grinned. “I will make it fresh every day for you if that's what it takes to convince you to do the right thing.”
The girl's head panned from one Karrian's face to the next. She could meet the gaze of each and every one, bar her parents. Those she couldn't bare to look at, and so she aimed her confession at Arno. “I... I only did it... b-because I couldn't... I couldn't cope... I can't-t take y-y-years of this...”
The walls came down. The little fox cried, long and loud, and was allowed to wail out her agony. When it passed, and she was given some water to sooth a throat made raw from her terrible wails, she began her confessional. Long, and damning, she did exactly as Arno bade her do. She gave everything, and it took a long time to complete that terrible confession. Tulu, along with everyone else, was left in awe at how efficiently Francine had been able to work; it was an enlightening, if terrifying glimpse into the reach and capabilities of the galaxy's criminal families. The constable recorded every word, and transcribed it for good measure. “You will be required to repeat this confessional under oath, Miss Francine. Are you willing to do that?”
“I don't have a choice,” the little fox whispered.
“We will want Miss Tulu's version of events as well. I hope you will be equally forthcoming?” The Karrian child nodded emphatically. Satisfied, the constable gave a subtle, respectful bob of his head toward Mr Wu. “An unconventional approach, I'll grant you, but if everything that young lady claims turns out to be true it's going to do a lot of good. Being able to cripple the Tellurr Consortium? That'd be a win in my book.”
Smiling, the host turned his focus back to the girls. “I am proud of you both. It took a tremendous amount of courage to confess. Believe me, I will do all I can to help you through this. For now... well, I can see from the scowls I'm getting that I've already pushed my luck beyond its breaking point, but I'll figure something out. Maybe I'll smuggle some lemon sherbet ice-cream into your rooms at night. We'll see.”
Tapping his daughter softly on the back, Arno slid from his chair. Reel followed a moment later. “Thank you. Mr Wu. Come on, Tulu. Time to go home. We're going to send you straight to bed so we can talk all this through when you're fully rested.”

The girls were kept from school, and each other, for some time after. Apart from leaving to deliver their official statements, they remained confined to their homes, and often just their rooms, not that either had any idea what had happened to the other. In both households there was a pregnant feeling, like a breath held too long. The end of the year crept closer day by day; sooner or later, something would surely change?
Francine's only guest was Mr Wu, and he visited only once to make her a meal and ensure she was okay. Not even Isabelle had been allowed to come see her. Utterly alone, the closest thing to an upside the little fox had was her parents being comparatively lax with punishments; they still came frequently, but there was less venom behind them than Francine expected. Almost as if they themselves were unsure of how hard to punish her...
Trying to find solace in a book she'd read twice already, Francine's loneliness was interrupted by both parents entering her bedroom. They stood at the doorway, sombre faced, and waited. The little girl set her book down on the floor and crept over, meek and timid as they expected her to be.
“We have received a ruling from the Department,” Ross said. His tone was as warm as a glacier. “While your cooperation is acknowledged, a black mark is being placed in your file. You will receive two additional cycles, and a judicial-grade punishment. This also means it will likely be much longer before your sentence severity is reduced. If you had not confessed so thoroughly, your situation would now be much, much worse. You ought to know that.”
Setting her jaw, Francine fought hard not to cry at hearing those words. She hated how easily her 'Penny Parents' could reduce her to a sobbing, broken mess just with words. Of course, that was only because of how gleefully they followed up their threats with actions. “W-when does this happen?”
“New Years. It's going to be a long, miserable day for you, Francine. I suggest you keep your snout clean; the last thing you want is to earn any more than what's coming.”
The door slid shut behind them, leaving Francine to stew in her own dark imaginings of what this 'new years' would involve...”

It was still dark outside when Tulu awoke to a crashing against her window. Dozens, nay, hundreds of rapid impacts against the glass had stirred her from an unhappy, dreamless sleep. She lay still, listening to the hail, hoping against hope that might somehow call off the day to come...
“Tulu? Time to get up, little miss.”
The miserable little reptile dragged herself from the warmth of her bed. Head bowed, she slunk towards her parents, soft sniffles already sounding from her maw, teeth biting her lower lip in apprehension of the looming day. “Lift your head,” Reel said. She obeyed after a pause, and what she saw made her eyes flare wide in horror. The necklace in her father's hand had seven clips; a white, a blue, two reds, a purple, a pink... and a black.
“Tulu!” Arno's bark came as she began to sway. He rushed forward and caught her as she tumbled, overwhelmed to the point of fainting by the magnitude of her impending punishment. Both parents shared pained looks with one another, each fully aware of how grim the coming day was to be for her. Neither spoke of it, however; the time for discourse had long since passed. They had made their case, arguing for her wrongdoing to be dealt with 'horizontally'; a measured increase in harshness of Penny life doled out over an extended period. The courts, and the Department, both demanded the opposite.
Left groggy and confused by her blackout, Tulu was shepherded through her morning routine as best her anxious parents could manage. Practically spoon fed her breakfast, she was swaddled in a warm, pink dressing gown and ushered into a waiting hovercar, shielded from the hail by Reel's umbrella. The shivering child clutched at herself, fingers curling and uncurling, tear-reddened eyes flicking about in constant motion, desperate for something that might spare her. Their vehicle entered a holding pattern before slipping down into an allotted landing zone, and was away again as soon as the family cleared it. Sharp shards of ice hammered at them as they scurried to the shelter of the nearest awning, a line of which dominated the seafront. At least two man-sized devices sat under each white, tented cover, one to blast out warm air and the other to project a wind baffling field that kept the penitatas relatively warm and dry throughout their public ordeal. Even with the extensive preparation, space was going to be at a premium once the town's Penny population had all filed in.
The sun had not yet risen when Tulu was forced to shed her gown and begin the vile ritual. The seven clips around her neck were akin to a hangman's noose as she crept towards the first punishment stall. “We'll do them in colour order,” Reel told her. “Go ahead and pick a white card.”
The nearest stall offered three colours to choose from. Tulu chose the nearest white envelope, clinging to the small comfort that she would likely not face its contents today. “Lines,” Reel said.
With that punishment banked a white clip was attached to her necklace. Now it was time for whatever came after. Tulu turned back to the same stall and took from the middle pile, yet again surrendering the envelope to Reel. “Gravel and Claws.”
With an actionable fate confirmed, Arno took her by the claw and walked her through the line of awnings before turning inland. The little gaps between each cover provided an opportunity for ice and freezing water to slip inside and sting her as she passed, but the transition to the inland punishment sites required an undignified dash through the open. It took mere seconds, but it left her soaked and stung. She was glad of the heating unit within the punishment tent the Department staff directed them towards, and stood as close as she could stand while Arno and Reel confirmed the details of how her punishment would play out. A square box of sharp stones occupied the centre of the tent, but with a frame of padded, articulated restraints clearly designed to keep the unfortunate child in place. Whimpering, Tulu allowed her parents to settle her in place, gritting her teeth as her knees were placed against the jagged stones. Her feet were lifted and tucked back, ensuring all her weight went onto her kneecaps, and the binds were fastened around her ankles, shins, thighs, and even waist. As uncomfortable as it was, it seemed to take her weight. That belief would be proven false as soon as Arno finished fastening the last of the restraints to her wrist.
“You need to keep your claws open, Tulu. We have a set number of swats to deliver, so the longer you resist the longer you have to stay here.” The urgency of that statement became clear as Arno pressed an activation button on the restraint frame. The girl let out a sharp yelp of pain as she was shoved down hard into the stones, which dug into her so fiercely she felt certain some had pierced her scales.
“Dads!” her desperate plea came to nought. Reel stepped up with a short rod in hand.
“You are there until it's over. There's nothing we can do. Keep your claw flat and we'll be out of here.”
With that, the rod came down. A stinging burst flashed through her palm, but bound as she was her claw couldn't move, ensuring the full force of the blow was delivered through her scale and soft tissues beneath. Her claw snapped shut reflexively as a pained burst of sobbing rose from her throat, already pushed beyond what she could handle by the unfamiliar claw-caning and the sheer stress of the day. Perhaps anticipating this difficulty, Arno stepped in to slap her right claw. Caught completely off-guard, Tulu's left snapped open in shock, and quick as lightning, Reel lifted the rod and slapped it back down.
Howls of anguish echoed through the tent. The tag-team caning was dealt as quickly as both parents could manage, landing smacks upon her rapidly bruising palms whenever it was safe to do so. They gave her no instructions once the ordeal began; when pain and fear made her hold both claws closed, they merely stood and watched her bawl, allowing the growing agony of the rocks beneath her to coerce cooperation. The crack of cane on scale marked the passage of time, counting out a punishment that was greater in length than most she had endured. Her pleading for mercy became simple, mono-word shrieks of “No!” or “Stop!”, and these became ever less coherent as pain and terror collapsed her ability to do anything other than bawl. A survival instinct of sorts kicked in eventually, giving her the awareness required to keep her fingers straight and palms bare for the cane.
Just when she felt certain she could take no more of the torture, the weight on her knees relented. Two sets of careful claws helped her out of the binds and scraped away the stones that had dug into her scales. The quick pass of a dermal regenerator confirmed what she'd known; a few had broken skin. Both her palms were covered in a large, yellowing welt that shifted about as she twitched her claws. That had been a blue, what was meant to be the easiest of her punishments.
Palms down and fingers stretched as wide as she could, Tulu tottered back to the main thoroughfare to receive her next punishment. The weak light of the morning was fighting a losing battle against the dark clouds above, though the hail had eased some. A song of suffering played along the shore front as other penitatas began to receive their New Years 'gifts'. Under a now-crowded awning, Tulu joined a line of Pennys to take one of the many red letters from the stall. It was an unoriginal punishment, though that itself might have been a blessing; a paddle spanking.
The longest awning provided cover for the main event. A row of padded benches stood along the sea wall, most of which were already occupied. Pennys of all ages, mostly Karrian but with other races mixed in, were occupying the benches and feeling the sting of everything from thick leather belts to the vile whip-like tool favoured by Mister Titus against his Red Kestrels. Tulu's bench was at the far end of the row, where she saw a familiar face: Sa'shel, her Drakonian friend. Much larger than her peers, and raptor like in her saurian form, the girl was not put over a bench as the others were. Instead, she had been overbalanced onto a rubber floor mat, her wide snout slumped on the ground while her parents struck the base of her tail with an utterly evil looking device: a heavy metal paddle covered in sharp teeth that, to Tulu's mind, would surely have caused severe injury to any struck by it. Though both Karrians and Drakonians had scales, Sa'shel's hide was far thicker, more 'armoured' than those of her Karrian friends; the vile device damaged scale and drove its painful bite deep into the flesh beneath, but was still not enough to cause a Drakonian lasting harm. Judging by the deafening roars bellowing from Sa'shel, it certainly hurt!
Before long, Tulu's own voice joined the chorus. A strap fastened across her back kept her down, though the agony in her claws denied her the meagre support of gripping the padded hand rail positioned low upon the bench. Conventional spankings would not do for New Years; they were all, without exception, long and arduous affairs. Even a routine punishment became torture if doubled, tripled, or quadrupled in length.
When, after what seemed like a lifetime of spanking, Tulu was finally released from the bench she had barely the strength to stand. Today had already been too much for her, and she was desperate for some relief. Yet there was none to be had; she raised her trembling arms in silent pleading for cuddles and comfort, but all she got were sorrowful looks in return. “We have to carry on, Tulu. Come and pick your next red.”
The coldness was unfamiliar. She guessed, through the fog of pain and exhaustion, that this was a product of the black tag clinking away next to her pink tag. Some penitatas stopped and stared at her as she marched by, whispering in confusion at the unfamiliar colour. Few knew its meaning; the pinks and purples they'd know by reputation, if not first hand experience. But a black? Nobody had seen that before.
“Thirsty,” Tulu whimpered. That at least drew a reaction. While she pointed to a red card for Reel to read, Arno fetched her some water. The ice cold liquid refreshed her a little, though did nothing to dull the burning in her backside or the ache of her knees. Even the coldness of the cup offered minimal escape from the pulsing pain in her claws.
“Tail strap,” Reel announced. Tulu's guts knotted at the words.
“I n-need a bathroom break!”
Arno's claw cradled the back of her skull. “You've lost that privilege, Tulu. You were lucky to get water.”
“You're kidding, right?” the child's blurted words went unanswered. Arno took her by the wrist and tugged, gently but firmly, guiding her back along the rows of spanking benches. The one she'd just used had been claimed while finding her next punishment. Arno picked a spot to wait, and through subtle tugs and shoves steered Tulu into what she realised was her 'bathroom'. Stood over a sewer drain, Tulu eased her legs apart, clenched her eyes closed, and let her bladder empty. When her eyes crept open, she noticed for the first time the all too familiar white fur of Francine; the girl was bound to a bench, her backside rendered smooth and hairless by a defolicator. She had likely been there for some time, given how bruised her young bottom was, and her parents showed no signs of slowing. The tool of choice was a paddle, one clearly meant for a much older child, with holes drilled through to blister her. It had to be a purple punishment. The idea of such a terrible spanking performed right there in the open made Tulu's head spin once more, though she fought off the faint this time.
Francine was still shrieking for mercy when the bench beside her vacated. “How fitting,” Ross said with a cruel chuckle as he saw Tulu find her spot. The sole mercy of the tail strapping was it would strike untouched scale, rather than layer over her already well-worked backside. The downside, of course, was that a Karrian's tail was all muscle, with scarcely a shred of fat to cushion the impact.
As Tulu's cracked throat once more echoed with wails of pain, resuming her role in the song of New Years misery, her ear-slits prickled at a familiar sound. Over the slap of straps and thud of paddles, there was a soft, liquid patter. Francine, denied bathroom breaks as she was, had wet herself under the paddle's blows. Ross hadn't slowed his punishment one bit throughout.
The agony beneath her tail built, and built, and built. She gave up begging for mercy, for there was none to be found today. Perhaps there would never be mercy again. Perhaps this was her life now: unceasing pain, mindless cruelty, and her begging for an end that would never come. She stopped wailing and fell into silent, shuddering tears. At each slap of the strap she choked out a gasp, but had not the strength required for a full-throated wail. She didn't even squirm now, instead falling limp and accepting the pain.

She found herself cradled in Arno's arms, the long denied comfort finally hers. Judging by the sharp cold and soft patter of rain she was being carried away from the shore and inland, likely towards the school. She hadn't the strength left to be terrified by that.
The classrooms and other function spaces of Northrock Correctional Elementary had been cleared out or rearranged to better serve the requirements of the coming punishments. Reel encouraged her to pick both of her remaining envelopes at the same time. “Just get them over with.”
She offered them both up, one to each parent. They then compared the notes, and neither seemed happy. “Tiger striping,” Reel announced. “I believe that's in Mister Titus' class.”
As she arrived for the caning, Tulu caught sight of another friend, Malth, leaving the classroom she was bound for. The boy was howling, one paw raised in his father's grip, the other being used to try and curb the constant flow of tears streaking his face. As they passed, Tulu turned to inspect his rear. The boy's backside was covered in fresh blisters. Once beyond the door, the Roferian teacher was there, his trademark sadism writ large upon his furred snout. A slight curl of his lip revealed a draconic fang as he watched Tulu march across the room, tired and sullen. She dared not look too closely at any of the implements arrayed about the room.
The “tiger striping” was done before a simple free-standing frame. Soft straps around her wrists helped take her weight as she had no wish to grip the hand-rail with blisters on her palms. Stood in place with arms raised, Tulu crunched her eyes shut in dread anticipation.
“Be brave,” Arno whispered to her. Then the rod came down. It struck her just above the left knee, buckling the limb. She threw back her head and wailed in agony at the blow, which was followed by another just a finger width above. Up the heavy rod rose with every blow, sending a deep, bone-shaking blow through her body that broke tissue and muscle to produce thick, dark bruises beneath the scale. This was not her first caning, but she'd never been struck so hard before!
Her wordless howls rang out until the cane reached the base of her backside. Clenching her teeth against the burning in her leg, and impending agony of a swat over her prior spanking, she was instead caught out by a strike against the right knee. Up the back of her right thigh the cane worked, drawing fresh screams and wails, but no begging; there was no point now. Any hope of mercy had long since died. Again, when both thighs were caned, the dread anticipation reached her and she clenched for the stroke. It did not come – at least, not on her backside. The rod now struck just above her tail, the unfamiliar contact making her jump in alarm. Up her back the caning went, each blow off-centre and at a slight angle to create an alternating chevron, like the grips of tyres on old ground vehicles. She slumped in her binds, legs buckled, head low, and screamed with a broken throat as her back was lit aflame. Only when she'd been striped tail to shoulders did the caning cease, but even that was just a temporary pause.
Reel helped her upright, taking her weight in his arms while Arno undid her binds. “Tulu, you need to turn around now. You have stripes to take on your front.”
“N-no...”
“It's better than on your bottom. Please believe me.”
She offered no fight as he took her arms and pulled her back upright. Once more fastened to the frame, the cane now worked across her front thighs, knee to crotch, beginning with the left as before and finishing with the right. At each stroke her leg gave an involuntary kick, the movement making all prior strokes flare in fiery alarm. It was beyond painful, beyond exhausting. Forming anything akin to a coherent thought was becoming near impossible before the weight of pain she felt. When the beating ceased, Arno and Reel both supported her, easing her arms down and taking the girl's weight between them so she could try and recover.
She must have fallen asleep, for her back flared in a fresh wave of hot agony. She was on her back, placed on a high, but padded table. As she tried to get her bearings, both parents took one of her flailing arms and bound it firmly into an inflexible cuff. Further binds were added to her upper arm, then across her chest and waist. Reel saw the pleading terror in her eyes. “We need you to keep still for your last punishment, Tulu. If you squirm or fight too much you will hurt yourself.”
They were binding her tight. Worst of all, they were binding her with her legs wide apart, legs curled up and away to give full, unrestricted access to her crotch.
This was her 'pink' punishment. As the horror of realisation sank in, so too did the awareness she was not the only Penny suffering in the classroom. Tulu craned her head to see the familiar, distinctive form of Francine. The little fox was fighting for her life, with both her parents pinning her in place and fastening binds to hold her for the impending punishment. Francine was being secured face down. As Tulu watched, Ross stepped aside to allow clear view of the purpling, blistered ruin that the girl's bottom had become during the day. A soft whimper of horror slipped from Tulu's maw as Mister Titus, fully aroused, stepped forward. The glisten of lubricant on his cock was no doubt for his own benefit, not to grant Francine any comfort. He gripped the tiny fox by her tail, drawing a shriek of agony, and pulled it aside to give himself better access. Tulu saw him press his tip against her anal entrance, and pushed.
She snapped her head away, trying to drown out the howl from her co-conspirator. At the same time, Tulu felt a parental thumb tease one of her labial lips aside; a sure warning her own torture was about to begin.
“Try to relax, if you can,” Reel said. He loomed into her view, cupping her head in his claws. “it will hurt a lot less at the start if you can keep everything loose down there.”
She tried to raise her head and look down, but Reel's other claw pressed firmly on her forehead. Staring at her father's stomach, she still felt a morbid need to see what was coming, swivelling her eyes to try and catch a glance of what Arno was doing. Was he going to violate her anally, like Francine was enduring? Or was he going to take her virginity?
The answer, it turned out, was neither. The girl flinched at a cold touch of metal against the soft tissues just above her cunny. She felt Arno spread her wider, drawing a fresh flinch, then as she tried to settle the probing point of metal slid upward. It slipped into a little fold of flesh, finding her urethra. “No!” she cried. As if taking it as confirmation he was in the right spot, Arno shoved the rod forward.
To the bound, broken little lizard, the sounding rod was beyond agony. It lit a fire inside her, sending a pressurised pulse of sharp pain through her crotch and up into her stomach. It knocked the breath out of her; the metal rod was covered in irregular studs of varying size and placement. While in reality they were all likely tiny, they felt like giant spikes for how they stretched and scraped her insides, torturing a part of her body nobody was ever meant to touch.
As swiftly as it had penetrated, the sounding rod withdrew; a lightning tug that brought it almost, but not entirely out. In the same motion, while Tulu was still reeling from the pull-back, Arno twisted the rod and shoved it in again.
The girl's mouth hung open, trapped half-way through breathing in, but now unable to finish due to the torturous shock. A new, evil revelation was coming over her, initially concealed by the roughness of the initial sounding, but now too terrible to ignore. Where the rod had first touched flesh, Tulu's privates burned. It was a fierce, bee-sting pain that was growing by the moment. “F-fire cream!” she choked the words out.
A heat built inside her, far beyond the mere discomfort of a rough, unkind sounding. The intruder was laced with a nanite-gel designed to inflame the nerves and spread a truly agonising burning sensation. The most gentle of the creams caused mere itching; the worst, according to her Penny classmates, was akin to being burned alive.
Tulu threw back her head and screamed. The sounding rod withdrew entirely, but the agony did not relent one bit; the cream was at, or near maximum intensity, filling her urethral channel with a sensation of unimaginable pain. It was as if the sounding rod had melted inside her, and was now cooking her from the inside out. Yet somehow, the pain continued to worsen – the rod found its mark again, and its entrance made Tulu feel she was being split in half.
It utterly broke her. She could see Reel looming over her, his lips forming words, but her mind couldn't process the sounds now. All she could feel was the burning in her crotch, the spreading fire that somehow kept finding new peaks of agony for her to experience. She began to convulse as the firecream cooked her sensitive nerves, trigging a false orgasm that would haunt her memories for years after. She tried to beg for mercy, but no sounds came out. She would have done anything, anything at all, to end this Hell. But she couldn't. All she could do was endure.
The rod withdrew again. Tulu couldn't even feel herself wetting as it departed, so overwhelmed by the cream. She had no way to tell how long she lay there, or how long it took for the fire to dull down from a fatal blaze to a mere infectuous irritant. Her binds had been removed, and Francine's own torture had stopped. The little fox lay curled up in a ball on the floor, trembling through the aftermath of her own ordeal.
As both girls were helped upright, Tulu felt two more tokens fastened to her clips. Through aching eyes she studied Francine's own collection of blue, red, and purple tokens. A pink was added to the fox's set. Now only one remained: a black clip.
Francine had likely seen the same around Tulu's neck. In a cracked, broken voice she rasped, “How? How... can... there still... be more?”
“We can take her, if you like.” Arno said to Ross and Avelyn. “It's all out of our hands now. You go enjoy the rest of the holiday. We can look after Francine for you tomorrow.”
“We ought to see this through.” Tulu suspected Ross' reply was meant less as a show of support, but more as his own desire to witness whatever cruelty came next.

The 'black' spanking was to take place in the sports hall that Mister Titus favoured for his Red Kestrels house meetings. Two benches of hard black wood were set up, built with the barest minimum of padding. Grim officials stood waiting as the naked, battered girls were marched forward.
“Miss Francine, Miss Tulu: for the crime of trafficking a restricted substance into the Northrock Correctional Community; and for transporting and use of said substances in violation of the rules of both your penitatas sentence and local laws; you are hereby sentenced to a Judicial Spanking.
“You will each receive sixty swats with the highest grade paddle your age permits. This punishment will be further enhanced via the use of a level four Judicial Sensitivity Enhancement. Restrain the convicted.”
Each girl was taken by uniformed officers, leaving their parents behind. Strapped down tight, each girl's head was locked into a dark, glass bowl that robbed them of all peripheral vision. Once they were secure, muffled conversation continued. Tulu felt her tail pulled tight up and fastened in place as a final insult. Her legs were bound slightly tucked to give proper shape to her rear. The screen lit up, having already gathered a few tears, revealing a zoomed in view of Francine's bottom. She could clearly make out every stripe, every bruise, every leaking blister on the fox's backside, as well as her stretched, swollen tailhole. They were going to have to watch each other?
She saw a primitive looking needle stab Francine's bottom. The girl began to squirm in discomfort, but moments later a matching bite found Tulu's rear. She'd never experienced a needle like that before – hyposprays were the norm on Halkat, and they were barely a pinch. The near medieval method of delivery was obviously meant to be a punishment in and of itself.
It kicked in slowly. First, Tulu felt more awake and aware than before; then the throbbing started, and the aching, and the rekindling of dead flames in her well-punished body. The needle point, previously just a tiny itch, was now becoming a sharp, stabbing sensation again. Her bruised and burnt urethra began to throb, heating up once more, and every tiger stripe flared to life as if the cane was falling again.
'Sensitivity Enhancement'. That's what the officer had said. If done and over spankings were starting to hurt this much, what did that mean for the Judicial?
Tulu watched her screen in horror as the paddle came down on Francine's bottom. Even over the sound-dampening of the head cage, Tulu heard the fox's screaming loud and clear. Then her own paddle fell, and struck harder than she'd ever been struck before. Pain, of an intensity her body was never meant to experience, flooded through her system. It was literally overwhelming: a cruelty that was impossible for a normal child to experience, delivered in the name of justice. Were it not for the drugs forcing her to stay awake, Tulu would have blacked out instantly. But she could not – even that mercy was robbed from her.
Twenty seconds later, the paddle struck again. In those twenty seconds, Tulu had experienced agony that had made the entire day thus far seem pleasant. The pain enhancements made even a gentle touch of rubber on her scales feel sharp and abrasive; to deliver the maximum-strength spanking that law allowed, and on an already punished bottom, was a level of evil Tulu did not believe existed until it was done to her. Through eyes that struggled to focus, Tulu stared in mute horror at the screen before her. She tried to turn her eyes away, but the image followed, shifting about the bowl to always be in her centre of vision.
Projected above the image of Francine's own tortured backside was a number. That number read 58.
The paddle struck, and Tulu's head whirled; she desperately wanted to pass out, but the drugs forced her to stay conscious. She could feel her mind break under the force of the blows.
The number now read 57.

A thousand years seemed to pass between the commencement of the Judicial Spanking and the sweet mercy of unconsciousness. How Tulu found that darkness, she did not know: perhaps the drug cocktail was mixed to wear off soon after the spanking, or perhaps someone showed mercy and injected the antidote. Either way, she returned to life back at home, nestled in Arno's arms.
Thoughts moved at the speed of glaciers. Pain. That was the first thought. It all but smothered the rest. Hurt. Everything hurt. She was wetting herself, or at least it felt like she was; a steady, hot pulse of burning flowed through her urethra. Her shattered mind searched for some way to check. Arm. Hand. Move. Aching from the blister in her palm, the girl's claw inched down toward her crotch. She found a diaper there.
“Are you awake?” Arno whispered. Tulu couldn't remember how to respond to questions. She could barely remember how her ears worked.
She tried again to check herself, but the mechanical complexity of lifting her claw and slipping it into the waistband was a feat of dexterity she could no longer perform. Arno eased her back, apologising as she winced in pain over the motion, and pried her waistband forward. “You're dry,” he said, moving her carefully back against his chest. “You'll be sore down there for a few days. It will pass.”
What came next? Sleep. She wanted to sleep. She was too hurt to sleep, but staying awake hurt too much. She tried anyway. She had no way to tell if it worked.
Tulu blinked. The room was dark now, lit only by a small lamp in the corner of the room. Arno was snoring, though he still held her. Reel was in a chair nearby, cradling Francine. The girl's eyes were open, but seemed not to be focused on anything anyone else could see. Tulu blinked. Heavy rain, or maybe hail, was hitting the front of the house. Francine had not moved. She still stared, glass-eyed, at nothingness. Tulu blinked. She'd wet herself, though when she did not know. Everything hurt, but slightly less than earlier. Just slightly.
Tulu blinked. Francine was now curled up on the sofa beside her, staring through her. Reel was elsewhere, likely in the kitchen. There were more lights on now, but it wasn't yet dawn. The smell of smoked bacon punched her in the gut so hard she recoiled, her spasms making Arno stir. “Hey! It's okay, I'm here.”
“H-hungry!”
“I'm not surprised, you didn't eat at all yesterday! Can you stand up? Take your time and let me help you...”
The sun rose by the time Tulu had food in front of her. She ate with care, one small mouthful at a time, washed down with plenty of water. She knew she was hungry, practically starving to death, but she barely had the strength to chew her food. In the end, Reel blended her breakfast into a meaty, toasty smoothie for her to drink. They did the same for Francine, who was struggling to swallow even that.
The doorbell rang. The sharp, strong sound would have made Tulu soil herself if her bowels weren't empty from the unwanted fasting. Both girls were brought back to the sofa where Niklin waited, looking timid and downcast. His normally soft and cheery face was ashen, though it was hard for Tulu to care about that. It was hard to care about anything.
“I wanted to tell you face to face that the Department is giving a compassionate halt on standard correction, for one calendar month. You are expected to apply any punishments the girls earn through their actions, but their usual spanking routine is on hold.”
“Girls?” Arno echoed.
Niklin nodded. “Persephone recommended Francine be placed in a new household, temporarily. It was felt distance from an environment she associates with pain and suffering would help with her mental readjustment.”
“You're alright with us taking her? Given their history I'd have thought you'd want to send her somewhere else.”
The Elimeen shook his head. “We're confident there won't be an issue. But if there is, we will arrange an emergency transfer.”
Reel gave Francine's shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Did you hear that, Francine? You're going to be Tulu's sister for a month. How does that make you feel?”
Her reply was delivered in gasps, with long pauses between each word. “I... want... ash'rko.”
Arno pulled a communicator from his pocket. “We'll take care of them. Now, if you'll excuse me, it sounds like I need to see if Mr Wu is awake yet.”