xp_logs | Kevin S. & Sharon

xp_catseye posting in

Kevin gives Sharon some impromptu instruction on non-standard equipment.

Sharon's poker-face was superb. Unfortunately, her tail played her metaphorical cards in front of a mirror. Crowbars had more give.

Louboutin was not a starter brand, but the shoes were a reasonable facsimile She had ensured this would be so by following her careful inspection of Felicia's closet with an equally meticulous trawl of communities devoted to achieving the look without the price tag. She was confident in her research: there were few things more effective than Sharon with a keyboard and a singular purpose.

However, something wasn't working. She had mastered the rudiments of balance with the same grim determination as a gymnast gunning for the Olympics, yet actual grace eluded her. The lesser-used corridor she'd chosen in hopes longer, more authoritative strides would help only gave her knobby human ankles a dozen more opportunities to twist.

Hairline shifting in a way that indicated her human ears were trying to flatten, the girl turned around and started back towards the opposite end of the corridor.

"You walk like you hate the ground." Kevin's voice appeared unexpectedly, his unnatural lack of scent and ability to move casually silent once again catching her off-guard. The only footprint of his presence was a pastrami sandwich he was halfway through. "Knock off Louboutins aren't the best starter choice. The heels are usually flimsy."

Sharon handled the ensuing stumble like any cat: by pretending it hadn't happened.

"To me all shoes are equally unpleasant," she said, tone daring him to call her out on the fact only her tail's counterweight had saved her from falling into a wall. "To begin with the easiest option, this is for cowards."

"The best training is not done on the worst weapons." Kevin atoned, some bit of wisdom from a much earlier part of his life. "This is painful to watch. I didn't want to do this yet, but if you want to learn how to walk in heels properly, follow me." He said, taking the long way back to his room to snag a bottle from the lounge.

Sharon followed, trying her best to project that it wasn't because he'd told her to. They were just two people who happened to be going in the same direction, even if one of them teetered slightly.

"You will teach me to alter the shape of my ankles?"

"If I had that power, I'd be the richest man in the world with a waiting list of women a hundred years long." They reached his room and he waved her inside. "I didn't want to do this yet, but if you're determined this is going to happen, you need the right equipment. Let me know how much those knock-offs cost. I'll send you the money to cover it, but I'm going to burn them."

He found a few packages and brought them out, setting several of them aside before opening one and passing them over to her. "Stuart Weitzmans. It's a better heel to start with than jumping right to Louboutin. Try them on and take a few steps." He said before disappearing into his closet.

Sharon eyed the man as he disappeared into the closet, then settled into a chair to inspect the proffered alternatives.

"They are my size," she observed suspiciously.

"Yes. Are you going to be shocked as to why?" Kevin said, emerging from the closet in a form identical to Sharon. The face and hair were different and he had a different pair of shoes in his hands."There's no point teaching you on a different platform."

"This is a pun?" Grudgingly, the girl slipped on the shoes and stood. "Inconvenient," she noted to cover up the slight wobble, "that your closet must contain so many sizes. To adorn even one form is so time consuming."

"No, I bought these for you." Kevin said. "I knew this would be part of our training so I looked ahead."

Sharon's tail flicked. "This is necessary?" she asked, dubious. "They are shoes only."

"Tell Felicia that shoes are just shoes and see the look you get." Kevin said, taking easy strides in his heels, moving like he'd worn them all his life. "I keep trying to tell you, Sharon, that shapeshifting isn't just your physical form. It's everything, from how you walk, the shoes you wear, the way to choose a glass of wine from a list. Every aspect tells a story, and if you understand it properly, you can manipulate it to tell the story you want them to come away with. That's why I bought shoes specifically for you, because they matter."

Nonplussed, Sharon glanced down at the shoes. Now that she really looked at them she realized the style Kevin had chosen was different in more than just quality. Rather than the pointed toe favored by Felicia, he had selected an almond one more forgiving of her beginner's step and clawed toes; the ball of her foot was no longer uncomfortably crammed into the front when it slid forward. There was also a slender ankle strap. She had assumed it was simply what Kevin happened to have in an appropriate size, but if these had been purchased with her in mind the extra support they offered had surely been intentional.

"Heel is lower," she observed aloud. "Different shape also."

"Yes. This is how you start. I have a proper pair for you once you prove to me you can master these." He moved easily in them, pivoting and cross stepping. "Start with the basics. Back and forth across the room without looking at your feet."

Sharon did as she was told. With this new style her tail was no longer working so hard to correct her balance, but her stride still felt stilted. When she had completed a full circuit from one end of the room to the other she turned to him, disappointed.

"Still it is not correct," she said.

"You keep using your tail for balance. If you can't shift it out, keep it straight for now. Keep walking." Kevin said, so comfortable in his stance like it was bait for her.

"My tail is for both balance and communication, far superior to a human arm. You envy so useful an appendage." Nonetheless, Sharon began to straighten her tail -- then, taking a guess at why he had issued that particular directive, wrapped it around her waist instead. Using its weight as compensation was so natural for her the only way she'd be sure to prevent it would be to prevent its use entirely. She strode again, less certainly this time. The sudden lack forced her to concentrate harder on weight distribution.

"Shapeshifter. All my appendages are extraordinarily useful." Kevin said, walking beside her. "Stop checking your feet. The balance is along your spine; hips, shoulders. Look straight ahead."

"Men often make such claims." Sharon tried to mimic his posture, loosening her spine. "You devote unusual attention to fashion," she remarked as she walked. "For Felicia, is because clothing is both armor and expression. Why is this for you?"

"Fashion is how you become invisible." Kevin said, pausing for a moment on his heels. "The woman I'm mimicking once asked me if I wanted invisible agents. She went on to teach me that with the right clothes, all women can be invisible. She taught me how to use people's prejudices against them. It can be armor. It can be expression. But it can be stealth too."

Sharon, who had paused to readjust an ankle strap with one clawed finger, glanced up with appraising yellow eyes.

"This is logical," she conceded, straightening now without a wobble, "but another question arises. To be invisible, to be always overlooked. Why would you choose this?"

"It's the best thing a spy can be. You either blend in or stand out to the point you're ridiculous and no one suspects you."

Sharon clicked her teeth. "This is evasion. I ask why one would become a spy at all."

"Because you believe in something. Don't get me wrong. Working in intelligence makes everyone the most cynical version of themselves. But if you stick with it, it is because you believe, fully, that what you do - what you sacrifice - is worth it. And it doesn't matter who gets credit for the work you do."

The girl considered this, tail-tip flicking against her hip. Then she nodded.

"This is truth, maybe. But a fundamental difference between us also." Sharon began to walk again, a hint of smugness entering her tone as her steps became surer. "I shall have the credit, always."

"Maybe. But you'd be amazed what you can do when you're not the one known to be doing it." Kevin said, his voice odd coming from the body he was presenting. "And you're not going to be that person galumping around. Grace, Sharon. You should look effortless on those heels."

Sharon scowled. "Show me again," she demanded. "There is some trick. You have changed to distribute your weight differently somehow."

"Without your tail, you're clumsy. It's a crutch for you." Kevin said. "And you're learning the basics. The woman I look like used to walk in a way that accentuated her physical attributes. Felicia slinks when she walks. You're nowhere near that yet."

The scowl deepend. "This is an unattainable metric. No one may walk like Felicia." But a word caught in her mind: slinks. Sharon would often slink when quadrupedal: through underbrush when stalking rabbits, around table legs when stalking ankles. Loose, rolling joints, with each foot carefully placed.

Sharon refused to be bested by either footwear or Kevin Sydney. She tried again, this time putting more sway into her hips and putting more weight on the heel than the toe. This she had to concentrate to do; she spent half her life digitigrade, and with her foot arched in such a way placing the bulk of her weight on the ball was instinctive. In heels, though, it felt more stable.

"Better. You look less like a stork walking around." Kevin said, needling her. "Stop looking down. Look ahead. If you look down again, you don't get to keep those shoes."

"Shoes I tolerate because is socially unacceptable to go without. These I do not need." Annoyingly, however, Sharon found she did want them. For some reason Kevin's assertion he had purchased them specifically for her had engendered an instant sense of proprietorship. Ten minutes ago she had neither known nor cared of their existence. Now Kevin would pry them from her clawed hands.

"So walk away. Waste my time. Or get better." Kevin said. "If you can get better." He shrugged. "Doubtful."

Sharon glared at him for an instant, then tossed her head and walked. Anger helped: not only did the momentum strip the hesitancy from her stride, the proper weight distribution was easier to maintain if she envisioned each step as driving the spike of the heel into a delicate part of Kevin's anatomy.

In honor of Felicia, she even made sure to sway her hips.

"A person's walk is as unique as a fingerprint. You can tell who they are, how they feel, what they intend..." Kevin said. "Imagine being able to add precognitive abilities just on what you hear? Hardy knows that. She changes her walk to make people hear what she wants them to hear. To have an expectation of what they will or will not see from her walk alone."

Sharon's nose wrinkled. "Animals communicate like this always. Through how the body is held, how fast the movement. Is humans who make things complicated. So often the body says one thing and the words another."

"That's the key. Make your body tell them one thing and then-" Kevin nodded. "You have them set up for whatever else you have planned."

Sharon tried to process this possibility. If she wanted something, she took it. If she disliked someone, she bit them. The concept of additional steps between desire and result was not one that came naturally to her.

"Is for this reason you have purchased these shoes for me?" she asked finally.

"No. You're not ready for that training yet. But once you master those, you can have the proper Louboutins I've also bought you. And those you can take to Hardy and ask her to teach you without wasting her time."

Sharon nodded. Frustrating as it was that she had yet to grasp human shapeshifting, Kevin's lessons served as the groundwork for Felicia's masterclass -- as was proper.

She squared her shoulders with rekindled determination.

"I must walk again?"

"A lot more. You have something to prove, Sharon. It starts now."