(Woman to Porcupine)


“I swear to God, you can be such a prick sometimes!”  Mira glared at Mark, tossing her coat on the ground.  They were back in their loft after the latest show, which had left her positively incensed.

Mark’s eyes narrowed.  “Oh?”

“I understand changing me is part of the act, but why’d you change my brain?  You know I hate that!”  She slumped onto their recliner, pulling a carrot from her sleeve as her cottontail met upholstery.  She chewed on it angrily, glaring at him as she did so.

“Well, I hate it when you don’t wash the dishes.  And...”  He glanced over to the sink meaningfully.

“Really?  Really?  I know you can just magic them clean!”  She mimed using the carrot as a wand.

“Yes, but those are your dishes.”  Mark pointed at them.  “See?  Ranch dressing.  Last time I had a salad, I cleaned up afterwards and I used a bowl.”

Mira leaned forward slightly to look into the kitchen.  Her face fell slightly as she realized he was right.  “Oh.  Well... You could’ve cleaned them anyways.”

Mark sighed.  “It’s not my job to wash up after you.  Besides, if you want them cleaned, then you could’ve just asked.”

Mira glanced guiltily to the ground.  “Sorry.  Would you mind cleaning them?”

Mark sighed, then smiled kindly.  “What’s the magic word?”

“Abracadabra?”  She gave him an innocent look.

“Close enough.”  He sighed again, rolling up his sleeves as he made his way to the counter.

Mira frowned.  “Mark?  I didn’t want you to wash them yourself...”

He looked back with a soft grin.  “I know, but there’s something to be said about doing things the traditional way.  Plus, I need to save the magic to get back at you.”

Her eyes widened.  “For what?”

“Calling me a prick?”  He chuckled, turning on the sink.  For a moment, the only sounds were water sloshing over plates and the squirt of the soap bottle.  “By the way, I’d stand up, if I were you.”

She hurriedly did so, gazing at him suspiciously.  “Why?”

“Because.”  He ran a sudsy hand along the curves of a bowl.

Mira jumped at the feeling of someone stroking her back.  The hairs on the back of her neck started to stand on end.  They were joined by a faint prickling sensation across her back, as though something there was standing on end, too.

She looked at the kitchen.  “Mark?  What’re you doing?”

“Washing dishes?”  Mark played dumb with a smile, tapping a pan with their prickly dish brush.

Mira gasped as her back arched, countless quills forcing their way through her back.  She didn’t feel anything more than a brief stinging, but her stage top drew tightly around her chest as the spines stretched it taut, then forced their way through.

Mark continued to scrub, whistling a jaunty tune.  He applied a little soap to the front of the pan, scraping off some old grease.

Mira’s chest itched, and she scratched at it madly, whimpering as a coat of fur spread its way from under her breasts across the rest of her body, until she was clad head to toe in a soft brown coat.

The pan done, Mark moved it to the drying rack, bringing his attention to one of the mugs before him.  He trailed his fingers around the rim.  He tilted his head back to call to his changing assistant.  “You know, the least you could do is rinse out these cups so we don’t get tea stains.”

Mira’s mouth tingled as her jaw went slack.  Not a moment too soon, for the two front teeth on both the bottom and top of her jaw elongated slightly, her face pushing out into a small muzzle.  She narrowed her eyes; Mark knew she hated changing her teeth.  And thinking of things she hated...  She whimpered as her breasts withdrew back into her chest, her ears twitching as they picked up the sound of a glass being shelved.  A tremor went through her body as a row of bumps spread down her chest, developing into teats.  She turned to the kitchen to shout at the magician, her spines bristling.

Mark shook his head as he picked up some silverware.  "Or you could rinse out the forks!  I don't know how you can stand leaving these like this!"

Mira stumbled and fell, her legs rapidly shrinking beneath her.  Her arms darted out to catch herself, and she watched as her nails grew longer, her fingers shortening and withdrawing inside the nail.  She stumbled to a four-legged position, then fell flat on her stomach as a quilled tail burst from her backside.

Mark grinned as he ran a knife under the stream.  He was fairly close to finishing, just a few touches here and there.

Mira’s vocal cords tingled as she lost the ability to speak; her hips clicking as she lost access to bipedal motion, as well.  Her muzzle expanded further, her nose engorging as her eyes shifted slightly.  She shook her body out as it shrank down to a rodent’s proportions, and she turned her attention to the kitchen once more, taking a few steps onto the tile.

“And now we’re... done!”  Mark patted his hands off on his slacks, turning to the porcupine behind him.  It bristled its quills, then calmed down as he stepped closer.  

“Are we even?”  He asked.

The porcupine looked to the side, then up at him, nodding.

“Great!”  He beamed, kneeling to tap it on its nose.

The room twisted and blurred around Mira for an instant, then she found herself looking Mark in the eyes.  She got off her elbows and knees, feeling a faint rustling behind her.  

She turned slightly and saw she still had a coat of quills, and a tail to match.  She waggled her hips experimentally, smiling at the feeling of the spines moving with her body.  “I don’t entirely mind this.”  She said with a smile.  She looked at Mark mischievously, then pirouetted.

“Wha—”  He closed his eyes instinctively, her quills slicing through their intended target with ease.  He let out a held breath when he realized he was unhurt, then shivered slightly.  It was noticeably colder in the room, and much more... airy.  He opened his eyes, glancing down to find his pants and shirt were shredded.  He looked up to find Mira quickly averting her gaze.

“Were you just looking at...”  He leaned forward with a wry smile.  He’d save the questions as to how she was able to perfectly avoid a very delicate target for another day.  Probably one where she was less spiky.

“N-No.  We’re even now, by the way.”  She stammered hurriedly, a blush creeping across her cheeks.

“I guess we are.”  He laughed, and she joined in.