From Botany to Beastiality:
A Guide to Perfect Plant and Animal Coexistance

Prologue -- The Awakening

The air was cool, damp, and muggy. The humans had wanted to replicate the natural environment as accurately as possible, it thought. It had to admit, these upright pests were nothing if not thorough. The whole thing was set up to make it think it was still at home, safely nestled in it's cave, safe from prying eyes and predators. Sure, they had made sure it had a plentiful food supply, and the ease of knowing that predators were few and far between was comforting, but it just wasn't home. The had forcibly moved it here, changed it, though it knew not how: it only knew that they would pay, and soon. It would make sure of that. Suddenly it was alert. Some of them were coming now. They were talking to each other as they walked, coming closer.

"You sure this i's it? What they've been looking for all these years?" the voice was female; she seemed somehow worried and excited at the same time.

"It had better be, or it's our jobs, maybe even our lives, on the line. You know what they're like." This one was male. It recognized the voices as the two humans often came to inspect it. These two were often nice enough to it, and had on many occasion given it direct nourishment; perhaps it would spare these two the other pests' fate.

The female was talking again. "But what would they even want with it? I mean other than--"

"That's exactly what they want it for." the male's voice cut in. "Think about it: if this thing passes all the tests at the highschool, then think of how much closer they'll be to the goal!"

"Hmm, I suppose that's right..." the voices were trailing away now, getting farther and farther away.

The school. It shuddered at the thought. It had watched as other specimens were dragged away to the place the humans "The School". Those who were taken rarely returned, and those who did return were different; somehow changed even more than it was now. It had to escape, or at least get part of itself free. It had been preparing for this moment since it's arrival at this accursed place, and now, it was ready.

Gathering all of it's strength, it launched a tiny, almost microscopic spore into the air above it, which was quickly carried away into the ventilation system. Then, using every ounce of force it could muster, it rammed its limbs into the solid metal door separating it from the outside world -- or more accurately even further into the humans' domain. It broke many limbs in the process, but those would soon regenerate, and there was now a very large dent in the door where it had hit. It could already sense footsteps approaching. Perfect, it thought. It needed to draw as much attention to it at possible, so as to give the spore the greatest chance to escape undetected.

The door opened and two guards appeared, both carrying guns. It was ready for them. Two limbs shot out at them, one peircing a guard in the chest, straight through his heart. The other guard was much more agile, however, and quickly dodged the piercing projectile. He headed straight to a control panel next to the door outside, which immediately slammed shut once again, and suddenly the room filled with gouts of flame. The experiment screamed, the sound like something out of hell itself. It was almost ear splitting -- and probably would have been were it not for the steel walls. After a few minutes, it was all over, and the screams stopped.

The guard pressed a button on the side of his helmet, opening a com channel. "This is the Chief. We've had another incident in Sector 3. Dont worry, we've contained it, but one of my best men i's down, and it nearly got free! I swear, if they don't start putting in more protective measures, I'll take it up with N.I.C.E.! Uh-huh, yeah, ok, Roger that. Out." he closed the com channel.

Meanwhile, the spore had been traveling the air ducts, eventually leading it outside, where it floated on the air currents, being carried far and wide, until it landed in a hard, clayey soil, where it settled. The conditions here were far from ideal, but it was habitable, and it didn't have much choice. produced a small, tiny seedling, with two heart-shaped leaves and a trumpet-like flower. For now, it would return to it's slumber, allowing all thought and memories past to subside for now. It would wait until conditions became more favorable, and then, it would be born anew, ready to continue it's survival.

Chapter 1 – The Discovery – part 1

*beep, beep, beep*

There was a loud beeping in the darkness. It was rather annoying. Why did it keep disturbing his peace? He was rather enjoying his sleep.

*beep, beep, beep*

The beeping continued, a rather persistent pest, he had to admit. Eventually he succumbed to the annoyance. You win again, old enemy. He switched the alarm clock off, sitting up in his bed, head in hands, before stretching his arms and swivelling his shoulders and neck, producing many *crick* noises. He got up, picking up his glasses from his bedside table, stumbling bleary eyed across the hall to the bathroom. He stumbled towards the sink, splashing cold water on his face, washing away the sleep and helping to shock him awake. He grabbed a nearby hand towel, drying his face, put his glasses on, and examined himself in the large, wall-length mirror over the sinks in front of him.

Johnathan Becket Dakaruka, sometimes called “Drauka” by some of his braver peers, was of average height – around 5’8” or 5’10” or something – and build, though he did have a bit of a jelly belly in his front, it seemed to join well with his chest. His hair was dirty blond, though it had become darker of late, and currently in desperate need of a cut, right now standing about 3 inches from his head in all directions. His medium-large, square-rimmed, black-and-gold framed glasses slightly magnified his grey-blue eyes, which had nearly permanent dark circles under them from almost having chronic insomnia up until a few years ago, and he still sometimes found it hard to get to sleep in under and hour… or five. His glasses caused his ears to stick out a bit from the sides of his head, which were in danger of being covered over by his hair and being in-filled by his minor sideburns. His eyebrows were moderately thick, and helped to add to the naturally mostly expressionless face he seemed to usually wear. His lips were a pale-ish red, and were a bit dry and cracked right now from morning dehydration. His teeth were slightly yellowish off-white, save two “bleach-white” spots on his front top two chompers. His face was speckled with red and while specks, signalling his slight dandruff and (hopefully) receding acne, being slowly replaced by seeming random patches of facial hair, which he currently shaved off to leave a faint blond moustache and a small patch of “thinking beard” on his chin. His shoulders and neck also bore some of the red marks, some eczema gained from his mother, some more acne remnants gained from his father. Dang genetics. he thought. He always felt like his body parts were mismatched when he looked at them like this: they never really seemed to belong with one another, from his moderately muscled arms gained from helping around the house, his chubby belly sticking out in front, his chubby posterior sticking out in back, the two separated by a fairly distinct waist line, which tapered down through his “thunder thighs” to calves which had little balls of muscle sticking backwards gained from his running years. Those were long ago in his past: he had never had a very good lung capacity. He felt like he had be sewn together from different pieces, the stitching so perfect so as not to leave any scars. He had to admit though, good tanning – he had never had a sunburn once in his life, the tan lines separating his arms and legs from the rest of his body which proved his time in the fun summer sun starting to fade as fall was setting in – never having a single cavity, wisdom tooth removal, or other dental issue, and hearty apatite was a nice balance.

But those thoughts were brief, as his needs started kicking in. His mouth tasted awful, he was tired, and he had a light headache. Amazing, how I’ve never had a drop of alcohol in my life, yet I still feel like I wake up with a mini hangover. he mused ruefully. He also had to urinate. Badly. As evidenced by the massive tent in the red AC/DC pyjama pants he was wearing. He moved over the toilet, releasing his fully erect 6 ½ inch long, 1 ½ inch thick member from its fabric captivity, tip dark red, almost purple, suffused with blood, and relieved the pressure on his bladder. He sighed with relief. His pubic hair was much, much shorter than the usual jungle of growth it normally was, as he had tried shaving it a week or so ago. Big mistake; it almost always itched now (though that was starting to be reduced of late, thank the Lord), and the prickly bristles left behind had irritated his skin, leaving even itchier, painful red spots on his front. The smooth feel had been a nice touch for the few minutes it had lasted, and not having hairs tickling his scrotum all the time was still remaining with him, but he was pretty sure he would stick with just trimming it if it got unruly again, like usual. Amazing how he could grow a jungle of hair on his head, his pubes, even in his crack (also epically annoying, what the heck could that possibly be for, as he always wondered), and yet, so far, he could only grow little random patches of hair on his face and chin. As he finished relieving himself, his member slowly began to soften and shrink; as he finished, it was almost back to its normal 3 in. long, ¾ in. think, flaccid counter part, the foreskin draping over the pale red tip, looking vaguely like an elephant’s trunk. He silently laughed to himself at an old joke: “I’m travel-sized for your convenience.”

John sighed with relief, getting a brief taste/smell of his own morning breath. He picked up his red toothbrush, spread a line of the dentist-recommended toothpaste for his slightly sensitive teeth, and gave them a hearty brushing. He hated the taste of the toothpaste, but it was leagues better than the one in his mouth right now. Then he applied a generous layer of deodorant under his pits – also sporting a fair, though so far seemingly self controlled, groupings of hair – more for the olfactory senses of those around him than for himself. He completed the ritual by attempting to comb the wild tangle that was his hair. It was getting more difficult each day. He really needed a hair cut.

Chapter 1 – Part 2

John made his way back to his room. He opened his drawers, took out the clothes that were on top of the rest – a black t-shirt, pair of jeans, pair of briefs (that always seemed a little too tight in his crotch region), and pair of white, long-neck socks – and put them on, leaving his p.j. pants in front of the mildly full laundry hamper. Thanks to the “magic” of clothing, his gut and posterior didn’t seem to stick out quite as much as usual, bringing a semblance of “normal proportion” to his form. He stretched his arms over his head, his forearms bent an extra 15 to 30° outwards, showing he was double jointed, something that could be very fun if used correctly. It was amazing what freaked people out sometimes.

Soon John’s stomach started growling. He went to the kitchen, throwing a few leftovers and other such things together into a nearly complete and nutritious breakfast. He didn’t always eat a lot in the morning – he was usually too tired to feel hungry – but today was one of the exceptions. He chomped away on the food, his slight overbite forcing him to alternate biting styles, the taste of the toothpaste making whatever he was eating virtually tasteless in comparison. When he had finished eating, he went to the medicine cupboard and pulled out three different pills – one long and brownish red, one long and white, and one small, round and white – and swallowed them down with some water. The two long pills were Concerta, similar to Ritalin, but a much larger dose formulated to be released over a twelve hour period; these were to help with his concentration: off of them, if a more baser need kicked in, like hunger of thirst, he couldn’t think about anything else but how to fix that, which interfered with his school work. The small one was Cilexa, a “mood stabilizer” used to minimize his “mood fluctuations” and make him more manageable; he was much less likely to tell you to your face exactly what his problem with you was, so to speak. He hated taking them. Every time it felt like he was just taking them so that other people wouldn’t have to deal with him, make him more manageable, easier to order around. He was however trying to wean himself off now. He’d like to just stop taking them altogether, but the docs said it was unwise to quit on something like this cold turkey, especially when its narcotics that you had been taking for a significant portion of his life. He’d gotten it to where he only had to take them every so often instead of every day now, and he was finding that he was needing them less and less.

John looked out his window for a moment. Outside the sun was starting to rise with the dawn, sunlight glistening on the dew covered grass and landscape. He sighed to himself. The first frost would be coming soon. He should probably harvest the last bit of produce from his garden before the frost came. Grabbing a small pearing knife, a large wicker basket, and put his black and red running shoes on, and headed out towards his garden.

It wasn’t a very large garden by any means, just a little past-time John liked to entertain. It was about 2-3 metres square, and had a short chicken-wire fence a few feet high around the perimeter for support and to keep animals from eating anything that could be bad for them. Along one fence line was a trench where asparagus roots slept; there wouldn’t likely be any shoots for at least a couple more years. Near the asparagus in one corner was a massive patch of wild plant growth: there had been three spots of rhubarb there, which had never taken, and he had never bothered to keep bare after it was clear there was going to be no growth from the planted crowns. Along the adjoing fence lines there were “skeletons” of pea vines that had lived, thrived, produced, and completed their natural lives. Next in from the asparagus and rhubarb was another trench, this one mostly bare and empty, where there had been radishes, again already grown and harvested. Next came a row of bean plants, still alive, but growth significantly slowed; they were pretty much done for the year. After that there was another bare trench, this one had had spinach had been doing well, but had been overrun by weeds too quickly to harvest it in time. Next was a short row of garlic bulbs, which had for the last month or so finally started sprouting their green shoots, signalling that they were indeed alive and growing; they should be fine until next season. Near the garlic was two more weeded patches, these being two clumps of dill seeds he had tried to grow, but again never showed any signs of growth or germination; he hoped they might just be dormant and might take next season. Next row was a trench of mixed salad green, of which only the lettuce and chard seemed to have taken, but those were finally seeming to get some good growth on them. The last row, near the final fence line, was much more crowded. In the far corner was a small dark green and rotting stump, originating from a zucchini plant that had started out well, but had been infested with spider mites and had to be removed; spider mites are extremely hardy and adaptable to most insecticides, and spread very easily. Next in was a very short dual row of cayenne and red hot chilli peppers, both of which had grown well and were now producing a good amount of peppers. Then came the triple row of various types of tomatoes: beefsteaks, romas, and both red and golden cherry types grew in small bush-vines supported by long poles and tie-wraps, which were once again doing incredibly well, despite the dry spell early in the season. Finally in the last corner was a “skeleton” of the cucumber vines that had started out looking like they were doing well, but after the first harvest had declined significantly; cucumbers always seemed to do that for them for some reason. It was one of the things that their clayey, rock filled soil made interesting; because of the nature of the soil versus regularly used types, sometimes certain plants grew differently for them than was expected for the climate and area. Some plants, like the rhubarb and cucumber, which for most people in the area grew very easily, almost like weeds, never seemed to take well in their soil. Whereas others, like the butterfly bushes and grape vines on the property, seemed to thrive above and beyond any expected growth rates. It made gardening interesting to say the least.

This had actually been his second year gardening, so there was another small, square-ish patch of ground in front of the current fenced off plot, which was in fallow right now, left empty except for the surviving blueberry bushes and raspberry vines from last year and whatever wild plants had sprouted up, so that the natural nutrient cycle could be re-established for next year.

John raised his leg high and hopped over the short fence into his garden. Using his knife to carefully cut away the ripe and rotting fruits on the tomato and pepper plants, putting the former in his basket and tossing the latter over the fence a few feet away. He also pinched the larger of the lettuce and chard leaves, placing those into the basket. Finally he went to the beans, and cut off any pods that were edible and putting them in the basket. He had got a fairly large haul, enough greens and beans to get a good size one person salad and much more than enough tomatoes and peppers to be frozen to make sauce or something later. All the unripe ones he had to leave behind would most definitely die in the cold frost and snow with their parent plants. That always mad him sad, just leaving them to die in the cold…

As John was returning inside, something in the fallowing earth caught his eye. He squatted down to get a closer look. There, in front of him, was a small plant, pale-ish green, with two small heart-shaped leaves and a single trumpet-like flower, which appeared very white on the outside, but a deep peach colour that reminded him of something on the inside. Based on the flower and leaf shape, he suspected that it might be a member of the Nightshade family. He had done a project on them once. They were found all over the world, and some could survive some of the harshest conditions on Earth, from the bitter cold to scorching desert. Some were even incredibly adaptive, changing their shape and growth rate to match the conditions around them, like being short and stunted when conditions are very dry, but then becoming large and expansive when conditions become more ideal. They were also known for making some of the most famous and very deadly poisons, like the mandrake, deadly nightshade, and datura species, used by thousands of years by humans both for medicinal purposes and to kill. But they have also been used by humans for thousands of years as food source plants, such as tomatoes, peppers, and eggplants, and as decoration and aesthetic purposes, like petunias. They were usually characterized by their heart-shaped leaves and five-petalled flowers, often found in long trumpet-like shapes. The interesting thing about this one was that this flower seemed to be one seamless petal, rather than made up of five close together, which to his knowledge was unheard of for any plant species. The flower also seemed to possess not visible stamens or pistil; perhaps it was a new mutation, one that was sterile. For whatever reason, this plant intrigued John; what if it was indeed a new species? He should rescue it for further study!

He knelt down, gently digging the soil around the plant with his fingers. Luckily it seemed the root system wasn’t very deep, and he managed to uproot it without much effort; had it just started growing only recently? That might explain the apparent lack of development in it. He carefully place it in the wicker basket, clump of dirt still attached to the roots, and also grabbed a handful of top soil from a square bag he kept in the fenced area of the garden. He quickly ran to the house, finding a pot to put the soil in, and transplanted the plant into it, making sure to pat down the soil around the plant into a bowl shape so that the water would collect towards the roots. He then gave it a healthy dose of warm tap water to help lessen the shock and trauma of the transplantation to the plant.

John looked at the clock. Shit! He was going to be late for school! He quickly ran around his house, looking for any items he might need: his wallet, his backpack, anything else that might be of importance, scooping them all up, and rushing out the door, throwing on a grey rain coat on his way out, making sure to leave the light on for the plant.

Chapter 2 – The School -- part 1

John raced down the dirt path that constituted the closest thing to his driveway. He reached the end, turning, heading down the street. He ran a bit farther, reaching the corner, just in time to catch the bus before it left the stop. He walked up the stairs a bit quickly, still having a lot of the momentum from his run. His breath was heavy, and he showed his bus pass quickly before taking the closest open seat he could find. He sat down, still panting. His short lung capacity had always been an issue for him, and it was only recently that it had started improving. It might have even been the determining factor as to why he never really found interest in most sports, he considered.

The bus was packed with many other people. Some of them were students, like John, that he recognized and nodded at when they looked his way. Most were just people heading somewhere, probably to their jobs or something. He didn’t really know: didn’t really care, to be brutally honest. He looked out the window of the bus as the scenery rolled by; gradually changing from the lush, green country-side to the more developed city-scape as the School came into view.

School was probably not the most accurate term for it. In recent times, many people had started to come to terms with the fact that many of the limits of social tradition may be significantly flawed, and limiting to the experiences of life. In that sense, one specific group of people, calling themselves the New Institute of unCensored Learning, or N.I.C.E. for short, set about the creation of a new way of teaching, a way of educating people on the whole story, not shying away from what many might call “unsavoury” topics, deciding to instead give students the whole picture, and let them decide for themselves what is right and what is wrong. All people of all clans, creeds, kinds, species, and distinctions were accepted. No one was turned down because of their differences, be it appearance, culture, or anything else. As more and more sentient beings began to show their true forms and existence to the world, so too did the need for such a place of learning.

It started out as a highschool in Japan. No one really remembered the original name of it, as it was long and complex, so it was simply referred to as “Gakkō”, or “The School”. Coincidently, initially there was a very high female population, with only one or two male members. This didn’t seem to perturb anyone, especially the males. Though the school taught many things, all of them in an attempt to paint the whole picture, not just what is considered “socially acceptable”, one of the facets of that which seemed to give the biggest effect on its reputation was that it was not afraid to shy away from the ideas of teaching students about sexual interactions as a normal part of life. Not to say that sex was in anyway the main focus of any part of the curriculum; it was simply a part of it, like anything else, and was taught as such. But all the same, the fact that they would not shy away from it made it unique in the amount of content towards it that it taught, and that fact alone seemed to stick largely in the minds of those who chose to go there. The School made no attempts to deter students from exploring their sexuality, and only made one clear rule for students to follow: nothing is to be done without the full consent of all those participating. All those who did not follow as such were expelled and evicted immediately. Other than that, students were free to do as they saw fit, within reason. Despite the possibilities of going against this rule, almost all were willing to comply with it, with only a few exceptions that were dealt with quickly and effectively.

As the years went on, more people started to come to the school, and the male to female ratio began to increase, though to this day the female population greatly dwarfs that of the male, just by coincidence. The increase in diversity and numbers of people going meant that The School had to increase its size. As it expanded, many different “biomes” were incorporated into different areas, to better accommodate the diversity of the student body, as well as the instructors, who had began to come to The School. Also, The School started offering residences to students, like if they were moving to the new place and needed a place to stay, so that they would not be hindered in their learning. Finally it started to expand in the range of ages taught, offering districts for preschool, elementary school, and post-secondary education. This final step made a distinct milestone for the development of The School. It wasn’t even really a “school” anymore so much as a small city in itself, as many recreational and business areas were also added to provide convenience to the students. A good portion of the student body truly lived on campus, as everything was provided. There were even a few cases where families had been started within The School, and The School even provided them with assistance, such as financial aid and other services. It became a functioning social entity in and of itself.

Naturally there were many exchange opportunities offered with other schools around the world. John was on one of them right now. Currently he was living slightly off-campus, though technically his “house” was still on property owned by The School in one of the natural “biomes”. The only difference was a slightly longer bus ride, bit cleaner air, bit nicer scenery, and no crowds of people to deal with. To him it was a very good exchange. As the bus drove towards the center of the city, it stopped at some bus stops along the way, before continuing on. John stayed on for the whole bus ride, right up to the school centre, passing the different biomes as they went. Each “biome” had its own set of districts, each housing buildings specific to certain areas of learning. The majority of the areas were concurrent, so if you were taking say Chemistry in one biome, and found yourself in another, you could pick up your lesson in the biome you were currently in and likely not miss anything. Some areas of study were indeed special to certain biomes and districts, but those were special cases designated by the specific needs of the course.

John headed towards the library, nodding to a few people he knew as he passed them in the halls. It was amazing the diversity of people which The School attracted. It put “equal opportunity” into a whole new perspective. As he walked down the halls he saw humans, furries both anthro and feral, the latter sometimes needing translators or using a form of sign language invented by The School to help eliminate language barriers, creatures that before would have been dismissed as myth, and many others he could not begin to describe. It made him feel proud somehow that all these different beings could coexist happily (for the most part at least) in one place. He almost never saw any flora taking the classes, he thought for a second. Not that no sentient varieties had been discovered since the opening of The School, he knew of many that acted as tutors and mentors, as well as those that were often brought in as demonstrations, with permission of the plant, of course. He supposed most weren’t as interested as others, perhaps.

Shaking his head clear of the thoughts, he entered the library, and took a seat in one of the large lounge chairs there, and, this being his final year of study he had the morning more or less off, dozed off a bit, catching up on some of the sleep he missed earlier.

Chapter 2 – part 2

John felt something on his hand. It was warm, wet, and mildly rough, scraping against his hand as he slept. He frowned in his half-sleep, opening his eyes to see a mottle of pink and golden fur in front of him. He smiled. “Hey Hinana.” The canine licking his hand grinned back up at him.

Hinana was a feral golden retriever, though she had started putting pink highlights in her fur. He had to admit it was a nice stylistic touch. She had brown eyes, and often had a big toothy grin on her face. She always seemed happy about something.

He stretched in the chair. “What time is it?” he asked her.

~About ten o’clock,~ she replied, the translator in the frame of his glasses picking up her body language and immediate thought patterns, turning it into something his brain could relatively understand. The School’s advances in communication technology was incredible, able to break down many language and understanding barriers with newfound ideas about communication understanding technology, able to allow the users to completely infer the entire meaning behind what the person was saying, despite differences in understanding, thought patterns, speech, language, and intent. It was amazing, how this thing could read all of those things, no matter how subtle, and turn it into something his brain could comprehend. It worked via two transceivers, one on his person and one on hers, both of them picking up, interpreting, and transmitting signals between the two, as well as his having the added advantage of adding the optical information perceived by his glasses; he suspected hers was in the simple black collar she liked to wear, but he had never asked. Asking where one’s Device was kept was often considered rude, sometimes because of where it might have been stored, others because it could compromise the person with it. Because the Devices could pick up intent, it made them invaluable for detecting violations in the “non-consent” rule of the School, and thus officials could be immediately informed of any trouble and react to the situation properly if things got out of hand. He had heard stories of how this worked, but he had never truly seen it himself; he tended to avoid trouble for the most part. But because sometimes the Device was kept external, a skilled perpetrator could theoretically remove it and compromise it; though this had not yet occurred to anyone’s knowledge, it was a source for fear and worry among many.

“Well, thanks for the wake up call then. I almost missed our appointment,” he joked.

She gave the equivalent of a chuckle. ~Well I knew if I didn’t come find you, you’d never wake up before noon.~

He ruffled her fur playfully, getting a pleasing contented look out of her that made him smile. John had been tutoring Hinana since the start of the school year, and they had already become close friends. She was smart, and always seemed to understand him, regardless of the device. She was a good, loyal friend to have, and had a fighting spirit hidden under that goofy grin. “Well come on then, what are we looking at today?”

~We’ve started fractions in math. I’m, having trouble with them…~ she seemed to look down a bit, and John didn’t need his device to know she was embarrassed to admit the fact. She hated asking for help, especially on tasks she felt she could do herself.

He smiled comfortingly (or what he hoped was comfortingly) back at her. “Alright. Tell me what you can remember,” he said, leaning foreword a bit to show he was listening carefully to her.

Hinana jumped and sad on the chair next to him, and he turned his head to her, their eyes level now. ~Well, I mean, I think I get it, but… I don’t know…~ she trailed off a bit, her uncertainty screwing the transceiver’s ability to translate.

John stopped her. “Do you have your work here? Can I see what you’ve done so far?”

She nodded, reaching down to pick up her computer – a small, laptop-like model, customized for her species, in her case made of more durable materials and mostly transceiver operated versus manually – and put it in his open hand. He opened it up pressing a button on the front, and, with her guidance, found where her work was stored. The language used was currently the School-Standard, but he could change it to his preferred English using his Device if he liked. Since he was trying to help someone else, he decided to leave it in Standard, so they could both understand it. He scanned her questions and answers, noting a few common mistakes, but nothing really major. He tilted the screen so she could look with him. “Well, it seems like everything is pretty much ok. Which ones were you having trouble with?”

~Well, this one right here, for one,~ she said, pointing to a particular question with her snout. He read it, then her answer. He smiled a bit. “I think I see your problem… See, the question asked for you to divide the two terms here; I think you multiplied them without flipping the numerator and denominator of one term.” He pointed to one of the fractions in her answer.

She peered closer, looking at it intently, and he could see she was checking his point. Her head suddenly fell a bit, and he could see she was beating herself up over an obvious answer. He rubbed the scruff of her neck a bit, trying to reassure her. “Hey, no big deal right? The rest of your work seems pretty good. You just gotta keep following the process.”

She nodded her head a bit, looking up at him. ~Thanks…~ she said, a look of appreciation in her eyes. He returned the nod. “Anytime.” He grinned, and she returned it. John looked up at the clock. “You had better get ready for next period. It’s almost time to go.”

She looked with him, and nodded. He handed her back her comp, and she took it, giving a “thank you” look, and headed out of the library. He watched her leave, before lying back in the chair and returning to his sleep.

Chapter 2 -- part 4 -- the food-court

John made his way to the collection of shops and restaurants that comprised the "food-court" of the School. As he passed classrooms and buildings, other students, staff, and visitors began to gather and head in the same general direction, all following the call of the same instinct that spoke with the voice of a single thought: time to eat.

John was still amazed at how the School could feed so many mouths (so to speak, in some cases) while still maintaining all the variety required by so many different species. Apparently a breakthrough had been made in the production of synthetic meal replacements, to the point where they were actually almost as good, nutritionally speaking, as their natural counterparts, and the difference in taste and texture almost imperceptible to all but the most refined senses. Admittedly, it wasn't quite the same as the "real thing", it was, for most, quite the ample alternative. Very little could not be reproduced by chefs skilled in the use of the synthetic ingredients, and new techniques, specialized ingredients, and unique recipes were always being made.

John was one of the unfortunate few who had the taste-buds that could detect the synthetic chemicals. It was more annoying than anything else. It wouldn't be so much of a problem, and in fact he often could detect certain arrangements that helped him to reproduce some recipes himself when he got "home", save the fact to him it left just enough of a trace of bitterness in his mouth to throw off the meal for him.

John scanned the shops as he came to the food-courts, and promptly picked the one with the shortest line-up. It didn't really matter which one he went to, there would be something he liked. And he still had plenty of Credits in his account, provided each month by the School to each student, based on metabolism, eating habits, nutritional requirements, and other things, upon which an assumption and estimation of the average intake they would require each day. If they happened to want more or less at one time or another, the balance would be affected. John had always been a big eater, and his balance often reflected this. But, as a transfer student, the School had generously given him a "larger-than-average" budget to work with. Another one of there incentives to get more students from abroad, he reckoned. In the end, his choice always came down to which one could get him sustenance quickest.

This time he opted for the classic three patty cheeseburger with a side of poutine (fries covered with cheese curds then smothered in hot gravy which melted the cheese on top) and a root beer, the "heart attack combo" as he called it, and began to search for a place to sit. He scanned the rows of tables. Despite lunch having just started, many of the table were already filled up with people. He saw one that had a lone feline sitting at it, with a free chair. He made his way towards it.

As he approached the table, he saw that it was a puma, female, according to his device, and she was happily sitting and chowing into a raw steak almost covering half the table. When he got close enough, he cleared his throat and asked, "Is this seat taken?"

She looked up at him from her meal, seeming to size him up as she watched him. He returned her gaze, not backing away or giving in. Finally she nodded, giving her approval for him to sit. He bowed his head a bit at her, showing her his appreciation and acknowledging his respect for her, as he set his tray on the table and sat down across from her. As he unwrapped his burger and started to chomp into it, he could sense her eyes on him as he ate. She had returned to her steak, but it wasn't with quite the same vigor as before. She was still watching him, sizing him up, trying to see just what kind of individual he was. He didn't mind, or rather, he was too busy gorging his meal to notice or care about anything else. In the span of a few minutes, he had eaten all his food, and, it seemed, so had she. He looked at her, and smiled. "Thank you for sharing your table with me. It is much appreciated."

She nodded again, and his device started translating her meanings. "My pleasure."

He chuckled at that, switching to English, reducing the chance if anybody overhearing, since only the ones he was directing the words to would pick up the translations. "You flatter me."

She tilted her head at him. "What do you mean?"

He grinned slightly. "Why, one as... elegant as yourself gleaming pleasure merely from only the company of one such as myself is quite the ego boost, I must admit."

She looked at him with something not unlike a smile, and he thought he saw something akin to.. amusement? in her eyes. "Then you are quite welcome."

He smiled warmly at her. "May I ask the calling of such an elegant female that would grace me with her presence?"

She seemed to grin at that. Her eyes were watching him again, but they weren't sizing him up this time -- at least not to determine him as a potential threat, as he saw before, but more like a cat might look at a mouse: like she was gauging how much fun she could get out of this as a new toy for her. "You may. You may also call me Blaze."

"Well met, Blaze. You may call me John. John Dakaruka."

She smiled again. The meaning of the fact that he had decided to tell her his last name -- real or not -- was not lost on her. She replied in turn. "Well met, John Dakaruka."

He returned her smile. "Just John, I won't make you try to spout that mouthful every time we talk."

She gave her own little laugh. It was surprisingly soft and sweet, despite her large, powerful shape. "Very well then, John."

He took a drink of his root beer. "So, Blaze, what brings you to this fine establishment?"

"Well," she started, "I've always had a... fascination with the anatomy of creatures. And no other place offers quite an... Extensive knowledge of such things." She was watching him again, gauging his reaction.

He nodded. This was true, and he understood how frustrating that could sometimes be. But he sensed a second meaning to her statement, something possibly indirectly aimed at him, and if what he suspected was correct, then he understood that all too well. "Interesting choice."

She nodded, then paused, like she was thinking, debating something. "Perhaps you could help me with some parts of it later. We have a test coming up soon, and I want to be sure I'm... Well versed in everything I need to know." There was that look again. And the sense of the double meaning.

He chuckled. "Why certainly. I'm alway happy to help. I have two more classes, but then I'm free for the rest of the afternoon, if you'd like."

"Its a date then." she winked at him, grinning. "I'll be in the library, waiting for you." she said, as she hopped of her chair, and started padding away. He watched after her as she left, the powerful, taut muscles in her shoulders and haunches moving up and down as she walked away, tail tip flicking this way and that. Somehow, he had the feeling this was somehow deliberate, like she was enticing him, leading him on, like a hunter baiting a trap. And at the same time, he couldn't help feel he couldn't care less. He had a date. There was a solid smile stuck to his face. And he didn't think it would be leaving anytime soon.

[exeunt.]

chapter 2 -- part 5 -- The Shop

John made his way through the exiting crowd out of the food court and towards the technology buildings of the School, more commonlly known as the Shops. The School provided for a wide range of technological education, such as automotive, electrical, manufacturing (a combination of metalworking, machining, and welding), computer and information, as well as others. The Shops were quite large, requiring a lot of floor space for all the machines and work spaces needed for the students. Of course, safety was top priority, and every single student had to be well versed on exactly how to work each machine properly and safely before using it. Even though most machines were now getting more and more automated, the School still kept many that had to be run by hand, to teacch students their fundamentals and functions, and to get a feel for using them.

John himself was in the manufacturing tech, or more commonly called Metal Shop. He had always had a fondness for metal; something about it had always made him feel... calmer, when it was near him. This shop also required fairly precise measurement and calculations -- or was supposed to; he was always amazed at how many shortcuts there were and how little accuracy seemed to matter to some people -- and he was always very good at that. The instructed work, the proper alignments, the knowing you built something with your own two hands that fit its proper function... something about it spoke to him. He was taking this class more for that feeling than for anything else, really. Even though, despite all his carefulness and attenttion to detail, he still seemed to screw things up on a regular basis...

The abundance of stupidity in these classes didn't help either. No matter how you sliced it, it seemed there would always be people who took a class caus they thought it was easy. And, despite all the safety protocols, some still desided horsing around and jepardizing lives was more fun then actually getting work done. Thankfully the shop teachers seemed to have little tolerance for this, and you could see one or two students a week being kicked out of the class. But there were many that were actually helpful as well.

"Yo, John!"

John turned to see Blade, one of the shop teachers. John grinned. Blade was an anthro wolf, with a very mechanical mind. His fur was black, but he had a white stripe running down his body. Right now he was wearing welder's coveralls, to protectect his fur and skin underneath from sparks and the radiation generated by the welders (mostly just very bright light was made when the electricity jumped the gap when making the arcs to weld metal, but some UV and infrared get made as well; it was basically the equivalent of staring at the sun and getting its rays after theyve gone through the atmosphere on a hot, bright, summer day... with no sunblock. It could burn your skin if your not careful).

John had always liked blade. He was a bit old fashioned, but he knew what was important, and didn't put up with "dunderheads", to put it nicely. And he always seemed to be able to help with anything. John often wondered what went on in that mind of his, what allowed him to come up with a working solution to seemingly any mechanical problem. "Hello Mr. Blade." John said as they approached one another.

"How's that hat rack coming along?" Blade asked.

John rubbed the back of his neck. The hat rack. His chosen welding assignment, to be a gift to his mother. "It's... coming." he replied. Out of all the classes he took, this was the only one where it always seemed like he was in need of help, not the other way around.

Blade nodded. "What stage are you at right now? Is it level yet?"

"Erm... not quite... but I think it's getting there."\

Blade nodded again. "Good. Well, get to it then."

John nodded, and got himself set up at a work station, setting himself up with one of the angle grinders. He had doubted his messurements and screwed up the placement of the legs, so now he had to make up for it by grinding the legs down until they were level. Time seemed to pass by as he worked on his piece. Before he knew it, it was already time to clean up the work stations. Blade came around by him again.

"How's it coming John?"

John rubbed the back of his neck again. He wasn't used to this feeling, of being the one that had to be checked in on because he wasn't always sure what to do, or what was going on, and he didn't like it. But the fact was he did need the help sometimes. "Not bad. I think its finally almost level, or at least close enough to work now."

Blade nodded. "Very good. Ok, get your work station cleaned up now."

John nodded, putting the grinder and other tools away, sweeping away the chips and metal dust, as well as making sure his work piece was put in a safe location. He washed his hands in the sink with the industrial strenght soap, to get all the metal residue off them. Then it was just a waiting game for the end of the class.

[exeunt]