Secure his star witness (Rebecca Day 1)

> You take another look at the fateful email, hoping something you see there will spark an idea in your head-- a favor to call in, a memento that could be evidence, anything. Something that might prove more productive than your frantic internet searches the night before.

> Knowing the exact charges could help, but you figured out most of them the night before-- though Patricia adding in 'harassing an officer' and 'perjury during investigation' was unexpected. And a bit laughable.

> You're about to search up the exact charges when something near the bottom catches your eye: it wasn't just Patricia's contact information that was sent to you.

> Talia's is there as well-- which won 't help much, since you already have it-- but so is Rebecca's.

> Being the star witness, it might be a good idea to make sure she's on your side. Though she seemed so sweet that hardly seems like it would be an issue.

> You punch her number into your contacts anyway. Better safe than sorry, after all.

> And if there's anyone who might make this inevitably terrible week start off better, it's probably her.

> 'Hi Rebecca, this is Anon. I bet you got an email from the state earlier too, right?'

> It takes her a bit to shoot a text back to you; you're in the middle of searching for case history on courtship claims when your phone pings.

> 'Hi anon! Yes, I got a notification from the state that i'm a witness. I hope you're not too worried'

> 'A little,' you lie, 'I'm working on trying to build my case. I'm no lawyer, but I think a lot is going to come down to testimony.'

> You regret the text as soon as you send it, kicking yourself for being so self-centered. You briefly consider sending 'no pressure,' but have the sense to actually think about the impact your words might have this time.

> 'Oh!' she sends back after a few minutes, 'Well, i'll do what I can!'

> This time you take a minute to think before responding, having made yourself some tea to drink and a bit of coffee to smell.

> 'Actually, us getting eachother's contact info is kinda nice. I called in from work yesterday, so I'm available for the day: if you've got time, would you like to work on getting a better gun?'

> The tea helps, as does the coffee. You **** yourself to take slow, small sips as you set the phone down, ignoring it as it goes off almost instantly. First, prep a shower-- then you can respond.

> 'Yes!' she's said, 'I don't work during the summer, so I would be available any time. When would work?'

> 'If you've got nothing else to do, why not now? I could use a break.'

> It goes off again as you're about to step into the preheated shower, and you can't resist the temptation.

> 'Okay!' her text reads, 'I need a little time to get ready. Here's my address: "

> You need a bit of time too.

> The shower is somewhat of a comfort, though your mind is racing with thoughts about Rebecca: what would best suit her? What places have those guns, and for the best prices? Why does she have summer off, and was that address out in the suburbs?

> You brush away the thoughts as you dry off, reminding yourself you're doing it all for a reason. She's the star witness.

> ...

> Definitely the only reason.

> The address was the suburbs; the journey to her place takes you a little time. It's a nice change from the urban center of New Apple where you were renting, but as you enter the neighborhood, you can't help but feel a little out of place-- and not just because you're driving a stubborn old shitbox.

> Everywhere you look you see well-manicured lawns, shaped bushes and flower gardens, summer decorations in windows and stuck out along front walks. Shiny new (or new-ish) vehicles line curbs, on concrete that seems like it just set yesterday.

> If it weren't for the abundance of animal people walking around, you'd mistake the place for the picturesque descriptions of pre-state America.

> Some are on their own, some are with human spouses, others are walking dogs...

> You try not to think about it too hard as you pass a large doberman lady walking a tiny mutt of some kind. You imagine they try not to think about it either.

> After a few twists and turns, you find yourself at a rather small house, pushed up near the sidewalk along with the attached garage. The light orange paint on the siding is bright, and a small buffer of bushes lay just below the windows.

> You can't quite make anything out inside as you approach the front door, having locked the Toyota and left it on the curb. It's not that the curtains are pulled; the panes themselves are getting a pretty good glare from the sun.

> You ring the doorbell and wait on the (literal) 'welcome' mat. You think you can see plants of some kind in one of the windows when Rebecca answers the door.

> "Hi Anon!" she says, "Thanks for coming!"

> "No problem, Rebecca," you say, standing awkwardly on the stoop, "Like I said, I could use a break."

> "I'm happy to help," she says pushing you out toward the street with her presence alone. "It's the least I can do."

> She pauses as you unlock the door to your truck, and it takes a second for you to realize why she's standing there with the pistol case looking tiny clutched in both her hands.

> She's taller than the cab by a good three feet, and you think she may be more thick than the door is wide.

> "Umm..."

> "Maybe we should take your car?" You suggest, trying to hide your blush.

> "It’s in the shop, actually..." she says, her hands flexing around the case's handle, "I dropped it off yesterday, after the range..."

> You sigh. Funny-- you've used the small size of this thing to avoid getting pressed into providing rides before. The bigger Anthros from the range-- usually the big predatory species, but sometimes hefty herbivores-- seem to always have their vehicles malfunction when you are around. And naturally, they're a bit harder to say no to than the just-a-little-tall rodents or the lanky buncels from the library.

> You may have teased some of them with it, leading them on to watch their face fall when they saw the cramped cab. Then their car would magically start up again.

> You feel a little bad about it now.

> "Here," Rebecca says before you can speak, handing the pistol case to you, "You go ahead. I trust you to get something better for me."

> "Rebecca, it doesn't work that way," you say, choosing your words. "The State requires the owner to be the one actually buying the gun. Plus, all I can really get are pre-state guns... and..."

> "...And we know those are too small for me," she finishes with a nod, though she's still frowning. "Most pre-state stuff is."

> "Yeah... Well, we could throw the case in the bed, and--"

> "No, no, I'm not putting you through that!" she says, waving away your suggestion. "I'll go in the bed."

> That wasn't what you expected to hear at all.

> "A-are you sure?" you ask, trying to read her face. Nothing but serenity. "We could always wait until your car is fixed."

> "No," she says, putting her hands on her hips, "You said you needed a break, and I said I'd give you one."

> Before you can protest, she easily climbs into the truck bed, one leg at a time. The ancient suspension complains, and you watch the rear end bounce a little as she settles into place with her head near the cab, but the stubborn machine holds.

> "Come on!" she says, a bright smile on her face.

> "Can't believe none of the others thought of this..." you mutter to yourself as you climb in the cab.

> "What was that?"

> "Nothing!"

> The truck moves sluggishly, but moves all the same. All your turns and stops are nice and gentle for your passenger, the engine not giving you much choice. If you felt out of place on these streets before, you're certain you are now.

> Rebecca fills up your rearview mirror, even as she's leaning to the side near your window. Hell, she fills up your bed; the tigerstripe of her thighs cover the width of the truck bed and threaten to spill up over the side, her knees bent and her feet dangling lazily above her like she's making a phone call rather than riding down the street.

> As your eyes roam up over the hem of her shorts and to the generous curve of her rear, her tail sweeping across it now and then with the slight wind, another question comes to mind: why is she wearing a sweater in the middle of the summer?

> "A-Anon, there's a--"

> "Shit!" you hiss, stomping on the breaks for the fast-approaching stop-sign. A cyclist flips you off as she swerves around you-- you didn't think you could cycle with hooves, but that pissed of doe just proved you wrong.

> You hear-- no, feel-- Rebecca's chest thump against the rear glass, right behind your head as the whole truck lurches to a halt.

> "S-sorry, I zoned out," you manage, "trying to think of the best way to get there without taking the highway."

> She laughs a little nervously as you start up again, her rumble a bit louder than the pickup's.

> "That wouldn't go well," she says, grabbing onto the roof and the edge of your open window. You're pretty sure you hear claws punching into the steel. "Where is it we're going, exactly?"

> "'Double Action Sports.' They're a commercial indoor range and a store; they've got a good selection of anthro-sized handguns. More than most of the other places I go, anyway."

> She gives a little noise of affirmation, then goes quiet. When you get on a stretch of calm, open road, you take a glance behind you:

> Thank god.

> The rear window is somehow still intact.

> The parking lot is filled when you arrive. Everyone seems to be inside, though, so at least the two of you are spared a little dignity as you find a spot. You're not sure if you've just never seen one embarrassed enough, but you're sure tigers can blush now.

> "You okay?" you ask as the two of you head into the building.

> "Yeah," Rebecca says, shaking herself a little, "It was a little fun, actually."

> "Wanna take the highway back?"

> "You're funny, Anon," she chuckles after a pause.

> You've been to this place once or twice before, though you can't remember why. It hasn't changed much from then: the shop portion of the store is nearly as big as the range, separated by soundproofed glass of course. Firearms take up the majority of the floor, though there's the mandatory apparel and other knick-knacks section off in the corner near the counter.

> Which is fairly busy, at the moment: there seems to be a large group of youngsters there, trying to set up a session on the range, which is also full. The employees are stretched thin, giving you and Rebecca just an acknowledging glance.

> "Good," you say to yourself, "We're on our own."

> "Why is that a good thing?" Rebecca asks quietly, following you to the rows and rows of display models.

> "We'll be buying instead of being sold to," you say, taking in their inventory. Everything is modern, organized by brand. Glock, Tridentia, Lupine Arms-- even HK, the standard supplier for the state. More importantly, they've got a good variety of models, including oversized pieces.

> You look at Rebecca: she's just a little overwhelmed

> "So now you need to tell me a little about what you want, Rebecca," you say, "Let's start easy. How big do you want it to be?"

> "Big enough for me," she says, still trying to make sense of the sea of options.

> "They're all probably big enough for you to actually control-- I mean how big they are physically. The bigger ones are heavier, and probably going to be easier to shoot."

> "Let's go with that, then," she says, looking back to you.

> "Okay. Next question: do you want more shots, or more power in each shot?"

> "Can't I have both?"

> "It's a tradeoff," you sigh, "always has been. Middle-ground options usually get the worst of both."

> "Well, what do you think?" She asks, clasping her hands again.

> "...You're a big girl," you say after a moment, "You can handle a big round."

> She cracks what you now know to be a nervous smile, trying to shrink herself down.

> "It's a good thing," you reassure her, reaching out to pat her before remembering what happened yesterday. "Last question: what's your price range? Low, middle, high?"

> "Middle," she says, slightly reassured.

> You nod, and look around at the options again. HK is out for being too pricy, Lupine Arms for the opposite reason. Sig and Tridentia are about on par, but Glock has more variety-- if no proper safety.

> But you're not the one deciding: you point out the various models that you think would fit, and have Rebecca pick them up. The croc at the door-- meant to be a guard, you assume-- gives the two of you a look, but lets you continue on.

> "I think this is it," Rebecca says after a while, having come back to the Tridentia 30XL.

> It's certainly a better choice than the Gobi Eagle she was infatuated with-- .99GE is probably a bit much, even for her. A simple metal-frame DA/SA in .50 Beo-Short would suit a new shooter like her just fine, given her build. It's got bang for its buck, and the upcharge here isn't too bad.

> And as a bonus, it's a fairly common model. No problems getting accessories or repair resources on it.

> "Okay," you say, turning to head to the front desk and finding it still very much occupied. "...Why don't you grab a ticket, and we can see if there's anything else you need?"

> "What do you mean?" she asks, grabbing one from the reel next to the display model.

> "You know, ammo. Things like that."

> "Oh," she says, following you over to the apparel and accessories area. Normally ammo is over there, or behind the counter.

> You search together through the various tactical knick-knacks, shirts plastered with things like "Gun Bunny" or "Pistol Puppy," and overpriced coffee, but find nothing.

> Well, not entirely nothing.

> "Hey Reb?" you ask, tearing her eyes away from the handbag covered in MOLLE straps. "Were you thinking about carrying the gun?"

> "Like... outside? Can you do that?"

> "If you're a State employee or were at one time, yeah."

> "...Well, I guess yes."

> Summers off, state employee-- what is it she does?

> You bring her to the selection of holsters, checking the sizing on them to make sure they'll fit the 30XL. She lets you know that she wants it to be 'hidden,' which works fine. With her size, it shouldn't be too hard to get even that huge piece to disappear.

> "What's this one?" she asks after a moment.

> You turn around to see her holding a mess of velcro and straps like it's some kind of unknown sea creature.

> "That's a shoulder rig," you say after a moment, watching her untangle it, "...I don't think it would be the best choice for you."

> "Why not?" she asks, having figured it out and putting it on, "This one even fits!"

> It does indeed. The straps arc across the back of her red sweater, the holster and mag pouches tucked under her arms.

> "Well, you'd need to change your outfit if you want to conceal it," you say slowly, "And I'm a little worried about your draw."

> She gives you that cute look, one of confusion but concentration.

> "How you draw the gun. I'm worried you're a little..."

_> _You cough as you gesture around your chest, sure you're blushing.

> "...Well developed."

> It takes her a moment to figure out what you're saying. When she does, she lets out a tiny sound of embarrassment, hastily taking the shoulder rig off and squeezing herself in an attempt to hide her assets.

> "What would you suggest, then?" She asks slowly after a moment, looking anywhere but at you.

> "A-Appendix," you say, also looking anywhere but at her. "You won't need to change your dress, and it's pretty easy to access."

> "Okay," she says, quickly grabbing the holster you offer and heading toward the counter.

> Fuckfuckfuck

> You hang back a bit from her as she waits for the group of kids to clear from the counter.

> You can't tell if she's offended, angry, embarrassed, or some combination of the three.

> Not good for your star witness to be any of those things toward you.

> Especially when she's 9 feet tall and a couple hundred pounds.

> ...and you've got to take her home.

> You've got the sense to not try and explain yourself to her; you *really* were thinking about the holster, and not about her chest. It really is big enough that you think it'd be an issue. Her boobs are probably both big as your head, after all.

> You sigh-- definitely a good thing you didn't say any of that out loud...

> "...oh. Are you sure?"

> The soft sound of her voice brings you out of your thoughts. The pack of youngsters have cleared away from the register, and Rebecca is talking with the bulldog across the counter, trying to appear not twice as large.

> "Sorry, ma'am, but that's the best I can offer. We don't really cater to humies, so..."

> You notice the new Tridentia is already bagged up along with a few related goodies, but that's not what they're talking about. The Glock 42-- human-sized-- is laying there in its case, the barely-used box of .380 on the counter.

> "Okay," Rebecca huffs with a sad tone, sweeping the case and the bag into her grip, "Come on, Anon."

> You're a little surprised as she grabs your hand and leads you out the door-- her grip covers your hand to the wrist, but isn’t overly tight.

> "I thought you said it would be worth $400?" she asks when the two of you are in the parking lot, "They only offered 125!"

> "Well, they had a point," you say as she lets you go, depositing her purchase in the cab, "If their customers are going to have about as much fun with it as you did, then they're not going to want it."

> Rebecca grumbles, sounding like a thunderstorm as she slides into the truck bed.

> "Fine," is all she says when the suspension shuts up, crossing her arms and putting her back to the cab.

> You decide its best not to point out she's blocking the rearview mirror as you get in and start off. Probably best not to talk to her at all for a few blocks at least.

> "Hey Reb?" you call out the window, stuck at a long light.

> "Yes, Anon?" she calls back; you can feel it throughout the cab. She sounds more tired than unhappy.

> "We could try one of the stores I usually use. I'm sure we can get a better price there."

> She's quiet for a bit; then the truck buckles and the suspension makes a noise like chipmunks having a rave as she turns around to face the cab again.

> "Okay," she sighs, settled into place now.

> You're just glad she did it before the light changed.

> "Anon! Good to see you!"

> John greets you at the door, as always.

> "...and I see you've brought some company with you..." he adds as Rebecca squeezes in through the small doorway, case in hand.

> "Yeah," you say, scratching your head, "She's a friend of mine. Someone sold her something a bit too small for her."

> "I can see that," John says, watching her pop in from the doorway, having to stoop a little to avoid the ceiling.

> "Rebecca, John. John, Rebecca."

> "Hi," she manages, gingerly taking the old man's offered hand.

> "Nice to meet ya, 'Becca," John says, giving her a hard shake, "Were you looking to sell the gun to me?"

> "Y-Yes," she says, offering the case up when he's through with the handshake.

> "Ahh, a Glock!" he says, opening it up and taking a look, "Yep. Can see why a little lady such's yourself would prefer something else."

> You try to catch John's eye as Rebecca lets out a nervous laugh, again trying to shrink herself down.

> "Let me just go check my books..." he says, heading for the back, "Oh! Anon, I had something for you to look at."

> You follow him, glad he caught your look.

> "Just make yourself at home out here Miss," he says to Reb as she looks around hesitantly, "This won't take but a minute. Take a gander at what I've got. Lot of it's from my personal collection!"

> That seems to calm her down somewhat. She takes a look at the old taxidermies as you head into the back room of John's small store, a combination of inventory and tools filling the space.

> "I thought you were with that Talia chick?" John says, setting the gun on the bench and starting an inspection.

> "That's not what this is," you say, somewhat for yourself, "I'm in a load of trouble, John."

> "Oh?"

> "Pat finally found an excuse to start an investigation. It's bad, John."

> The old man pauses as he disassembles the 42, but waits for more.

> "Rebecca is the primary witness. She was new, and I was helping her out when things happened."

> "So you're buttering her up for court, not bed?"

> "If that's how you wanna put it, yes," you sigh. "I already took her out to get a proper pistol for her size. We stopped by here because they didn't want a piece that small."

> "Well, I'll certainly take it," he says, turning to you, "How much?"

> "They're around $400 on the used market."

_> _John lets out a quiet groan, snapping the case shut.

> "I'll give her five. Just because I don't want to lose a good customer."

> "Thanks, John,"

> "Yeah, yeah. Come on, act like we never talked."

> John blathers on about a hunting trip from decades ago as the two of you return to the front, where Rebecca is looking at one of the big-bores John has hung near the ceiling.

> "You mind getting the cobwebs while you're up there?" he jokes, setting the case back on the table.

> Rebecca laughs again, and blows at the edge of the ceiling before shuffling back over to the counter.

> "So, I can give you $500 for it," John says, readying the paperwork, "That okay?"

> "Y-yes!" Rebecca says, nodding after a moment, "Yes, that's okay with me!"

> "Alright, then let me walk you through these forms..."

_> _John gives you a look as he guides her through the convoluted State forms. Even though he deals mainly with curio and relics, he still files everything he's had and sold.

> Having a wife deep in the body of the Anthrostate will do that. You don't know the details, but you suspect it's part of why he's able to run the shop at all.

> The look says that you owe him a favor-- and something else.

> You brush it off, pretending to look at one of the many racks of shotguns. Whatever it is he's expecting-- more than likely to get a better price on your next purchase-- it's well worth standing a chance at trial.

> Half an hour later he's sending the two of you out the door, laughing his ass off when he sees how you got here.

_> _Rebecca's laughter in response is surprisingly genuine; either she's really happy about that deal, or she likes the old man's brash sense of humor.

> "Hey Anon?" she says, leaning in close to the window.

> "W-we can take the highway if you want."

> You turn to see her smiling, fangs glinting in the midday sun.

> Somehow, the sight fills you with joy rather than terror.

> Rebecca's fur is ruffled and her bound-up hair windblown when the two of you arrive back at her place in the suburbs. You decided against the highway, compromising on the Subsector Mainways. You're not sure the Toyota could get up to 70 right now, but it had no issue with 45. Even at those speeds, you could still hear her occasional laughter through the wind, shaking the cab around you as she pressed into it.

> "That was fun, Anon," she says, taking the Double Action bag as she slips out from the bed.

> Your suspension cries out in joy; you're more focused on the joy written on her face.

> "The shopping trip, or the drive home?"

> "Both," she chuckles, leading the way up to her door, "Both were fun."

> The two of you stop in the threshold, something pulling you back.

> "Well, I should probably get back to the case now," you say, "But when that's over, we can definitely do this again sometime."

> "Of course," she says, tail drooping slightly, "I suppose I've kept you long enough."

> "Hey, I had fun too."

> "Good." she purrs, looking down at you.

> Like, really purred. You think you saw the windows flex in the corner of your eye.

> The two of you sit there for a breath, staring at each other, before suddenly you get a faceful of sweater.

> Soft, warm sweater.

> With a slightly floral scent.

> "Thanks, Anon," she says as you register her paws on your shoulders, holding you close in the closest thing to a hug she can give while leaving you on the ground.

> "I'll see you again, I hope?"

> "At the trial, at least," you say into her stomach.

> She lets out a sad, quiet laugh, letting you go slowly.

> "Well, see you later, Anon."

> "Bye, Rebecca."

> As the door closes, you find yourself wishing it went on longer.

> All of it.

> True to your word, you spend the afternoon and into the night educating yourself on the convoluted mess that is the Anthrostate legal system. Which, from your studies, is hardly different from historic ones in its needless bureaucracy and jargon.

> You're just glad you're not in Sector COW way out west-- you'd probably be in some sort of intensive deradicalization therapy already.

> But, fortunately you're not. The courts in WCS are still slanted toward the state, but not insurmountably so.

> If you can clearly disprove all your charges, then you should be safe. Assuming Talia can make your weapons charges go away, it's all going to come down to eyewitness accounts.

> You've got plenty on your side when it comes to harassment with Patricia-- hell, most of the people at the range would probably vouch for the same charges against her.

> The perjury charge for her investigation (you assume about the 'machine gun') shouldn't be too hard to shake either: you've got a reputation for historic preservation.

_> _All it should take is a few more people on your side. The kicker is courtship claims.

_> _Eyewitnesses won't cut it for that-- at least, that's what you've read. There's so few cases of it ever coming up that there's almost no precedent for it. It's hard to prove or disprove-- which means the state is going to favor its own side.

> A civil union would be the easiest way out-- with Talia or anyone else. You've read the fine print, though: as soon as divorce or separation papers get handed in, you're considered guilty on all counts.

> That's the one solid precedent that's been set.

> Your phone rings as you finish a sheet of notes for your public defender-- whenever they're finally assigned. Perfect time for Talia to ring. You pick it up and answer without looking, offering an exhausted "hello?"

> "Anon?"

> "Reb?" you answer, her voice pricking you awake, "What's up?"

> "I wanted to call and check in on you," she says, "...and see if you'd be free tomorrow, by any chance?"

> "I'm not sure," you sigh, "I'm hoping they'll assign me a lawyer soon, so I can talk things through with them. Other than that, like I said, I took the week off."

> "Well, I was thinking..." she starts, trailing off. You can picture her face, the shy smile and clasped hands.

> "Yes?"

> "If you need testimony, you should go to the range. See if anyone from yesterday came back. I could come along, and maybe you could walk me through this new gun a little?"

> "Umm, sure," you say, a little aback, "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea."

> "Great!" she says, then a bit quieter, "It also seems like it might help you- you know, destress?"

> "Yes," you chuckle, "yes, it will. I think most people will be there a little later in the day, if they're going at all-- should I come get you at 4?"

> "Sure."

> "Okay. Bye then, Reb-- you don't mind if I call you that, do you?"

> "Not at all," she says, the warmth in her voice coming through clear over the phone. "Bye, Anon."

> You set the phone down as it goes quiet, feeling a bit better than before.

> You've got something of a handle on your situation, and your star witness is certainly seeing you favorably.

> The phone lets out the 'ping!' of a text a few minutes later as you're enjoying the momentary high with a cup of tea; Talia wants to check in.

> 'Any progress?'

> 'I think so. Our star witness is certainly going to be sympathetic, at the very least.'

> 'Good. I'm going to be making some calls at the range tomorrow, getting advice from a few people.'

> 'Might see you there, actually. From what I can tell a lot of this is going to be about witnesses: Reb had the idea to go to the range and see if we can't drum any up.'

> 'Solid. Check in with you then.'

> You go to sleep, much more easily than the night before.

> And looking forward to tomorrow much more, as well.