Lexia drags Claribel through the Bliss Town Mall, her heavy shoes thumping against the tile and Claribel's feet struggling to keep her up. Shoppers come and go through the stores, carrying bags and giving a wide area for the odd pair

  First stop is a small store called “Threads & Trends”. The interior is a kaleidoscope of colorful fabrics, and coincidentally there is a large circular mosaic of colorful glass shards that look like the inside of a kaleidoscope hanging on the wall, directly in front of the door.

  Mannequins are set in alluring poses in various clothes, and Lexia plants Claribel on a plush chair near one of the mannequins. Claribel sits stiffly in the chair, watching Lexia rummage through the clothe racks, yanking hangers at random, sometimes two at a time, like a wild raider snatching up food. Soon, Lexia drops her heavy load onto Claribel’s lap.

  “Up and at them! I found clothes for you, and I need to see how you look,” says Lexia.

  “Can’t we just…”

  “No! Mortimer tasked me with making you look good, so that’s what I’m going to do! Now get in there and change!”

  Lexia pulls Claribel up and shoves her into the changing room. Claribel hits the wall with a muffled thump, and she turns around, hissing and rattling her tail, but Lexia tugs the door shut, leaving Claribel to stare at her reflection. Her agitation breaks down with a heavy, defeated sigh, and she looks around for a place to set the clothes. Her choices are a hook, the bench, and the floor.

  “I guess this is my life, now,” says Claribel.

  Outside, Lexia paces in circles, hands rubbing together, her whiskers twitching with her nose and ears. She hears Claribel rustling on the other side of the door, and a minute the rattlesnake comes out, jaw tight, tail rattling, and her red slitted eyes burning. Lexia meets the hate with lidded eyes and a smile.

  “Look at you, you dangerous snake you,” coos Lexia.

  Claribel is wearing black jeans ripped at the knees, a black jacket with spokes on the shoulders and cuffs, a belt with a skull buckle, and a black, v-cut tee shirt.

  “I hate you,” says Claribel.

  “Don’t be a baby. This outfit is one hundred percent you,” says Lexia.

  “It is not! What's even the point of having pre-ripped holes in your pants? And these spokes? What are these for?”

  “It’s fashion. Mortimer will love it. Trust me,” says Lexia.

  Claribel narrows her eyes. “How do you know what Mortimer loves?”

  “We have a connection. A bond, if you will. Sure, there may be ups and downs, but I- MPH!”

  Claribel’s hand snaps against Lexia’s mouth, and she has to stand on the balls of her feet to go eye level with Lexia, but it works since they are now muzzle to muzzle, and her rattling is loud and clear.

  “Mortimer is mine. If you try to poach him, my fangs will go into your neck, and no amount of venom tolerance will save you from that, got it?” hisses Claribel.

  Lexia nods quickly.

  “Good. I’m going to change now,” says Claribel.

  Claribel releases Lexia’s mouth and returns to the changing room, and Lexia exhales sharply, heart racing and quivering hands rubbing together.

  “Wow. Rude,” says Lexia.

  Claribel comes out a couple of minutes later, her footsteps slow, her jaw tight. She is wearing a plaid skirt, a white button-up blouse that clings to her body’s curves, a sweater vest, a blue blazer jacket, and a bright red bolo tie with long tails. Her orange scaled legs are exposed, and she stands in front of Lexia, hands balled tight at her sides, her expression sour.

  Lexia’s eyes bulge with sparkles, and she makes a small, manic squeak, her paw hands clapping together under her chin. “It’s perfect! Turn around! Let me see!!”

  Claribel groans and gives her a salty side-eye as she slowly spins. Her skirt fans out with the movement. The cheap fabric clings to her hips, and her tail is tucked beneath it, leading it bunching up a bit in the back. Claribel stops spinning and looks at Lexia, her face scrunched and arms folded.

  “Is there a particular reason why you picked this one?” asks Claribel.

  Lexia's grin widens and she circles Claribel, feeling the fabric and testing the way her arms move in the sleeves.

  “I'm a love detective, and I know what people like. And Mortimer…”

  Lexia spins Claribel so she can see her reflection on the mirror, gripping her shoulders tight and resting her head on Claribel's shoulder, holding her grin.

  “Likes the schoolgirl look. Trust me,” says Lexia.

  Claribel hisses loudly, fangs showing as she twists away from Lexia. “That’s disgusting. He does not have a ‘schoolgirl thing.’ You’re projecting.”

  Lexia shakes her head. “Nope. My love senses were tingling with that outfit. When he sees you in that, he'll breed you.”

  “Not another word!” snaps Claribel. “I'm going to change into something else from your collection, and I swear to God if it comes out perverted in any way, I will punch you in the nose.”

  Claribel slides back in the changing room, and a moment later she releases a loud, aggravated, hissing-scream. This draws some eyes to the dressing room, but Lexia holds her conniving grin.

  “Lexia!” yells Claribel from behind the door.

  “Yes?” says Lexia innocently.

  “What is wrong with you? Do you not know what I like?”

  Lexia leans against the wall, near the dressing room door, coolly inspecting her little rabbit claws. “I know you very well.”

  A minute later, the dressing room opens, and Claribel stands in the doorway, seething, muscles tight and tail rattling.

  “Then why do I look like a hippie?” says Claribel through gritted teeth.

  And hippie she appears to be, with a long-sleeve peasant blouse, bell bottom jeans with embroidered daisies, a brown and yellow vest made from beads and yarn, and a green and yellow headband with the hippie symbol made from beads at its center.

  “You want to turn a new leaf, right? Well, you gotta dress the part,” says Lexia.

  “I look ridiculous,” says Claribel.

  “You look like you want peace, love, and happiness, and crap like that.”

  “Hippies were not peaceful, lovable, or happy. They were a bunch of violent drug addicts who couldn't keep their pants on. You would fit in a lot better with hippies than I would.”

  Lexia stares at Claribel, her face blank for a moment. Then comes a small frown.

  “You're really busting my balls here, Claribel,” says Lexia.

  “Good.”

  “Do you want new clothes or not?”

  “I do, but-”

  “Then stop complaining and get back in there!”

  Claribel returns to the changing room, grumbling to herself. A couple minutes, she steps out, wearing gray pinstripe slacks, a gray pinstripe jacket, a black blouse, and a gray vest. Claribel tests her arm and leg movements, and Lexia nods her head, rubbing her chin.

  “This is more like it, but I will need a tailor to adjust the size a little bit. There isn't a lot of room to fluidly move in this,” says Claribel.

  “That's because it is for business meetings, not fighting people. Which is what you're trying to get away from, right?” says Lexia.

  Claribel practices punching and kicking with it, nearly hitting Lexia every time, causing the hybrid hare to flinch at every strike.

  “Just because I am trying to get away doesn't mean Mama Bear won't send people after me,” says Claribel.

  “True, but that said, I'm glad you like something out of this,” says Lexia.

  “Yes, I was starting to think this was a bust,” says Claribel. She tugs on the jacket flaps and smiles at Lexia. “So, what's next?”

  A couple minutes later, Claribel stands in front of Lexia, fuming as she is clad in denim overalls, red flannel, and a plaid scarf. Her mood is further soured by Lexia's shoulders buckling and her face scrunched in an attempt to keep her snickering in her mouth. The longer the sound of a sputtering engine pops through Lexia's lips, the more narrowed Claribel's eyes become.

  “Why?” says Claribel heavily.

  “Why hello, Farmer Brown! Lovely day for cropping, yee-haw!” blurts Lexia.

  Claribel's eyelid twitches, and Lexia collapses to the floor, laughing hysterically, going red in the face and eyes watering. Claribel looks around and sees customers staring. She looks down at Lexia, watching her clutch her sides, mouth wide open from howling laugh. So, Claribel stomps on Lexia's face.

  “Aw, damn it! Right on my fricken’ nose!” yells Lexia, clutching her nose.

  A couple minutes later, they are at the checkout, both fuming. Lexia has bloody napkins shoved in her nostrils, Claribel is glaring at her, wearing her tee shirt and pants again, and Mariana Cross is working the register, swiftly scanning each item with the enthusiasm of a corpse.

  Each beep is met with a flick from Lexia's eyes, watching the number go up. A small line of customers stands a few feet away from the pair, and Mariana looks at Lexia after she scans the last item.

  “Would you like to join our membership club?” asks Mariana.

  “No,” says Lexia flatly. “But I would like a receipt.”

  Mariana prints the receipt and slips it into the bag. Then hands the bag to Lexia.

  “Have a good day,” says Mariana.

  “Thanks,” says Lexia. She takes the bag, plucks the receipt out, and turns to Claribel, holding the flimsy paper up to her eyes. “You see this? This is what you owe me. With twenty bucks in interest.”

  “I'll pay you back,” says Claribel sourly.

  “You better. Let's get out of here. You'll need something else to go with your clothes.”

  The pair leave Threads & Trends, and as they walk down the corridor, with Claribel holding the bag, Lexia runs her hands together, eyes scanning the stores.

  “So, we're going to need three more things for you. Sunglasses-” says Lexia.

  “Why?” asks Claribel.

  “Hats.”

  “Mortimer is getting my hat.”

  “And shoes.”

  Claribel looks at her shoes, which are caked in old grime and damaged from all the fighting she has done in Bliss Town. Which has been a lot more than she has ever done anywhere else combined.

  “Yeah, I can use new shoes,” says Claribel.

  “The goal is to make you new. So, to make you new, you need to dress new and get your self-esteem up.” Lexia taps the side of her head, looking at Claribel with a small smile. “Gotta trick yourself to love yourself or else you’ll be stuck in an endless loop of misery leading to suicidal thoughts and actions.”

  “Is that why you make a show of yourself for attention? You’re a stripper with a bazooka because you’re trying to trick yourself into overlooking whatever problems are festering in your mind?” says Claribel.

  Lexia narrows her eyes. “I'm a pole dancer. Not a stripper.”

  “Same thing.”

  Lexia rubs her temples, grinding her molars. “God grief, you’re a rude little shit. You know what? Let's just drop this. My mission cannot have anymore distractions.”

  “Yes. Let's. You said sunglasses were in order?”

  “And hats and shoes.”

  “I don't need a hat. Mortimer is getting my hat.”

  Lexia ignores Claribel. She hums and rubs her chin as she scans the storefronts. Then her eyes lock onto a store across the walkway. Its sign is neon green, spelling: Hank’s Hats. The logo is a top hat with a winking eye and a smile. Lexia’s ears shoot up, she grins, grabs Claribel's arm, and tugs her towards the hat store.

  “Let’s go!” says Lexia.

  “I don't need a hat!” protests Claribel.

  “You will get a hat and you'll like it!”

  The pair burst into the store and Lexia gasps with glee while Claribel's eyes wide and her shoulders go slack. There are shelves from the floor to the ceiling, all filled with hats. Mannequin heads are decorated with a variety of hats, and hooks and other displays show off more hats and hat accessories

  Fedoras by the dozen, their brims overlapping. Berets in neon, mustard, and sickly pastel. Sun hats rimmed with fake fruit and plastic butterflies. Baseball caps, too, each with a logo for some Bliss Town business, half of which Claribel recognizes from late-night commercials.

  But center stage, under a spotlight that makes the black felt almost luminous, are three Stetsons with different colored bands. The left: brown. The right: red. The center: orange.

  The moment Claribel’s eyes hit the Stetson display, her whole body locks up tight, like a pulled wire. She stands there, clutching the bag, mouth open, lips trembling like and red eyes welling with tears. Then the tears come, fast and hot, streaming down her cheeks and pooling under her jaw. Then she wails.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “MY HAAAAAAT!”

  Claribel drops to her knees, head tilted back to the tiled ceiling, her sobs of despair echoing in the store, uncaring of the odd looks customers and the two employees are giving her.

  Lexia freezes. Eyes wide, ears stiff, and nose and whiskers twitching. For a full three seconds, she cannot process what just happened. Then comes the panic.

  “No! No! Nononononono! No crying! No crying!” says Lexia as she yanks a fedora off a display and jams it on Claribel's head. She then sharply turns Claribel's head so the snake can see the neon purple fedora, its yellow and brown checkerboard band, and Lexia's anxious smile. “See? A nice pretty hat to cover your beautiful hair and scaly face!”

  “It's not my hat!” sobs Claribel

  Lexia cringes, throws off the fedora and plants a beret on Claribel's head. It flops sideways, nearly covering her left eye.

  “How about this one? Très chic! You could be… uh… you could be Karen San Pablamo in this!” says Lexia.

  “It's Carmen San Poblano and she wears a wide brimmed green fedora hat!” wails Claribel.

  “Fine!”

  Lexia yanks off the beret and shoves a white sunhat on Claribel's head, covering her hair, face and shoulders.

  “You are now Lady Claribel!” says Lexia

  Claribel releases another wail. Louder. More grating. Mall shoppers outside the door stop to look in and Lexia's eye and vein throbs. She throws the sunhat away, grabs the Stetsons from the display, and stacks all three of them on Claribel.

  “There! You get all the Stetsons now! Happy?” says Lexia.

  Claribel pulls the Stetsons off her head, sniffling and whimpering as her fingers trace the brims, her shoulders bucking sharply with every sniff.

  Shoppers murmur to themselves, and one of the clerks shuffles forward, teeth clenched to a nervous seethe and his finger raised.

  “Uh… Hi… Yeah, um, is everything okay here?” asks the worker.

  “No,” whines Claribel. “My hat was lost in a fire after I was violated by a tentacle monster and Lexia is trying to replace my hat, but my hat was the last thing my parents gave me before they were gunned down in our home on my birthday. She wants to replace my last anchor of them with a cheap hat made from a foreign sweatshop.”

  The shoppers and clerks look at Lexia, and she gasps a high-pitched noise, looking between them and Claribel, palms out.

  “What? No… I… Her boyfriend asked me to! I've been framed! He didn't tell me your hat's origin story!” says Lexia.

  “Shame on you for tormenting this ugly thing,” says an elderly male rabbit, patting Claribel's head with an extendable toy grabber claw.

  “Hey! I was also violated by a tentacle monster, and my mom was taken by rams to a weird rehab place! I'm all alone, too. Where's my sympathy?” says Lexia.

  “Oh sure, you were also violated by a tentacle monster. I'm sure that totally happened and you aren't trying to one up this poor, ugly, disgusting thing,” says the old man with the grabber toy, using it to pet Claribel's shoulder.

  Claribel sniffles again, and Lexia stammers, unable to formulate proper words at the moment.

  “Hey, wait a minute. Aren’t you Tempest Blaze, the stripper at Stella’s Strip House?” asks a young rabbit who has to be no older than sixteen.

  The world freezes for a second. Everyone in the hat store stares at Lexia, and her ears stiffen, her mouth clamps shut and her brown eyes widen. When the shock wears off, her eyes narrow, her ears flatten, and she points at the teenager, who needs to lay off the candy and hit the treadmill.

  “Okay, two things. First off, I’m a pole dancer. Not a stripper. Second off, you kids really need to stay away from Stella’s,” says Lexia.

  The young rabbit pumps a fist. “I knew it! My friend saw you do the cage dancing and then got a lap dance from you!”

  “Okay, what the hell!” snaps Lexia.

  “You gave a teenager a lap dance?” says the clerk behind the counter.

  “No!” whines Lexia. “Kid, how old is your friend?”

  “She’s twenty-one. She buys me beer, and I let her use our hot tub when she brings her sorority friends over,” says the pudgy teenager.

  Now the crowd is looking at the teenager.

  “I have so many questions right now,” says the old man.

  Claribel sniffles and wipes her nose, focused on Lexia. “I didn’t think you swung that way… but… I’m honestly not surprised now that I look at you. You’re butch. That’s basically a lesbo calling card.”

  “I’m not a lesbo! Money is money, and you know what costs money?” Lexia yanks the Stetsons away from Claribel and slams them on the checkout counter. “Hats! And I’m buying these hats for you so you can pay me back with twenty bucks interest!”

  Lexia points at the clerk behind the counter.

  “Ring me up, Scotty!”

  “It’s… it’s Daryl,” says the clerk.

  “Just ring me up.”

  A couple of minutes later, Lexia and Claribel exit the shop, and the group of customers and employees keep the teenager trapped inside while mall security is called. As the security guard, a badger, goes inside Hank’s Hats, Lexia squares up, plants her fists on her hips and takes a long, deep, breath.

  “Alright, so now that the hats are done, after a very unexpected turn of events, we can now move onto sunglasses and shoes,” says Lexia. She turns and smiles at Claribel. “You ready?”

  Claribel stares back, her eyes still wet and red, but now all three Stetsons are stacked on her head and her tail rattles.

  “I want to go back to my hotel room,” says Claribel.

  “No can do. Mortimer tasked me with getting you clothes, and I’m going to do it,” says Lexia.

  She grabs Claribel’s wrist and drags her across the mall’s corridor. Claribel stumbles, nearly eating tile, but Lexia never lets her fall.

  Soon Lexia spots Slade’s Shades of Cool. Its lot has a large pair of sunglasses painted on the window, and behind it are displays of sunglasses, sunglasses accessories, repair kits, and cleaning kits. Lexia drags Claribel through the crowd and nearly throws her through the shop’s doorway.

  “Here we are! Sunglasses galore!” says Lexia proudly.

  The vendor, a bored male rabbit stares at them with tired eyes.

  “Great… Customers. Welcome to-”

  “Silence!” barks Lexia, her hand held to his face. “We are here for sunglasses.”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  Lexia goes to the nearest display and starts testing sunglasses on Claribel.

  First comes pink aviators. They slide off instantly. Their curved bridge doing nothing against Claribel's blocky snout.

  Second is a wraparound sports frame. They also slide off.

  “Come on, work with me,” says Lexia, grabbing a pair of huge, white, circular lenses that would cover most of a normal rabbit’s face. But against Claribel’s head, they sit awkward and lopsided.

  Claribel doesn’t react. She just stares forward, sniffling. “This isn't working.”

  “It'll work. We just need to find something… snaky,” says Lexia.

  Claribel arches a brow and the vendor clears his throat.

  “Yeah, I'm going to be the bearer of bad news here. We don't have sunglasses for snakes,” he says.

  Lexia sharply turns to him while Claribel returns the ugly sunglasses.

  “What's that supposed to mean?” says Lexia.

  “It means we don't have products for snakes. Not only is the global snake population small, but Slade's Shades doesn't like snakes in general,” says the vendor

  Lexia gasps. “Are you saying snakes aren’t cool? Is that what you’re calling her? Not cool? You’re a bunch of racists!”

  “No, it’s specists. That's a whole different ballgame compared to lightweight racists.”

  Lexia stares at the clerk, mouth opening and closing, and fingers curling and uncurling as she thinks of a rebuttal. Then she gets it.

  “You know what? You’re gay. C’mon, Claribel,” says Lexia.

  She grabs Claribel and pulls her out of the store. The clerk shrugs and goes back to his counter, and Lexia drags Claribel through the mall again.

  Claribel’s tail scrapes against the thin tiled carpet as Lexia power-walks her through the Bliss Town Mall. The three Stetsons stacked on Claribel's head are secured in place, and she is clutching the bag of clothes tightly with one hand. Her eyes are still burning from her crying at the bat store, but her sniffling is gone, suppressed by the small hope that Mortimer will find her hat.

  “Where are we even going?” asks Claribel.

  “Shoes. You need shoes. So, I am going to get you shoes. Then Jayson will be envious of my effectiveness,” says Lexia.

  Claribel groans, and Lexia drags her to a storefront with rainbow-pink block letters plastered above: Fanny’s Footwear.

  The entrance is covered in more neon. There’s a huge cardboard cutout of a rabbit in a miniskirt and heels making a smolder face, and the background is a swirling gray gradient with splashes of neon colors.

  Lexia stops in front of the store and hooks her arm around Claribel's neck, tugging the snake next to her, putting their bodies together and grinning from large ear to large ear.

  “Behold, the final place of your metamorphosis. The place where your feet will be covered in sexy footwear. The place where I will make your feet great again,” says Lexia.

  Claribel blinks, and Lexia pulls her inside. Once passed the doors, she takes a long, deep inhale, and an extended exhale, smiling the whole time, while Claribel looks around flicking her tongue in the air and grimacing at the taste of shoe polish, yucky feet smell, deodorizer, and pine air freshener.

  Inside, the lighting is muted yellow and white, every shelf is packed with a wide variety of shoes, sandals, slippers, and boots. The floors are carpeted tile with colorful dots, and there’s pop music pounding out of the ceiling speakers.

  Lexia parks Claribel before a wall taken up by a framed poster of the smoldered look model stretching her shoe covered foot to the viewer. Lexia grabs a foot-measuring device and points at Claribel’s battered shoes.

  “Take them off,” orders Lexia.

  Claribel obeys and Lexia measures her feet, making mental notes of their size. Then she leaves and returns a few minutes later with a stack of shoe boxes.

  “Okay, you need at least three pairs of shoes. One for day-to-day, casual, shmashual stuff. One for dates. And one for hard labor,” says Lexia.

  Lexia drops the boxes next to Claribel and plucks off the top box.

  “First up. Labor.” Lexia opens the box lid and shows Claribel steel toed boots, colored brown and black. “Tada!”

  Claribel takes the boot, inspects it, and slips it on. Then she walks back and forth, up and down the aisle, while Lexia watches with a broad smile.

  “Well?” says Lexia.

  “It's heavy,” replies Claribel.

  “And…?”

  “It's… okay… I guess…?”

  “Good! Next pair!”

  Claribel puts the boot back in the box, and Lexia gives her the dating shoes. They are black, polished, and have buckled straps. Claribel puts one on and does the same test.

  “Good or bad?” asks Lexia.

  “It's fine," says Claribel.

  “Good enough! Last pair.”

  Claribel returns the shoe to its box, and Lexia shoves the casual shoe box in her arms. Claribel opens the box and sees bulky red shoes with white soles, white cloth cuffs, and white bands with straps that have gold-ringed buckles.

  Claribel stares at it.

  Lexia stares at Claribel.

  Claribel looks at Lexia

  Lexia looks at Claribel.

  Claribel holds up the shoe, frowning.

  Lexia clamps her hands in front of her chin, her smile widening.

  “Well~” says Lexia.

  “This is ugly,” says Claribel flatly.

  “Really? I think it looks marvelous.”

  “Okay, now I know you picked this ugly thing on purpose.”

  “What proof do you have of such accusations?”

  “Because you never said ‘marvelous’ before and now you're talking weird.”

  “Really? I dare say that is odd, but there is a little something you are forgetting.” Lexia leans forward and speaks softly in Claribel's ear. “I'm buying this for you because you can't afford anything. I own your feet until you have money to pay me back and buy your own shoes. So, try them on.”

  Lexia pulls away, her smile toothless, eyes half lidded, and her hands clamped in front of her. Claribel groans and slips on the ugly shoe, which turns out to be surprisingly comfortable, and when she walks, it is like walking on a cloud. But any signs of comfort she has, she quickly hides with a sneer.

  “Good enough. Just buy the shoes so we can get out of here,” says Claribel.

  “Good call,” says Lexia.

  A few minutes later, the pair exit Fanny's Footwear. Claribel is wearing the surprisingly comfortable and yet hideous red and white shoes, and Lexia tosses the old shoes in a trash can. Claribel is about to leave the empty shoebox by the trash, but Lexia snatches it off the ground and holds it tight against her.

  “Save the shoe boxes for Derrick. He can use them to make dioramas,” says Lexia.

  “Derrick makes dioramas?” asks Claribel.

  “Well, I haven't seen any. But he paints little figurines for Battlehammer 401k. So, maybe he can make dioramas with them.”

  Claribel nods and the two continue walking for another couple of minutes. This walking comes to an abrupt stop when Claribel sees the sign for Toby’s Tech Temple, lit up with neon lights and digital shaped letters.

  Lexia walks a few more steps until she realizes that Claribel is locked on the store, taking in all the advertisements for computers, computer accessories, programs, and games. She can practically hear Claribel's heart racing and sees the tremors in her reptilian hands.

  “No,” says Lexia.

  Claribel darts forward, holding the bags tightly, and Lexia speedwalks after her.

  “No, Claribel! Bad snake! Heel!” shouts Lexia.

  Claribel ignores her. She goes right to a life-sized cardboard cutout of the Block World, white mouse mascot dressed in red hybrid suit of a miner and safari goer, a safari hat, armed with a pickaxe, and pointing past the observer. This is Steven O’Blockowskiwitz the Third, Junior.

  Next to it, a cardboard display of “Steven’s Survival Streaming Set,” complete with headphones, microphone, and an LED keyboard with green, yellow, red, and white lights.

  Claribel barrels through the Tech Temple’s doorway, and Lexia runs after her, mentally preparing for a humiliating disaster.

  Inside are rows and rows of computers, computer accessories, games, program CDs, and streaming sets. But Claribel is focused on Steven’s Survival Streaming Set display, where all the dummy equipment is set up for show and all the boxes are bundled together in value packs with big, yellow stickers

  Claribel stops in front of the display and snatches one of the bundles, turning around right as Lexia skids to a stop in front of her.

  “No! Drop it!” order Lexia.

  “Pleeeeeze!” begs Claribel, eyes wide and shimmering with pathetic, begging tears of desperation.

  “No. You need a computer for one of those things, anyway.”

  Claribel points to a nearby gaming computer with a curved screen and illuminated power unit, and Lexia balls at the price.

  “Absolutely not,” says Lexia.

  “But I need these things,” says Claribel.

  “I’m not buying you a computer or streaming set. My task was to buy you clothes and shoes. That's it! Besides, you're living in a hotel. Where are you going to put it?”

  “Lexia, please! If I don’t have a computer, how am I supposed to do my Block World and other gaming streams?”

  “Streaming?”

  Claribel nods.

  “Since. When do you stream?” asks Lexia sharply.

  “Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, seven PM far eastern time,” recites Claribel.

  Lexia stares at Claribel, and her eyes slowly narrow as her ears gradually lower. “You mean to tell me, that Mama Bear gave you those days off so you could stream?”

  Claribel nods. “I had to donate ten percent of my revenue to her. But we ironed out the details and terms with the union.”

  “Fixers have a union!?”

  Claribel slams her hand over Lexia's mouth and shushes her.

  “It's not a ‘fixers union’. It is the International Association of Organized Crime Enforcers. The IAOCE. And I'm in as much trouble with them as I am with Mama Bear because ten percent of my streaming was also supposed to go to them as dues,” says Claribel.

  Lexia shoves Claribel's hand away. “Bullshit. And even if that is legit, what is it, like two bucks a month?”

  “More like two thousand bucks a month for Mama Bear and the IAOCE. Totaling to four thousand for both of them before taxes,” says Claribel.

  “What?”

  “Yeah… I'm Ms. Fritz Bee, and I was very valuable until you burned my safe house down.”

  Lexia's eyes dim and the world becomes muted around her as she stares at Claribel. “Lies and deceit.”

  “Nope. All true,” says Claribel.

  “Prove it.”

  “Close your eyes and turn around.”

  Lexia hesitates, but does it anyway, and Claribel clears her throat.

  “Good afternoon, everyone. I'm Ms. Fritz Bee, and today we're going to be building a place we can call home,” says Claribel, with that slight South Welsh accent that has now become glaringly apparent for Lexia.

  Lexia snaps around, eyes wide and burning, and her hands latching onto Claribel's shirt. “You scaly prick! It is you! And you tried killing me! I'm your biggest fan and you shot at me, bit me twice, tried to stab me, and kidnapped my mom!”

  Lexia tugs Claribel close so they are muzzle to snout, uncaring of the concerned looks from customers and employees.

  “I watched your show a lot! Nearly every episode! And this is how you repay me?” says Lexia.

  Claribel is about to retort when a nearby group of four college rabbits, all in polos and sandals, slide over, drawn by the spectacle.

  One speaks up, grinning nervously. “I don’t mean to butt into your dispute, but are you…?”

  Claribel deadpans, “Yes, I am Ms. Fritz Bee. In the scales. Or, whatever. I’m not a rabbit.”

  The rabbits all gasp. One punches his friend’s gut, making him keel over, wheezing and coughing.

  “Dude, I called it! I said she was probably a snake! Now you owe me twenty bucks,” he says.

  “You should help Ms. Fritz Bee get her computer stuff back. With a webcam,” says another college rabbit.

  “No webcams,” says Claribel sharply, still close to Lexia and held in the hybrid’s grip.

  “Why not?”

  Claribel waves to herself.

  “Oh, yeah. Snakes and shit,” he says.

  “I’m not buying you a computer and streaming set,” says Lexia.

  “Then you won’t see Ms. Fritz Bee content for a long time,” says Claribel.

  Lexia shakes her. “YOU HAVE NOWHERE TO PUT IT, YOU WALKING PURSE TUBE!”

  The yelling leaves Claribel’s ears ringing, and her eyes rolling and vision spinning, and she grabs Lexia’s wrists for support. She hiccups and burps from the nauseous feeling bubbling inside her, and groggily says, “Can’t I store it in your place?”

  Lexia sighs heavily and points at the college rabbits. “Excuse us a moment. Don’t follow us.”

  Lexia drags Claribel to the edge of the store and slams her against the wall, one hand gripping her throat, just below her jaw, and the other against her shoulder. Claribel’s tail rattles, and the two glare daggers into each other.

  “No,” says Lexia firmly. “You cannot store your computer stuff at my place. Absolutely not.”

  “Why not?” asks Claribel, her voice a near hissing whisper. “You said you watched nearly every episode. If you’re that devoted to Ms. Fritz Bee then why can’t I keep my stuff at your place until I’m back on my feet?”

  Lexia’s lips peel back, teeth bared. She leans in, their noses almost touching, her voice a steely whisper. “First off, it’ll be my stuff until you pay me back because I’d be the one buying it. Secondly, my burrow is in a really weird spot that is stupid hard to get to. So hard in fact, I’m the only one who can get to it, so if you put your stuff in there, then you’d have to move in with me so you can actually use it, and then I’d have to drag you in and out whenever you wanted to go in or out. I’d do that for my mom, but you aren’t my mom. You’re an enemy with a truce agreement.”

  Claribel hisses, her expression stormy, body coiled and vibrating with frustration. She spits back, “That’s bullshit. You just don’t want to be responsible for my things. I get it. But don’t give me that crap of ‘too hard to get to’ as if you live in an alternate dimension that can only be accessed through wizard powers. That’s stupid. Just say your landlord wouldn’t let you have a roommate.”

  Lexia’s fingers twitch. She looks away, nostrils flaring, jaw tight. For a second, it’s all grinding silence except the pop of cheap mall speakers and their sharp, ragged breaths.

  “I’ll pay a storage fee for it. Ten bucks a week. You don’t even have to look at it and just let me in when I do my streaming and let me out the next morning. The landlord can’t say anything if the stays are not consecutive.”

  Lexia blinks. “Ten bucks a week?”

  Claribel nods.

  “On top of all that you’ll owe me with interest on the stuff I am buying for you?” adds Lexia.

  Claribel nods again.

  “How are you going to pay for all of it?” says Lexia.

  “I’ll get a job somewhere and pay it off piecemeal,” says Claribel.

  “You do realize that I’m paying a lot of money for your clothes. Adding computers and stuff will jump you up by the thousands, and you’re still offering to pay me ten bucks a week for storage.”

  “I’ll manage.”

  “Promise?”

  “Super promise.”

  “NOW KISS!” blurts one of the college rabbits nearby.

  “YOU DICK!” snaps Lexia, slugging him right in the gut. As he drops to the ground, coughing and heaving, Lexia jabs at his head. “What did I tell you? Huh? What did I tell you!?”

  “Worth it~” groans the rabbit.

  Lexia pulls Claribel away from the wall, leaving the college rabbits alone with their downed friend.

  “Come on, let’s buy this thing,” says Lexia.

  “These things, you mean,” corrects Claribel.

  “Whatever,” grumbles Lexia, dragging Claribel to the gaming computers. “I hope Jayson is having less fun than I am with this stupid day.”