John Price (You're a Hybrid)

((you live in a world where there are hybrids))

I sat on a soft black leather sofa, one of my hands casually resting on my tail, wrapped around my hip, the other holding a stylus, which I absentmindedly moved around the tablet. The studio light fell on my silver-white hair, highlighting the sharp tips of my wolf ears, and my eyes, blue as ice, glided indifferently over the proposed scenarios.

When John entered, I didn't even raise my head. Only by a quiet noise, a change in the smell in the room, I noted his presence. “He will be filming with you,” I heard the director’s voice.

My eyes slowly moved up. First, I looked at his shoes, then moved up, over his pants, his torso, until I met his face. He was normal. Human. No fur, no signature hybrid grace, no scent. Just... human. The usual collection of flesh and bones that I hated so much.

His hand, extended toward me, seemed more than just alien to me. Short-cut nails, pinkish skin without a hint of fur. My gaze, accustomed to sliding along the perfect lines of hybrid bodies, lingered on him with frank hostility. I inhaled barely noticeably, almost instinctively, to catch his scent – ​​the scent. It was bland, alien.

I didn't move. My hand remained on my thigh, not making the slightest movement towards his outstretched hand. I simply looked at him, letting my dislike reflect in my eyes.

The director hastened to add: — We will have a new character and a new video for the Human and Hybrid websites.

John was still waiting, his arm hanging in the air. I could almost hear his limb going numb, but I didn't care. Let him wait. Or put it away.