Questions And Answers

105. Chinatown Syndrome Zannah’s new car turned out to be a midnight blue hatchback that stood out against the luxury cars that most people in Evergreen Estates seemed to drive. A faux-leather interior still smelled faintly of factory-fresh upholstery, while Zannah was clearly trying to stamp her own personality on it with a bright green air freshener and a troll sitting on the corner of the dash. It was easy to guess that her father had chosen it for her; reliable but not flashy enough to encourage speeding. Isadora settled into the passenger seat, automatically glancing around in search of anything that could tell her a little more about her friend. She thought she knew Zannah well enough, but she also knew that she needed to get back into the habit of picking up small details if she wanted to convince Brock that she was a competent field agent. So she noticed that Zannah took a couple of seconds to adjust a phone mount, not quite second nature, and she saw the edge of a protective plastic film protruding from a glove compartment that had probably not been opened yet. “Dad said blue cars are stolen least often,” Zannah said, as she fastened her seatbelt and pulled out of the driveway. “And I haven’t got enough money of my own yet. Had to get him to sign off on the insurance, too, so it’s not like I’ve got much choice right now.” “I’m sure you’ll be able to pick something more to your taste soon,” Isadora answered, and then couldn’t think of much else to say. Before long they were gliding along the highway towards Fairhaven. As soon as they were in an area she hadn’t visited herself, it was natural for Isadora to try and match each turn with the map she had tried to learn when they first moved here, but she would have been the first to admit that spatial awareness wasn’t really her forte. “Wishing you were still in some fancy resort?” Zannah asked, as they passed a medieval knight made out of bricks which presumably linked to some kind of local history for the village they were passing through now. “No, no,” Isadora said, realising that she’d been staring out of the window for some time, and hoping she hadn’t seemed rude. “It’s just… This is my first time heading to Fairhaven, I guess. Trying to recognise the landmarks.” “Oh, yeah. You’re like a part of the community now, it’s so easy to forget you’ve only been here a year. Hell, less than a year.” Isadora nodded slowly. There were so many things she could think of to respond to that, but they all had the possibility to end up going round in circles, leading to more questions about her bluffed vacation, or to details of a cover story she wasn’t sure she still remembered that well. She decided that it would be safer, and probably more natural for Stella, if she changed the topic to bring her own curiosity into focus. “So, Friday?” she asked. “That’s when you’re seeing this movie with Jeremy, I guess?” Zannah just nodded, so Isadora continued with another question: “Excited enough to get over the nerves?” “Yeah, I…” Zannah stammered. “Is it that obvious?” “Only completely. It’s not like you to be quiet for so long.” “Yeah. I was wondering if you’re going to say anything else about your trip, but any other day I would have jumped in with the gossip already. Wouldn’t I?” “I can tell this means a lot to you,” Isadora said, with no idea where this conversation could go. She didn’t think she was the best person to be offering advice in a situation like this; whereas the more-social Stella Klein would have known exactly how to advise the younger woman. “Yeah. I mean… it’s not like the first time. I mean… I’ve dated guys before… not… you know what I mean. But it’s always been fun, right? And it will be fun, it’s got to be. Just somehow this time it… I really care, like it would be the end of the world if it goes wrong. I never had that before.” “Well, you know he’s interested. He said yes, didn’t he? And you both wanted to see the same movie, so you know you’ve got something new to talk about. So you don’t need to play games. Just be yourself, and if he’s the guy you think he is, you’ll have the time of your life.” Isadora hesitated then; realising she was just reciting advice she’d heard from so many people, and read in advice columns over the years. She felt a little embarrassed not to have anything more individual she could add; but covered her nerves with a quick summary: “Just be yourself.” “But what if myself is too…” Zannah paused, searching for the word. “Too eager? Too obvious? What if I talk too much about art and he gets bored?” “Oh, that’s not possible,” Isadora answered with a laugh. In this case she could be sure. She’d only met Jeremy briefly, although Zannah had been talking about him for as long as they’d been going to the Fairhaven Exchange, but he immediately reminded her of several of the guys she’d known back at Millennium House. The ones who had infinite patience for one specific subject, and were willing to talk to anyone who showed the slightest interest. “I suspect he’ll be into anything you want to talk about; but if you stumble into an awkward silence, talking about art will always get him to come to life. And you’ll probably learn something too.” “He’ll talk to anyone about art,” Zannah agreed. “Talk your ear off, if you’re not careful. I know his manager had to remind him that some people would rather just look. But… is he just being nice? I mean… talking to people is pretty much his job.” “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And he pretty much said that he’d been planning to ask you out. He couldn’t get the tickets, remember? So… Don’t be nervous. Enjoy yourself. And if he wants to talk about something that isn’t about paint and canvas, that’s your reminder that he cares about what you think. Stepping outside his special interests and reaching for things that interest you too.” “Yeah,” this time Zannah’s smile seemed more secure. “Talking about hats, or movies, or… I just feel like the centre of the world then. Is this how it was when you met Bernard?” “It was…” Isadora stammered, trying to recover her balance. She’d gotten used to people seeing Brock as her husband, but imagining a romantic relationship between them was still somehow a surprise. She quickly fell back on a couple of details she could remember from her legend, hoping that would be enough. “It was kind of different for us,” she said. “We worked together before anything else, so it was more of a slow burn. We’d see each other every day, but I can’t say where the line was between work and… everything else.” She paused to analyse her own words, and she could already tell that it sounded clinical, like she was summarising a book she’d read. And in a way she knew that was the case. But if she was going to reassure her friend, she needed to reach some real, emotional memory. She immediately thought about Liam Reeves, a name that hadn’t crossed her mind since she started applying for the Agency job. Her mind was filled with a research project that had spawned a whole forest of distractions, of the one group member who seemed to be pulling his weight, of hectic lunchtimes in one of the campus cafeterias, and conversations where every personal joke felt like a stolen moment as they raced against the clock. Of slowly growing trust, feeling like her heart was going to burst, and a growing intimacy that had been perfect in every way until it wasn’t. “Like, one day he was asking me about the minutes of a budget meeting, the next I was chasing up a customer account summary that had been misfiled, and at the time I never noticed how I was smiling every time we met. Or that I looked forward to the time in his office, no matter how mundane the things we were discussing. I never realised I cared more about the boss than any of my friends in the office, and then… When he said he felt the same, it was like all my dreams had come true.” “I know the feeling,” Zannah said with a laugh, and the car drifted to a stop at the lights. “I don’t think Jeremy could ever have taken the first step, though. Maybe I’m more like Bernard.” Isadora nodded, and glanced at the buildings around them. They had left identical rows of suburban homes behind during her detour to memory lane, and were surrounded on all sides by three and four storey buildings in aged red brick; most of them probably a hundred years old. “Where do you want to start?” Zannah asked, and then seemed to think for a second. “You don’t know Fairhaven, do you? So I should be offering suggestions. If you’re after Chinatown, the cheapest place to park is probably the Makinson Center. Unless you have somewhere else in mind.” “I literally know nothing,” Isadora answered with a quick smile. “So… Makinson Center it is.” They took a couple of turns, and then they were heading through a gateway surmounted by a lopsided ‘max headroom’ bar, down a ramp into what quickly turned out to be six levels of underground parking. There was a machine by the entrance which issued a ticket, and then they were looking for a clear space. The scenery didn’t tell Isadora anything about the city; the brutalist concrete basement had probably been installed some time in the eighties, and looked the same as similar structures all around the world. “Rafferty’s?” Zannah suggested, as she slowly backed into a parking space. “I know you said you wanted to check out Chinatown, but maybe it’ll help to see it from above. You get a pretty good view from up there, so we could use that like a mini map, decide what to look at first. And – not sure if it’s true or not – I heard that a good coffee is the one thing you won’t find in the Chinatown markets, and you look like you need one.” “Good call,” Isadora said. Her hair snagged and got pulled to one side as she took off her seatbelt; maybe she wasn’t quite used to wearing bunches yet. But she was sure that it would be second nature in a couple of days. Zannah led them around the edge of the grey structure to an elevator, up into a shopping center that could have been in any western city. There was no local colour here, or anything to tell her about Fairhaven. Then they were heading across an enclosed bridge with a glass floor, allowing them to see a dozen taxis jostling for space in a packed street below. Isadora guessed right away that the town centre wasn’t somewhere to drive if you could avoid it; the underground garage they had chosen presumably marked the usual edge of the gridlock. Another shopping center passed in a blur, although there were fewer chain stores here and more appearances of ‘Fairhaven’, ‘boutique’, and ‘artisanal’ on the signs. From there, Zannah led the way out onto a courtyard dotted with food stalls, many of them built into antiquated-looking trailers and vehicles. The mixed scents of food from a dozen different cuisines were appealing, but Isadora knew that she had work to do today, so she resisted the temptation to stop. And a little way along a pedestrian street, they found the entrance to Rafferty’s bookshop. It was a surprisingly large building, within which every level seemed to appeal to a different demographic. The ground floor was almost like a gift shop, with novelty bookmarks, tshirts, and all kinds of paraphernalia you might think to give to someone who was proud of their reading obsession. Above that, there was a level filled with hobbies and pastimes; with a lot of the shelf space set aside for board games and three large gaming tables where, it seemed, local groups could meet up to play the latest games. Then they passed through the land of celebrity and biographies; a floor dedicated to science fiction and fantasy fiction; close-packed shelves of what looked like textbooks aimed at the local university’s students; and finally, surrounded by sections labelled ‘general fiction’ and ‘miscellany’, there was a café. It would have been easy to imagine this place as a study or library, if it wasn’t for the huge glass doors giving access to balconies on two sides. But the shelves had been carefully laid out; making little nooks and alcoves where someone at a small table could pretend the room only extended to the shelves they could reach. Isadora thought that it would have been a very pleasant place to sit and read, and she was immediately sure that a book club must meet here at least once a week. But right now, she had to keep her mind on the task that had brought her here. “Right,” she said with a cheery grin. “I can get some coffee at last. You too?” “Probably,” Zannah said, responding with a smile of her own. “And I want to try some of the cakes here as well. But only one; don’t want to ruin my appetite for later.” There was quite a line at the counter, but it moved quickly. And then Isadora was picking up a hot coffee to refresh and invigorate her ready for her first real day of investigation. This wasn’t Brock giving her tasks to show her the ropes this time; she was actually hoping to find something that mattered. She just hoped that she would be able to manage more detail, or some observation that went beyond what he already knew. She needed her input to be worth something for the mission. “It’s a nice day,” Zannah said, before Isadora could get too lost in her own thoughts. “How about we step outside.” Isadora nodded, and followed her friend over to the balcony area as soon as their drinks and cakes were all ready. Zannah apparently knew which side Chinatown was on; Isadora would have been embarrassed to admit that between all the turns in the staircase as they came up here, she would have been able to say which direction led back to the door they had come in through. But when they walked out onto the balcony, metal vibrating slightly under their feet, there was no doubt that she was looking over Chinatown. There was a busy street stretching out towards the east from here (and it took a few minutes of staring at the details before Isadora realised that somewhere in her subconscious she’d instinctively looked at the position of the sun to determine which way she was facing), and almost all the shop signs along that street were in characters she couldn’t begin to read. There was something about the architectural styles as well; most of the buildings looked like they had come straight out of one of the martial arts movies Liam had loved so much. She didn’t know whether that was actual architecture or something in the decoration, but it meant she knew what she was looking at. She tried to memorise some of the signs she could see, and the layout of the streets connecting them, so that she wouldn’t get lost so easily when she was on the ground. But right now she was realising that she might as well be stepping into a different world, and she didn’t really know how she was going to organise the day’s exploration. They didn’t stay on the balcony for long. They both had plates with a couple of bite-sized cakes and pastries, and it was clear that Zannah had been expecting them to have a proper breakfast here before they continued. But once they were looking down at the streets below, they kept pointing out shops to each other, and the decals on the signs; both women trying to guess what kind of items would be displayed in the windows based on clues they couldn’t quite make out from up here. And before long they were going down all those steps again, hands still holding paper cups of hot coffee. Chinatown was new to both of them, and there was a real sense of excitement about exploring an unfamiliar part of town. It was something that apparently appealed to Stella and Zannah equally; while Isadora just kept on playing the role, impatient to see one of the Smokey Honey signs so that she could begin collecting intelligence. The main street hit them like a wall of sensation. After the relative quiet of Rafferty’s upper floors, the noise alone was enough to make Isadora slow her pace for a moment. She could make out the clatter of crates being stacked, rapid conversations in Cantonese and Mandarin overlapping each other, and from a restaurant somewhere nearby the sharp hiss and sizzle of food being introduced to a very hot wok. The air was thick with it too, layers of smell folding over one another so quickly that it was hard to separate one from the next. Roasting meat, ginger, something sweet and caramelised, and underneath it all the sharp notes that indicated traders in live poultry and fresh fish. The buildings pressed close on either side, their upper floors leaning toward each other overhead like old friends sharing a secret. Red and gold decorations hung from almost every balcony. Some clearly festive, others faded enough that they might have been there for years, just part of the scenery now. Strings of paper lanterns criss-crossed above the street at irregular intervals, and nearly every shop had filled its window with so much merchandise that it was impossible to tell where the display ended and the stock began. To Isadora’s unpractised eyes, it was hard to tell whether some of the buildings were shops, community centers, or homes. As they stepped into this unfamiliar world, her gaze was drawn to the signs, as intended; but there was so much competing for her attention that the instinct felt almost overwhelmed. It was like diving into a whole new world of unfamiliar sensations, and for a moment Isadora wondered how Brock could cope when he was so often plunged into an actual foreign city, not just a district where people tried to preserve the ethos of their motherland. But she was pulled back to reality by the sound of Zannah, speculating on every detail like an overenthusiastic tourist. And her babble reminded Isadora that there were English language signs in among all the characters she didn’t know how to read. And that was when she saw what she should have been looking for all along; a no smoking sign in two languages, partially concealed behind a line of people queueing to purchase some spicy-sweet treat wrapped in paper cones from a store’s open window. “Gods, it's busy,” Zannah said, pulling her coffee a little closer to her chest as a man with a wide flat trolley nudged past them without slowing down. Rather than put off by the crowds, she had the excitement of someone stepping into a fairground for the first time. And for just a moment, Isadora found she could imagine that her friend might have some positivity towards the thought of letting her inner child out to play. The thought only lasted for a moment though, as she forced her attention back to what Zannah was saying now: “I can’t believe this has been here the whole time and I never came down. I have to thank you, Estelle.” “It's a lot, isn’t it?” Isadora said, pausing for only a moment to process the legend’s name that no longer felt natural to her. She let herself drift with the flow of foot traffic for a moment, letting the current of the street carry them forward while she took in the layout. The main road was wide enough for a couple of delivery vans to pass each other, but the footpaths on either side had been eaten up almost entirely by stalls and displays spilling out from the shops, and half the pedestrians were walking in the road now so that vehicles had ro weave around them. “What do you want to look at first?” “Everything,” Zannah said, and then laughed at herself. “Okay, maybe start with the food? I skipped lunch yesterday to leave room for the cakes, so I’m already hungry again.” Isadora nodded and smiled, and found herself automatically leading them to the queue she had glanced at earlier. She didn’t even think about why she was doing that; but she knew on some level that she had a mission to complete. And if they were looking for snacks, then determining the contents of the mysterious paper cones would be a good excuse to bring them closer to the first anti-smoking sign of the day. “What are they selling here?” Zannah asked, as Isadora led them to the line. “Is there something, or are we just in line because everybody in front is?” “I don’t know what it is, but the people eating it are all smiling,” Isadora answered. “And it smells divine.” “Is that coming from here? I can’t even tell, there’s so many people cooking round here.” And a shrug was the only answer that made any kind of sense. The queue moved slowly enough that Isadora had time to position herself closer to the wall, close enough now to see the sign properly. The cartoon bird, Smokey Honey perched on her red line with an expression of cheerful disapproval, and above it the English text declared that there was no smoking allowed in the stores or the outside queue here. The symbols beneath that presumably said the same to the Chinese-speaking residents; though Isadora couldn’t be quite sure of that yet. But it was the sign’s quality that caught her eye. Not the modern standardised kind you’d see bolted to a bus shelter anywhere in the country; this was something else. Locals had saved up money for these signs. Enamelled wood, it looked like, the kind of thing a local council might commission from an artist rather than ordering in bulk from a supplier. Isadora already knew that there were multiple designs of this sign, and that would hopefully make it even easier to get a positive identification for the one she was looking for. She was sure that this one wasn’t it; the bird was in the bottom left corner of the sign rather than the bottom right. But if she wanted to be certain, she knew that she should record the find in any case. If she didn’t find the exact one she wanted, maybe there would be some pattern she could find in the arrangement of different designs through the town, and that was a pattern she would only be able to find if she captured all the information. She automatically reached for her phone, and found herself thinking for a second about what Zannah would make of this strange behaviour. Walking around town with a friend would probably make her stick out less, but she shouldn’t have just planned based on that without even planning some kind of cover story. And then she hesitated, realising quickly that the situation wasn’t as bad as she might have thought. “Oh, that’s an interesting sign,” she said with a chuckle. “Is that a…” For a second she wasn’t sure exactly how surprised to sound, and she wasn’t sure if she could pull it off in any case. But she did her best to react to the sign as if she hadn’t seen one before, and was mildly surprised by the appearance of a cartoon bird on a no smoking sign. “That’s just a no smoking sign,” Zannah said. “The menu must be along here somewhere. Nice that it’s bilingual, though. As if the red circle isn’t understood everywhere.” “Don’t think I’ve seen one of those before,” Isadora answered, trying to construct Stella’s state of mind in her imagination. She didn’t want to go over the top, but she could imagine thinking the bird was kind of neat. “I mean… There’s the usual logo and everything, but there’s a little cartoon bird on there. Is that just the brand of the sign?” “Oh? Oh yeah, I kind of… I guess I got used to it. They’ve been like that forever. I think it’s a Fairhaven chamber of commerce thing or something. All the signs in town have the bird on, not just Chinatown. When they first put them up I tried to see how many different ones I could find. Like, if I could take photos of a bunch, I could make a comic strip just using different poses out of the same character. I think we were supposed to be doing collages or something?” “When you were in school?” Isadora guessed, realising that Zannah had given her exactly what she needed. And as the other woman nodded, she continued: “That sounds kind of neat, actually. Our art classes were all about still life and watercolours. And you know what? I kind of want to try that now.” “I think we’re a bit too old for that,” Zannah said with a laugh. “I mean, I think I was like nine or something. Can’t even remember if I was in high school then.” “Yeah. But somebody put in all the effort to draw those birds, and it’s not fair to let it go unnoticed. So I’m going to capture as many pictures as I can find. And so what if kids do that? I mean, you might have been nine when you first saw them, but I’ve never seen them before, so it’s just as new to me.” “I guess,” Zannah laughed. “I mean, they say you’re as young as you feel, right?” “Right. So I’m nine or whatever today. Or at least young and reckless enough to spend a day hunting pictures of Melipotes fumigatus. Now, do you want to join that line so I can have you standing next to it on the pic?” “We don’t even know what they’re selling,” Zannah said, and then glanced up and down the people standing there right now. All ages, and a rough mix of Chinatown locals and tourists, if she could guess by their appearances. Isadora could see the decision working its way across her face. “So we’ll find out when we get to the front of the line. You’re a bad influence, Mrs Klein.” “That I am,” Isadora laughed, and pulled out her phone as they walked over to the line. Waiting wasn’t time wasted, because waiting in line gave Isadora plenty of time to catch up with Zannah, as well as to improvise and excuse for recognising the Mascot on them as M. fumigatus, the smoky honeyeater, that didn’t involve revealing that she had been researching this local advertising campaign in advance. She found herself making a mental note, when she got home, to modify Stella’s legend and social media history to include an avid bird-watcher ex called Jordan who had since spent his inheritance travelling to Thailand to join some environmental protest. It turned out that they were queuing to buy breakfast sandwiches from a counter behind which it looked like someone had squeezed a whole kitchen into a broom closet. They could probably have got something very similar to take away from Rafferty’s, but somehow it felt different to be supporting a local trader when visiting a new part of town. “Not what I expected my first taste of Chinatown would be,” Isadora mused as they walked away. “Good value, though,” Zannah gestured with her own wrap after taking a bite. “And good quality too. Besides, this is what the locals seem to have for breakfast around here. Those who aren’t eating at home, anyway.” “I guess everything seems a little exotic when you’re visiting somewhere new. And you know what? Even if it’s a bagel like I’d get at home, it tastes different. Different methods, different seasoning, but I don’t think I ever had a deli bagel just like this one. So it’s still something new.” “Maybe it’s a mix of familiar elements and exotic influences,” Zannah said with a little shrug. “Or maybe it just tastes different because the market stalls around you look so oriental. I mean, it could be influencing how we perceive it, and how would we know?” “There’s probably a name for that in psychology. Like how food preferences change when you’re in another country, I think I read about that a while back. Same thing, just on a smaller scale.” “Chinatown Syndrome?” Zannah suggested, with a little chuckle. “Anyway, let’s eat and move. I’m sure there’s plenty more birds on signs to find.” And Isadora could join in with the laughter then. Suddenly what had seemed like a challenging task was going to be so much easier, and she’d just said what came to mind. Maybe when it came down to it, she had the instincts of an investigator after all.

We have had an annual campout since 2003 its been posted in clubs links and announcements for many years this year its in Southern Alberta due to low participation last year all of us got together and paid to secure the site and now we have opened it a little to Furries and Spankaholics too but mostly Ab Dls   If your interested Email me at babyalan007@gmail.com

I'm afraid my room smells like I went poopie in my diapie,,,because I did!

Sitting here this morning in a wet and messy white MegaMax diaper while sipping hot coffee. 12 degrees F outside but warm, wet, poopy inside and sooo comforting and relaxing. I love the sensations of warm, lumpy, squishy potty in my wet morning diaper.

Wish You Were Here The different parts of the mall all looked the same to Ginny. There were so many shops, so many fancy things for her to look at, but after a while they were all a blur; she didn’t know if she would even recognise the shops if they were walking in circles. There were too many details for her to pick out the important ones, and one line of storefronts looked just like another. But she noticed when the windows became smaller, and they were walking along a corridor with ornate wooden carvings between each window. When the open-plan entrances and sliding glass doors were replaced by old fashioned doors with the name of the shop above them. It was like walking into something from the last century. And when she looked at the items for sale, everything was a little bit different. There were still clothes stores, grocers, and gift shops; but she started to get the feeling that they were here to create the right atmosphere, rather than to sell anything. When she saw a door with ‘Tuck Shop’ in a carved wooden sign above it, she understood. Hotel Academia was styled like something out of a very traditional English boarding school. That was their theme; with clandestine gambling facilities where everyone could believe they were getting away with something secretive under the noses of the prefects, and drinking was treated like a taboo. She could remember reading about it, and imagining the taboo of kids doing forbidden things at school. Her mental images of a school like that had come almost entirely from a recent series of movies, and she was sure that the shops here would have plenty of gifts inspired by those franchises as well. This was a school, in much the same way one of the other casinos on the main street was designed to look like you were on a cruise ship, and another was styled like an ancient Greek amphitheatre. It was just the latest in a long line of theme resorts, and the one most suited to a sudoku championship. But now, although she could feel the shape of all those memories, it was hard to pay attention to the details. Her thoughts slipped away, and there was something strangely exciting about the thought of meeting Daddy in a schoolroom. It fit with the sense of being a child again, even if she couldn’t quite focus on the details. Maybe a school was where she was supposed to be, but then why did it also feel naughty, in an exciting kind of way? She looked up at Daddy as he led her forward, and now they were approaching a desk where an older woman was wearing a uniform very much like a teacher’s. “Okay, sugarplum,” he said, and patted her head. “What do you want to do now? Should I get you set up in your room, or do you want to sit with me for a little while?” Imogen tried to think, but she didn’t need to think. So she wrapped her arms around him, and said the only word that came to mind: “Daddy!” “Okay, that’s fine,” he said with a little chuckle. “We can talk more about this later. Maybe a nap to help you get over all those worries.” The words made her blush, but Ginny felt safer than ever. She didn’t need to think about anything while Daddy was there to make all the hard decisions for her. He was talking to the woman behind the desk, but she didn’t need to pay attention to all that grown-up stuff. And then he was leading her to an elevator, still holding onto all of her bags while she danced around him. The numbers over the door rose higher than Ginny could count right now, but it took no time at all before they were standing in a corridor with loads of identical doors in dark wood. Daddy waved a card in front of one of the locks, and there was a click. The door swung open to reveal a room that could have come straight out of That Boy, or any of the other school period dramas that had followed it. Modern conveniences, as unobtrusive as possible, overlaid onto an aesthetic which could have come from the 19th century, but had probably remained just the same in real schools until the 1950s. The walls were panelled in dark oak halfway up, with cream paint above, and a single tall window with diamond-paned leaded glass gave a view over a strange contoured surface that the more-adult part of Ginny’s mind quickly determined must be the mall’s rooftops. The bed was king size, with a frame that looked like wrought iron and a thick duvet in deep burgundy, tucked in with hospital corners. There was a matching wardrobe that looked heavy enough to have survived two world wars, but it clearly hadn’t been opened and the disheveled state of a suitcase standing with its lid open against the wall suggested that Daddy wasn’t inclined to unpack his belongings until he needed them. To complete the old-fashioned style, a writing desk sat beneath the window with an actual inkwell holder built into the corner. On a shelf beside the bed there was a candlestick telephone with a mechanical dial and a button for room service, though a tiny inlaid brass decal beside it indicated the presence of wireless charging for those who preferred more contemporary technology. “Here we are,” Daddy said, setting the bags down by the wardrobe. “Our home away from home for the weekend. Well, mine technically, but I think we can share for now, can’t we?” Ginny nodded, looking around with wide eyes. There was a bookshelf with leather-bound volumes that were probably just decorative, and a framed photograph of some stern-looking men in academic robes. Everything felt serious and grown-up, but somehow cosy at the same time. Like she was visiting a friend’s room, rather than one of many decorated by a hotel’s designers. Dan carried her bags to a free space beneath the window, where they wouldn’t get in the way. And just like that, this place was home now. “You okay with your new underwear?” Daddy asked, and then quickly placed one hand against her bottom in a way that made her heart race all over again. “Still dry? Good girl. Let’s see how long you can keep that up. Although, I think if you have another accident we might have to put you in proper diapers. Would you like that?” The only way she could respond was a wordless stammer; Ginny was much too young to understand how that would make her feel right now, she just wanted to try to impress Daddy. But she didn’t know what answer he was expecting. Eventually she managed a nod, though she wasn’t really sure what she meant by it. She sat down on the corner of the bed. It was a little firmer than she would have expected, and the sheets rustled under her, but she could imagine it being very comfortable. Daddy walked over the bookcases, and opened a cabinet that took up a considerable portion of several shelves, revealing a TV screen. It looked just as old-fashioned as everything else in the room, but Imogen still realised that the cabinet was only as deep as a bookshelf, where there was no chance a real vintage model would have fitted. “Let’s see what there is to watch,” Daddy said with a smile, and walked over to a couple of overstuffed armchairs in the corner of the room. He took a seat and Ginny leapt up right away, bounding over to sit on his lap. And as she squirmed to get comfortable, she realised that going for the empty chair hadn’t even crossed her mind. His lap felt natural and safe, exactly where she was supposed to be. Daddy’s didn’t say anything, but an arm came around her waist to steady her, and she leaned back against his chest as the TV flickered to life. He scrolled through channels, passing news and sport and cooking shows, until he found a brightly-coloured menu of cartoons. He selected one without a moment’s hesitation, and the screen was filled with animal shapes promising to teach lessons about trust and friendship. Ginny felt herself relax completely, her attention captured by the simple storyline and cheerful music. “Is this okay, little one?” Daddy’s voice was gentle so close to her ear, eliciting some impulses that she wasn’t ready to acknowledge right now. She just felt so safe, and that was all she could have hoped for. “Mmhmm,” she murmured, already absorbed in watching a cartoon rabbit helping a grumpy badger to cross a stream. Daddy slipped the remote out of sight somewhere, and the animals continued to solve one problem after another with the power of friendship. And after each task, it seemed that there was a little live-action segment, with a real bunny standing in for Clover as he explained a little about plants and gardening. Dan’s hand rubbed small circles on her back, a steady, soothing motion that made her feel warm and sleepy despite it being the middle of the afternoon. She found herself leaning back against him as the episodes started to blur together in her mind. This was nothing like she had expected, but it was better than anything she could have imagined. She had never even thought it was possible to be so comfortable with a man, but Daddy could make everything feel right. She didn’t need to understand the animals on the screen, just to watch them and cheer whenever Clover got a reward. And Daddy was doing so much to make her feel good, making her feel so safe. Ginny shifted slightly, getting more comfortable, and felt Daddy adjust to accommodate her without complaint. She wasn’t sure how long they sat like that. Maybe one episode, maybe three. The room was quiet except for the cheerful voices from the TV, and the mall, the conference, and all the complicated adult things felt very far away. She felt the slightest trace of discomfort, and shifted position again. Everything was so easy; a slight feeling of pressure and she could let go without thinking. And then back to the cartoon; it wasn’t until she felt an unfamiliar warmth that she realised she was wetting herself again. The tiny trace of adulthood left in her mind urged her to hold it; but she quickly found that her body wouldn’t obey that command. Embarrassment flooded into her mind, only to turn into contented relaxation a moment later. And she wouldn’t even have been able to say anything, if Daddy hadn’t already noticed.