On one of the busy throughfares in Rainside was a store, like the stores adjacent to it. A business too old to be considered a startup, too new to be considered an institution, it was nonetheless famous in its niche for its service and its selection. Its name was Gong Fu Teahouse. Its owner, Cayen Aleva, and its general manager, Taylor MacDonald, stood in front of the store and watched its front window being worked on by contractors. The demiboy beaver, Taylor (pronouns: the/thim/this), stood over a foot taller than the short orange genderqueer feline Cayen (pronouns: she/her), both dressed in their usual work clothing: Taylor in buffalo check and jeans, Cayen in a black fitted blouse, black silk tie, black pleated skirt, and mary janes. Taylor's arms were crossed. Cayen's weren't, her hands were in her skirt's pockets, but her fluffy tail was telling the story of her mood, lashing back and forth. "Looks pretty good," Taylor said. "Yup," Cayen replied. Neither of them were looking at each other. "You think someone will say something about it?" "Oh, I'm _sure_ someone will say something about it." Taylor was the first to look away from the window at at their conversational partner. "You know, your shop and all, I just work here—" This was a long-running joke between them; Taylor was almost as personally invested in the shop as Cayen was. "—but I can't help but think you're gonna get a capital-R Response out of this." "Yeah, me too." "And you're okay with that?" Cayen looked up at thim. "In the sense of being prepared for it? Yeah. In the sense that I accept that there are people who _would_ respond to it?" The contractors finished pressing the decals to the window, and moved away from the window to check the alignment. Now written across the front, in big, bold letters, was a single word: "#RESIST", in the colours of the transgender pride flag. "Not on your damn life." --- Days passed. The response was generally positive, when there was one. A few people commented that it was unusual to see a business take such a bold stand; Cayen's response was always, "We live in unusual times." A few people, some of whom were still closeted, took Cayen aside to thank her for the visibility, and the fact that they felt safer in her shop. She hugged them, when they let her. Explained her own identity, and her feelings about using the resources she'd been able to secure to do some good for people. She spent a few late nights talking with people long after the shop closed. Some expressed concern at the politicization of the shop, even suggested it was a mistake to put the decal up. A few listened when she told them she and most of her employees and friends were trans or visibly gender-nonconforming in some way, and some took a little more convincing, up to and including citing her own freedom to put whatever she wanted on her storefront, and that she accepted the decision of anyone who decided not to come in as a result of it. Some did stop coming. She didn't notice their absence. Glire (pronouns: she/her), Cayen's— no word was adequate to describe their relationship, but an estimate could exist at the intersection of 'friend', 'lover', and 'play partner' —was impressed, though worried, as was her default state. She worried about violence, about retaliation. Cayen tried to reassure her that she wasn't worried, that she could afford a broken window, if it came to that. That her window wasn't as important as the lives it represented. The bunny understood, she really did. It was just her nature to worry, and they both knew that, and sat with it, and let it come and go in the flow of their conversation. --- "Bai hao yin zhen," Cayen called out, glancing out at the shop proper, and then double-taking at the window. It was the middle of the day, and the store was darker than the outside. No shop lighting could compete with the midday sun. The brightly-lit sidewalk showed up like a big video screen from within. She saw red. Bright red, blood red, in strips around the arms of four people standing outside the shop looking at the decal. Her peripheral vision twitched, and, glancing over, she noticed the customer approaching. Her brain went into autopilot and handed over the tea, and afterward, her gaze went right back to the window. "Cay," Taylor said beside her. "Yeah, Taylor?" She replied, without taking her eyes off the armbands. "Your fur's puffing out." She looked down at the fur on her arm. It was, indeed. It made her look bigger. "Yeah," she said returning her attention to the window. Taylor followed her, this time. "Oh," the replied. "Yeah." "You wanna—" "No." She took a deep breath. "If they do anything, they're gone." "Okay." Taylor pulled out this phone. "Just out of curiosity, what do you intend to do if they come in?" "Anything I have to." Taylor shrugged, and poked at this phone while customers came up to order. Cayen served them, and after a moment, Taylor joined in, both keeping one eye on the window. The armbands walked in the shop. They were sharply dressed, save for the armbands. The bands didn't even have anything on them. They were just a colour, but that colour sent an unambiguous message. Among the four were a fox, rat, and doberman in grey suits, and a wolf in a jacket and skirt. Even as they approached Cayen didn't know they were sneering or if their faces just looked like that, or even if the context was colouring her interpretation that much. They looked up at the board and paused. All four of them, shoulder-to-shoulder, like a phalanx, right in front of the cash register. "We'll just be a second," one of them said. Oh yeah. Definitely sneering. She waited. "We'll have four matcha lattes," another of them said, after glancing between them. "It says you can add a flavour shot, right? And extra matcha for another three bucks?" "That's right," Cayen replied. "Okay. We'll take one of every shot and four extra matchas in each." Cayen's mind went blank for a full three seconds, and then started furiously calculating. "Okay. That'll be a hundred and four dollars. Plus tax." None of them moved. "Aren't you going to get our drinks started?" "Of course, as soon as I ring you up." Cayen started punching the order into the register. "We heard this place makes your drink first and lets you pay later," the wolf said. "It seems pretty rude not to do that for us." "Your order's undrinkable." Tap tap tap, tap tap tap, getting faster with each modification added to the bill, as if ringing up the order required APM. "I'm willing to throw matcha and syrup down the drain, but you're going to pay me to do it first." "What are you talking about?" The rat piped up. "We get this all the time." His tone of voice was mocking, biting. It wasn't even an attempt at lying. A lineup was forming behind the wall of armbands. "You'd be iron deficient if you got that on a regular basis," Cayen retorted. "You wouldn't want to sully your _pure blood_ now, would you?" the fox narrowed his eyes. "Heil," he said. "Get out." None of them moved. "I said, get out." The shop started to quiet. "What happened to our freedom of speech, huh?" One of them said. "Yeah, so much for the tolerant left," another piped up. "You don't get to—" Cayen started, but they cut right across her. "Oh yes we do, haven't you seen the news? You _lost_, and we get to do whatever we want now. You get to put up signs. We get to run the country." "Not here. _Not here_. You want me to cite the city ordinance that says I can refuse service to anyone for any reason? I don't give a shit what you think you can or can't do. Leave, or get arrested for trespassing." "You think the cops are going to side with a bunch of well-dressed businessmen over a d—" the doberman cleared his throat. "A _lesbian_, and a couple of transgenders?" "What are you talking about? I'm a successful entrepreneur, and you're a bunch of skinheads. You think the cops aren't going to protect business?" "Excuse me." Two of the armbands turned to look at who it was getting their attention. "I think you'll find leaving more attractive than remaining here," came the soft-spoken voice of the very tall lion standing next to them. Leandra (pronouns: she/her, at the moment), bigender, and currently presenting female, towered over the group. At six-six, muscular over a thin softening layer of fat, and currently dressed in a robin's-egg blue work blouse and slacks, she struck an intimidating figure even if you weren't antagonizing her, but her soft-spoken voice and deliberate, fluid movement was usually enough to reassure those who needed reassuring The other two armbands turned around to face the interloper. The rest of the line backed away. "Leandra, good to see you," Cayen said, continuing to stare down the two that hadn't turned. "Cayen," Leandra replied, doing much the same. "Who are _you_? What are you going to do about it, huh? Huh? You're not a cop, get back in the kitchen." The lion smirked. "Is that what you think of people you perceive as women?" She glanced at the wolf. "I wonder what your friend thinks of this." "What, you can't take it?" came the wolf's retort. "I don't care when they do that stuff. Just shows I'm one of the guys." "A pity you have to choose between your gender and your friends. As for the accusation that I'm 'not a cop', I think you'll find I'm enough of one to matter in this situation," she says, reaching for her pocket to pull out an ID badge. That gave them pause. "It would be unwise to try and fight me, even four on one," she continued. "It would be _very_ unwise to try to use that weapon I see you reaching for," she pointedly said to the fox, whose hand was going for his pocket, and who froze after getting caught at it. "You have been told to leave. Leave, or be arrested. This is your final warning." She stepped back, leaving a clear path to the door. "Fuck all of you," the rat said, as they broke ranks and retreated. The shop burst into applause. The lioness followed them, not closely, but close enough. "Do not try to damage the window." "We weren't gonna damage the window." "Your words hold no weight with me." Peacefully, if scornfully, the four of them leave to cheering and "na na na na, na na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye". Leandra followed them out and stood there as they walked down the street. She walked back in as they went out of view, to more applause. "She went into the back for a minute," Taylor said, over the door-muffled yowl of pure cathartic rage that emitted from the back room. "You, however, are getting whatever you want on the house. Hell, I'd make one of those awful matcha sludge drinks if you wanted one." "That will not be necessary," Leandra said. "But I will have a mountain tea if you would be so kind." "Coming right up." Leandra looked over at the door. "Do you think they know security guards have no special privileges outside their buildings?" "I'm not sure they know _anything_." "I am sure they know many things." Leandra glanced over at the hallway. "May I go talk to Cayen?" she asked. "Yeah, she'll probably appreciate it." She walked into the back, and opened the door to the distinct sound of trying to control one's sobbing, now that one had a witness. "It is me," she said. "May I approach?" "Yeah," came Cayen's shaky voice, and Leandra turned the corner of the L-shaped room. the light was turned off in the back portion, but on in the front, which threw a triangle of shadow on the space. In the corner of this triangle sat Cayen, against the wall, knees hugged tight to her chest. "Are you okay?" "Yeah, I just, yeah, gimme a second." thre was no sound but the buzz of the water heater and Cayen's shaky breaths for a few moments. "How'd you... I mean... why... how'd you know?" "Taylor sent me a text message about fascists standing outside your shop. My building is not far from here. I was able to leave immediately." "God, the's fucking brilliant. I'd kiss thim if the didn't consider that too romantic." Leandra approached, slowly, and sat next to Cayen on the floor. "I don't know how you did it," she says. "I mean... look at you. You're fine." Leandra held out her hand, and Cayen took it. She could feel it trembling. "I have learned how to channel and control the adrenaline," she says. "There is always fear." Cayen laughed, then started crying again, wiping her eye on her arm. "Still... thank you." "I am glad I could have been here." --- Days passed. After a shift, after dinner (takeout; she couldn't be bothered to cook), Cayen scrolled down her timeline on her phone. She saw an armband. It wasn't one of the ones from before. It didn't have to be. Her fingers were typing before she knew what was happening. It was maddening. She _could not_ let someone just _get away_ with what they were saying. Their arguments were sniveling, barely coherent, designed for muddying the waters more than clear persuasion. She got sucked in, cried at least a few times, and when she was shaken out of it by her low-battery warning, she finally had the presence of mind to check the time. Six hours had passed, three of which should have been spent sleeping. She tossed her phone down on her coffee table, or tried to; it fell off the far end and onto the floor. She left it there, and spent another two hours trying to sleep. In the morning, she called Montjoly, asked him to take her shift, and spent the day trying to deflect her migraine and correct her sleep deficit. --- Cayen's stomach growled, and she rubbed the bridge of her nose as she tried to go through her expense reports for the month. Her eyes were sliding off the numbers, which was a bad sign. She was tired, she was hungry, she was cranky, and the cup of pu'erh next to her felt like exactly what she wanted when she made it, but she couldn't bring herself to drink it now. _Just gotta get this done and then I can go eat and go to bed,_ she thought, though the things she delayed continued to hinder her progress. It was another hour before she forced the numbers into the spreadsheet, and she didn't even bother to pick up her drink as she got up from the computer and left the back room. --- "Hey," Cayen said, letting Glire into her apartment. "Hullo," Glire replied, walking in. Glire (pronouns: she/her) walked softly, spoke politely, and generally kept out of people's way until they needed something. The trans bunny wore a cute cream blouse with a peter-pan collar, and a pine green skirt, and accented the green with a red-orange bib collar. A pair of low tan wedges were toed off as soon as Glire cleared the doorway. The apartment wasn't quite as it usually was. A trio of half-empty glasses of tea stood in a line next to the keyboard on the computer desk, and there were some takeout containers still on the coffee table, but those were the most obvious signs. Lots of little signs, less consciously perceptible ones, made the room _feel_ less neat, somehow off-kilter. Cayen looked at the apartment as Glire passed, and appeared to see it for the first time. "Oh god, uh, hang on," she said, and started to pick up the takeout containers to whisk them into the kitchen. "Would you like some help?" Glire asked. "No, no, you stay, you're the guest. Really. I know it's your thing, but like, I need to deal with this." She retreated into the kitchen. "D-- uh, do you want anything?" "Just a glass of water, please." She heard the water turn on, and the sound of a glass being washed. "I'm doing okay, by the way," she called out over the hissing of the water. "Oh, that's good," Glire tried to say back. "Hang on, can't hear you." She brought the glass over, still dripping with water, a paper towel wiping the outside dry. She handed it over to Glire, and walked back into the kitchen, blotting her hands dry with it as well. "Sorry, you were saying?" "Oh, just, that it was good that you were doing okay." "Ah, right. How was your day?" "It was good." She looked off to the side, thinking, clasping her hands on top of a knee as Cayen flopped down next to her. "Montjoly stopped by. Apparently his restaurant is experimenting with a golden beet salad? They've been cubing the beets and pickling them—" "No," Cayen said, suddenly. "I— I'm sorry. I lied, I'm not doing okay." Glire stopped for a moment. "Okay." She turned a little to face Cayen. "...Do you want to talk about it?" "I just— It was those fucking armbands. I can't— I can't _believe_ their audacity. Their fucking _presumption_. They walked into _my_ shop and threatened _my_ people and I just wanted to— to—" Cayen's mouth was open, but her words were stuck in her throat. "Cayen, it's okay." "No, no it fucking isn't! I wanted to swipe at them. I wanted to break nails off in their stupid smarmy fucking faces. I wanted them to _suffer_. I _still_ want them to suffer. I hope I meet one of them alone in an alleyway so I can beat the shit out of them." She throws up her hands. "I feel like a fucking monster." Glire nodded, slowly, and thought. She chose her next words carefully. "...Is it a specific kind of monster?" Cayen put her head in her hands. "Yes." "Oh, Cayen." "I mean it. They're fucking violent, they want to kill everyone who isn't like them, who disagrees with them, what makes me any better? Seriously, what makes me better? I thought I was ready for it, I thought those smug assholes could walk in and do anything they wanted and I'd be able to handle it." She scoffed. "The second the chips are down I just turn into one of them." "No, I promise you, no, I don't think you're one of them for having those thoughts. These groups, they... they don't respond to debate, they don't respond to anything. They make that kind of violence the only option, sometimes. You would have been justified in swinging at them if they did anything." "But— but I don't want to just stop them. I want to _end_ them. I want to destroy them. The fact that they exist, it just—" She stiffened, then growled, high and descending, from the back of her throat. "I know. It's— it's a natural response." Glire's hands twisted in her lap. "Is it okay if I..." Her arms begin to open. Cayen nodded, and Glire slid an arm around Cayen's waist. Cayen shifted, and before she knew what she was doing, sat sideways on Glire's lap. "Oh, hi," Glire said, wrapping the other arm around Cayen's middle, too. "Hi," Cayen replied, laying her head on Glire's shoulder. Glire started to rub the back of Cayen's neck. It was tense. "This is one of those times, I think. One of those things where your brain has this thought, and it's scary, and you just... have to let it run its course. It's not _you_ you. It's just your brain reacting to what's happening. Just like my panic attacks. Sometimes I have a thought and it won't go away and I just have to... to let it do its thing for a while. Accept _that_ you're having a thought, without accepting the thought." "Yeah... yeah." Cayen lifted her head and brought it down on Gire's shoulder a few times, not so much nuzzling as gently headbutting, over and over. Nobody spoke for a while. "I think--" Glire paused a moment to collect her thoughts. "I think maybe you could use some care right now, if you'll let me." Cayen scoffed again. "What are you, my mother?" "No. I'm your— Your friend. your person. I care about you, and I have something I can do about it." She glanced around the room as she thought. "You put up the sign. That's your, your thing. You provide visibility and safety and support for people. And that's a big thing! I'm a healer, not a fighter. Care is... it's what I do. What I'm good at. I can't really be out there protesting, I can't engage people on the internet. I'm too anxious, I freeze up, I lose my words. If those four armbands walked into my store I'd probably hide in the back until they left. But I can... I can make sure you're okay. I can make sure what you're doing isn't hurting you." Cayen was really quiet for a while, and Glire let her be, just petting her and holding her. "I want to..." she began, and Glire listened. "...I want to... not be a person for a while." "Okay. How do you want to do that?" "I don't know, just... fuck." She sighs. "Tie me up. Make me an object. Objects don't have to deal with this bullshit." "Okay." Cayen pressed her cheek into Glire's shoulder. "I guess I have to get up to let you get the stuff to tie me up. ...but I don't wanna move." "Would it be too much to point out that objects don't move on their own, they go where people move them?" Cayen froze, and her ears folded back. Glire almost started apologizing, until a meek "no..." escaped Cayen's shrinking body as it hunched down. "Well, then, get off my lap." Cayen didn't move. "...Objects don't move unless someone pushes them, either." Glire chuckled. "You want me to push you off?" "Yeah." Glire put her hands on Cayen's shoulders. "You ready?" "Yeah." Glire pushed, and Cayen became dead weight, letting Glire push her off her lap and ono the futon, legs still draped over Glire's lap. Glire lifted them and got up, and on a whim, pushed Cayen over and arranged her on her front. She took the feline's arms and brought them behind her back. "Stay like that a moment," Glire said, as she got up. Cayen did. Her eyes were closed and her body was limp, the tops of her feet flat against the futon. She kept her arms behind her back until Glire returned. "I took the cuffs," she says. "I, um, I don't really have the skill to tie up your arms, but I think I can do your ankles." "Okay," Cayen said. "That's fine." Glire took the cuffs... and paused. "I'm going to try something," she said. "Okay." Glire straightened Cayen's arms out, and put the cuffs on her upper arms instead of her wrists. Then she took some of the rope and brought Cayen's wrists together, then tied them with a simple tie. She laced the excess rope through the D-rings of the cuffs, and pulled them tight. Cayen wiggled. "That's kinda... interesting," she said. "I hadn't thought about doing this before. It, um..." she tries to move her arms. "I think, um... can you string some rope under my arms and across my front? I think that might stop me from doing this." She lifted her arms as far as they could go away from her back, which wasn't far, but was still movement. "I can try that," she said. "Hang on." She got up and put a hand under Cayen's shoulder and another under her hip, and pulled, and rolled Cayen onto her back. "Nn. I forgot how strong you are." "You can only spend so much time hauling butternut squash and watermelons before you have something to show for it, I guess," Glire said, cradling Cayen's neck as she pulled her up into a sitting position. "It helps that you're so small." Picking up a length of rope, Glire pulled an end into the D-ring, then poked it through the little gap under Cayen's arm and back through the other one and its D-ring. She thought about it. "One moment." Pulling the rope through, she got it so she was holding an end in each hand traveling under Cayen's arms and through the D-ring, with a length of it strung across her chest. She pulled on it. "Try to move," she said. Cayen pulled. The rope went tight. She couldn't move. "Nnnnh." Cayen said, looking up at Glire with half-lidded eyes, not of lust but of submission. "Should I tie it off?" "...Make it two runs through? Like, so it's wider when I pull on it." "Okay." Glire did so, stringing it back around, pulling it through, and tying it off. There was a bunch of excess, it was ugly and asymmetrical, but it was functional, so Cayen didn't care. "How does that feel?" "Mmn, secure," Cayen said in a small voice. "More than I thought it would be." "Good. You want me to tie your legs now?" "Yeah." Glire put a hand on her chest and waited; Cayen nodded, and Glire shoved her back, and she went with it, flopping down onto her back again. Glire flipped her back onto her front, and straddled Cayen's legs, lifting both feet up. Taking another length of rope, she wrapped it around Cayen's ankles five, six, seven times, then tied it in the middle until it was secure. She then wrapped her arm around Cayen's ankles and lightly ran her fingers up the feline's immobile soles. Cayen squeaked and squirmed. "No, wait, Glire..." Glire slowed, but didn't stop. "Is that a real 'no', or--" "Yellow." Glire stopped. "I'm sorry, it sounded like you were playing." "No, it's... it's okay. I just, I don't want to do anything that makes me tense up right now." "Ohh. Of course. That's fine." "Like... I don't think I even want to come or to get spanked or tickled or anything like that, I just... wanna not be a person." "I understand. Can I give you a massage?" Cayen sighed into the futon. "Yes please." "Okay." Glire shifted positions slightly, and then took Cayen's feet in her hands, running her thumbs up and down the soles. "Nn-nn-nn." Cayen said in response to this, and melted. "That's it. Objects don't have to worry about tensing up, or doing anything else. They can just lie there and get rubbed." Cayen didn't respond, beyond moaning. She let the words wash over her and take her deep inside herself, where she wanted to go but couldn't on her own, the place where she was safe and warm and protected, where she knew nothing outside could hurt her. Glire spent a few minutes on Cayen's feet, going up and down, keeping a firm presure, never tickling or scratching, and then laid Cayen's legs back down on the bed, and moved up the feline's legs, starting with her calves, her knees, and her thighs. Cayen stayed motionless throughout, and barely made noise beyond the odd sigh. "Can I rub your behind?" Glire said. "Uh-huh," Cayen said, and Glire slipped her hands under Cayen's skirt. She was firm, kneading, pressing her weight into Cayen's flesh as she massaged. Cayen's moans started to ramp up again, and slowly, she started to raise her butt up in the air. Glire stopped, shifted her leg, and knelt on Cayen until her hips went back down. "Objects don't move," Glire said, and Cayen squirmed. "Nnh." Glire slipped her hands up Cayen's back, scritching and rubbing, and she moaned again. She floated on currents of pleasure and relaxation, guided by Glire's hands, and barely noticed when the hands withdrew and Glire changed position. She got onto her side, and rolled Cayen onto her side as well, turning her into the little spoon. Glire shifted up so she could easily wrap her arm around Cayen's neck from behind and hold onto her shoulder without choking her, the other petting up and down her side. "Do you want me to play with your chest?" she asked. "Nn-nn." Cayen said, and shook her head, just in case that wasn't clear. "Jes' hug me?" Glire did so, wrapping herself up around Cayen tightly. "There you are. Now you're all wrapped up and there's nothing you can do. There's nothing you _have_ to do." Cayen nodded, and huddled closer to Glire. "Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you th--" Glire put her hand over Cayen's mouth, and the feline blushed profusely. "Objects don't have to thank their partners," she said. "You're welcome. But it's okay. You can just... do whatever you want to do. Whatever you need to do." At that, Cayen felt her emotions bubbling up -- all the frustration, the powerlessness, the rage, and she made a little noise into Glire's hand. "It's okay, I promise. You can cry if you need to." And she did, she wept, muffledly, tears streaming down her face, mourning, letting go, exorcising the nightmares that had come to roost in her brain. They would come back, later; triage isn't treatment, and it would take much longer for her demons to leave her for good. More sleepless nights followed, worrying about what might have been and what might still be, and more evenings were spent yelling fruitlessly at armbands. But for the time being, they left her alone, and for the time being, that was enough.