Chapter 29 – Macavity

Wednesday 31st, October.
Halloween.

Eppie’s day began in her small clothes in her windowless bathroom, ambiently supported by the thrum of the bathroom ceiling fan. After 72 days of daily exercise, jogs, protein intake, and [System]-assisted body-sculpting, she was certainly beginning to look the part of the image Sony had hoped to sell.

She was still short, her hair was still frazzled, and there was nothing bodacious, but none of that mattered right now, because she was about to step into a cat costume.

She was so glad that Madeleine from Headquarters had the foresight of “a cat”, because it was cool enough to keep herself dry during the second summer of late October, and warm enough with its arm and leg fur to keep her happy in the evening.

The previous owner of the costume was evidently taller than her, leaving her upper body a bit sluggishly bedraggled with a small primordial pouch. Still, Eppie’s legs were long enough that the spine-plate moulded to her hip, conforming to the musculature of her trained torso.

She fixed the drooping fur with a few safety pins, then donned the lifelike cat ears.

From the Alleycat Musical, she was now Félicette la chatte, a black-white Snowshoe and the first Cat in Space. With mascara and eyeliner, she drew thick contours around her overlarge eyes, drawing the viewer’s gaze toward her baby-blue irises. With the pencil, she gave herself some whiskers, and on the tip of her button nose, she drew a matt-toned cross-hatch.

“Meow—” She meowed at the mirror, then broke into self-deprecating laughter.

As it was 2007, Eppie knew very well that the idea of Fursuits and Furries had crept into mainstream discourse. The question, she supposed, was whether there were any compatriot animal lovers in LAPA, and whether her kitty cat would drive anyone wild.

Outside her bedroom, she was greeted by Ava Cleopatra, silver screen edition, and a full-blown southern belle from a classical 30s film she did not know and had not watched.

“Your highness,” Félicette meowed before the Queen of the Nile.
“Young Miss,” Félicette meowed before the owner of a historically sensitive plantation.

“Your catness,” the girls curtsied, then all three broke into controllable laughter.

“I LOVE your costume,” Ava looked very fetching in her ribbed white Cleopatra dress. However, the Egyptian eyeliner was the only other indication that she was of the Ptolemaic royal line. “You look so… huggable.”

“I want you to curl up in my arms and purr,” Halle gushed, her eyes gleaming. “I am serious. This is crazy. How can a cat look this cute?”

Eppie wiggled her spring-loaded tail, and the girl squealed in delight.

For a dress-up that showed not a single inch of skin in the age of Slutty-McTheme, the costume was incredibly fetch.

“OH!” Ava halted her before she could grab her duffel. With a few pins and a twist, she removed her Cleopatra wig. “Put this on. My hair’s black anyway.”

“YES!” Halle concurred. “How can you be a black-white-blonde cat?”

The wig, Eppie noted as Ava tied her hair and slipped on the clips, was not cheap.

“CLEOPATRA CAT!” Halle gushed, then buried her face in the fur on Eppie’s shoulders. “I am dying. This is too much.”

“Oh yeah…” Ava snapped a few pictures with her iPhone. “This is… I need to show Papa.”

Playing along, Eppie pawed the air with her furry gloves.

“AH—” Halle feigned an overdose, then posed for pictures. Ava got her pictures in as well, then finally, it was time to face the world.

At a regular high school, attending class in Halloween costumes would be contested, perhaps outlawed.

At LAPA, attending class in costume was mandatory.

There were very few rules for the costumes, which Eppie did not read and which were pinned to the Quest Board.

One—Students are not allowed to wear masks that obscure their faces.
Two—Students are not allowed to wear costumes that block the class’s sightlines.
Three—Students may not wear costumes that prevent movement in classes.
Four—Halloween was a normal academic day.

Of course, for a school infamous for dreamers, wunderkin, creatives and rogues, the kids lived fast and loose by the rules. Other than the no mask rule, half the students valued creativity over the limitations of their teacher’s labour, and their teachers were often happy to accommodate, unless students broke the unspoken, cardinal rules.

Salacious costumes.
Costumes that may harm others.

In the long basement hall, students from every grade mingled and shared pictures of their creations.

The very first, very noticeable group that Eppie saw the moment she ducked into the hall out of curiosity was Marie Antoinette—AKA Valorie Sanders, in full powdered wig, panniers, beauty mark, cleavage, and what may be real jewellery.

William Chen was, she presumed, a ridiculously dashing Louis XVI. Together with her ladies in waiting, they absolutely dominated, and almost every member of the school was lined up for pictures with the Queen of France.

From across the hall, a distance that felt like a kilometre, their eyes met, and finally, for the first time, Valorie was not angry, upset, or livid.

She was smugly superior, a perfect Queen.

Eppie’s smile faded when beside Marie-Valorie, William’s gaze grew hungry. Breaking out in cold sweat, she quickly left the basement hall for her first class.

Outside, past the witches, the superheroes, the ethnic costumes of ghosts and goblins, she walked past Principal Burton wearing a pumpkin tie, and VP Thomas wearing a no-fuss, deep burgundy coat with a pair of dark orange heels. The message, Eppie supposed, was clear. You guys have fun, but we’re still here to work.

Burton’s eyes landed on her fursuit, performed a double take, raised both brows, then waved hesitantly.

She waved back, her tail bouncing happily.

VP Thomas laughed at first, then, perhaps realising it was her, grew grim as she waved back with the tiniest of hand movements.

“Eppie!” The familiar sound of her friends called out from the sea of props and costumes. “Oh. My. God!” It was Lucy’s voice that had pierced the crowd.

Lucy was a 1950s pin-up, and she looked ravishingly good when dolled up. The victory rolls, red lips, petticoat, and red heels accentuated her natural vivaciousness, making Eppie a little self-conscious.

Chelsea was in full gothic. If there were an Addams Family in this universe, then she would be Wednesday in a little black dress.

Min-jun was in an outrageously colourful goblin-garb, something he said was called a Dokkaebi, a playful spirit of sorts.

The three circled her cat-form like sharks, touching her tail, patting her wig, pinching her cheeks.

“Permission to hug…” Lucy’s housewife hands were already wandering places they should not be.

“Er…” Eppie was just about to remind herself of her true age, but it was too late.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The girls surrounded her, patting her, hugging her, and even lifting her. On the side, Min-jun watched with the expression of a connoisseur watching fine wine aerate in a decanter.

Feeling suddenly mischieving, she sidled up to the Korean goblin king and gave him a devastating blast of her cosplaying as a pleading cat.

“Opa…” she pronounced expertly, her hands formed into paws just under her chin, her eyes swinging her long lashes like golden scimitars. “Meow…”

“NOPE!” Min-jun turned away, covering his face. Without make-up, the boy’s face was completely scarlet. “That’s not fair. Oh my god! I’ve been soiled. I’ll never get married. God damn it, Eppie.”

“I think I awoke something in Min-jun,” Eppie observed. “Right, Opa?”

“ARRRRRRRR GET AWAY!”

The girls burst into laughter, falling about trying not to fall.
Other members of the Sophomores joined them, and pictures and MySpace handles were exchanged.