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This, now, was all right. Warm morning sun, a full stomach, and a good book. If the beach was empty, Cass would probably end up kicking off her legs and just flopping down on the sand without them. As useful as they were, they got a bit uncomfortable.

She stretched, rolled her neck, and gave herself a shake that left her feathers inadvertantly fluffed. Now, she needed a good patch of sand, maybe a bit of driftwood to lean against, and Cassidy would be quite oblivious to the world around her. A little escapism never hurt anyone, right?

Better not have.

Cass looked around, her tongue flickering.

Antony had been surfing since sunrise, in a much better mood after an afternoon with Jamal. She was even pleased to find out that those three tails aided her balance quite well.

Therefore, the tattooed woman was in a lovely mood when she came sauntering out of the water. Seeing an unfamiliar woman just up the beach, Antony veered towards her after scooping up her bag and towel.

Might as well meet people while she was in a good mood right?

Board under arm, she stopped in front of the feathered and scaled and gave a sweeping wave in greeting after dumping her bag on the sand. "Hello," she greeted, shoving her board into the sand so it would stand upright on its own. Towel was now making its way over her body as she dried off. "I'm Antony..."

"I'm Cassidy. Hi." Cass grinned. She clutched her book and wobbled on the sand, and her tongue gave another curious flicker of its own accord.

The tattoos actually caught her attention before before anything else. Absolutely gorgeous, especially the left sleeve. Not her thing, maybe, though she'd always been a bit tempted.

She was staring. Oh, hell. What a way to make a first impression.

Wait. That was rather more than the usual number of tails, wasn't it? That had to have hurt like anything.

Hoping to distract from her brief tattoo fascination, and definitely hoping Antony wouldn't take it badly, Cass said, "You surf?" An obvious question, perhaps. "I always wanted to try that."

"Pleasure," she replied, raising an eyebrow as the woman continued to look at her tattoos, but simply smiling and taking the impressed expression as a compliment.

"Yeah, picked it up back around high school," Antony grinned, rubbing her board fondly in an almost caressing fashion. "It's fun once you get the hang of it. I could teach you..."

Her eyes caught sight of the artificial legs and she immediately trailed off, suddenly very interested in drying off her hair with the towel. "Eh, maybe knee boarding if you're up for it."

Wow, she was in a pleasant mood today.

"Knee boarding might be a little more my speed," Cassidy admitted, with a small laugh.

For now, it might be. Ugh. Don't think about that.

"Forgive me, really, but your tattoos are so nice. I think I might be a little jealous," she added, rather embarrassed. She could see the fur growing up over Antony's shoulders; it seemed an awful shame, after all that work.

She squinted, and ventured the question that most people with tattoos get tired of hearing: "Did it hurt?"

"Thanks, I'm a tattoo artist myself actually," she said with a grin, and it was obvious that this was something she truely loved.

The next question didn't surprise Antony. It was a question she must have answered thousands of times before, along with pricing questions and procedure questions. "It depends on where you get it, the size, and how intricate the design chosen is. For example, if there isn't much 'meat' between the bone and the skin, like your hip or breast bone... it'll hurt more. And then there's pain tolerance and the like. You get the idea."

Antony chuckled softly, rubbing the towel over her short hair once more before slinging the towel over her shoulders.

Cass nodded. "Yeah, I suppose that makes sense."

At least it was a better answer than those people who had told her it didn't hurt, which sounded crazy to her. It was a giant needle, how could it not hurt?

"A tattoo artist? Really! I don't think I could do that, really, even if I had any sort of artistic talent." She grinned bashfully. "I can't imagine myself jabbing needles in people on purpose. I did use to sort of play with the idea of getting a tattoo someday, but I never did."

She didn't think scales would take a tattoo very well, if it came to that.

Antony gave a proud smile, positively beaming that Cass was so interested and excited that she was a tattoo artist. This all together boosted her ego as well as her mood. "Well... I didn't jab my customers..." She smiled as she corrected the snake girl.

"I miss my jobs, can't do either on the island because I don't have the equipment ya know?" Sighing, Antony looked sad about this, but the emotion wasn't visible for long. "If I had everything I needed, then I could ink you, but I won't do it without sterilized equipment."

She had always been a stickler for that.

Cassidy smiled, twisting her fingers around her book. "It'd have to be sterilized, of course." She could recall her mother telling her horror stories about hepatitis when she's learned of her daughter's vague interest in tattoos. "But honestly..."

She looked uneasily down at her forearms. "I don't know how well that would work on me. I've never heard of anyone tattooing scales."

"Me either," she began, frowning thoughtfully while looking the blonde over, "Are you... All scales? Because if you're not then I could tattoo there for sure... That is, considering I could get the equipment and whatnot..." Antony trailed off, chewing on her lip ring while her tails twitched behind her.

"Not... entirely." Cassidy looked away, rather embarassed. "Down my throat, my stomach. That's really it." And lower, but she was not about to start talking about that with Antony.

She hesitated, and said, "Though it might be a waste. I'd hate for you to do that--which would be really great of you, even if I could ever decide on something--and then have... well. Scales grow over it." She grimaced.

"Well, we don't have to worry about it... Because I don't have any of my equipment on the island," she shrugged, glancing down to her pale skin and then up towards the sun. "s**t, I'm going to get burned..."

Her sunscreen had probably washed off during her surfing, and thanks to her transformation, Antony was more prone to burning now. "I best go. It was nice meeting you."

With a smile, the tattooed woman picked up her bag and then surfboard before heading back towards the duplexes for a shower.

Antony had been further down the beach, simply relaxing and smoking a blunt under the shade of some trees. She was too pale to hang out in the sun for too long after her transformation.

But the blunt ran out eventually, so the tattooed woman was soon walking back towards the duplexes. She didn't notice the furry man lounging despite the fact that he wasn't exactly hard to miss.

She was just stoned, and quite cheery about it.

Nothing like a good high to start the day out right.

Turning sharply at the voice, Antony started giggling when she was tripped up by the sand. She had seen him before, but only for a little while. Even in her stupor, she definately remembered the head do hicky with the bird fur things.

Yeah.

She gave him a long sweeping wave that caused her to lean to the side she finished on as she gave him a lopsided grin. "Hullo~ thar stranger."

Wow he was mighty furry... Like a stuffed animal... With feathers...

She, in fact, did have another blunt, as well as her usual pack of cigarettes and lighter.

"Le wunnerful mornin'," Antony purred, tails swaying behind her while they poofed out and then relaxed.

Oh she was so~ happy and oblivious to most everything...

Including her toes, which she couldn't feel anymore.

Regarding his compliment on her tattoos, she simply beamed, sauntering closer to where he was sitting. "Owl 'id 'em... But Owl's not hurr and that means no sex with Owl~." She gave him a pout that was entirely not an expression a sober Antony used when she was sober and being serious.

"No!" She grumped, though not really staying irritable for long, "He's back home 'n married." Antony entirely forgot about Jamal at the moment. Huzzah for weed clouding the mind. "So alas," she said woefully, blinking when she forgot what she was going to say next.

Feeling a bit floaty, the tattooed woman dropped onto the sand next to him, squealing as if she had just gone down some sort of rollercoaster. A really kick a** one too.

Green?

The tree's had green.

OH! Pot!

Antony gave him a cheshire-esque grin before nodding and tapping him in the chest with a clawed finger. "I do~ believe I do~," she drawled, looking absolutely peachy, "But what do ah get for sharin'?"

The look in his eyes gave it all away; it was Antony who had the control of this situation.

After watching him for a moment, the tattooed woman finally grinned wide and then offered the blunt to him. Once he took it, her zippo was procurred and then flicked open quickly so that a flame appeared. She held it out towards him, close enough so that he could simply lean in with the smoke in his mouth and light it.

It was her zippo afterall.

The lighter was put away after they were finished with it, and her now free hand joined the other one trailing along his chest. Her nails made it much easier to comb through the fur, which was surprisingly soft.

"You straight?" She suddenly questioned, eyes widening in a paranoid fashion.

This trade wasn't going to work if the man was a twink.

Her orgasms were in jeopardy!

With his answer, Antony's expression changed from pleasantly confident to one of someone who had just gotten punched in the stomach.

He was GAY?!

Oh no no NO! This blunt was supposed to be traded for sex, not for NOTHING. Her tails began to, for lack of a better word, spasm. Twitching was too calm of a word for what they were doing right now.

Now what was she going to do?!

Panic.

"You're GAY?!" She choked, sounding personally insulted by this information, eyes nearly bulging out of her head. His second question didn't even register in her mind, which felt like dust in a vacuum cleaner roaring on full power.

When Antony finally managed to congeal her thoughts enough to utter something cohesive, it came out in a type of whimper, "But what about my orgasms?"

Those were more addicting than pot.

A large sigh of relief wooshed from her lips as he 'saved her orgasms' and therefore, her day. She let herself relax, the three tails behind her relaxing to swish against his thigh, or what she thought was his thigh.

As he continued talking, a low murr escaped her lips from deep within the squirrel woman's throat, which was only amplified into a shiver when his claw traced her flesh. In her pot induced haze, Antony was absolutely convinced that her orgasms were the only thing important in the world right now.

Nevermind that they were in public, on the beach, and probably being watched by a camera.

This was life or death!

Kinda.

Not really.

"Well," she drawled, her own claws continuing their motions down his stomach, making sure to dole out extra attention to his lower hips. "Then I'd say we have an accord."

Such soft fur too.

The sound of unfamiliar birdsong drifted through the window, eliciting a groggy, incomprehensible growl from the cocoon of sheets on the bed. An arm snaked out and grabbed the alarm clock on the nightstand. "Whuh time izzit?" Apparently the answer the clock gave wasn't pleasing, for it was tossed unceremoniously aside with another half-coherent curse. Chert didn't travel well. It boggled his mind that something as simple as sitting in place for a few hours could wreak such havoc with one's internal cycles. He was muzzy, sore, and definitely not ready to face consciousness, but even burying his head into its customary place under the pillow couldn't help him to fall back to sleep. The rest of the island was waking up, and he seemed destined to join it.

"I surrender," Chert said, flopping clumsily out of the sheets. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment and blinked owlishly at the unfamiliar room, slowly letting the details of last night come back to him. After he and Valentine had hopped into the jeep, Chert had asked to be taken directly to his room. His mood had been rapidly deteriorating ever since he'd stepped foot on the helicopter, and by the end of last night it was either get the hell out of the jeep or hope he would be mercifully smothered under the weight of Val's luggage. Or hope that Val got smothered under Val's luggage. Yeah, that probably would have been more entertaining.

Chert yawned hugely as he shuffled towards the bathroom. A warm, soothing shower sounded absolutely wonderful right about then. He tossed his clothing carelessly onto the floor and hopped into the stall, letting out a contented sigh as the near-scalding water washed all of his travel grime away and began to loosen up his knotted muscles.

A few minutes later, and Chert even felt well enough to sing. Of course, it would probably be classified as "singing" by only the most forgiving and broad-minded people. but what Chert lacked in talent, he made up for in volume.

"I'm a Barbie girl in a Barbie world
life in plastic, it's fantastic
You can brush her hair, undress her everywhere
Imagination, life is your creation

Come on Barbie, lets go party!
Oh, oh, oh!

A small songbird that had been perched on the window sill turned its back on the room and made for the safety of the forest.

Some time later, Chert stepped out of the duplex and made his way into the outside world. His pace was relaxed; there wasn't anywhere he had to be. Which was fortunate, because he hadn't the slightest idea where he was going.

Chert's eyes drifted down from the sky (a different blue from the desert, but still quite pretty), and centered on the source of the unexpected voice.

"Mornin'," he said automatically. "How's it-..."

His voice died in his throat as he realized who he was talking to. The human brain is a creature of habit, and there is nothing quite as uncomfortable as having the wrench of the bizarre and unexpected thrown into its gears. Chert's thoughts ground to a halt before starting up again double-time. What is this? Costume party? New teenage fashion? Practical joke? Skin disorder?

A thousand speculations and questions clamored for space in his head, but all that came out of his mouth was, "W'the ******** hadn't even noticed Colche yet.

Antony, now fed and showered, had just ambled out of her duplex, hair dry and tucked unceremoniously behind her ears. She was surprised to hear voices coming from down below, and her eyes followed the noises curiously. One was easily recognized as Awen, with her blue hair, and the other, near naked and with an unmistakable cheetah tail, had to be Colche.

But who was the obviously male islander with them?

Interest piqued, as it usually was when a male was involved, Antony moved quickly down the stairs to catch up with them. She returned to a normal pace once she hit flat ground, walking towards the three.

She arrived just in time to hear him utter a familiar word for her, but took this as a sign that he was new to the island. Obviously Awen was the first changed person that he met.

"You must be new," she stated bluntly to the man, giving him an appreciative look before turning her attention to the two females, immediately noticing the IV hooked up to Awen. "********, what happened to you?"

Blinking at Awen, Antony turned to force a smile at Colche while waiting for some kind of explanation, "Morning Colche, sorry I left you sleeping... You looked tired."

Chert looked from Awen, to Colche, to Antony, and back again. From their conversation, it was obvious that they knew each other, but he was unsure exactly how they were connected. Circus troupe, his brain insisted desperately. Performers. But there was a strange air about them that undercut the certainty of his mental assertions. The tail of the cat-like woman moved with a grace that mechanics simply couldn't duplicate, as far as Chert was aware. And her legs- was there any way to fake that strange configuration of bone and muscle?

"Yeah. New," he agreed shortly. He wasn't sure he understood Colche's question (it wasn't directed at him, anyway), but Awen's reassurance definitely put him on edge. When people started to tell you things like "stay calm," you sure as hell knew there was something to panic about. His feet started to take him backwards and away from the odd gathering without consulting his brain.

"Not bad," she said to Colche after looking back over to the male. He looked rather not skeezy compared to Billy. For one thing, he seemed to shower on a daily basis, which was a plus.

She glanced towards Awen and nodded, "So you're fresh water?" Well that kind of made sense. Why would Moreau give the islanders the ability to leave the island?

And then Chert started walking backwards.

Antony to the... uh rescue?

"Welcome to the Freak Show," Antony announced to the new male with an amused grin. She had tried being blunt and explaining it to both Zach and Billy and hadn't gotten anywhere, so it was time to have some fun with it. "Have you had your injection yet?"

There was something strange about the way she said the second statement. She obviously wasn't joking, but was definately attempting to put a sarcastic spin to the entire thing.

Chert stiffened at Antony's sarcastic remark, all of his improbable fears from last night returning at once. Injection? The only injection he'd rad recently was the strange immunization Moreau had insisted upon... But he slammed the breaks on that unpleasant train of thought before it could get too far.

"Get bent," Chert snarled. He didn't want any part of the game Antony was playing. 'I don't care what your ******** names are. Stay the hell away from me."

He'd stopped backing up as soon as Antony had managed to raise his ire, although truthfully most of his anger was born from fear and frustration. Things had become so surreal so suddenly that he was unsure if he was dreaming or awake, and either way he was fairly certain he didn't want to hear what the islanders had to say. Awen's words seemed heavy with the promise of imminent disaster, at least as far as Chert's peace of mind was concerned.

She simply smirked lightly at Awen's comment, expression not denying it. Seconds later she raised an eyebrow at how Awen was explaining it to him. Some crock of s**t. He wasn't going to listen to that.

And then he spoke, confirming her thoughts.

"Ohh, fiesty," she grinned briefly before rolling her eyes and turning serious, holding up her arms in a sort of surrender soon after. "I'm not going to give you some 'things will be a-okay' bullshit, because that's not me. So before you go off and through a s**t fit, let me level with you about this island."

Absently, she reached out and grabbed hold of the back of Colche's shirt, nudging the cheetah girl behind herself. She also stepped to the side so that she was somewhat between Awen and this new guy. Antony wasn't about to let Awen or Colche get beaten for her comments.

Once she felt everything was okay, Antony continued, "Moreau's turning everyone into animals via injections, hence me calling it a 'freak show.' No one leaves the island. We're all trapped in one big, twisted experiment."

Antony sighed, all humor and amusement gone from her voice and eyes. Like she said, she was leveling with him, and was making sure to be entirely serious and honest with him.

Antony's mixture of wryness and pragmatism seemed to knock the intensity of Chert's anger down a few notches- at least, until she mentioned Moreau's plans. The man's face froze in an expression of horror and surprise- it would have been so much easier to deny the claim if he hadn't already seen the madman's earlier handiwork. But this was a whole new level of depravity. These people had been human.

Chert stood in place for a few moments, flexing and unflexing his fists uselessly. He stared blanky over Atony's shoulder at the two women talking softly to each other. They had been human, and Moreau had...

The stocky man's face collapsed into a dark and stormy frown, but his demeanor had lost most of its earlier heat. It was as if someone had placed a lid firmly overtop his anger- but that only meant it had time to build up against the pressure. "I've got to talk to someone," he growled, stalking past the little group of islanders.

Yeah, right. "Talk."

"That might be a good idea Awen," she said quietly, keeping her attention on the male in front of them all. Antony didn't think the two could really help if he got violent, and the manta was right, Colche shouldn't see it.

She noticed his fists, and her tails bristled instinctively, red eyes boring into his. She was prepared for the worst.

And then he left.

The tattooed woman didn't try and stop him when he stormed past them, sighing in relief. She was relieved he didn't try and take his wrath out on the three of them, Colche especially.

"You all go on to eat, I already had breakfast," Antony stated to Awen, her tails returning to their usual twitching as she turned to head back towards her duplex. "Bye Awen, Colche." She waved before disappearing up the stairs of her duplex.