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“Alright, but, if you get caught later-“ She warned. 

“And I never do.”

“-then I cannot help you out of this one.”

“You never do.”

She scrunched up her face to stifle an annoyed groan. Mr. Hanson Lerning, the subject of this private investigation, was the husband of Sadie’s friend. On Sadie’s recommendation, if she wanted to get some PI work done, she ought to go to Mortimer Biddley Kyrios. And she did. 

Lerning was apparently a two-timing scoundrel, and the hotel was his most recent HQ. Rumours of flashy partners who would have their hands around his arm and orders of wine or champagne sent up at late hours. The job was almost completely cut and dry, Biddley figured he’d just need some physical proof, a photo or two…

And he knew his way around a hotel. Sadie did, likely as someone who’s stayed in many, but Biddley had the experience of knowing the type who worked there on the regular. Grew up eating lunch in a hotel in his neighbourhood, often ran checks late at night when he was still part of the force, and of course, had more than a few cases that took place in hotels. 

Lerning was no different. 

He managed to saddle up a room not far from him. When the housekeeper came in to open the door, he merely posed as the room’s temporary resident and rooted around all the drawers and furniture under the guise of missing something. A man like Hanson would never be caught dead conversing with housekeeping, so he wasn't nearby. And of course, once Biddley had left, the room was tidied and not a trace of him was left. 

It was so formulaically foolproof.

He was posted up in his room now, knowing Hanson could be not too far away, but who cares? He had a copy of the hotel bill for multiple drinks in room service, too many for one person, old makeup packages, etcetera. There was little he cared about when snooping aside from being spotted; it’s what made everyone who worked with him grimace from a five-foot distance, bare minimum. He’d dig through wastebaskets and wrangle through pillows to find his loot: evidence of a mistress, in terms of disposable cotton swabs with makeup of the same tint. In hindsight…the man had a lot of used tissues he'd had to sift past. It caught his attention then, but he didn’t have the time to focus. He did now, and it gnawed at him like an insatiably ravenous wolf. 

Sadie was sitting on the bed, looking him over as he pondered feverishly. 

“So are you going downstairs or…?”

“I think so. Soon.”

That’s right. He was to stake out the bar and snap a picture or two of the man and mistress. But that could wait. It was too early for them to be at the bar. Biddley leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar. The cracked open window let in a sharp draft that tickled his neck. 

“You look to be scheming on something.”

He didn’t respond. Smoke poured from his nostrils as he turned his attention to his watch, then the half-finished crossword on the paper. The easiest way to get photos was to pose as the press, which he often did. Sadie helped too, when the press story didn’t work. She would pose, and he would go in as her photographer, hopefully getting his target in the background. Easy. Helps to have a showgirl who loved to snoop.

“Let’s go down,” He said after a while. Sadie had busied herself listening to the evening news and turned down the radio to get him to repeat himself. He pulled on a coat, gathered his props and ushered her out the door. 

“You look deep in thought.”

“So?” 

She scoffed, “You’re awful at small talk.”

“When we get there…perhaps find somewhere a few tables away. I’m sure I can spin it to have good lighting.”

“Right…! You’re gonna buy a drink for me to pose with?”

And to drink, her tone implied. He relented with an affirmative sigh and rubbed his eyes. The bar wasn’t busy, which was great; almost every other seat was occupied. They were lucky enough to find something, and it wasn’t awfully strange when he slid her a martini glass and started directing her to pose. 

Hanson was there. What Biddley was actually paying attention to. He was having a chat with some nicely dressed lady, looking maybe only five years his junior. His nose was red, and he occasionally turned to the side to cough or clear his throat. Biddley’s ears felt hot, but he eventually raised his camera to Sadie, who gave a flirtatious wink. 

The snap of the shutter got the attention of a few, but, ever quick as his partner in crime, Sadie chimed in with a, “Wait! I blinked! Do another one!”

People shied away but acted as natural as they could, just the way he needed ‘em to. 

A few more proved useful, with Hanson in the left corner of the pictures, hand over hand with his ‘friend’. Biddley cast a glance at Sadie, who had begun to sip. 

“Huhh-hhrsscHHHhuh!!”

The sound from behind her caught her attention as her eyes drifted. Biddley’s did as well, but quickly darted back. Sadie stared at him as he sat. 

“You going to get yourself something, detective? Or am I here to nurse this drink alone?”

“I don’t feel like being drunk. We’re in enemy territory.”

“Suit yourself,” She twirled her finger around his tie and continued with her martini. To leave right away would look incredibly suspicious. It would be better to wait until Lerning and company headed off, and then they could tail, catch the same elevator perhaps. Of course, there would be the risk they’d notice they were rooming, but that was easy enough to fake, as there was a balcony at the end of the hall of their floor. In the meantime, Biddley opened up his newspaper, using it to shield his face, but occasionally glanced over to watch. 

Watch that man sniffle and discreetly wipe at his nose before palming the woman's hand. Schmoozing...

He felt like a voyeur. Some kind of pervert. The crossword may as well have cleared its throat to ask for his attention back with how much he was distracted. 

A ten-letter word for an irresistible urge to act in a certain way, often against one’s wishes: compulsion. The graphite of his pencil scratched in the letters. 

Com-

“HUH—“

-pul-

“HhuUSSCHhuhh!!”

-S. I. O. N. 

His fingers gripped the pencil, hearing Mr. Hanson Lerning sniffle into his handkerchief, only to get a teasing laugh from his mistress. His eyes darted from over the paper to Sadie across the table. She was staring him down like a hawk. 

“How about a six letter word, opposite of exhibitionist?” She muttered, getting daggers stared back at her. 

“Funny stuff…”

“Can you even last until they leave?”

He shushed her. God forbid they hear. Maybe he should drink something. His partner gave a smug bat of her lashes as he rose. Going up to the bar, he ordered an old-fashioned. 

Sadie was toying with the food pick from her drink, scratching in answers to the newspaper as the bartender did his dues. Ugh. Biddley could feel a weird churning in his stomach. Not unpleasant, and perhaps churning was the wrong word. Stirring. A real unrest. It was the idea of digging through that man’s trash and seeing all the used Kleenex that was substituted for his handkerchief, how it was probably a night of misery while getting off with this other woman. It made his head spin a little more than he’d like. It also meant he wanted time alone in his room.

He returned and rested his chin on his palm, his other hand tracing the rim of his glass before taking in a slow sip. 

The sniffling two tables down was so loud and obnoxious, how could he hear it over all the bustle (what little there was) just baffled him. His perception only clued into what he wanted to hear, he supposed. The wet sniffling, the words of sickeningly — in multiple ways — sweet, manipulative affection. He wanted to punch him and fuck him all at once. 

What a thought. Biddley grumbled and returned to his crossword. 

“What’s gotten you in such a mood? I never knew you’d be so annoyed by such a…delightful treat,” Sadie scoffed, “I’m sure you’ll hang onto those photos after the case, a copy for yourself.”

“You are poking a sleeping bear,” He warned. 

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

He heard the couple stir. They were going. Sadie looked up, which prompted Biddley to lock his muscles in and be still, as to seem unaffected. He waited a moment before downing his drink — rough — and hurrying out. They were by the elevator, which was about to close before he flagged down the attendant to wait. The grate swung back shut as they entered, beside and behind the target. Biddley felt his fingers itch to steal something out of his pockets. A handkerchief within reach, but it wouldn’t be good evidence. It would have no purpose at all. He stared forward, trying not to look too disappointed as their shared floor approached. 

“Oh, excuse us?” Hanson Lerning seemed surprised as they all stepped out. His voice was thick and laced with something sick. His lady stood beside him. Biddley merely raised his brows and thumbed around for a cigar with a nonchalant nod. 

“Mmh-“

He was going to say something. Something less dumb. Maybe a “pardon” or “just heading out.”

Nothing. Just mum. His brain couldn’t think fast enough. Sadie followed him to the balcony, where he held the door for her, long enough to watch Hanson return to the room, sneeze, then shut the door. He lit the cigar. 

“He’s thrown you off! Weak-willed much?” Sadie joked.

“Stop teasing me about it. It’s driving me insane, and I’m supposed to be working.”

“I think you’re done getting all you need,” She jabbed back, “Pretty sure the job is over. Just send the film to a developer, and you’re set. You basically have the night off. Ugh, and let’s be honest, with the way that was going, you’re probably going to end up catching it, too. I’m starting to suspect you went through more than just his dresser...”

He felt her finger toying with the button on his shirt. 

“Need to blow off some steam? I can leave you alone for an hour.”

“An hour? You think so highly of me,” His turn to roll his eyes. 

“I’d join you, detective, but I’m not in the mood to catch a cold this time. I know that’s disappointing, but it'll probably be stealthier if it’s just you,” She quipped, “Once you’re done, you can walk me home, then I’m assuming you’re coming back here to finish your 'stake out'? Everything else is just bonus points, isn’t it?”

High risk, high reward. He had the evidence he needed. But at the cost of risking being caught, he could get more. The room was booked out for the night after all. He could get into Lerning's next time he left for housecleaning. He could…get in there. The bed. The pillows. 

“Besides,” She continued, taking out a cigarette of her own, “You should probably be sleeping in. If you end up catching that cold, I suspect you won’t leave for days.”

He narrowed his eyes. Implying what exactly?! Sure. Not confined to bed from sickness alone…

“Probably going to be sneezing into your handkerchief more than he was-“

“Alright, that’s enough!” Biddley huffed. Sadie laughed her melodiously chipper laugh. He felt sweat bead on his forehead. 

“I’m just saying…if there’s any night to spend alone…”

“They’d be next door, don’t be ridiculous.”

Absurd to even suggest-

“Isn’t that better?” Sadie smiled devilishly. He felt the snare tighten around his leg, and he was suddenly caught in this conversation, “You can hear everything. As long as you’re quiet. And in a day? That might be a challenge. You sneeze like you're trying to be heard.”

Biddley furrowed his brows. His mind felt flooded. Thin hotel walls. Listening to some cad fighting off a cold while going down on his lover, and at the same time, he himself muffling both the sounds of cold and of pleasure into an adjacent room’s bedding. He could switch pillows. He could—

Ugh! His thoughts were so intrusive. He couldn’t shake it. Couldn’t help it. 

“Let’s get you home. You goddamn busybody.”

Sadie pinched his ear and, triumphantly, reentered the building. He bundled his camera and his newspaper under his coat.

The absence of proper equipment is rather catastrophic, in the present moment.

“hUH’GKCHHIEWW-!! *hsdDRk!* g’hh…”

His long fingers cage awkwardly over his nose. It’s dripping onto his upper lip, causing a very urgent, eye-stinging tickle. He pants softly into his palm, blinking tears down his cheeks to clear his itchy eyes. Thick snuffles hardly keep back the dribbling flow of mucus, and he tries to breathe steadily.

“h-hHt! Unhh, *sddrff!* unh…”

He huffs through parted lips, stopping reflexively in his tracks as his nose burns, and it’s positively overflowing with mucus. He can’t sneeze again. Not without... He sniffles sharply and liquidly as his nose begins to itch fiercely, feeling as if feathers are teasing at the raw, sore edges of his sensitive nose. Involuntary, he draws a stuttering inhale. Out comes an explosive sneeze, snot spraying through his long fingers.

“AAD’TCHIUEE-!!!”

He sniffles frantically, his face very flushed. His eyes are blurry with tears, and there’s a glob of snot hanging between his fingers. He sniffles desperately, but there’s a constant sheen about his upper lip, sore and red beneath his moustache. Tears drip from his chin, his cheeks and his eyes shiny.

He sucks in a snorting sniffle and blinks the moisture from his eyes. The urge to sneeze creeps back in with teasing, questionable urgency, causing his breath to shake.

“hihh? heihh? hihh-!”

He can’t keep sneezing like this. It won’t stop in until he blows his nose. But the urge is intense, deep and sore, and too strong to suppress-

“huH’gk’CHHIEUWwh!! *hsnNrgk!*”

Fucking hell. Mucus shoots from his nostrils, oozing into his palm. And god, that really itches-

“‘hdDT’CHHIEWW-!!! huhHH??” Oh god- “HaAD’TCHHIEWWwh!!!”

Shit. He holds both hands over his nose and mouth. His flushed nostrils widen and scrunch as he sniffles hard, ineffectively. Once more his lungs steal the air with an urgent gasp, and- “hrruUD’CHHIEWWw!! *snnngk* ‘guhh…”

Once upon a time, 

There was a Prince, as there usually is. 

And like most Princes, he was cruel and hungry for power, just like his father and his father before him. A warrior, a carrion bird of a man. He held a sword to his chest and cared little for anything else. 

On his thirtieth birthday, the village held a hunt in his honor. The Prince felled a vulture from the sky, he saw it as a worthless thing. 

But it was not worthless. The vulture belonged to the Witch of the Woods. And she was angry.

The Wise Witch had watched the Prince grow up, and she had quite enough. She saw right through him. She saw a spoiled child pretending to be a soldier. So she fixed a wand of dried heather, the driest and crumbliest of leaves, tied up in a string. She marched up to the Prince and tapped him three times right on the nose. 

He blinked. 

He gasped. 

He sneezed. 

And sneezed, and sneezed, and sneezed again! 

With one sneeze, wings sprang from his back. With another sneeze, claws grew. With more feathers and scales emerged. 

He sneezed his humanity away. The Prince was simply no more. And the Witch went home, a hero and protector of her people. Heather wand in hand. 

And the Prince was alone to live with regret 

and boredom. 

———

Rogier Tully dropped the stack of songbooks for the fourth time that day. Cursing, he once again picked the scattered papers off the ground. He was still getting used to the uneven, mountainous road of Cat's Cradle village, and perhaps the heeled riding boots were not the finest choice for the trip. He didn't even ride a horse, or particularly enjoy the experience when he did. But countryside chic was in the last time he clothes shopped, and he wasn't about to buck fashion trends now, even if he was forced to escape to the hills (or mountains, as it were)

Escape was such a dramatic word. Temporarily displaced was better. It wasn't his fault that he had such a string of bad luck at cards. Besides, Rogier figured a rural setting away from the hustle of the city was just what he needed to focus on writing new compositions. The kind old woman who gave him lodgings had helped him find work. A music tutor wasn't exactly common, so there were many a student with old, out-of-tune pianos or worm-eaten violins eager to learn from the great Rogier Tully, and so he supplemented his stay with tutoring during the day and the occasional piano ballad at the local pub by night. It was far from the glorious Opera houses he'd perform in, but well… he had no choice at the moment.

Shuffling the songbooks to one side, Rogier quickly dabbed a bit of perfume behind an ear. He nearly forgot, and it was such a nice floral scent, too. Reminded him of home, even if the scent itself was out of season.

It was a chilly autumn day, and the forest was a bright red with the season. Cat's Cradle was a quaint village, picturesque and remote. The locals were fairly eccentric, always whispering of monsters and ghosts, but otherwise pleasant. Of course, he could forgive them for their superstitions after his first encounter with… Him. 

It had been such a shock the first time Rogier approached the crumbling castle that overlooked the village. The elderly woman who lent him room and board had warned him about his prospective student's unusual appearance, but nothing could have prepared him. He's not ashamed to admit that he swooned at first sight. The second time a lesson was attempted, Rogier could hardly get through his scales without his hands shaking. The third time, he fainted again when his unusual pupil lost his temper and hurled himself through a stained-glass window, screeching like a feral animal. 

But that was a month ago. It's amazing the things you can get used to in a month. Even a mysterious, enchanted monster living in a mysterious, enchanted castle could become mundane in time. Even pleasant. Really, the creature wasn't all that bad. Just a bit grumpy at first, and he couldn't blame him. Being under an ancient curse could hardly be easy. 

Still, Rogier felt his stomach flutter with nerves as he once again stood at the threshold of the old castle. He flinched as the large Gothic doors swung open to let him inside. A castle with no staff. No maids, not butlers, not even a cook. Just the ancient stone walls, the moth-eaten curtains, cobwebbed gold chandeliers, and… Him. 

"Hullo Cosmin! You are looking quite, um—preened today. There's a lovely sheen about you."  Rogier bowed curtly and sniffled. The castle was perpetually dusty with neglect, and his sensitive nose always went prickly as soon as he walked in. Cosmin's feathers certainly didn't help. 

Though they were rather beautiful feathers, in a way. 

Prince Cosmin (as he liked to be referred to) stood by the broken stained glass window, cutting an impressive silhouette. Impossibly tall, with the curved head of a carrion bird and scaled bat wings like that of a gargoyle, sharp eyes reflecting the light in a red glow. All ragged feathers and scales of a beast, yet still wearing the worn-out armor of his human days. He clanged and rattled as he moved, feathers dripping with every step. 

Rogier sniffled again. 

"You flatter me. Though the tail did go away last night. I hate it when I get a tail. Always knock things over." 

"I imagine it would be an awkward appendage."  Rogier placed the songbooks on a nearby desk and quickly unfurled a handkerchief, giving his nose a preemptive blow. 

His beastly pupil was very secretive about the curse befallen on him. All Rogier knew was a fluidity to the shape he was forced to take. Sometimes the spell would ebb, and more humanity would peak through. Other times, Cosmin would appear even larger and more ghastly than ever before. What triggered the changes was unknown. Cosmin refused to talk about it, and Rogier politely refrained from asking. 

"No tail means a longer session today, perhaps?" Rogier sat at the piano, gently rotating his wrists for a stretch. 

Cosmin nodded and sat next to Rogier. The bench groaned underneath them, and Rogier worried that he'd have to replace it again. 

"I'm…sorry. By the way." Cosmin muttered, his sharp, vulturous beak pointed downwards, mournfully. 

"About what?"

"Losing it last time. Throwing a fit. I didn't mean to scare you so. I forget that I'm—that I'm like this." 

Cosmin furtively glanced over at the broken window, then looked down at his giant claws. Talons that resembled the gauntlets, or gauntlets that resembled talons, neither Cosmin nor Rogier was sure. 

 "Nonsense, no harm done to you or me. Window's seen better days, though." Rogier grinned, and despite Cosmin's gloomy countenance, the beast sheepishly grinned back. 

"Now, let's try these damn scales again, shall we?" 

Rogier's practiced fingers danced over the yellowed keys of the piano, three times over before allowing Cosmin to copy. While the monster slowly plunked away at the keys, Rogier gave his nose another, firmer blow. The prickly feeling in his sinuses always doubled the closer Cosmin was, thanks in no part to the feathers. Just looking at them up close, caked in dust and cobwebs, made Rogier's nose run. His face heated in embarrassment as he attempted to clear his nose again, but the vibrations of the blow only seemed to tickle, not relieve.

"I think I got it?" Cosmin's spiny brow furrowed in concentration. 

"Again'd—t-try…" Voice catching on a sudden hitch, Rogier quickly turned away, head bobbing into his furled handkerchief. "—T-T'Shhhoo!!—'Scuse me—Try it one'd more time just-just-hih—Hih!—PT'SHHHoooh!!—-hh—Slower." 

Dabbing at the corner of his eyes, Rogier smiled, bemused by his sudden outburst. The feathers always got a sneeze or two out of him, without fail. 

Cosmin tried again, his crocodile lips curled in concentration, utterly focused on the task at hand. Meanwhile, Rogier could only focus on his nose, which was now in full protest. He kept his handkerchief pressed to the sharp underside, maintaining some dignity. 

"Perhaps switching your—hih-ighheh…h-hands like—pardoneeehh'IDSH'Shiieew!!" Rogier fanned the damp handkerchief in front of his flaring nose, stuttering through the instruction "S-sorry I—I—ID'SHIEW!! I'DShoooh!!— Goodness me! Terribly sorry!" 

"..Bless you.." Cosmin's low voice rumbled, a hint of melancholy to it. There always was.

"Such a nuisance, this nose." Rogier gave it another curt blow. "S'deezing is a bodily function I would happily do away with if I could." 

 Suddenly, Cosmin brought his claws down on the keys, adding a dramatic chord of discordant noises to echo his sentiment. Throwing his head back with as much flourish as a beast could have, he parroted the scales once more. It seemed the subject bothered Cosmin in some way, another mystery Rogier died to untangle but knew not to pry. Perhaps Cosmin was unable to sneeze, what with the beak and all. Though Rogier did spy two thin nares resting at the top of the beak, just below his piercing eyes. The skin was soft there, unlike the rest of the hard beak. So surely, it was a nose of some kind. 

Cosmin's eyes flickered to Rogier, catching him in a stare. Rogier's cheeks flushed, and he turned back to the piano keys. 

"You're doing wonderfully! Perhaps we can try this-" 

Timidly, Rogier placed his hands over Cosmin's large claws and gently placed each digit on a key. He was acutely aware of how close he was, his head tucked just underneath Cosmin's face. The worn-out breastplate dug into Rogier's back a little, a few of the feathers brushed the tips of his perfumed ears. It sent a chill down his spine, and his heart leapt a little. 

"You can go as slow as you need to. Just—snff— Excuse me—follow my lead." 

Twitching his nose from side to side, Rogier guided Cosmin's claws along the piano. His nose ran and flared, but he breathed through his mouth, not wanting to distract Cosmin from the tricky scale. He could feel Cosmin's heart beat with his own. Despite his appearance, the rhythm matched his own. There was an energy, a connection that held in that moment, and Rogier was pained to break it. 

A huff from Cosmin made Rogier take another glance. The beast's eyes had squinted, and he looked like he was cringing in disgust. Rogier thought he was growing frustrated with his process. 

"You're doing fine'd-snfff—it's a difficult scale at first.." 

"No, it's not that." Cosmin's red eyes blinked, the flexible edges of his beak wrinkled up a bit, exposing sharp alligator teeth. "It's nothing, nothing at all." 

It didn't feel like anything at all. Rogier felt Cosmin's breastplate rise up and down behind his back, slow at first, but growing more fitful, as if he was holding back a good belly laugh or a yawn. His claws, usually so precise with the keys, stumbled and missed notes. He was clearly distracted by something. Looking up again, Rogier saw the little nares of his beak widen and flare suddenly, the soft skin around them wrinkling. The beak was opened slightly, and Rogier caught sight of his long tongue flicking and lolling against the roof of the beak. 

"Are you alright? Does something smell bad? Oh goodness, do I smell bad?" Rogier blanched at the idea, quickly pulling away from Cosmin. The walk to the castle did make him break out into a sweat, no matter how much perfume he drenched himself in. 

"N-no. You smell—" Cosmin paused, squeezing his eyes shut as he snatched a hiss of breath through his sharp teeth, he held it tensely, before letting it go. "—you smell lovely. More than lovely, actually." 

Rogier felt a strange tightness in his chest at the compliment, but he could tell Cosmin was upset about something. Perhaps the moment between them was too…much. 

"It's not you, it's the damn curse." 

"Oh, yes, of course. I-I could come back later?" Rogier gathered the songbooks up, fighting the sense of rejection at the lesson being cut so close, feeling his heart break over the sad predicament of his strange friend.

"Please!—I mean..yes, I—" Cosmin suddenly whipped his vulturous head to the side, breath in a stranglehold before exhaling again.  "Just get out of here before—"

Curiously, Cosmin quickly pinched the space between his eyes and nares, the latter of which was pulsing open and close. Another held breath, another exhale. "—hhh—before it gets worse." 

A cloud of sadness settled over Rogier's shoulders, but he knew it was no use to ask further. Bowing, Rogier quickly left the castle, songbooks in hand and trouble in his heart. The cold autumn air hit his face, loosening his overly tickled sinuses. 

"Hip-T'dSHHH!! Heh—heihg—Hid-Hipt—HD'TSHHiieww!!" 

He stuttered through the fit, twitching his nose after each one. It was true, sneezing was something he could live without. Though the hedonist in him couldn't help but find pleasure in each release. Like a good scratch against a spot he could never reach, the climax to a wondrous buildup. What would life be without it? 

Such thoughts followed him as he sniffled and sneezed his way back to the village. He hoped Cosmin was alright, and he hoped to see him again soon. 

—-

He kept his claws in place, even after Rogier Tully disappeared down the road. Cosmin dared not release his grip. 

It had been five blessed months. Enough time for the curse to wane. He'd grown smaller, less beastly in size, and his hideous tail had finally disappeared. Who knows how more human he'd be with another five months on him. 

If he can just get passed that damn man's bloody perfume. The pianist reeked with it. A flowery, cloying odor that tickled and crawled up and down his beak. It made his eyes water, it made—

"Heeiiighh—" 

Stop. Thinking about it. 

He breathed in, pinched that little space between his eyes and nares, and concentrated. He was Prince Cosmin of the Fallen House. He was a leader, a warrior. He could go without—sn-s'deezing!

"Hiiiddh—" 

He exhaled, shakily. His nares ran, and his entire beak tickled and pulsed. He itched, and that soft little space on his beak and the roof of his maw was the only access to scratch at it. His tongue desperately licked against the ridges of his inner beak, trying to soothe the tickle. 

A wave of shame and embarrassment fell over him. He remembered all those hundreds of years ago, the other men laughing at him as he sniffled on a pollen-heavy battlefield. His father frowned at him when he sneezed during a speech. He couldn't control himself then. He had to control himself now. If he grew more monstrous…the pianist..Rogier..wouldn't come back. He couldn't even look at him when they first met. Why would he return if—if—

Cosmin's nares fluttered open, just thinking about Rogier filled his sinuses full of flowers and earthy tones of spice. The softness of his hair, the delicate lace of his shirtsleeves. The image of that lace running along the edges of his nares made his breath catch and spike. 

"Hidt—N-nono—heeh—No—HIH—Don't—Don't s'dneeze—hiiihh" 

In a final, desperate attempt to keep the inevitable at bay, Cosmin copied Rogier's frivolous gesture of fanning his nose. His claw waved delicately in front of his beak, it almost seemed to work. Until it didn't. 

"HHHH—AH" 

His chest ballooned, the soft edges of his beak wrinkled back, exposing his jagged teeth in a watery grimace

"AHIIHH!!" 

His wings folded inward, his giant frame shuddering with the impact.

ECHT'SHHHIEEEW!!" 

With a single, booming release, his feather molted, and a poof of dark energy pixelated and distorted his form. A tail jutted out of his back with the strain of the sneeze, and his body instantly doubled in size, breaking two coffee tables and overturning a nearby statue. 

Cosmin remained hunched over, tongue licking over his wriggling beak.

"…. I can't have him come back." 

But Cosmin knew full well, despite the perfume and hair, he was going to ask Rogier Tully to come back and continue his piano lessons.

"ghkkh!!"

Host suddenly pulls on the leash and begins to scold him, "Don't you lie to me, Mr! When we were alone back stage, you wouldn't stop whining and crying about how awful you felt. All those theatrics, just to hop on stage and act like you're peachy keen? Oh, puh-lease!" They suddenly switch from such a harsh demeanor to a softer, more caring one, "Now, why don't you turn to the audience and tell them how you're really feeling?" Before Te/nna could actually do or say anything, they cupped his cheek in their hand and faced him toward the crowd themselves.

"Tell them you don't feel well."

As Te/nna looked out at the people, who were all excited to see him, but not in the way they usually are... all these people were blushing and focusing on him really hard, some were rubbing their hands together, others looked like they were getting impatient and wanted to just see something happen, and even more others were... oh my. Whatever was going on, it was certainly working, so at that point Te/nna figured he might as well just do what Host told him to do. He turns back to Host while looking down at the ground in shame, and finally murmurs:

"I... I don't don't feel well. I don't feel v-very well at all..."

Then, by luck or by some kind of sick joke, a tickle flickered in his nose, and it was starting to build up into a sneeze rather quickly. He began hitching and hitching, and continuously building up, to the delight of both Host and the audience. He was nervous before, but all the positive attention was starting to do something to him. Suddenly, it was like a light switch in his head just flipped, and all he wanted to do in that moment was blabber on about his condition, to ham it up a bit more just for that extra scrap of approval, so he spoke through his buildup:

"I- I r-really- hih- I really d-do.. heh- f-f-feel, so aw.. AH- HAHH---!!"

"HAH- SHIEEEEEWWW!!! *snrghff!* guhh...huh?"

Host pushed up the tip of his nose, revealing the reddened, sensitive, mucus-lined walls of his nostrils, and by the way they were twitching, he wasn't done yet. Host says to him, just before his blows again,

"Keep your head up baby, I wanna see your pretty little face as you put on a show for me~"

Te/nna gulps, but is quickly overtaken by a tickle yet again, and has to put all his attention on his poor, itchy nose in order to get those last few sneezes out. It's hard to focus though, because the audience is getting even more excited, starting to lightly cheer and clap, and some people are even moaning a bit. Te/nna wants to be fully enraptured by their admiration, but the body wants what the body wants, and with one final, shaky breath, he explodes into a devastating fit:

"hahh-- HAAAASSHHIIEEWW!!! ah-SHIEWW!!! ESHOO!!! HEH- HUHH-- HUUUAAASSHHOOOOOO!!!!!"

This sends everyone into hysterics, everyone except Host, who's just coolly sitting there, drinking in the scenery, a devious smile sitting across their face once again.

Te/nna's face was caked in sweat, tears, and snot, but despite this, he looks so happy that he was able to please everyone, especially you. Even though his nose had calmed down for a moment, it was still raring and ready to go again, but the man attached to it looked so tired that Host decided to end things right there for the sake of his health. They quieted the audience down and said to Te/nna, dotingly:

"You did so good baby! Aw, look at you, you're a mess, and I bet you're so exhausted! C'mere," They open their arms out wide, "Your prize, for being such a good boy!"

"G... good.. boy? You- you think I'm a g-good boy?" he beamed at Host's words and quickly hopped into their arms, and after undoing the binds that held his wrists together, they hugged each other tightly.

"Thangk you! Thangk you thangk you thangkyou!!!" His voice was heavy with congestion, which was only made worse with the onslaught of tears rolling down his face. He was so happy and delirious with fever that he actually started to cry a bit, but was quickly soothed with a few soft kisses on the cheek and some loving "it's ok"s from Host.

Host snagged some tissues from the box beside them and quickly cleaned up Te/nna's face, then let him blow his nose. After he was all clean, they allowed him to lay his head over their shoulder as they lightly traced circles along his back. It was so soothing, that he just couldn't help but begin to fall sleep. As he nodded off, he heard Host start to speak:

"Degradation, Praise, and Dynamics: Tonight on T/V Ti/me After Dark, what to know about BD/SM relationships and how you could have one of your own..."