``Tarnished Silver''
``You've been very good for my guests today, Silver.''
K'rithis - or ``Silver'' as his ``owner'' (read: employer) called him - gave an appreciative chirp. The noise was the same that dotheros made when pleased.
And in his role as a companion Drom, that was how he was seen. As a larger, more intelligent version of those domesticated raptors.
His ``owner'' then continued. ``I think you've earned yourself a little treat.''
K'rithis looked up at his ``owner'', a Tahra Drom who was somewhat larger than he was, owing to his own Dein ancestry. He watched as his ``owner'' carefully gathered the leftovers from the serving dishes and arranged them onto a large plate.
``Gerald, please pour some of the punch - nonalcoholic, mind you - into a bowl for Silver,'' the Tahra said as they scooped up some of the mashed potatoes onto the plate.
``Certainly, sir,'' Gerald said.
K'rithis watched as Gerald, a Human in a tailcoat and smartly pressed pants that likely cost as much as his car delicately ladled out a hearty serving of the leftover punch into a gorgeous crystal bowl.
The Drom adjusted his position on the cushion, making his diaper crinkle slightly under his elegant burgundy silk wrap.
He gingerly touched the sterling silver tag on his collar. He knew what it read: ``SILVER Property of the Kazirmis Estate. If found, please call...''
Legally, he and all other companions were still persons. But in the companion industry's carefully cultivated fantasy, companions weren't Droms who had taken a lucrative, if embarrassing job. They were bespoke, luxury pets.
``Silver! Come!'' Mr. Kazirmis said.
K'rithis got up from the cushion and padded over to the Tahra.
``Well, Silver, this feast is your reward for being a good boy tonight.''
K'rithis looked at what was served. He could see a trio of toast points topped with smoked wild Alaskan salmon and salmon roe followed by a small bowl of salad containing a variety of greens that he couldn't recognize, drizzled with extra-virgin olive oil and drops of the traditionally made balsamic vinegar. There was also a small bowl of wild mushroom soup, redolent with rich beef broth and a scent evocative of the deep forests. And the main course was a perfectly seared duck breast drizzled in a decadent plum reduction with a side of mashed potatoes that he could smell contained real black truffle. And the dessert was a fruit salad with a careful drizzle of traditional balsamic vinegar. All finished off with a bowl of a ruby red mocktail that tickled his muzzle with the scent of floral extracts, spices, and fruit juices.
In sum, it was a meal that would have likely cost him a week's pay back at his old job at the fast food eatery when the factories closed down. Even when he worked at the factories, such a meal was likely a literal twice-a-year affair, at most.
And all of it was served on plates that cost more than the furniture in his family's house combined.
But what transformed a taste of luxury into a mockery was the serving. There were no utensils given, everything was served on the floor, and the drink served in a shallow crystal bowl.
K'rithis carefully reached out with a clawed hand to pick up one of the toast points when Mr. Kazirmis produced a distinctive clicking sound by tapping his sickle claw against the floor. It was a signal for him to stop and look at his ``owner''.
Which he just did.
``Silver, eat pretty,'' Mr. Kazirmis said.
``Eat pretty.''The command made K'rithis wince. The phrase itself brought to mind elegant galas with people enjoying their meals with impeccable manners.
Or perhaps a gentle admonishment to a child at a restaurant who was eating a bit too messy for the parents' taste.
Here, it was an ironic command, a command to eat like a domestic raptor. This was an action that'd normally get him thrown out of all but the worst dive bars, let alone any place that served a meal this fancy.
But here, it was to reinforce the fact that K'rithis wasn't a person dining at the table amongst equals, but a pet being given treats by its owner for being well-behaved.
K'rithis carefully dipped his muzzle into the plate, opened his mouth and ate the toast point. The flavors were nothing short of incredible with the salty-sweet smokiness of the rich Alaskan salmon punctuated by the briny bite of the salmon roe. All underpinned by the crisp, yeasty toast with just the slightest hints of extra virgin olive oil.
``Good boy,'' Mr. Kazirmis said, gently running a clawed hand down K'rithis's neck and stroking his feathers.
He then slowly worked his way through the meal, slowly savoring the symphony of flavors. The soup was the embarrassing part; he had to dip his muzzle into the bowl, lap up the soup and then use his tongue to get the last bits like a dothero. K'rithis's iridescent grey feathers rippled as he realized his ``owner'' was going to post pictures of him eating this meal with cutesy captions and comments.
By the time he lapped up the after dinner cocktail, K'rithis's belly was full with the luxurious meal, but his dignity was in tatters as remnants of food stuck to his muzzle.
``Sit pretty so we can show everyone how much you loved that meal!''
K'rithis took the ``sit pretty'' pose. It wasn't anything complex, just sit on his pubic boot, have his tail gently extended behind him, have his arms raised up with his palms facing each other in the natural position, ensure his crest feathers were fully perked up, and have his mouth slightly open with loose muscles around his muzzle and eyes.
He maintained that pose as Mr. Kazirmis took pictures of him.
``Okay Silver, release.''
K'rithis stood up and assumed the more natural horizontal stance of a Drom.
``Let's get you cleaned up before nesting time.'' Mr. Kazirmis gently lifted the elegant cloth wrap around K'rithis hindquarters and gave his diaper several firm squeezes. ``Well, it looks like you've made a nice big puddle in your diaper. You're nearly soaked through, Silver. Come on, we can't have you leaking all over the nice rugs.''
K'rithis fumed slightly as he obediently followed Mr. Kazirmis. He could smell that Mr. Kazirmis - incontinent and diapered like all Droms - had definitely used his own diaper recently. But no one would dare check his own diaper or comment on it. It was something done only to pets or hatchlings and as a companion, he fell under the former category.
***
Inside the luxurious secondary bathroom, which was designed for companion care, hence its appearance that looked closer to a high end grooming salon for pets than an actual bathroom, K'rithis obediently stood on the grooming table. His decorative wrap had been removed, leaving his sagging diaper completely exposed.
He stood still as Mr. Kazirmis dampened a washcloth and gently cleaned the remnants of his meal off his muzzle. ``My, such a messy eater!'' he said.
If you didn't give me that damn ``eat pretty'' command, my muzzle would be so much cleaner! K'rithis thought. Of course, he didn't dare voice his opinions; talking back to one's ``owner'' was career suicide for a companion.
``Well, Silver, your plumage looks quite nice, but I think we can give it quick brush.''
K'rithis stood still as Mr. Kazirmis ran the brush over his neck, back, chest, and tail. He gave the appropriate chirp to show his appreciation. As his ``owner'' used a finer brush to detail the softer feathers on his head and muzzle, he suddenly felt his tail lifting up.
His diaper grew heavy and warm as his natural Drom incontinence acted and he felt his already wet diaper dampening further. He kept his expression neutral as he felt his diaper grow heavier as it absorbed his stream.
``Did you just make another puddle in your diaper, Silver?'' Mr. Kazirmis asked with an amused chitter.
K'rithis's plumage flattened and his feathery crest lowered in embarrassment as he gave an embarrassed chirp.
In a gesture that was both affectionate and possessive, Mr. Kazirmis gently lifted K'rithis's tail, cupped the swollen, heavy diaper and gave it a playful squeeze. ``Well, given how warm this diaper is, I think we all know what the answer is.''
He gave the diaper another squeeze; ostensibly to check to see if Silver had dirtied his diaper, but the added commentary was clearly just meant to playfully tease the Drom. ``Oh Silver,'' he said. ``This happens every time; you get excited about looking all pretty and then you go ahead and leak! Good thing you've got me to change you out of that soggy diaper!''
K'rithis felt his dignity shrivel up as his tail was brushed. The degrading commentary and diaper check had just reduced his natural Drom incontinence reduced to the excitable urination of a dog or domestic raptor.
As the minutes ticked by, his diaper grew clammy, and he could feel some of the unabsorbed urine clinging to his cloaca and plumage. As usual, he allowed Mr. Kazirmis to handle his feet and hands, carefully trimming, filing, and buffing his claws.
``There we go!'' Mr. Kazirmis exclaimed, putting down the brush and stepping aside so K'rithis could get a good look at himself at the mirror.
K'rithis laid eyes on himself. His plumage was neatly groomed and his claws were perfectly shaped and polished. He looked like a Drom straight out of New York's fashion shows. But the visibly sagging diaper and the leather collar with its polished sterling silver tag destroyed that illusion. He wasn't a Drom runway model; he was a pampered pet.
Once he was properly groomed, Mr. Kazirmis looked him over. ``Well, I think we have one last thing to do, don't we?'' He gently stroked K'rithis's muzzle with a claw.
K'rithis chirped.
``Yes, we have to get you out of that yucky diaper! After all, we can't have our precious Silver getting a rash.''
K'rithis obediently stood in place as the tapes on the diaper were undone and the diaper removed. A rush of cool air hit his damp cloaca and underfeathers, making him lash his tail. He wrinkled his muzzle as the sharp musky odor of stale Drom urine wafted up from the wet diaper. He squeaked as a cool wipe was pressed against his most intimate parts and his tail was lifted up.
``You're such a soggy, pungent raptor, Silver,'' Mr. Kazirmis said, continuing to wipe him up. ``But you're so cute that it makes up for your diapers' contents.''
The last of K'rithis's dignity died with the embarrassing commentary and instead of trying to salvage the tattered remains, he decided to focus on more pecuniary needs. Like how he was going to see an additional $5,000 in his bank account by the end of the week.
The sound of rustling made him crane his neck to peer behind himself. There, he saw Mr. Kazirmis fumbling slightly with a diaper, the Tahra's large claws impairing his dexterity slightly. Not wanting to see himself get diapered, he continued staring at a small piece of abstract art on the far wall.
Once the diaper was unfolded, he felt a puff of air under his tail and around his pubic boot, followed by the distinctive scent of baby powder. The cool, slippery dust against his feather had confirmed that he had been powdered. He remained still as Mr. Kazirmis took hold of his tail and gently slid it into the cut out on the diaper for that purpose. He felt the diaper being cinched up around his tail and then the front of the diaper being pulled up between his legs. A slight scratching noise indicated that the tapes at the waist were done up and the leak guards being adjusted.
``There we go! Now we don't have to worry about more puddles!''
He craned his neck behind himself and as always, he saw the landing zone on the back of the diaper and how it was decorated with a childish all-over print of colorful dinosaur footprints. Like always, the diaper he wore was a backwards taped model designed for domestic raptors (and companions) that ensured it couldn't be removed by mischievous animals.
``There we go,'' Mr. Kazirmis said, giving him a gentle scratch under his chin. As expected, he leaned into the scratch and chirped appreciatively. ``All nice and clean for bedtime!''
After the wet diaper was disposed of (along with a casual comment that the help can empty the full bin into specially marked municipal compost bin later) and Mr. Kazirmis washed his hands, K'rithis heard him attach the leash to his collar. He obediently followed as he was led to his quarters.
***
Back in his quarters, which keeping in line with the companion fantasy, was styled like a fancy room dedicated to a particularly spoiled pet with toys scattered on the ground, expensive ceramic bowls filled with water and some ``kibble'' (Drom-safe cereal designed to look like domestic raptor food), easy-clean tile flooring, no breakable objects, and an ornate and unfathomably comfortable pet bed in the corner.
Of course, the door was unlocked, but K'rithis wasn't supposed to open it by himself. Instead, he was to chirp and paw at the door like a dothero.
K'rithis settled into the pet bed and curled his tail around himself. Seeing as his ``owner'' was nowhere around, he was finally able to break character. His beautiful crest of silver feathers that shimmered in the light (and had earned him his ``pet name'') flattened as he took off the mask, revealing the deeply wounded Drom underneath.
Tears shimmered at the corner of his eyes he buried his muzzle into the plush bed, redolent of cedar.
``It's not fair,'' he sobbed. ``It's not fair.''
The tears flowed more freely as he recalled the humiliation of the grooming and the infantile commentary on his bodily functions. But nothing compared to the degradation of an otherwise decadent dinner.
It was a meal that would have been featured in a restaurant proudly boasting about its Michelin stars. A meal that people of both species would gladly pay hundreds of dollars for.
And here, he was getting a taste of luxury, eating meals that would have been unaffordable and seeing places that he would never have been allowed to set foot in. But it was as if his wish had been filtered through a sadistic genie. He got the riches and luxury he wished for, but on the end of a leash.
It was a degradation so profound that he didn't even know what to compare it to. The closest thing he could think of was being offered a mansion to live in, but not as the owner, but as a live-in maid.
Or seeing how the position of companion was sold as ``be paid to live a life of luxury'', it was probably more like winning a Lamborghini and the prize was a tractor made by the same company. Technically correct, but violating the spirit of the statement so thoroughly that it was downright malicious.
K'rithis continued sobbing into the bed until he had no more tears to give. He wiped his muzzle with the back of his hand, not caring that he had stained his long primary feathers with tears and mucus.
``It's just a joke, isn't it?'' he said, looking around himself. ``The stars aligned and instead of winning the lottery, I lose my job, my town is falling apart, and I'm some rich fucker's designer pet raptor.
``But hey, I'm making more than double what I used to make at the factory. And my children can be teenagers, finish school, go to college, and not worry about ending up on the streets or working in some dead-end job just to survive.''
As he settled into the pet bed and curled his tail around himself, K'rithis steeled himself for another day as ``Silver'': fetching toys, being petted, being handfed bites of gourmet meals, and otherwise fulfilling the ownership fantasies of a wealthy Drom with more money than sense.
All so his children could have a future.
