An Unsolved Mystery

For the viewers at home, a chyron on the bottom of the screen declared, “All game participants are 18 or older.” A memorable rendition of Vivaldi’s Spring Concerto played lightly in the background, featuring a large kazoo section at the insistence of a Junior Producer that had a vested financial interest in increasing the number of classical music performances featuring kazoos.

Nugget awoke with the rest of her lodge family. First, time for grooming. The human girl used her fingers and teeth to pick at (and eat) any stray tick or louse she found in her family members’ fur. Some of them did the same for her. She chirped and grunted contentedly, same as her family; she did squeak a bit loudly as one of the dire beavers of the lodge yanked out an especially deeply dug in tick from her leg. If Nugget knew about Lyme disease, she may have been worried about it, but she was oblivious to the concept of germ theory.

After grooming, it was time to forage. Nugget dove into the watery entrance of her family lodge, swimming through the underwater entrance and emerging to the surface of her family pond. She first swam over to the patch of water lilies. Of the food sources that cannot flee from her, water lilies were her favorite. She plucked a flower and started to munch on it. The petals were swallowed one by one, leaving the flower stem. It was too early in the season to find ripe fruit or seeds, much to Nugget’s dismay. The petals by themselves were not filling enough. She did snag a second one to snack on as she made her way to shore.

She plucked a cattail to eat as she finally stood on two feet for the first time since yesterday. While a full sized dire beaver is about nine feet long from snout to tail tip, they are only about four feet tall; Nugget had to crawl through the dry parts of the lodge. Not that she minded. The lodge stays warmer in the winter with less air space.

She stretched her bony body, watching her surroundings and listening for any tail slaps warning of danger. Her long black hair was a tangled mess tumbling down to her waist. The girl was very - very thin - her ribs and hips visibly defined under her skin. The tiny handfuls on her chest ended in little pink nipples. Mud caked large portions of her body, but it did not bother her.

She padded barefoot towards where she last left one of her current non-beaver friends, a stick she creatively named Stick. One of the older beavers gnawed an end of Stick to a sharp point. She carefully crept, Stick in hand, to a place where she knew the fish liked to congregate. Maybe this time, I will be lucky! she thought. Nugget was not successful every day with Stick.

She thrusted the pointy end of Stick into the water. She did get lucky, as she skewered a fish! It struggled at the end until it stopped. The other fish fled, to return again after they forgot that the girl often tried to stab them here. Nugget squatted down in the mud and feasted with her bare hands. Skin. Muscles. Guts. As much of the edible bits as possible were consumed. Nugget was careful to avoid swallowing the little bones at least. In fifteen minutes, the fish carcass had been picked clean and Nugget felt as close to full as she normally got.

Foraging done (for now), the girl scanned the pond, watching and listening, as she washed the fish viscera from her face. Most of the young dire beavers were playing. A few of the older ones were working on the lodge and the rest were keeping watch. Her family’s chipper chirps and glad grunts fill the air. She drank her fill of pond water to slake her thirst.

The sun has not quite set yet. There is probably time for a quick peek! Nugget made her way to her other non-beaver friend, the paper man. She hid the paper man in the hollow of a tree to protect him from the environment. It was so nice when she found him, so long ago. The paper man made her... feel things.

She got to the paper man’s tree. She removed the rock she used to seal the paper man inside, then reached into the hollow. The magazine that holds paper man was still there, the cover filthy with many seasons worth of grime. Nugget remembered most of the letters she learned in school before the bad men came during her family trip to the mountains over Thanksgiving. She tried to read the cover, based on the sounds of the letters, “Kah-ess-emm-ooh-pooo-ell-eee-taaa-enn?”

She thought it was right; she didn’t know what the word means anyway. She moved on to practicing her numbers. She thought she remembered all of her numbers from school as she looked at the numbers on the heavily stained cover. “One, Nine, Seven, Two!”

That’s enough learning, time for paper man!

She opened the magazine, unfurling paper man. He did funny things to Nugget every time she looked at him, posed with a lollipop stick (as far as she knew) in his mouth. He was naked, lying down on his side, one hand covering his private place. Nugget’s thoughts often went towards what that hand covered. Did paper man look like she did in her private place? Or different?

She stared at paper man’s chest, his arms, his legs, all on display. As she often did while she looked, her hand made its way to her private place. She ran her fingers through the groove of it. It felt both right and not enough. She started to chirp as she hit that extra special spot with her rubbing.

She fell on her butt, too weak kneed to keep standing. “Look, Stick,” she panted towards her loyal non-beaver companion, “Does paper man do funny things to you, too?” She would speak Beaver to Stick, but everyone knows that sticks don’t speak Beaver. If they did, they wouldn’t get eaten so often.

Nugget spread her legs wider as she rubbed more vigorously. Her chirps get breathier. She felt her private place get moist, and not from residual pond water. When that happened, she pressed a finger into the big hole in her private place. Again, it felt both right and not enough.

She gazed deeper at paper man. It was harder to see, as the twilight was deepening. Still she persisted, wiggling and prodding her hole, seeking that release, the ultimate part of the funny feeling the paper man gave her. She felt herself clenching down on slickened fingers, her breath more irregular, her feelings getting more all consuming. Her whine echoed off the nearby trees as the world goes fuzzy for a second.

She basked in the loosened feeling for a few moments, then carefully stood up to put paper man back in his hollow. She leaned on Stick for support, for her legs were still a little bit wobbly. Then, right before she let go, she heard something whistle. She looked up.

BONK!!!

The particular Junior Producer that was tasked with kidnapping Beverly (somehow) lugged the unconscious (but otherwise fine) body onto its shoulder equivalent (which is also, funnily enough, called a shoulder). At one point it was a man, then, through a series of unfortunate circumstances, found itself living a few seconds behind everyone else and possessing the body of an anvil (an object notorious for being heavy and lacking sensory organs). Fortunately, anvils were capable of locomotion. Some of the other Junior Producers gave it grief; it was not its fault that they were from worlds outside the purview of cartoon logic.

It gathered Beverly’s worldly possessions (all two of them) and proceeded to make its way to the set. It loaded up Beverly into the contestant launching chute with appropriate safety gear, then returned to the Junior Producers Talent Acquisition Subcommittee Room. Said room was filled with bedlam, which seemed to focus upon it as the door swung open.

The most vocal of the Producers shouted, “Hey, dummy, you realized you grabbed that contestant while she was naked, right?”

“No. I can’t see, remember? No eyes!”

“You realize,” a different one snarled, “that the naked girl will be given an unfair advantage, as she will earn VP for the act of showing up on stage naked, right?”

“It can’t be worth that much VP. It’s not a big deal.”

A quiet one piped up, “Hey, how much VP IS nudity worth anyways?”

The room fell silent. Papers were rustled. The anvil producer felt the tension rising in the depths of its Pritchel hole. It didn’t know why it has a Pritchel hole, but it did. It is not like it was actually going to be used as an anvil, so long as it can outrun that dastardly Google corporation.

“Well, my job for the day was to fetch the contestant. It’s not my fault that the VP point assignment subcommittee wasn’t ready yet.”

The room came to an agreement. Let the Points subcommittee deal with this snafu.

Jack watched, bemused, as a filthy, scrawny, naked human gently floated down, unconscious. She had a small pink umbrella tied into a clump of hair, which dissipated as she landed on the marble stage floor. What sounded like an error message reverberated through the amphitheater.

The others were taking the sight of a descended malnourished naked girl... less well. Both Robin and Ipheara rushed over to check on her, the latter sighing in relief, “She’s still breathing...”

Zoe turned to Jack, preparing to accuse the Hostess of something monstrous, only to notice that he had once again changed forms. This time, keen-eyed members of the audience would recognize Jack’s form as a (close enough) replica of Burt Reynolds, as if he stepped off the set of Smokey and the Bandit.

After blinking for a few nanoseconds, Zoe launched her interrogation, “Okay, one, how did you do that? More importantly, two, WHY IS SHE NAKED!!!!!”

Jack smirked and twirled his mustache. Robin, meanwhile, was actually doing something about it. They zipped off their jacket and laid it over the naked girl.

“Our fourth contestant, ladies, gentlemen, and everyone beyond or between! May I present to you Beverly Perdue, the long-lost heir to the Perdue chicken empire! She apparently is called Nugget by her friends.”

Robin’s mouth opened and hung there agape as they considered the girl. She looks so small...

They need to get out of the way as a large bucket of water suddenly manifested over Beverly, dumping its contents over the girl. She blinked back into consciousness.

“Hey, are you alright, Beverly?” Robin asked, not presuming immediate friendship.

The girl looked confused. She sniffed the air, then whimpered softly.

“To be somewhat fair,” Jack noted, “This IS the first time Beverly here has made contact with humans in over a dozen years.” The fake Burt Reynolds turned to said girl, grinning, teeth too sharp, mouth too wide. He addressed her, “Welcome, Beverly to Har...”

Beverly growled and started slapping the ground before her. Robin’s jacket was knocked off in the process, but it did not concern the heiress. Jack seemed unfazed, noting, “English, Beverly. Nobody else speaks Beaver here.”

“Ah, actually,” Ipheara interrupted, “I know a little Beaver. She is scared and confused. She thinks you are a danger to her.”

Itzy spoke up, “Which makes a lot of sense, considering...”

Said naked girl snarled, “You aren’t paper man! Paper man has brown eyes! Not green! Brown!”

The assembled harem all had the same thought at once. Paper man?

Jack, on the other hand, was unfazed as he joked, “Ah, so the girl can speak! Excellent! And I bet the audience enjoyed you ‘looking’ at paper man. But, we have a show to do! Welcome, Beverly to Harem Hotel! You have the pleasure of...”

The girl raised her hand, as if this was an elementary school. She asked her questions, despite not being called. “What is ‘Audience?’ What is ‘Harem?’”

It was now Jack’s turn to blink in disbelief. While he suspected he might have to deal with a contestant too sheltered to know what a harem was, he did not think that he would have to explain the concept of an audience this morning. A quick time skip for explanations later, and it looked like the heiress understood.

“So, like wolfs? Wolfs bad! They try to eat family. Send me home! I don’t wanna be a wolf!” The heiress stomped her foot, which is more distracting than menacing, given her nudity.

Robin, who has been vibrating slightly ever since they heard that this is the first bit of human contact Beverly had in so long, finally squeaked, “And where is home? Where have you been?”

“Pond and lodge with big beaver family.”

“So, you have been protected by guardian woodland critters against the dark forces! I knew it! Who tried to assassinate your family? Tyson? Monsanto? Or was it a chicken revolt?” Robin jumped up slightly as they tried to solve the mystery. They are only slightly disappointed when Beverly just shrugged. The Mastress picks up their jacket and place it back around the heiress’s shoulders. I’ll solve this mystery and bring the conspirators to justice!

“Ahem. I suppose I could send you back if you really want it, Beverly,” Jack replied, looking at his nails, “but you should consider the... advantages of staying. Robin here, as the Mastress, will be your mate. You DID want a mate, right?”

“Mate?” Beverly looked at Robin in a new light. She sniffed the air around them, moving on all fours, then began to chirp and nuzzle into Robin’s leg. Ipheara nodded along, as if that was normal. Itzel looked at the sight quizzically. Zoe mumbled something too quiet to be picked up.

“How’s that for curveball number four, my dear audience? Beverly Perdue: a long-lost child, now grown up, raised more by woodland creatures than humans, already courting our dear Mastress in the ways of her adopted culture! What a delight! Now, for some reason, this contestant’s transformation suggestion boxes are on a different platform. And there is one for each pathway, which are: Heiress, Cold Case, and Feral. One suggestion per browser session per suggestion box, but you can submit more by re-opening the page, if things work as advertised.”

Beverly stopped rubbing her scent onto Robin's leg for a moment to ask, trying to count syllables in the final word, “What is ‘transformation?’”

“I’d also really like an explanation on that,” Zoe snarled.

Jack again ignored them. “Four down, four to go! We already have so many surprises. I wonder what the next one will be. Contestant number five, come on down!”

Bonus Image: Beverly at home.