I groggily pad my way into the bathroom, noting that the little mirror medicine compartment thing over the sink is open. I frown, and shut it. I stare into my face, blinking my large, green eyes. I press my ears down against the top of my head, and flap them up and down a few times, stretching them. I wriggling my nose, before sticking a finger in my mouth and pulling up my lips.
I lean back slightly and look over my teeth, the odd but familiar mix of razor-sharp fangs and grinding molars looking pearly white. I let go of my lips and stare at myself in the mirror. I hold out my hand, and run it over my furry face, tracing the orange and black stripes running through my hair like some weird dye job. The white fur around my mouth, nose and eyes. It's all softer than silk, this fur. I hold up my hand again, noting the pattern of the white, orange and black fur. I extend my claws, each rendering my otherwise normal, nimble human fingers deadly weapons.
I flex my hand, my eyes running over my claws. I retract them, and look into the mirror again. I flash a sardonic smile at my reflection.
"What's new, pussycat?"
***
I sigh, and brush the feathers from my pillow. I glare, knowing that it can't reach my "hair", but it makes me feel better anyway.
I flap out my wings, and stretch my arms up in the air with them. I close my eyes, relishing the feeling and the pops of the joints. I lower all four of my appendages, and tilt my head back and forth. I then turn and walk to the window of my bedroom. I open the window, and breathe deeply of the fresh morning air. My nipples harden against the soft silk of my nightgown, and I blush slightly. Still, the air carries with it the promise of wonderful thermals and clear blue skies. I turn from the window, and sigh again.
"Stupid feathers..." I brush them off my bed, white, gold and black fluttering to the floor.
***
"Well everyone, it's time for our group again," the psychologist, Dr. Smith, announces with a soft smile. I shift in the plastic chair, and am relieved that this one has a hole in it so I don't sit on my tail. Dr. Smith turns to me, her blue eyes twinkling in a slightly annoying fashion. She has no right to be so cheerful in the morning...
"So, Andrew, why don't you start off by telling us how your week was?" I turn my head and look at the other members of this chapter of the Hybrids Support Group. Emily Fletcher, looking perfectly angelic even before she acquired her wings and feathery hair. She sits calmly, but with a nervous twitter that's so birdlike I have to remind myself she was like that before her transformation. Next to her sits my brother, Benjamin, his cheap plastic chair creaking warningly under his huge girth. He looks at me with a sneer, his thick brown fur somewhat ruing the effect. It can't be helped, he looks like a huge teddy bear. His meathook-like claws do keep him from being teased. On occasion.
Next to him, Annie Majors stands, twiddling her thumbs. She used to be confined to a wheelchair due to a genetic condition. Now, she's a perfectly normal and healthy teenaged girl with chestnut hair and pretty blue eyes... From the waist up. The media types call her and others who 'mutated' like her centaurs for a reason. Her tail, not quite horse-like but nowhere near human, flicks uncomfortably behind her. Her brown coat is neatly brushed, and she has a red ribbon in her hair.
Edging next to her, sneaking obvious glances, is Dakota Lanyard. He's become a faun, horns and all, with a ruddy red hue of fur to match his hair. Thankfully he's wearing a shirt, over his bare chest. The last time I saw him he was trying to be a "traditionalist". A traditionalist what?
And finally, there's me. Andrew Stewart. Tiger-boy. I prop my large, feline-feet up on an unused chair in the high school classroom we've all decided to meet in and waste a perfectly good Saturday morning.
"I'm swell. The media finally backed off the lawn. I tried roaring at them again but it just brought them back." I shake my head and sigh. "Just because I was the first doesn't make me the main attraction."
"They seem to think you're the first patient," Dr. Smith surmised. I look at her with a mix of incredulity and black humor. Really? I couldn't tell...
"It's not like you caused it, Andrew," Emily speaks up. She shrugs both her shoulders and her wings. "The doctors have concluded that much."