From the lip of a crimson vase of porcelain glazed to a glossy sheen, a beige sludge began to drip to the wooden surface beneath. Drip. Drip. Drip. Just three little drips of the viscous goo was all it took for it to start rushing out in a tide as if it were being poured from its vessel, the resulting puddle spreading out horizontally as it rippled and expanded. Even after the last few beads of fluid fell from the vase and into the enlarging mass, it never ceased to broaden, though the amoebic pond gradually settled on a rectangular shape. Eventually it was satisfied with its size, which had become vast enough that parts of the liquid sheet hung over and down, yet the sheet remained one piece. Suddenly it froze, putting an abrupt end to the trembling going on on its surface. Its color shifted from beige to white, but then stripes of red raced vertically along the synthetic fabric. Then horizontal stripes intercepted the vertical ones, these stripes composed of tiny red specks staggered to allow the underlying white to pass through, thus creating a very simple plaid. The perimeter of the rectangle stitched itself once around with white thread before printing out a tag in a corner, describing basic care instructions and of course the logo for this ‘Tablecloth by Rebecca.’

A few moments of silence passed before something plinked into the vase. On the ceiling, what was once a silver and black six-bulb chandelier had detached itself from the drywall and shriveled up into a ball of metallic slime, diving into the ceramic basin and assuming its shape. The slime sparkled briefly as it shed some opacity, its colors morphing from the illustrious grey to a blood red. Settling out, the Cecelia-wine calmed as the vase around it stretched its lip into an elevated neck with an opening as wide as a penny. Ceramic redefined as glass, and the ruby red hue that the vase proudly sported shifted to a dark, translucent green. The bottom half of the bottle widened to distinguish the neck and to allow Cecelia more room, and for realism, two labels were applied from thin air: one around the neck and the other over the basin. According to the print, there was now a fine bottle of Cecelia Rossa from Brielle Vineyards on the covered table.

“Bravo!” cheered a brunette woman in yoga pants and a blue tank top. She stood approximately five and a half feet tall, and was clearly well into her pregnancy. Her ovation was joined by a pale black-haired lady in a form-fitting zebra-striped sundress, and a curvaceous African-American cutie wearing jeans and a full-zip hoodie. “Now it’s our turn,” she proclaimed.

Simplifying into a gooey orange arc, ebony-Rebecca sprang onto the table as close as she safely could to Brielle and Cecelia, hardening as she landed. Concentrating, she rapidly shifted material into liquefied glass, with a rounded base and a narrow stem that hardened into shape with each passing millisecond. Drawing the rest of the goo into a ball atop the stem it opened to a hollow, clear bowl, shuddering to a halt.

“Ooh, I like where this is going...” purred sundress-Brielle, seeing her friend and fellow shapeshifter settle on a placid wine glass form. Both her and preggo-Cecelia bit their lips in intrigue when they observed tablecloth-Rebecca melting out from under wineglass-Rebecca, wine-Cecelia and bottle-Brielle to spill onto the floor and tower upward into her usual human appearance.

“I wish I got to be the wine,” Rebecca complained lightheartedly.

“Hush, you,” preggo-Cecelia replied with her tongue sticking out. “I bet there’s been days when Mark took you firsthand through the coffee-making process you get poured so much.”

“Oh really? Wanna bet?”

“No, I just think you’d make some good coffee...” A tendril extended from preggo-Cecelia’s right calf and wrapped around Rebecca’s legs. “AYYYAGH!” she screamed in both pleasure and pain, melting into a shiny black blob at preggo-Cecelia’s touch.

Sundress-Brielle backed away from her, reflexively checking to make sure no other tendrils were close to her. “What the...?!”

“I... did I not tell you?”

“No, you did, but you said you didn’t think it was safe on other humans!”

“Oh, no I must’ve forgot to tell you I tested it on Kahri. It totally works.”

“And Kahri is okay?” sundress-Brielle probed.

“YES, Kahri is okay.” Preggo-Cecelia continued transforming Rebecca, who was kind enough to remain as a blob of goo. “You know, I was going to make you a coffee machine, but now that I think of it...” The blob expanded and stretched into twelve edges, making it a rectangular prism. A door cut its way into existence on the front of the nearly-cubed form after metal hinges materialized above and below it. While the exterior hardened into steel the inside of the cube, whose height evened at preggo-Cecelia’s waist, hollowed out and lined with black plastic. A set of shelves and a metal rack took shape, followed by additional plastic shelves on the inside of the door. As the external face of the door cased itself in a black plastic shell, the LG logo appeared on the new mini fridge, but the letters were replaced with ‘RK’.

“You sciencey types can be such worriers sometimes,” said preggo-Cecelia, plugging fridge-Rebecca into a wall outlet once a cord had materialized before stretching a hand over to bottle-Brielle and pouring some of wine-Cecelia into wineglass-Rebecca. As she poured, the wine condensed into a volume that perfectly fit the glass. Sundress-Brielle rolled her eyes.

“No, we just take extra steps for safety. That said, I love doing shifting performances with you girls. You’re a fun bunch!”

Preggo-Cecelia chuckled. “You’re always welcome to join our little performances, Brie.” She paused. “Speaking of Brie, I think we could use some cheese to accompany this wine.”

At preggo-Cecelia’s prompt, the empty wine bottle on the table softened and simplified into a whitish-grey mass, tumbling down into itself and solidifying, shaping itself into a wrinkled cylinder. Changing textures, the matter inside the cylinder yellowed and softened into a tantalizing, savory curd, which exposed itself when the wheel of Brie cheese split open as if a wedge had been cut from it.

“Hang on, I’ll get my phone. Group photo time!” sundress-Brielle cheered before being cut off by preggo-Cecelia.

“Just use me!” she piped happily.

“You can... you can be a functioning camera?”

“Well I don’t mean to brag...” All of Cecelia’s hair retracted into her scalp which crunched into a cube shape. Her facial features were erased too, all but her eyes, which merged into a telescopic lens. One of her cheekbones formed a silicone grip while her peachy skin faded to a matching black, a flash, viewfinder and indication light popping out where her forehead was.

“How do I look?” asked camera-Cecelia, her head replaced by a Daboville-edition Canon DSLR.

“You look like a creepypasta,” teased sundress-Brielle. “Is Camera Head gonna become a thing now?” She stepped behind the camera and angled it toward the table, where wineglass-Rebecca, wine-Cecelia and brie-Brielle rested. Snapping many shots with a variety of settings, sundress-Brielle was thoroughly impressed with the camera her friend managed to construct.

A hatch opened beside the lens after sundress-Brielle finished taking photos. It ejected an SD card onto the table, then the camera inflated and smoothed out into preggo-Cecelia’s visage.

“So you made that mini fridge out of Rebecca, now what should we use it for?”

“I was just thinking the same thing...” Preggo-Cecelia looked down at her rounded frame; she’d managed to make herself look just like an expectant mother. The fact that nobody would know the wiser made her firm bosom tingle... which gave her an idea. “I got it! You see these everywhere in Québec,” she yapped, her spine bending backward at an impossible angle as preggo-Cecelia meticulously and smoothly descended to the tile, her limbs tucked beneath her torso. She folded her head rearward between her shoulders and began to sag, using her weight distribution to easily assimilate her arms, legs and head into her back until she was just a torso covered by a false tank top. Sundress-Brielle blushed viewing the spectacle before her, eyes locked on the transforming woman on the floor. After shrinking away her pelvis and chest, a swollen, falsely pregnant belly was left beneath the fake clothing. This too dwindled in size as the tank top’s openings sealed up, forming a fabric sack, which briefly showed evidence of dampness as the abdomen inside melted into a creamy white liquid and sloshed about. The soaked fabric quickly dried when it crinkled into clear plastic.

“You know... you could have been maple cream, poutine, or syrup or something that isn’t a bag of milk...” sundress-Brielle remarked. “But I suppose only one of those things needs to be kept in the fridge.”

“Yeah, but this form is so... good! It’s like I’m shapeless because I’m milk, but I’m constrained by this bag. And I’m solid and liquid at the same time! It’s also iconically Canadian,” milk-Cecelia replied from a pair of lips that bubbled up on her plastic.

“You don’t apologize enough for someone who says they’re from America’s hat,” sundress-Brielle quipped.

“Well then I’m very NOT sorry.”

Both of them laughed until milk-Cecelia’s lips dissolved into nothingness.

“Are you guys gonna use me or...” fridge-Rebecca suddenly questioned.

“Oh yeah... we’re... working on that,” stammered sundress-Brielle as wine-Cecelia poured herself out from wineglass-Rebecca. She slid across the table and down onto the floor, reshaping effortlessly into her usual self.

“How about we... pack up?” suggested sundress-Brielle. “It’s a way to use Rebecca, and I bet the fridge will feel great.”

“You’re talking to an expert on sleeping in fridges,” Cecelia jested.

“If you really want me to get in the fridge with you...” groaned wineglass-Rebecca.

“No-no-no, you don’t have to... maybe a magnet would do?” offered sundress-Brielle before shortening and shifting back to her regular human look, labcoat included.

“Actually... I’d love that. Must be calm being a magnet.”

“Yep! Just stick and relax.”

“Amen.” Wineglass-Rebecca bent over like a wilting flower, partially melting into a watery fluid. She proceeded to congeal into a plastic pancake, gaining a silvery gleam as she shaped her miniaturized upper half into a recreation of a Caucasian woman with flowing black hair, blue eyes and a purple seashell bra, while her lower half molded into a fish’s tail, detailed with many precisely sculpted sea foam green scales. The mermaid magnet laid idle on the table, at least until it announced to the room: “I’m ready!”

After placing milk-Cecelia on top of fridge-Rebecca, and sticking magnet-Rebecca to the left side of her, Cecelia opened the mini fridge’s door. “I suppose you first— oh.”

Brielle had surrounded brie-Brielle in a tsunami of pale yellow sludge, which became mushy and pulpy for just under a second before edging itself off into a cylindrical paperboard box for the cheese. Decorating the form with a pencil-sketch of herself, as well as text like ‘Fromage Lavoie’ and ‘Fait en France’, box-Brielle sat calmly in wait to be stored inside Rebecca.

“Impressive...” mused Cecelia, inspecting the highly detailed packaging in her hands. A detailed description written completely in fluent French, a nutrition label, even a fake foil award sticker were all present on her friend’s latest morph. “Aren’t you one for realism.” The cheese did not respond, though Brielle had consolidated her consciousness like Rebecca did when the mermaid magnet met the mini fridge’s cold wall.

Peeking into Rebecca, Cecelia realized she’d created more shelves that intended. “Could you make some room please?” she asked her, and the mini fridge obliged by changing the metal rack into a shelf, then doing away with all the other shelves. “Thank you!” she said, sliding Brielle onto the new top shelf.

Standing up, Cecelia took a deep breath. She was so ready to climb into that mini fridge with her friends, so ready to relax and cool down. She lifted milk-Cecelia to her mouth and closed her eyes, unhinging her jaw and sighing with delight as the plastic bag disintegrated, leaving the dairy milk to flow through her hollowing body. Her legs fusing together, she started to condense into a pear shape from the ground up; her feet flattened into a base, her lower half coagulated and rounded out, her upper half slightly tapered. One of her arms slipped away into her shoulder, which merged with one side of Cecelia’s jaw, the action mirrored on the other side. The other arm was an exception, sticking itself akimbo and thinning out into a handle, immobilizing itself as tempered glass. With this out of the way Cecelia’s butt and breasts sank into the developing curvature, assimilating with the spreading tide of glass, the milk collecting at her base. Her head pressed flat against her inorganic maw, it puttified and merged into the pitcher’s lip. All that was left over was her golden blonde hair, which made use of itself as the spout of what was now a large glass pitcher. Cecelia’s split consciouness at last combined into one.

Two pairs of stubby legs grew on Cecelia’s base. With these she crawled inside Rebecca to join Brielle. Happy with her spot in the mini fridge, her handle briefly became a tentacle to pull the door shut, then it resumed its original duty after the four legs folded away.

“Hey girls,” cooed Rebecca.

“What’s it like being a shapeshifter who’s holding two other shapeshifters?” inquired Brielle.

“You could say it’s pretty... chill, especially in this case.”

“Well I have my own case, and thanks to you, it is in fact quite chill here.”

“You two are over here making stupid puns and I’m just sitting in my pitcher thinking ‘milk wants cold, milk likes cold.’”

“Not surprising, considering whose idea it was to perform a shapeshifting show for ourselves.”

“That was Brielle!”

“Okay, was not.”

“Totally was.”

“Fridge likes cold.”

“Oh my god.”

The three shapeshifters kept their forms until Cecelia offered to drag race her companions as toy cars.