Dogs Chase Squirrels 1 - High Hopes

It was another spectacular night on the stage.  Everyone’s eyes were on her, and she couldn’t get enough of it.

Of course, she was just one part of an elaborate puzzle, but that didn’t make those looks any less enticing.  

She could make out plenty of familiar faces underneath the dimmed bar lights, and even more than a few new ones. She knew many of them were here to see Accent, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t get the crowd warmed up first.  Preparation for the main course was just as important, after all.

The squirrel woman’s fingers danced across her Roland with dexterous ease, never tiring of the beautiful sound it produced.  It cost her a pretty penny, but damn, did the results speak for themselves.  She glanced over at her band mates, smiling from ear to ear as she played.  She had taken up the habit of standing during her performances, moving her body to the rhythm, all while never losing the tempo.  The percussion picked up the pace, her fingers moving that much faster as the song revved up towards its climax.  She could feel her heart racing -- they were just getting to the best part.

Before she knew it, the performance was over; the lights brightened overhead, followed by a surprisingly raucous applause, which brought a smile and a bit of a blush to her cheeks.  She admitted to a bit of bias -- she was the song’s namesake -- but she couldn’t help but feel proud of the show she put on.  And judging by the looks on her band mates’ faces, she knew they felt the same way.

She watched as the bass player, a portly tabby cat, took the mic in hand to address the crowd.  “Thank you for coming out tonight!” he proclaimed with just the hint of a hiss to his voice, a natural habit of his.  “That was Irene, our newest single!  We wanted to work out a few...kinks before we released it to the world, if you know what I mean.”  The tabby gave the audience a wry smile, to which he received a muted response, gaining only a few pity claps.  The aging crow at the drum set groaned quietly, rolling his eyes.  Irene was tempted to do the same.

Realizing his joke landed with all the effectiveness of wet cement, the tabby cleared his throat, returning to his spiel.  “A-anyway, that’s our set for tonight!  But don’t leave just yet -- after intermission, the one and only Accent will be taking center stage and will be your entertainment for the rest of the night.  We’re Revelation, and we hope you have a wonderful evening!”  Another round of applause followed as the band took its bow, the electricity of the moment still dancing in the air.

The tabby then turned to face the band, still smiling, although with an air of disapproval that never quite seemed to go away.  “Good show, everyone,” he started, before pointing at the guitarist, a jackal in his late twenties.  “Seymour, you’re still missing your cues.  Be sure to practice this weekend, alright?”

Seymour shook his head, letting out a sigh as he ran his fingers through his jet-black hair.  “Yes, Dad.”

The crow had begun taking apart his drum set, chuckling at the tabby.  “Funny how being debt-free can change a man.  Wish I knew how that felt.”

The feline gave the crow a smug grin.  “Just gotta take things one step at a time, Benson.”

Benson let out another chuckle.  “Whatever you say, Frank.”

Recalling the cause for Frank’s sense of satisfaction brought out an unpleasant memory back to Irene, making her grimace.  That night in June was still fresh in her mind, even three months later.  She had felt invincible that night, but time had given her plenty of opportunity to reflect on her actions.  She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.  Tonight wasn’t the night to dwell on it.  They had just put on a hell of a show, and she was going to celebrate.

Most of the crowd had shuffled their way to the entrance, some to get a quick cigarette break, others to get another round of drinks at the small bar next to the door.  Those that remained stayed in their seats, continuing to nurse their libations as they made idle conversation with one another.  The squirrel noticed a few unfamiliar faces that had taken a seat against a wall booth -- a she-wolf with a rough expression, wearing a red jacket and a black shirt that seemed just a tad too small for her tall figure, embracing a small albino rat woman, wearing a frilly black jacket. She leaned against the wolf, smiling from ear to ear as her partner tried to hide her own reddening ears.  The sight made Irene smile, especially if she played a small role in bringing the two of them together.

A Labrador approached the stage as Irene looked on, the canine adjusting her square frame glasses.  The weather had grown unusually cold as of late, so the canine dressed accordingly, wearing a beige cardigan over a black blouse, accompanied by a long, dark blue skirt that went down to her ankles.  Oddly enough, she chose to wear a pair of small slip-on shoes in favor of something more appropriate for the frigid air outside.  And of course, there was her hair -- shoulder-length blonde locks whose tips ended in a fiery shade of pink, which complimented her dark yellow fur, its sheen not too dissimilar to gold.  Irene could feel her chest flutter.

Oh, goodness.  She’s pretty.

Irene could feel a grin spreading across her muzzle as Frank and Seymour approached the canine, both eager to get her attention.  Despite her cordial responses, Irene saw the discomfort crossing the Labrador’s face as she made small talk with the pair, her hazel eyes darting in the squirrel’s direction.  

Oh boy, those two are at it again.  Guess I better bail her out.

The squirrel stepped in between the two men, her bushy tail brushing up against the jackal’s body, much to his own muted delight.  

“Thank you so much for the compliments!” Irene said joyously.  “I hope it’s not too selfish to admit I was a part of the inspiration for that last song.”

The canine’s body language seemed to relax as she looked up at the taller woman.  “Not at all!  I can see why it turned out so well if that’s the case!”

Oh my.  Cute, and a flatterer to boot.  “Oh, you’re definitely a keeper.”

The Labrador giggled, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.  Irene couldn’t quite put a finger on her way of speaking -- there was an eloquence to it, but her accent was like nothing she had heard before, as if she acquired several dialects and made them her own.  Unusual, but certainly not unpleasant.  

The Labrador glanced down at her watch, her eyes going wide as she noticed the time.

“Oh, shoot,” she exclaimed.  “I wish I could stay, but I have an early shift at work tomorrow, not to mention a long drive ahead of me.”

Irene felt a twinge of sadness at the Labrador’s words.  Brief as their talk was, she had already grown quite fond of the petite woman’s company.  “That’s too bad.  Hopefully you can stay longer next time!  We’ve been getting more stage time as of late, so we’d love to see you back in the audience!”  She cordially offered her hand to the canine.  “Goes without saying, but the name’s Irene.  Irene Connelly.  Pleased to meet you, Miss --”

“Camelia.  Just Camelia, if you please.”  The Labrador took the squirrel’s hand in her own.  Irene’s eyes went wide as an unusual sensation filled her arm, not too dissimilar to that of a jolt of static electricity, except the sensation lingered, leaving an oddly pleasant warmth behind.  She had only felt this sensation a few times, but instinctively, she knew what that sensation meant.

Camelia was just like her.

The canine’s smile never wavered.  She canted her head to one side as she kept her contact with Irene, her face reddening slightly.

“Well, now,” Irene whispered quietly.  Eventually, Camelia released her grip on Irene’s hand, continuing on as if nothing had happened.

“It was wonderful meeting you all.  I’ll try to stop by next week so I can see you again!”  With a cordial wave, she made her way towards the entrance, leaving Irene starstruck, staring at her own hand with a wide, unabashed smile.  She managed to pry herself away from that moment, turning her head towards the door, only to notice Camelia had stopped, looking at Irene over her shoulder.  She gave Irene a playful wink before finally making her way outside; an act that nearly made the squirrel swoon.  

Okay, she did swoon.  Who wouldn’t have?

Seymour glanced at the door, then back at Irene.  “Uh, what was that about?”

Irene looked over at the jackal, giving him a smile as she tipped the brim of her field hat in his direction.  “Oh, nothing you need to fret over, Sy.  Just...big girl stuff.”

The jackal blinked.  “Big girl stuff?  What does that --”  In that instant, the jackal’s face went red, his ears coloring.  He was fully aware of what that meant.  Shooting another glance at the door, then back at Irene, his expression changed to that of concern -- not for himself, but for what big girl stuff implied where Irene was concerned.  “Wait.  She’s...you’re...oh no.  No, please tell me you’re not --”

Irene silenced the jackal’s concerns with a soft peck on his cheek, giggling quietly.  “Take care of my keyboard, sweetie.  And don’t wait up.”  She watched as the jackal’s lips curled back into a flustered grin, nodding once.  He knew how the jackal felt about her talent, but it was always fun to make him blush.  Straightening up to her full height, she made her way toward the door and outside, her bushy tail the last thing to leave the bar.

The frigid night air hit her the moment she stepped outside, making said tail bristle as she took in a sharp breath.  “Holy shit, it’s cold,” she exclaimed out loud, her body shivering slightly.  Despite wearing her long-sleeved shirt, she still felt a sharp chill creeping throughout her body.  Suffering aside, there was no way she could let that canine go -- not after that.  A name wasn’t nearly enough.  She had to know more.

Walking past the crowd of people hovering outside, Irene made her way through the walkways on the third floor of the Pavilions, looking around for any sign of Camelia, only to find nothing.  There was no way she could have left that fast, was there?  Eager to give chase, Irene made her way towards the escalator, her boots clicking against the metal steps as she made her way downstairs to the second floor, and then the first.  As she made her way to the sidewalk, she looked around for the golden canine among the growing crowd of shoppers.  Try as she did, there was no sight of her.  Camelia was long gone, as if she were just a figment of the squirrel’s imagination.  But she had to be real.  The tingling in her arm proved as much.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”  Irene placed her hands in her pockets, attempting to warm up her fingers as she felt a tinge of disappointment.  Looking back up at the neon pink sign of Jazz At Night, the squirrel let out a tired sigh.  

Figures.  I meet an incredibly pretty woman -- and a shifter at that -- and she leaves before I can get her number.  Terrific. 

The cold snapped Irene out of her stupor, making her shiver violently.  

And now I’m freezing my ass off.  Fantastic.

Accepting defeat, Irene made her way back up the steps towards the bar, mulling over her dissatisfaction.  When she made her way back inside, Seymour had dismantled the keyboard from its stand, looking over his shoulder in confusion.  “Wait.  You’re back already?”

“Don’t look too surprised.”  Irene couldn’t hide the chagrin in her voice as she took the keyboard from Seymour’s hands.  Where the jackal struggled to lift up the instrument, Irene was able to do so with ease.  “She took off before I could get her number.”

Seymour breathed a small sigh a relief, both at the literal weight taken off his shoulder, but also at the realization that Denver wouldn’t find itself Ground Zero for the shenanigans of a gigantic squirrel woman -- along with an equally large Labrador Retriever, assuming she could match Irene in height.  That, however, had its own implications.

“Wait, I’m confused.  How did you know she was...y’know, like you?”  Seymour diverted his attention towards dismantling Irene’s keyboard stand as she took the time to place her instrument into its carrying case.  “She didn’t say anything about that.”

Irene hummed to herself.  “It’s...hard to explain.  It’s only happened to me a few times, but I was able to pick up what it meant pretty quickly.”

“But all you did was shake her hand.”

“And that’s all I needed, really.  Shifters like myself can...sense when the other person is a shifter.”

The jackal blinked.  “Wait, what?  Like...you just touch each other and some kind of weird mind meld happens or something?”

The squirrel chuckled, shaking her head.  “No, no, nothing like that, silly!  I can’t explain the science behind it -- hell, it would make even less sense if I tried.  Just trust me on this one.  I know she’s like me.”

“Huh.”  Seymour looked down at the floor, rubbing the back of his head.  “Well, all the same, sorry she got away from you.”

“Nah, it’s alright.  That’s on me for letting her go.”  Irene shot the jackal a waning look.  “Of course, if I hadn’t intervened, you and Frank would have scared her off.”

The jackal raised his arms, feigning innocence.  “Hey, I would never take advantage of a fan like that.  Especially if this one can grow anywhere half as tall as you can.”  His body shivered at the thought.

Irene pouted, crossing her arms over her large chest.  “Oh, come on, Sy, you don’t have to act like we’re so scary all the time!  How long as it been since I’ve shifted in the bar?  Or threatened to eat Frank?”

“Last week,” Seymour said dryly.  “You threatened to have Frank as an hors d'oeuvre unless he gave you an advance payment for last week’s performance.”

“To buy this!” Irene hoisted up the carrying case with one hand, tapping it with her free hand.  “You knew my old keyboard was giving out, and Frank wouldn’t spring for a new one.  What else was I supposed to do?”

The jackal could feel his head starting to pound.  “I swear you’re going to get us fired one of these days.”

“Oh, but Mr. Turner loves us!  I think he’ll overlook a few...mishaps.”

The jackal made to raise a fuss, but decided better of it.  As much as he adored the squirrel, she had her fair share of quirks that made him question that adoration.  She was right about the scary part -- the fact she could make herself gigantic at the drop of a hat made him incredibly nervous.  Always had, always would.  As beautiful as he found her, she was obliquely (and often not so obliquely) frightening to be around.  That fear won out in the end.

“Hey,” he said at last, not wanting to give that line of thought any more of his energy.  “I’m sure Camelia will come back.  She really enjoyed our show, I can tell.  She might even show up for our Monday show.”

The squirrel smiled, nodding.  “Yeah.  You’re right.  Thanks, Sy.”

The jackal smiled in return.  He knew he’d have to address the terror he felt being around the squirrel.  But not today.  “Anytime, Irene.”

------------------------------

The following week flew past Irene in a flash.  She barely remembered what Frank told her during their weekend practice.  She remembered at least playing for a little while back at her apartment.  She couldn’t stop thinking about how ravishing that Labrador was.

And now here she was, finishing off the last set of the week, and Irene couldn’t get Camelia out of her mind.

Alright, Irene.  This is getting out of hand.  You’ve only known her for 5 minutes and yet here you are, drooling all over her.  Okay, she was cute.  Insanely pretty.  But you need to focus.

Monday’s performance came and went.  Irene’s eyes darted across the bar for any sign of the gold-furred canine, to no avail.  Wednesday’s performance was much of the same.

And now, here she was, nearing the end of the band’s performance on Friday.  A full week, and no sign of Camelia.  Irene put on a smile and a brave face, but it was getting harder to hide her disappointment.

“Thank you, and good night!” exclaimed the tabby as Revelation closed out their week to that same raucous applause.  As always, Frank turned his attention to the rest of the band, directing his attention toward Irene first -- something he tended to avoid doing, knowing that she tended to have a short fuse when it came to critique.

But today, she seemed almost docile to the feline.  That was a first.  “Hey, Irene, you missed your cues more than once tonight.  What’s going on?”

“Oh, sorry, Frank.  Guess my mind was somewhere else.”

Despite how much of a hard-ass he tended to be, Frank was capable of sympathy, rare as it was.  “That’s not like you, you know.  Normally you’re the only one who isn’t making mistakes.”  That underhanded jab earned him sharp looks from Seymour and Benson, which he quickly brushed aside.  “Look, if you’re not feeling it, maybe you should sit next week out.  I’m sure Mr. Turner could find us a stand-in.”

Irene shook her head.  “I’m fine, Frank.  Really.  It’s just one of those off nights.”

“If this was an off night for you, then I’d hate to see what a bad night looks like,” the tabby grumbled.  Just as the crowds began to disperse, an oddly gaunt badger approached the stage, pushing up on the rim of his glasses.  He turned his attention to Irene first, motioning towards her with his hand.

“Ms. Connelly?  Can I see you in my office?  I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh, s-sure,” Irene replied, a little flustered.

The badger nodded, making his way to his office ahead of her.  Not wanting to cause her band mates any alarm, she placed her hand against her chest in dramatic fashion.  “Well, my dear friends, it looks as if my time has come.  I’ll miss you all.”

Seymour let out a snort, trying not to laugh.  “Oh, stop it, Irene, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“I dunno,” Benson said bluntly.  “He actually called you Ms. Connelly.  That can’t mean anything good.”

The squirrel shot the bird a foul look.  “Way to kill the mood.  But you’re probably right.  I should just face the music.”  

With a shrug of her shoulders, the squirrel made her way towards Mr. Turner’s office, closing the door behind her.  The badger sat on the opposite end of an ornate desk, finishing off the last of his paperwork, which he placed atop an ever-increasing pile of papers on the furnishing’s edge.  He waited for her to have a seat before he cleared his throat.

“So, Ms. Connelly, I noticed you aren’t performing up to your usual ability.  Is everything alright?”

Irene shuffled her feet a bit, her eyes on the floor.  It wasn’t like her to feel this awkward.  Normally, it was Mr. Turner who approached her with trepidation.  In fact, most of the staff did.  It wasn’t hard to tell that they were nervous about her tendency to make herself larger on a whim, something she had to rein in as a result of Revelations’s contract.  Not that it ever stopped her.

But tonight, Mr. Turner was clearly acting like the boss he should have been.  She wasn’t quite sure how to handle the shoe being on the other foot.

“Sorry, sir,” she said after a moment of silence.  “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

The badger let out an inquisitive hmmm, tapping a finger on his desk.  “You’ve never given me a reason to doubt your skills, Ms. Connelly.  And to be fair, I’m not concerned that you’re slipping.  But it is my job to offer critique if I feel you’re not performing to your usual standards.”  He folded his arms, putting on his best I’m the boss around here routine.  “I do hope this won’t become a recurring problem.”

“Not at all, sir!  You know me, I’m never down for long!”  Irene did her best to flash Mr. Turner a smile.  That smile may have been a bit too reassuring, as the badger’s face soured, leaning back in his seat, as if trying to keep his distance.  He was all too familiar with what a smile from Irene meant when context was considered.

“Er, r-right,” Mr. Turner responded.  “The audience seemed satisfied, so as far as I’m concerned, you did your job.  Just don’t make this a habit.”

“Right.  Thank you,” Irene said, nodding her head.  She turned around on her heel, prepared to head out, when the badger called out to her.

“Oh, before you go.”  Mr. Turner reached into one of his drawers, pulling out a small, folded note.  He slid it across the desk toward Irene.  “Someone left this for you.”

“Huh?”  Irene walked up to the desk, taking the note in her hand.  “What’s this?”

“One of the staff said a young woman left that note at the front bar this afternoon.”  The front bar usually remained open whenever there wasn’t a performance, usually reserved for businessmen and people wanting a quick drink, but not wanting to take their chances with Coyote Howl a few doors down.  “Normally, we wouldn’t accept such a request, but she seemed quite eager about making sure you got this.  Given our numbers are down this week, the staff didn’t want to turn down a new fan of yours over protocol.”

Irene hmmed, turning the piece of paper over in her hand.  She could detect the faint aroma of lilac wafting off the paper.  “Huh.  Smells nice.  Guess I’m building up a fan base, huh?”

“Perhaps.  I used to get notes like that a lot when I used to perform.  Among other things.”  Mr. Turner couldn’t help but chuckle.  “Alright, that’s enough reminiscing, I have work to do.  We need to get Accent ready to play, so start clearing the stage for them.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Irene said with another unnerving grin, making her way out.  She glanced over the folded note, then back at the still-cluttered stage.  Deciding the note was more deserving of her immediate attention, she opened the note, reading its contents.

Dear Irene,

Sorry I wasn’t able to make it to your performances this week.  Work has been busier than I anticipated, and I just haven’t found the time.  Even now, I barely had enough time to swing by the bar to drop this note off.

Rest assured, I certainly want to see you again, especially after the discovery we made.  How does coffee this weekend sound?  My treat.  Give me a call when you have time!

~Camelia

Irene’s heart skipped a beat.  She had practically written the canine off as a no-show, yet here was the proof Camelia was very much interested in her.  Granted, she was expecting more than just a coffee visit, but at this point, if it meant getting to know Camelia better, Irene was more than eager to take her up on the offer.  Especially if Camelia was buying -- Irene’s new Roland was murder on her wallet.

She reached for her cell phone, dialing Camelia’s number without hesitation, that smile on her face only getting wider as she hit the Call button.