Affini Want Me, Fish Fear Me

That's what that feeling was. Dread. Pain in the chest, like a heart attack. A feeling of impending doom.

"What are you waiting for, dawg? It's not like it's the drugged one," asked her friend, the one who had compiled the game. All of her feiends were florets. They couldn't understand anymore.

"Kinda feralist of you, en-gee-ell," said another friend.

"Dusty's a little rough," teasted a third.

"No, no, fine," she said. "I'll take it."

The others cheered. On the overnet, the bottle's compiler code promised that it was the components for a game called "Indie Martian Roulette"- an instructions card and six identical white tablets, each inscribed with the immortal words "Eat Me". Five were sugar; the sixth, a fast acting xenodrug cocktail detailed under a readmore.

Game night at her hab had gotten a little boring, so when one of her friends compiled it shortly after arriving, she was thrilled- but now, staring at her dose, she couldn't do it. She almost couldn't do it. Almost.

Eyes squeezed shut, she popped the tablet into her mouth. Instantly, endorphines rushed her system. Her fingers and toes tingled with ecstacy. It was the best she had ever felt in her life, and... she wasn't a floret.

It was a sugar pill.

Her friends laughed. "Told ya," said the first. "I knew where the drugged one was in the compile volume.

"The look on your face," teased the second. "It looked like you were dissappointed."

She must have flushed, because the whole group grinned conspiratorially.

This is Not How it Goes

"Is everything okay petal?"

The warm light of the ship's simulated sun is eclipsed by the shadow of the affini that stands before you. A shiver runs through you. Though whether it's from the drop in temperature, or the electric jolt of fear that runs through you, remains up for debate.

Your brain queues a canned response, and you are micro seconds away from the "I'm fine, don't worry about it" that would get you forcibly domesticated. Something stops you though. You stare up at the one that addressed you, mind whirring with thought.

"No," you say. Something about this affini makes you trust them, despite all your survival instincts screaming at you to run. "I'm not okay."

There. It's done, whatever happens now is in the vines of a stranger.

"Would you like to talk about it, petal?" The plant sits with a deliberate and gentle care on the bench you're resting on.

"I…" You pause, hesitant to vent to a complete stranger, yet strangely compelled to do so. "I've been thinking about transitioning. Again."

"Aaah. I see." They place their open hand next to you. An offer of comfort? Or a snare, cunningly set? It doesn't really matter either way: in this moment you need the reassurance being offered. Future you can deal with the consequences.

"What is it about transitioning that scares you, little one?" The vines of their hand wrap around yours. Their gentle tactile pressure helping calm and centre you.

"It's just… I don't know who I am any more!" You force the words out, breath hissing between gritted teeth, "And if I don't know who I am, how can I know who I should be!"

"And what do you think you should be?"

"A girl," You shrug. "You know petite, feminine, cute. Those kinds of things"

"That does sound like a girl, yes." The plant giggles. "Do you want that?"

"I… I don't think so."

"Hmmmmmmmmm," Their eyes swirl with light pinks, and lilacs. Colours of contemplation and deep thoughts. "You think this because you can't imagine it happening to you?" The affini grins down at you, their thorny toothed smile dripping with amber sap. "This is the Affini Compact little one, and I can very much guarantee that it can happen to you."

"It's not like that!" You gasp, tasting the acid tang of fear, as it claws its way out from the pit of you stomach. "It's almost it's too easy to picture myself like that. If you catch the cookie I'm rolling."

"Then what is it, petal?"

"When I see myself like that, I don't see me," You sigh "I see the face of a stranger."

"Is that so bad, little one?" The vines wrapped around your hand, squeeze with gentle affection, " Could you not learn to love that version of you?"

"Maybe," You shrug. "It just feels like another cage. Like I'd be making myself small for others comfort, you know?"

"So tell me, what do you see? When you picture yourself?"

"I…" You hesitate. If this is a trap, it's well and truly sprung now. You can't stop though, your new acquaintance has made sure of that. The only way out now, is through. "She's strong, but also soft. Caring, yet carrying herself with determination. She doesn't care what others think about her, she's just herself… Myself. Me. Not someone else's idea of who I should be."

"I see." They place a comforting vine on your head, "And what is stopping you from being her?"

"Because that's not what girls look like." You feel their pulse of hunger at your words, and you brace yourself for the inevitable.

It doesn't come. The hunger fades as quickly as it came. You're still independent, the affini sat next to you is still just an affini. Not Mistress, not owner: Simply a stranger showing you kindness.

"There's more than one way to be a girl, petal." They smile down at you, "What's the name of your vetinarian, little one?"

"Melomelia Meadowsweet!" It comes out in a breathless rush, "Why?"

"Because I've just made you an appointment." They squeeze your hand again, "It's thirty minutes from now, and if you want to be on time, you should be leaving."

"You… You're not taking me yourself?" It's hard to keep the confusion out of your voice. You know the script, this is not how it goes.

"Why would I do that, petal?" They smile down at you again, "I'm meeting a dear friend shortly and just sat down to take in the view."

"Oh… Okay," You stammer, "Could you at least tell me your name?"

"No, I don't think I shall," an enigmatic smile crosses their mask. "You really do need to leave if you want to make your appointment petal." You find yourself moved with gentle urgency, to the ground where you freeze. They look down at you, you look up at them. The spell breaks.

"Thank you," You crack a wistful smile, "For helping."

"Of course," They squeeze your hand for the final time. "Now go and live your life, little one."

I'm sorry, Meowstress. I was a different sophont back then, I was-

Nooo nooo It was adorrrrrableeee. Soooo desperate to be a florrrrret.... Desperateee to be a little kitten under herr meowstress' paws.