Limitless Evolution As a Snake

Bridget’s cousin had requested formal dress from a snake he planned to display in a cage, so I arrived wearing the chef’s hat and considered the disagreement settled. A narrow black ribbon sat below my jaw because Bridget had called it handsome, proving I remained vulnerable to organised flattery.

The day between breakfast and the gala had included rest, food and a doctor reminding Lukas that ribs didn’t heal faster when somebody promised to be impressive. Mine still ached when I tightened my coils, but I could move without every turn feeling like a complaint.

[System: You’ve cleaned up well, mate, considering yesterday you looked like a kitchen fire with dating problems. Try keeping the ribbon out of somebody’s teeth until dessert.]

Bridget can remove it if she asks, and you’re going on mute if you provide commentary like it’s the fucking Melbourne Cup. Bridget checked the knot while I hovered beside the hired car, her four wings folding clear of a dark green dress that made arriving on time feel wasteful.

She caught me admiring the dress and made me answer properly, apparently unwilling to accept a visibly distracted snake as a compliment. ”It makes your cousin’s invitation seem like the second best decision anyone has made for my evening,” I said, which earned a smile without requiring me to pretend I knew anything about fashion.

Lukas stood beside the catering entrance with a tray balanced in both hands and his ribs strapped beneath a borrowed jacket. We had agreed he would watch the loading doors, stay off the walls and call if any sealed container moved before the demonstration.

”I’m undercover as a man with stable employment, so please don’t ruin the performance by asking me to pay for anything,” he told me. Bridget gave him a staff meal ticket, and he studied it with the respect most people saved for a royal pardon.

The venue occupied a converted conservatory above the eastern freight roads, with palm trees inside and security fencing outside. Guests could admire the Drop Off’s distant lights while eating food delivered through checkpoints they would never need to visit themselves.

Adrian Sylphid met us beneath a banner promising a safer tomorrow. He had pale hair, four neat wings and a suit expensive enough to deserve its own accountant, and he kissed Bridget’s cheek before looking at me as though she’d brought a surprising handbag.

”Our guest of honour has decided to join us voluntarily, which should make the evening much more pleasant,” he said. I floated high enough to make him speak to my face instead of announcing me to the plants.

”Your advertisement offered money for my delivery, so I assume arriving myself qualifies me for the full amount,” I told him. Bridget asked him to answer carefully because she would enjoy discussing the payment terms in front of his sponsors.

He laughed as though we’d rehearsed the exchange, then called the notice an unfortunate choice of wording by a partner company. The notice remained online, which I pointed out while stealing a prawn from the tray he had been trying to move behind his back.

[System: He’s calling it unfortunate wording while keeping the bloody wording, champ. Ask whether his apology has a monthly subscription before you swallow the prawn.]

I’m eating first, because this feels like the kind of conversation that charges by the minute. Adrian introduced the partner before I could ask whether he intended to remove the notice or merely keep being handsome near it.

Captain Sable Rusk wore a bronze uniform over a broad armoured chest, with a blunt horn above her nose and grey skin visible at her collar. Her Brass Banner militia handled beasts beyond Ami’s eastern boundary, and her rank badge marked her as C+.

She looked at my chef’s hat, then asked whether I had become tame since the warehouse incident. ”Only around people holding snacks, and even then the agreement needs regular review,” I said while Bridget gave her my name with enough care to make the omission deliberate.

Rusk said speaking didn’t make a creature safe, which was irritating because it was true. Bridget answered that dangerous people normally received invitations without being advertised as a capture prize, and Adrian suddenly developed a great interest in introducing another donor.

I could have stayed beside Bridget and let the argument continue, but the covered cage stood behind the stage with my rock glowing inside it. A little plaque already described my unpredictable behaviour, and whoever wrote it had failed to include anything entertaining.

”I’ll join your demonstration if the door stays open and your announcer introduces me properly,” I told Rusk. She agreed so quickly that Old Mate muttered, [System: That’s a bloody enthusiastic yes from somebody who wants to own your transport cage.] She gestured towards the stage without touching me.

[System: Before you crawl into the obvious snake box, check who controls the door. Confidence isn’t a bloody key, no matter what the motivational posters say.]

Lukas can see the controls, Bridget recorded the agreement, and I’d appreciate you keeping the exit advice coming instead of drafting my obituary. That wasn’t the same as safe, but it was more preparation than most of my best evenings received.

Bridget walked beside the stage while Lukas moved behind the lighting desk with a tray nobody had asked him to deliver. I entered through the open cage door, settled above the warm rock and asked the nearest donor whether he wanted a photograph before my rates increased.

The audience laughed, which encouraged Adrian to take the microphone and praise the quality of his company’s containment equipment. Rusk stayed beside the door with one hand resting against its frame, watching whether I looked towards the controls. A waiter collected the glasses along the front row before moving everyone behind a yellow line that hadn’t been there when we’d arrived.

She waited until the announcer described the night’s obedience test, then pressed a concealed switch beneath her palm. The door slammed behind my tail as the applause started, and the floor vents opened around my favourite rock with a noise I recognised from the depot fans.