Shadow: The Origin Of A Legend

Chapter 63

"Here," my azure-eyed companion says from her closet as she rummages around. I'm seated on her bed, perched uncomfortably on the very edge so that I take up the least amount of room possible. She's changed her outfit since breakfast to a cute black turtleneck with red jeans, and we've both already prepared for the day, but she has insisted on letting me borrow one of her jackets so I don't freeze to death. And so, here we are, with her fumbling around in her coset, and me twiddling my thumbs awkwardly. "This oughta match your color scheme, and it's nice and cozy!" She pulls out a dark cherry-colored down coat, with black faux-fur trimmings around the hood, cuffs and edges. My jaw falls of its own accord, and she beams, satisfied with herself.

"Whoa," I gasp, eyes wide. It looks so... so... luxurious! She sashays over, shoving the coat into my hands. "W-Wait, are you sure I shou—"

"Of course I am," she interrupts. "It's a little short on me, so it'll be the perfect length for you," she 'gently' turns me around despite my mild protests and fidgeting, and begins to 'help' me into the jacket, though it seems more like she's stuffing me into it. Being gentle isn't really something she can do, is it? "Theeeeeeere you go~!" She sings, and I roll my shoulders, faux fur tickling the back of my neck. Glancing down at myself, I blink, lifting one arm and watching the fluffy black mess at the edge of the sleeve billow about.

"Er," I blink, realizing my hand is completely swallowed in the fluffy trappings.

Rouge leans over, one hand on each of my shoulders, peering down at my arms. "Oh," she smirks, starting to giggle. "It's a little long on you!" Pulling back, she tries not to laugh louder. "And here I thought it'd fit well..." My cheeks heat up as her snickering intensifies. "Too short for me, too long for you!"

"H-Hey, I can't help it that you're so tall!" I stammer, irritated but not willing to yell at her after receiving something so nice. She seems to catch on to my mild frustration, thankfully, and she stifles her laughter behind one hand.

"Sorry, sorry," she waves a hand at me. "I just thought it was kinda cute." Turning back to me, she smiles apologetically, cheeks a mite bit pink.

The fire streaking my muzzle flares, igniting my ears, and I indignantly huff, "I'm not cute," placing my hands on my hips in a gesture of irritation.

"Of course not," she answers, stepping up to me again, reaching behind my head to pull the hood of the jacket over my quills. "You're just a 2-and-a-half foot tall, eternally grumpy little hedgehog...whose ears are bright red right now." Giggling, she pats the top of my head, and I glower up at her, embarrassed.

"...Can we just get this over with?"

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My breath trails out of my mouth in wispy grey fog, like smoke, as we walk down the crowded streets of the city; I stick as close to her as I can, with my hood up and my head down, trying not to look at anyone we pass. She claims to be leading me to a specific place, but I can't even keep track of how many turns we've taken, and I almost wonder if we're lost; after a couple more turns, though, we stop in front of a small shop. I scuffle a bit closer to her as people keep trekking down the street, maneuvering around us. "Here we are!" She chirps, speaking louder than normal to be heard over the din of the busy city as she pulls me closer, shoving me in the direction of a brightly-lit doorway. A bell hanging above the door chimes, advertising our entrance, and Rouge wraps her hand around my wrist, other hand still clutching my damaged jacket. "This way, handsome," she purrs, pulling me past groups of people all chattering cheerfully. We maneuver through the crowds easily, and I let her tug me along, trying not to focus on the amount of people surrounding us. After a bit of a walk, we come to a stop in front of a doorway, above which sits a sign proclaiming "ReTail." She pulls me inside, and I note that this shop is a rather small and slightly darker place; it has large workshop desks littered with various garments and such, and several different anthropomorphic creatures work on fixing said garments. "This is where I go to get my stuff repaired," she informs me. "They're specific to us—run by nonhumans, made for nonhumans. They do the best damn work I've ever seen." Pausing to nod to a crocodile as we pass them (they nod back, politely), she continues, "And they're the fastest, too. We drop your coat off now it'll be done by the time we're finished shopping and ready to go home, I bet."