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Nov 21, 2018 2:31 AM
The Zveri abduct Mab. Mab doesn't mind.
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It takes almost an hour, but eventually they reach one of the dome shaped, stone buildings distinctive of the Zveri. It is made of polished stone blocks to large for any human to carry. 

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For obvious reasons, Mab has never seen one of these structures up close before, and takes the opportunity to marvel at it while they go past. They wonder if the Zveri have some way to make polishing the rock go faster or if it takes forever like with humans.

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There's one door.

The Zver carries her inside. 

 

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Immediately, a dozen voices fill their mind.

Curiosity. Welcome. Excitement. 

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Oh lord, that's a lot. All at once. Mab feels a bit like one of those shellfish that close up real quick when you touch them.

Hi. New. They try to project that they're not very sure what they're doing, yet.

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Calm, she sends to the other zveri, along with a flicker of amusement.

There is time.

 

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The other zveri cluster around them. They look excited and Mab will receive a soft background hum of that excitement, as well as a little sheepishness. 

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It's honestly still a little overwhelming, but Mab takes a deep breath and reminds themselves that they aren't actually in any danger, despite being surrounded by humans' only natural predator.

Because they aren't human. That's a thought that'll take some getting used to.

What now? they wonder.

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Better clothes 

She plucks at Mab's sleeve with obvious disapproval. 

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Excuse you, Mab thinks, vaguely offended, and then immediately realizes that this is a terrible idea. Still. What's wrong with my clothes?

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Rough. Poorly made. Ugly. 

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They frown, entirely without thinking. But, mine. My making. Okay, so, mostly her mother's, but the distinction is a little lost on the Zver anyway. Then their brain catches up with them and they blush, feeling childish. You make differently?

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Another Zver approaches, holding a folded garment. It is a simple robe, made from a deep rich blue, a shade that no dye Mab has heard of can accomplish. 

The Zver passes it to Mab. It is the softest thing she has ever felt. 

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!!!!, says Mab, who suddenly has neither reservations or decorum. Soft! Yes! Want. They shove their face in it, to better feel the fabric.

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Yours.

The Zver responds, amused.

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Yes! Good.

They start to put it on, remember they're wearing normal clothes, start to undo the laces on their shirt, remember where they are, and stop, unsure what the social norm is here but guessing that stripping in front of thirty people you've just met is probably going to be weird no matter the culture. Eventually they just shrug the robe on over the rest of their clothes and figure they'll deal with it later. Somehow it fits exactly, which is interesting, because Mab has always been a bit on the short side, and they'd assumed the edges would drag on the ground.

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Amusement. 

She carefully reaches under the robe and rips Mab's clothes so they slide right off.

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Mab squeaks and blushes deep red. What they don't do is object, either mentally or out loud. It's kind of... nice, not having to worry about whether they're doing it right.

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