The others, Rebecca included, forgot about the ‘neckbeard’ creature who wandered around oddly after William and I left the park. But when I went to bed that night, the odor and sight of that seemingly separate species lingered behind in my memory. I mentally cataloged his scent, distasteful though it was, and felt a vague pull on my memory. The pull was toward maxiki and the gaxa species. Where prey congregated, the gaxa and other species would follow. And these predator species tended to mark off their territory by slithering in the area, expelling a foul pheromone, a kind of ‘musk’ from the males of the species indicating that they found a hunting ground that would draw in potential mates with which to build a nest.

From there they would feast on whatever prey was in their territory, and engage in battles with other predators who encroached on their territory. Timid species like the maxiki only managed to build civilizations at all through rapid reproduction and developing herding methods that let them create diversions for predators. And even so, some gaxa and other predatory species would still hunt and kill their infants or even adults.

‘Are these ‘neckbeards’ like gaxa?’ I had to wonder, I knew that with the common human taboo on casual nudity that existed in this area, attempting to get near the changing room of the opposite sex was not a good thing. Human taboos are often heavily geared toward reproductive activities, and what is deemed ‘socially inappropriate’ frequently deals with orifices used for pleasure, reproduction, or child care. A human female exposing herself to another by choice is a show of confidence and trust in equal measure. Attempting to take that kind of intimacy is considered one of the worst of crimes.

It was for that reason that I chose to inventory that smell. In studying the Walkers, in the short time I knew them, even though they are immediate family and the older pair are intimate, they close themselves off for privacy in dressing and cleaning themselves. Too, the changing areas for the public are divided by sex, all of this points to a species for which closeness and exposure speaks of considerable levels of intimacy, and which makes such ‘hovering’ as Rebecca’s description made me think of it, to be dubious at best.

When I was sure I had everything ordered in my mind and there was nothing else to transcribe to my datapad, I slept.

I woke up on my own in the morning and found the house to be almost completely silent. With my hearing being what it was, before I was halfway up the stairs I heard Michael’s cooing noise, and Rebecca snoring. But the only sign of wakefulness was William himself who was standing at the microwave and watching the timer while the countdown hummed on and the contents spun within.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“G’mornin.” He said and gave me a wave of his meaty hand, “Pancakes.”

I decided to try a ‘dadjoke’. “I’m Bailey, not pancakes.”

I watched his face and saw him chuckle, his face formed a toothy smile, “You’re doing fine.” He reassured me, then asked, “But are you hungry?”

“No, I told you, I’m Bailey, we’ve met, I don’t know who this hungry person is.” I answered as deadpan as I could and crossed one hand over the other while I sat at the table to watch his expression. In some social species, taking on the role or status of another member is deemed an act of challenge. But William only gave me yet another laugh and did a verbal riposte.

“Well then, Bailey. Would you like to have some pancakes? Fauve is already gone to work at the mall, so it’ll just be you and me for a few hours.” William asked and slid open the large black bottom drawer of the cold box’s frozen section.

Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds later I had a stack of three very thick, fluffy pancakes on a white glass plate which was smothered in bright yellow butter and dark maple syrup.

And when my fork stabbed the top cake, it begged a question that stopped me before I could take a bite. “William, aren’t cakes a dessert? Why are we eating cake for breakfast?”

He stopped with his fork in midair, the syrup drizzling down from the soaked pancake piece in a single long string that kept it connected to the plate. “Oh, well that’s cake, cake. And this is… well…” He stopped and lowered his fork to his plate, the metal ‘tinked’ against the glass and he looked down at his breakfast. His hands held the edge of the table as he thought it over intensely.

William, for the record, is recognized as a fairly brilliant man in his field, but this question seemed to stump him. “...It is cake made in a pan.” He finally answered. “Plus it has butter and syrup on it, which you don’t put on a thicker cake.”

It was a wholly unscientific answer if ever there was one, and I could not be satisfied with it. My ears went down and I asked, “But how does the use of a thinner pan make a cake into a breakfast instead of a dessert?”

William stared down at the pancake as it vexed him, and I persisted.

“Syrup looks like a dessert thing, what with all the sugar, so aren’t we just putting a dessert topping on a dessert food and eating it early in the morning?” I asked him, and to that, he snorted.

“I suppose so. I guess anything can be breakfast if you eat it at breakfast time and have nothing else. So, enjoy your dessert before it gets cold.” He answered, and resumed eating with obvious satisfaction from the little ‘mmm’ noises that came from his closed mouth.

“So, it is the time, not the dish, that makes the meal. I will remember this.” I said, picked up my fork with all three pancakes on it, and tossed them into the air, they sailed up and I tilted my head back with my mouth open wide and snapped my jaws down on the three at once. Thanks to my mouth being so similar to their dogs and wolves, this was easy, and I was done with breakfast.

It was a solid hour before I realized William made a joke when he said, "You really wolfed that down, didn't you?"