Marchosias's eyes snapped fully open. He let go of Zac as if he'd been burned. "Avatar! You… I thought… When I saw the leopard print, I thought you might have been… defiled."
Zac raised an eyebrow, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. "There's still plenty of time if you want the maiden voyage, Captain."
Marchosias grabbed Zac by the waist, lifted him off his lap, and turned the human to face him, holding him suspended a few inches off the floor. "Zac," he said, his voice a low, serious growl. "The avatar of a demon… often takes on aspects of their patron's appearance after… a contract is sealed." He looked Zac up and down, from the fleece ears to the slippered feet.
As he spoke, Zac noticed the Captain's fingers were unconsciously kneading the soft fabric of the onesie, a rhythmic, cat-like motion against his sides.
Zac couldn't help it. He squirmed in the wolf's grip and let out a loud, vibrating purr.
Marchosias choked on his breath. He immediately, though gently, tossed Zac off to the side. Zac landed on his butt with a soft thud.
"Bad Avatar," Marchosias growled, his voice strained. He stood up, turning away to straighten his uniform. "I was… I was just concerned that you were no longer a virgin. I did not realize that you were simply… wearing… something."
Zac pulled himself up using the edge of the table, his purr still rumbling in his chest. "You can dress me however you want, Captain. I thought you might like me in a suit. You're so professional and it would be so hot if you just ripped it off of-"
A loud, hooting shout of laughter exploded from the other end of the dining room, shattering the charged atmosphere. Zac and Marchosias both froze, turning toward the sound. Andras was leaning against the doorway, a fresh cigarillo in his beak, shaking with silent, wheezing laughter.
Andras managed to contain his laughter, though his shoulders were still shaking. He sauntered into the dining room, his gaze flicking between the flustered wolf and the purring, leopard-print human.
"My, my, Captain," the owl drawled, his voice thick with amusement. "How long has President Ose been here? You're being a terrible host. There was no pomp. No circumstance. No formal announcement of his arrival." He suppressed another wave of laughter, his feathers ruffling.
Andras strolled over to his seat and dropped into it, propping his boots on the table. In front of him was a plate of something that was actively wiggling. Zac watched, fascinated, as the owl unsheathed his cutlass, stabbed the undulating meal with the tip, and brought the squirming morsel to his beak.
Zac swished his new tail, giving Marchosias a final, playful wink. The Captain was already slumped back in his chair, a hand covering his face in a gesture of profound defeat.
Zac strolled over to his own plate, grabbed the sad, cold waffles, and began nibbling on one. "So," he said, looking down at his spotted onesie. "Does this really make me look like Ose?"
Andras nearly choked on his meal, letting out a strangled squawk.
"You look much smaller," Bune's Left Head offered from the doorway. "And softer."
"And you do not track litter everywhere," his Right Head added with a sniff. "You are a significant improvement."
Marchosias slowly pulled his hand away from his face. He looked at Zac again, his expression now analytical, the earlier fluster replaced by a cold, strategic assessment.
"Its not terrible," the Captain said, his voice a low rumble. "No lesser demon would dare look President Ose in the eye long enough to know the difference. The resemblance, however superficial, will grant you an aura of authority." He paused, his amber eyes narrowing. "And fear."
"You… you really think so, Cap?" Andras asked, his voice cracking with suppressed laughter.
Marchosias sighed, a long, weary sound that spoke of artistic regret. "This wasn't what I expected when I commissioned his uniform. It is a bit… revealing."
Zac looked down at himself. He was covered, literally from head to toe, in thick, fluffy fleece. The only skin showing was the oval of his face. 'Revealing? What is he talking about?'
"But," Marchosias continued, staring at the onesie with a critical eye, "we all know Ose is like Skarg.... A nudist. The pattern alone implies a state of undress."
Andras choked. He spat a half-chewed grub across the table and erupted into a fresh wave of hooting, wheezing laughter.
'Wait… if the leopard print implies I'm naked… that means I'm basically walking around looking like a naked leopard demon.' A innocent grin spread across his face. 'Oh yeah. That could really, really work in my favor.'
"Do you think it is too crass, Andras?" Marchosias asked, genuinely concerned. "Too on the nose? I knew I should have been more specific with the tailor."
"It's perfect!" Andras howled, slapping the table. "Don't change a thing! It's a masterpiece!"
"Really?" Marchosias looked unconvinced. "I guess it will have to do." He looked back over at Zac, who was now double-fisting his waffles, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.
"Yes, it is nice," Bune said, walking over and gently fussing with Zac's fleece ears, straightening one that had flopped over. "It is very clean. And quiet. Not ostentatious at all."
That was the last straw for Andras.
The owl collapsed, his laughter finally overwhelming him. He slid out of his chair and sank directly into a shadow on the floor, his hysterical, muffled hoots echoing from the darkness as he vanished.
"I hate that owl," Marchosias growled, glaring at the empty chair. "What was so funny?"
Zac shrugged, taking another bite of waffle. "Does he have some weird history with Ose or something?"
"No more or less than the rest of us," Bune's Left Head said, still fussing with Zac's hood. "He just has a terrible sense of humor."
Zac finished the last of his waffles, licking the blueberry jam from his fingers with a satisfied sigh. Once Andras had laughed himself into the shadow realm, the rest of breakfast had been a quick and blessedly quiet affair. Marchosias was finishing his steak in grim silence, leaving Zac otherwise alone at the massive table with Bune and the zombie waitstaff.
The meal was over and he was in the company of a very handsome (if fussy) dragon butler. But he was missing something… something vital.
"Bune," Zac called out, his voice echoing in the cavernous room. "Can I ask you something?"
"Any time, Avatar," the Left Head replied, turning from where he was clearing Marchosias's plate.
"You know, humans often summon me to ask questions," the Right Head added conversationally. "It is one of my primary functions. But since you are a special case, I won't even charge you your soul for the answer."
Zac leaned forward, his expression deadly serious. He looked the dragon butler in all four of his golden eyes.
"Where the fuck," he said flatly, "is the coffee?"
"Oh, that," Bune's Left Head said, glancing nervously toward Marchosias.
His other head lowered its voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "We don't bother talking about things like that. Or alcohol. Or drugs. It is… discouraged."
"Even poppers?" Zac asked, horrified.
Bune's heads nodded solemnly in unison. "The Captain does not like mind-altering substances in his home," the Left Head explained. "He says they are a weakness. Bad for a soldier's discipline."
Zac leaned over, peering down the long, empty table toward Marchosias who was yawning loudly and stretching his massive frame. "Is he Mormon?" Zac whispered.
Bune looked at Zac with an expression a parent might give a child who had just asked if the cows bled milk, fond pity for his profound, adorable stupidity. "The Captain," the Right Head said slowly, "is the Captain. That is all."
"But there was booze in the pantry," Zac pushed. "Were they left over from his college party days? Did he do one too many keg-stands and gave up the sauce after a legendary hangover?"
"No," Bune shook his heads as he collected Zac's empty plate. "They were for cooking and now we will not be able to enjoy bourbon brazed barbeque bishop this week."
Zac nodded, his mind already spinning. 'Hot and straight edge. Okay. That's cool with me. As long as he doesn't get all upset if I spike the punch bowl and we get shwasted at the holiday party. And then I get him under the mistletoe, mmmmm…'
He closed his eyes, a dreamy smile on his face. He slowly raised his arms to hug himself, swaying gently in his chair.
'Oh, they were both so tipsy,' his mind raced, painting a vivid picture. 'Making out right on the dining table in front of all the other lieutenants. Everyone was whispering and taking pictures, but Zac didn't care. Fuck 'em. He was fucking the boss right in front of them, and they could all kiss his ass at work the next day, because he was about to get promoted to Personal Assistant. Very personal.'
Scrape.
Zac's eyes snapped open. His chair was being pulled back from the table. Bune stood over him, both heads looking down with an expression of stern finality.
"It is time for lessons."