Pairs of Pumpkins #02: A Seam-Straining Songstress

The ivory vixen gave a breath of a laugh. "The chunky bear was right: it runs in the family."

Anya's eyes darted between her hand and Portia's emerald eyes before her attention moved to a dagger, strapped to the front of her chest, pointed end up to be able to draw it from below. With her finger still in place, she looked over her shoulder at the handle of a tomahawk running along her backpack, over her cloak.

"You're a warrior?!"

The ivory vixen raised her chin and gave an immodest smile. "You're damn right I am."

Anya reached out with both hands, pausing a moment to look for permission. Portia gave a small nod before large paws splayed over the other vixen's armored breasts, attempting to move them. The armor refused and it's wearer waited, standing still. Hands moved underneath them, her own bosom brushing Portia's in their closeness, both of them filling what would otherwise be ample space between two bodies. Anya tried to lift them but again, they did not budge.

Anya's face erupted in a joyful smile. "Jump up and down?"

A blushing Joseph averted his eyes and veered away from the exchange, forcing himself a sudden interest in the complexity of the elevator gears.

Portia tested the strength of the floor boards with a push of her boot first. "I generally wouldn't oblige that request but seeing as you're my daughter and we've just met..." She let her words trail off before she began jumping up and down in place, her weapons and pouches jiggling and jingling like a rattle but her breasts were held in near perfect restraint by the leather breastplate, molded, tailored and engineered to her specific physique.

Anya stood there staring, cupping her muzzle in her hands as Portia counted to twenty before stopping, showing no sign of exertion. She stepped up and planted her hands on her mother's breasts again, feeling the hard leather before stepping around to inspect the straps, stitching and reinforcements.

"My mother... is a warrior!?" She said with joyful disbelief before she lunged in to throw her arms around Portia, an awkward gesture that pulled the both of them closer. Anya's soft flesh gave way but Portia's didn't, pushing the taller, younger vixen's chest up and over, ballooning into her mother's face . She gave a small laugh and brought her arms up to her daughter, placing her hands on her shoulders, not able to reach much past.

Joseph stood behind the tall elevator machinery, one hand resting on them and the other below, watching with great interest as his busty mother and sister embraced, before he caught a disapproving glare from Madam Muskov. He averted his eyes , slapping his other hand down on the gears, presenting it.

He didn't hold the old mink's attention for long, her mouth already agape with a greater realization. She found the courage to speak. "Anya, your mother is a Princess."

To another, that revelation might have some importance but Anya didn't move and spoke from the hug. "So what? Wilhelm believed anyone could be royalty. He knew it was in my blood. But he never believed I could be... this! I need armor like this!" she said, righting herself and dropping her hands from her shoulders to blindly take her mother's hands.

"Then we'll get you some made!" Portia's own smile was infected by Anya's joy.

"And a weapon!?"

"If you want. A training weapon, to start until you learn to use it. A lot of traditional techniques require some... adjustment for our build but I'm certain I'm the most qualified woman in the world to teach you that."

"Mother!" Anya repeated, stepping back and cupping her muzzle again, her eyes welling up with tears. "I... have a mother! And she's here!? Mother, whatever are you doing here?"

Portia stepped up and offered her arms, which her daughter fell into again. This time her hands took her by her slimmer waist and hunching down to rest her head on the shelf of her bosom. "We came to rescue you from the creep who bought you as a child but you didn't need our help after all. Maybe you can use our help with whatever comes next?" Anya was silent for a long moment but for her sniffles and Portia rested her muzzle atop her daughter's ebony head of hair. Her leather gloved hand slide down her back, petting her. "I would have been here many years ago but I just discovered I had any children at all!"

Anya blinked at that. "Wilhelm said something about a wizard?"

"There is a wizard," Portia nodded, rubbing Anya's back. "I think you had him singing the truth at the end there. But it's a long story and those are best saved for the even longer roads ahead of us. Assuming you want to leave this place and come with us?"

Anya stood again and laughed. "I want to be literally anywhere but here, Mother."

"Great," Portia moved her hands to clamp down on Anya's shoulders. "Joseph!" He perked with attention, still half-hidden by the elevator machinery. "Help your sister pack and grab all the roadworthy food. Anya, grab only what you need for the cold and several days on the road. Dry rations, warm clothes and something to wear for nicer weather. You're our first and last stop in The Pale Lands. We're getting off this shithole island."

"You're the heiress to this shithole island, Princess Portia Vasiljev," Madam Muskov inserted and cleared her throat but her eyes nervously averted the moment Portia found them. Anya ran over to Joseph, the much shorter teenager wide-eyed before catching his sister's hug with her massive breasts to his face. She squeezed him fondly but briefly before holding him at arm's length.

"C'mon brother. I'll show you where everything is."

Anya led him with her by the wrist to start packing while Portia stepped over to the aged mink. Her smile fading as she closed the distance between them until they were sharing breath.

"I don't know who you think you are or what you think you're doing but the official story is that I'm dead. I didn't fake my own death: I ran away. And my Mother, the Queen knows this. That tells me she decided she rather me be remembered as a dead daughter than a bad one. She lied to everyone. So if you want to be the one who runs back to town with a story that calls the Queen of this land a liar, you be my guest. But you didn't have any spine five minutes ago when my daughter killed your employer. I suggest you don't find it now."

Madam Muskov was flattened against the wall by then, pinned there by the growling vixen's ungiving chest, her bared teeth mere inches from the mink's muzzle. She remained there for long moment before righting herself and her demeanor.

"Now, I assume you live in the village of Letvyka since there's nowhere else reasonably close to here. We'll get you home safely. Whether you stay safe after that is entirely up to you."

Anya and Joseph has stopped and watched exchanged disbelieving, silent laughs before straightening out as their mother turned to face them, letting the menace leave her voice. "I guess you're not used to leaving the house, Anya so try your best to pack light. You need to slide down that rope with everything you bring and as you know, it's a long way down."

Within fifteen minutes, the treehouse was ransacked for useful supplies, coins and rations but most of Wilhelm's equipment and tools were too big to be of use for any of them. Anya had changed into another dress, that had not burst it stitches and wore it under an elegant, fur cloak, perfectly fitted to her with deep sleeves and a high collar to protect against the wind, an aspirational, tailoring project she'd made while longing for the world outside. A matching, short, cylindrical fur hat contained her loosened hair and promised to warm her head in the cold outside.

As they gathered around the elevator hatch, Anya stopped and turned with a twirl of her cloak, unwittingly whipping Joseph in the process. She hurried to a cabinet and fetched a prybar, then rushed back to the center of the room. With an intense focus, she scanned the floorboards. "Wilhelm said our floor heater was originally used for throwing fireballs. That sounds useful," she knelt and wedged the prybar into place.

"That sounds... terrifying," Portia looked to Joseph while Anya popped the board free. The prybar was tossed aside and she reached in, feeling around until she presented a ring between her thumb and index finger. She slipped it on her ring finger, finding the fit of it perfect then hurried to her feet to her mother's disapproving gaze.

"Be careful with that, okay?"

Joseph went down the rope first, then Anya and lastly Portia, with Madam Muskov tied to her back. Upon reaching the ground, they found Anya over the broken body of Wilhelm, her head hung low.

Portia exhaled a deep, visible breath before stepping over to her side, in the crunching, blood-splattered snow. At Anya's side, she guided her head to rest against and atop hers then wrapped an arm around her waist. "I heard the whole exchange, Anya while we were climbing the tree. You gave him every opportunity to recognize you as a person. Even with his very life in your hands, he refused to slacken his stranglehold. He refused to see the potential you have."

Anya nodded slowly, wiping her eyes with the cuff of her cloak. "Let's go."

Portia released her and started away from the base of the massive tree that supported the house, in a forest of trees so old that this one was so uncommon, it might be difficult to find again. The cruel wind and relentless snow hid the treehouse, the wreckage and the body behind them quickly enough as they walked away.

"Anya?"

"Yes Mother?"

"What was with all the singing?"

THE END