The Standup Boys' Close Call

"Don't go, Misty," said the horned one. "They have thunder-sticks. It will hurt you. Chase you away."

Misty looked up at the great sandstone walls of the city of Izaz. It would have been nearly impossible to climb that wall with claws or webbed feet, but Misty had neither of those. She had something better. She strode to the base of the wall.

"Misty, no!" gasped the horned monster girl behind her. "They'll chase you away! Chase you, chase you, chase you away!"

Any ordinary monster girl would indeed have turned away, but Misty was not ordinary. For the others, dealing with humans was simple: hunt the males, fear the females. But Misty had never been that way. Humans raised endless questions, with the strange ways they dressed, the strange ways they behaved and the strange things they said, and Misty always wanted answers. You couldn't find those answers by ambushing men in the jungle and knocking them onto their backs.

Misty began to use the skill she was named for. Dark mist fell from her body as she walked across the uneven jungle floor. Her long, tangled brown hair dissolved first, then her toes and the tips of her fingers, the wispy grey gas curling around her feet. Eventually, she had to stop and lie down as the rest of her body gave itself up to the air.

Climbing the wall of Izaz may have been impossible with hands and feet, but as a cloud of mist, it was as easy as crossing a river. Ancient cracks in sandy stone fell past her as she rose on an air current. Carvings of centuries-dead human heroines banded the entire city, bordered top and bottom by glyphs Misty hoped she could someday learn to read. Then, finally, the top fell away beneath her, and the city spread out in all its orderly splendor. Settling in the shadowy blind spot of a guard tower, she knelt on the stone and took it all in.

The buildings were not nests, hovels or even huts. They were more, even, than houses. They were something grander— edifices, the humans called them. Perfectly rectangular at the bases, they rose to flat roofs at least four woman-heights off the ground, maybe six or seven or eight. Mysterious little ropes and lengths of metal ran between them, following some mysterious order that made perfect sense to the humans. Just as their bases were perfectly square-cornered, the roads between them were unflinchingly straight, the same width everywhere. Even now, in the morning, they were bustling with humans. Females hurried through the streets, carrying things, selling things or just talking to each other. They would spend minutes talking, and in her previous escapades into the city, Misty had discovered that they would sit in rooms and do nothing but talk for half a day or longer. Someday, maybe today, she would hear some of what they talked about.

And then, of course, there would be males. With humans, there were never females without males. The males stayed indoors, Misty knew, doing the same things jungle males did: cooking and crafting, and handling the children who were too young to follow their mothers.

Not all monster girls could talk, and the ones who did only ever wanted to talk about the males in that city. They talked about where the prettiest ones were kept, and what they could do if you caught them alone, and even the frightful things the females would do if they caught you in the act. But none ever talked about the females themselves. By the time Misty left the city, she would know who they were and how they lived.

Once again, she dissolved into mist. Riding a favorable breeze, she drifted down into the city, past the impossibly perfect square-edged stone roofs, down into the streets where thickly clothed humans ambled past each other.

Just like last time she had come down here, Misty didn't know where to start. She wanted to talk to every human in the city, to ask them who they were and where they were going. But she couldn't talk to everyone at once. She had to pick one, and it had to be one who wouldn't try to run her through on sight.

Then she picked up on a strange scent. Even dissociated into mist, she could sense it. Another monster girl was about, somewhere in the great straight-edged stone hut beside her. She drifted in through a window.

No one was inside, but only stack after stack of wooden boxes. But beneath a wooden grating in the floor, she heard something. She heard moaning—not the sloppy, impulsive kind human females made, but the two-toned sing of what could have only been a monster girl. She filtered down through the grate.

Below, in a dark, damp cavern lined with smooth stones, with a single narrow corridor leading off into darkness, a monster girl stood over a male, her bright glassy wings fluttering behind her as she squirmed with pleasure.

The male sat against a broken table, hands on the ground, face buried between the thighs of the monster girl. With a hand on the back of his head, she pressed him deeper into her, her grip tightening and loosening to the rhythm of her heavy breathing. Her left hand flailed, until it found a grip on his neck and pushed him harder. As Misty watched, the male's whole body moved with every stroke of his hidden tongue, and the monster girl squealed, losing a little of her composure each time, until finally she erupted, her wings flinging themselves out for one moment as her cry of pleasure echoed against the near walls.

Everything was still for a moment. Finally, the monster girl backed away, and the male breathed, a few strings of saliva still trailing between his lips and her sex.

A minute passed, and the monster girl looked directly at Misty. "A watcher?" she murmured. "Voyeur?" She licked her lips. "So kinky."

Misty materialized, and the male shifted back with surprise, but did not get up.

"You made it into this city?" asked Misty. "How? Those wings are too small to lift you."

As her answer, the monster girl mimed gripping something huge. "Cart!" she declared. "Cart goes into the city. Glitter hides in the cart! Glitter goes into the city!"

'Glitter,' thought Misty. That was the monster girl's name.

"Who are you?" asked Misty, turning to the male.

The male shook his head.

"He doesn't talk," said Glitter. "Never talks. So he's perfect. Perfect secret. You ride him, and no one knows."

Misty knelt in front of the seated male. "Doesn't talk?" she repeated, horrified.

"But he pleases!" Glitter went on. "You know coins? Humans love coins. You could just ride him. But if you give him coins, he'll bounce you on him!" She jerked her hips in an awkward pantomime. "He'll make it smooth! And hot! And if you give him even more, he'll use his mouth!" She leaned back against the wall, her wings spreading against the stone brick, and sighed. "So hot."

"You don't talk?" said Misty, ignoring her. "Or you can't?"

The male looked her in the eyes. He was thin for a male, but still looked sturdy, and his short black hair curled around his sweet face, gently coiled ends framing his silent mouth, with only his deep, sad blue eyes to speak for him.

Misty gasped. "You're a mute!"

The male nodded slowly, as if his head was heavy with pain.

"Poor thing..." Reaching carefully forward, Misty stroked the side of his head.

"Give him coins first!" said Glitter. "Coins first, then he lets you do that!"

Both ignored her. The male put a hand over Misty's, their warm hands holding still for a moment, then gently let her go.

"I'm sorry," said Misty, standing up. She turned to Glitter, ready to ask where she might find humans who could talk, then decided she would do better to seek them on her own. Dissolving, she lifted out of the stone cave.

Up in the streets, which still fell under shade in the late morning sun, the traffic was already heavy, but these city-humans, unlike their counterparts in the jungle, never looked up. Rising to a balcony far above the street, Misty materialized without anyone noticing her. She stepped inside the human dwelling.

Everything raised questions. Where did these many-colored rugs come from? What animals did the humans skin to create them? How had they shaped stone to make this shelter, and why have a roof? Why not let in the sun and rain?

Then Misty saw something that fascinated her so much that she forgot every other question. She had heard of these mysterious things, but never seen one: a mirror.

In it, she saw something more human than monstrous. A woman stood, naked and dirty, with a short, stocky body with wide, feminine hips matched only by her manly-wide shoulders, with faint stains of dirt down her strong legs, and a big toe that had always been just a little crooked.

She lacked the tells most monster girls had. Her fingers and toes ended in nails, not claws, and she didn't have a tail; nothing covered the round rear that the other monster girls teased her for. Even her eyes looked human.

That gave her an idea. Perhaps she could dress like a human. Then she could hide in plain sight.

As Misty searched for clothes, an uncomfortable feeling gnawed at her, and she turned to see a low, bent form prowling in from the sunny balcony. A cat girl, black as a starless night, sauntered across the wooden floor and stood unwelcomingly before Misty, her tail twitching with disapproval.

Misty gasped. "Another monster girl?"

"Many here," the cat girl replied. "The humans don't come up here unless they want to sleep. This place... good place. Good hiding place."

Misty's idea grabbed hold of her again. "Watch this, watch this!" she bubbled, as she ran to the wardrobe in the side of the dwelling, opened it up, grabbed something random and tugged the cloth over her body.

The cat girl frowned. "You look human."

"I do!" Misty squeaked. "Isn't it amazing! And I can even talk like them too!"

With a little growl, the cat girl slithered up to her. "Why act human? Why you?"

Misty was at a loss.

"You are a monster girl. Sneak. Hunt. Catch men. Don't wear clothes like a loon." She turned around, tail still twitching sourly. "You," she repeated under her breath. "A monster girl? You, a monster girl? Or a human?" Leaping up onto the outside wall, she climbed out of sight.

Misty's shoulders fell. She had been called weak and loony before, but this was something else. "Monster girl or human?" she repeated at the now-empty balcony. "I'll show you..." After thinking for a minute, she dissolved into mist, abandoning her clothes, and drifted outside, to the next house over. It was a rich thing, taller than most and with a colorful symbol hung over the door. Misty could have examined that symbol for hours, but now she had something to do. She would find the man inside that building and ride him until he burst, then ride him more until his begged her to stop. That cat girl would have her proof then.

But as Misty drifted in through a high window, she heard human voices talking, one male and one female. As she reconstituted her physical body, her lustful mission faded to the back of her mind; it was a very lucky day when Misty could overhear humans talking to each other. Without bothering to find new clothes, Misty inched down the staircase until the voices were clear.

"I can always tell when something is wrong," said a woman's voice.

"You know my promise," said the male one. "I left behind everything. You have my word."

"I am not convinced. A paladin must root out disorder wherever she finds it, and that includes her own family."

"I'm not the enemy! Will you ever accept that?"

"I want to believe you." She paused. "Morn, I want you to stay in this house for the week. I will bring you anything you need. Simply have no contact with anyone, and I'll be satisfied."

The male sighed. "Yes, my wife."

Footsteps approached Misty, and she quickly dissolved. Moments later, a strong-looking human woman with short hair walked obliviously through her. Fascinated, Misty drifted down into the room where she had heard the talking. A man—Morn, apparently—stood dejectedly at a polished wooden table, his rich, colorful clothes looking not quite right on him. Misty imagined what he might look like without them, but it was only a fleeting thought. She wanted answers. This man was rich, and rich people were supposed to be happy.

Morn turned and slinked into a smaller room behind a curtain, and Misty followed him, watching him sit down on his bed and rest his face in his hands. After long enough, she realized that she wouldn't find any answers by waiting. Reluctantly, she materialized.

Morn glanced up at her, looked back down, then did a double-take and sprang to his feet. "Where did you come from?" he gasped. He bared his fists, although he clearly did not know how to use them. "Monster!"

Now that she saw him through corporeal eyes, it struck Misty how young his face looked. Obviously, he was at least twenty years old and probably closer to thirty, but his round, gentle face and big brown eyes looked fresh and innocent. Fear only made him look cute.

Now misty felt her animal urge more acutely. Warmth roiled through her as she imagined pushing him back onto the bed and getting her legs around his tight waist. She imagined his face, those sweet brown pools gazing up into her as she took him.

She forced those thoughts away. "You..." she managed to say. "You're not happy."

Utter confusion twisted his face. "Not happy? Why should you care? Why shouldn't I call my wife right now? When she gets here, it'll be a horrorshow!" His eyebrows creased his forehead, but somehow failed to make him intimidating.

Misty thought that through. "So why haven't you called her?"

Once again, that answer broke his guard. Shaking his head, he slumped back down on the mattress. "If you're not a monster girl, then who in the sun's name are you?"

"I am a monster girl! I am Misty. And you look unhappy. Why?"

He sighed, his thin shoulders rising to level with his chin, then slumping. "I haven't been honest."

Misty tilted her head, hoping for more.

"My wife pulled me out of the gutter to marry me. I owe her everything for that. I should be worshipping the ground she walks on. I should be doing everything for her. Burn and rot, that's exactly what I promised her when we married! But I can't. Worshipping a goddess is easy. But my wife is not a goddess. I've kept things from her."

"What things?"

He mashed his eyelids shut, but loneliness still burned through them. "Forgive me," he whispered, then said, "As I've said, I was pulled from the gutter. If you want to see the reality for many of us men... too many of us... look out in the streets, in the garbage piles and in the houses no one owns. Look in the soup kitchens and the secret societies. People there don't have enough money to eat, so they do whatever it takes to earn that money. I did whatever it took. My friends and I, we all did."

"Why didn't you live in the street?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You lived in the gutter. Why not just move into the street instead?"

He blinked a few times. "By my goddess, you're like a child. A horrid, rapacious predator of a child."

"I'm not a predator!" Misty snapped. "Other monster girls would ride you. Suck you. Fuck you. But I didn't!"

His fingers on the bed tightened with fear. "Then what are you doing in my room?"

"I want to talk to you. It's hard to talk to humans. What do you mean you haven't been honest?"

"My wife is rich, and she keeps me safe, but I don't think she wanted me. She wanted the heroic thrill of rescuing a man from poverty. But now the thrill's worn off. There's nothing between us."

"So... when did you lie? You said you were dishonest."

"I..." He stopped himself and straightened his back. "No, I've said too much already. Please, just leave. My failures are not your problem, and if my wife catches us speaking, there really will be a horrorshow."

"But I don't understand..."

"Just go!" he snapped. "Please!" He relaxed a little. "I'm serious. You have to leave, now."

Misty stepped back, unsure what she had said wrong but not willing to ask. Stalking out of the room, she dissolved into mist.

'Look out in the streets,' Morn had said. Misty would do that. But first, she wanted to see what his mate was doing. Drifting into the main room of the house, she saw the woman donning shiny metal armor, with a short, fierce-looking knife sheathed at her hip, then a waist-length cape clasped over her shoulders. It made a stunning difference. The armor transformed this small, muscular woman into a finely polished machine, and Misty could not fully tear her gaze away from that knife.

Nevertheless, she followed the human woman out of the house, onto the street, then to a proud little hut with a symbol hung over the door, matching the symbol on the woman's armor. Inside, more armored women waited around a table. After a moment, Misty realized they weren't waiting at all, but looking down at a map spread between them.

"Alusha, you're late," said one of the older women.

"I know," said woman Misty had followed. "A paladin has no excuses. Now what is this?"

"This," said the old armored one, "is where we have seen men congregating. Men and only men, so it's not a brothel. I fear it may be a threat to order."

"Surely, you're not considering a raid?"

"Not yet. We're confident they won't move, so we have time to find a spy."

Misty tried to listen, but she couldn't get over what the older woman had said: 'men congregating. Men and only men.' Humans never did that. In an instant, Misty forgot her curiosity about the women in armor. She had to know what these men were doing. She had to see for herself. Looking at the map where the woman had pointed, she drifted away down the street, going to where she thought the men would be.

The arrows on the map had pointed to a big, grand building. In person, it looked a lot bigger but a lot less grand. Its dark tan stone walls were riven with cracks, and the sun had faded the bright red and green stripes that ran around the pyramid-shaped roof. Underneath, stonecutters had made marks and designs that ran over the cracks but did not completely hide them.

Drifting in the front door, Misty found no people, but only a garden full of sun-shy plants, with cloth sacks full of water hung from the ceiling four woman-heights above, slowly dripping onto the crops. Undaunted, Misty drifted up between the tough wooden slats that made up the ceiling, creating an attic under the pyramid-roof. There were no men there, but only a hollow space full of dust and dark, lit by the meager swatches of light that filtered up through the wood.

Then something twitched.

If Misty had been corporeal, she would have jumped. Instead, she settled in the corner and watched.

Something big yet slim, scuttling yet ponderous, emerged from the dark. A woman, her face veiled by black hair, stood up from the shadows, her oddly thin feet barely seeming to touch the floor. As Misty's vision adjusted, she made out spider legs, thin but strong-looking, rising from the woman's back. Some stood on the floor and supported her weight, some probed unsettlingly about the corners of the room, and one brushed aside her limp hair, revealing a thin, cruel smile and dark, piercing eyes.

"You might as well show yourself, monster girl," said the spider woman. "You're not hidden to my eyes." One of her spider-legs struck a match. "See? I'll even light the place for you."

Misty took her physical form again. By the matchlight, she could see six spider-legs, each moving as if with a mind of its own, surrounding a woman swathed in nothing but a loose black cloak that seemed indifferent to how much it hid her body.

A curtain of spiderweb hid one corner of the room, and other strands dangled from the sharply sloped ceiling. Just behind the woman, hanging from a half-dozen sturdy-looking strands, hung a bulge the size of a man. With a cold shock, Misty realized that indeed it was a man. A male body, completely mummified, hung by his head from the ceiling, his wrapped-together feet dangling a few inches off the ground.