A Night and a Day
The credits end and the room fades to quiet and dark. You blink and look around the small hotel suite. The room was more crowded earlier with the friends you invited up to watch a few films while the rest of the convention got noisy and rowdy for the evening. Surprisingly noisy and rowdy, given that it's not even officially a convention yet — opening ceremonies are tomorrow afternoon. It didn't take many animated science fiction flicks to last until after midnight and, not surprisingly, most have already excused themselves and snuck out, trying not to disturb anyone as they departed.
There are only, let's see, four left. Yourself, of course, at one end of the sofa. Your roommate, Lin, of course — it seems she had mostly dozed off too as, now that the film's over, she's also blinking and peering around the dim room from the depths of an arm chair. Pete, a good friend you've known for many years is also here at the other end of the sofa from you. And along the length of the sofa, draped across you and Pete… a foxtaur.
This fursuiter isn't anyone you know — at least, not as far as you know — even though you had intended this little gathering to be just friends of you and your roommate. But the foxtaur was hugging Pete when you invited him, and somehow he ended up being invited too, and it seems no one really said no, so he ended up included. Then it wasn't actually until you all got into the elevator that you realised what had looked like a fox fursuiter was actually a foxtaur fursuiter — clearly you hadn't been paying very much attention to anything other than finding everyone you wanted to invite. The foxtaur was last into the elevator and took a bit of juggling to get into the little cabin, four legs and two arms crammed along one wall, but by this time it would definitely have been a bit too offensive to say "you know what? Actually we didn't want you to come after all", so everyone held their breath while he squeezed in beside you, and sighed with relief when the doors opened three floors later.
So here he is. He's been silent so far, and he isn't wearing a con badge, so you don't know his name, but he's clearly a fox, and also clearly a foxtaur.
So what's a foxtaur? Well, his upper body is just like a normal anthropomorphic fox fursuit — that's why you mistook him for a plain, ordinary fox fursuiter when you first saw him in the crowds near the bar — but below the anthro fox's waistline is a second, lower, body somewhat like a fox quadsuit — one of those four-legged suits where the wearer uses their arms for the front legs and their legs for the back legs… except in this case, the front legs are very definitely not arms. Where the neck would be on the lower body is also where the waist would be on the upper body, to give you a four-legged two-armed fox-like creature with the same body-plan as a centaur.
The foxtaur's upper body is lying across your lap. His head rests on the arm of the sofa, one arm is over your knee, the other hangs down beside your leg. The middle set of limbs — his front legs — stick out off the sofa in a way that looks as awkward as some of the poses you've seen cats sleep in. The back end of his lower body and his back legs extend across Pete's lap, and there's only just room along the sofa's length for the taur to lie there.
The fur is lovely and soft; must be a pretty new suit. It's well fitting too, no bagginess and it clearly has padding in many places to make the wearer's body shape just that bit less human-like… although you suppose the the whole "extra body and legs" thing also helps there. You've seen taur suits before where the lower torso and the hind legs were clearly fake, like a huge plushie had been disassembled and most of it sewn onto the rear of a fursuit — but this is not that. The foxtaur suiter's hind legs are clearly real — in the sense that there are clearly real legs inside the costume legs, that is — his front legs are likewise clearly real too, and his arms are also just as clearly real. His upper and lower torsos (or maybe they should be called sections of one large torso — the terminology is not obvious) are also both clearly quite real. And you're really curious how all this is done, because this foxtaur doesn't give the impression of being like a pantomime horse with two people inside… although how else would it be possible?
As Lin clicks the TV off you see Pete deciding to get up. The taur seems to be asleep, if the slow breathing, the limp limbs, and the closed eyes on his suit head are anything to go by. Pete slides out carefully from under the taur and quietly makes his farewell. And then there were three.
You look from the foxtaur to Lin and back. She raises an eyebrow, then puts a finger to her lips. You nod, and she gets up and quietly moves into the other room of the suite, a little adjoining bedroom, leaving you alone. You smile. She's not as much into fursuits or hugs as you are and you guess she's quite happy to let you finish this adventure alone.
By the minimal light filtering in from the bedroom, you reposition yourself a bit on the sofa, getting your feet up and snuggling down to sleep. The foxtaur sighs and shifts slightly too before settling in. A few moments later there's a muffled bang of a door along the corridor and the taur's ears and all four feet twitch simultaneously before he relaxes again. The bedroom light goes out, leaving you in the dark, cuddled up against a warm, fluffy new friend.
A razor-thin slice of light skirts the curtain and lets you know it's morning. The room is still pretty dark and the taur is still lying against you, breathing slowly. Parts of your body are a bit chilly, having slept without a blanket, but wherever the foxtaur's body rests on yours, you're so warm you're nearly sweating.
His fur is luxurious, soft and deep. If you push your hand into the pile you can almost lose your fingers in there. The fur is so dense it's hard to feel the backing material.
You listen, and look around. Apart from the slow deep breaths from the foxtaur, the suite is quiet. The door to the bedroom is not quite shut, and you can see that there's daylight in the room beyond. Not unexpected — Lin tends to get up quite a bit earlier than you most days and you guess she's already gone downstairs to get some breakfast. She apparently managed to leave without waking either you or your new fursuiter friend.
You pet the foxtaur, gingerly at first, not wanting to wake him up. You stroke his fur with your free hand — the other is kind of trapped under his body. As he doesn't respond at all you get a little more adventurous and, still gently, run your hand further along his body, seeing if you can find any clues as to how the suit works.
There's definitely padding under the fur. Even with how form-fitting the suit seems to be, on his upper back it seems like there's some thin foam between the fur fabric and the body within. Not so much you can't feel the outline of his shoulder blades, but there is a bit of squish there. As your hand reaches his waist, though — or maybe his neck from the point of view of the lower body — you find the foam there is a lot more dense and stiff and you can't feel anything through it at all. As you dig your fingers in a bit — still trying to be reasonably gentle — the taur sighs and moves a little, stretching all six paws out slightly in front of him. It's a cute reaction, but it also makes you stop digging; you go back to just stroking the fur on his back. Hmm, what's the longest single stroke you can do? Starting at the back of his head, between his pointy ears, you run your hand all the way down the back of the taur's upper torso to the, uhh, the join — is that a good word for it? — round the bend to his lower torso's back and part way along that towards his tail, as far as you can reach.
You wonder how long you can stretch this moment out. Lying here, snuggled up with a foxtaur, the shaft of sunlight gradually moving towards the two of you… it's relaxing in a way you don't get to experience very often.
But after a while, you're ready to get up. The foxtaur hasn't stirred yet, so you consider doing a little experimenting, seeing what will get a reaction. You first try touching his ear. You wouldn't expect him to be able to feel you touching his fursuit's ear, so you'd expect nothing. At first you just brush your fingers against the tips of the hairs, and as expected, no reaction. But when you touch one ear more firmly, it flicks and his head moves slightly. Huh.
Running your fingertips through the fur on his muzzle gets you… a gentle sigh in response… maaaaybe? Coincidence perhaps. Or maybe a reaction to your arm blocking the light for a moment. Who knows.
You almost want to flick his tail to see what happens, but it's way down the other end of the sofa where you can't reach it. Instead, you try his lower body, wanting to see whether his upper body gets the message. You poke your fingers into the fur at that join area — that combined waist/neck bit where the upper and lower bodies meet, pushing into the stiff foam under the fur. He shifts position a little, but you suppose it doesn't really prove anything — you had to push quite hard to get a reaction, and pushing on the stiff foam would have made the foam push on him.
Okay, how about this — you pick a spot about half way along the side of the taur's lower torso, near where those long strokes ended and as far down as you can comfortably reach, and push your fingers into the fur. Again, you can feel there's a good amount of foam underneath, presumably helping to form the shape of the horizontal section of his body. You push your fingers in a bit more firmly and the taur reacts, he tenses and his hand jerks half-heartedly towards yours to swat you away. He misses by a few inches, but he clearly still knew where to aim, and how can that be possible if there were two separate people in the suit? You poke one of them and the other one reacts? Makes no sense.
The taur relaxes again for a moment as you withdraw your fingers, but he's no longer asleep. He stretches all six limbs out in front of him again, but this time rather than it seeming like an instinctive reaction while he's asleep, he's moving his head and starting to look around the room. The eyes on his suit head are half open — you didn't notice that happen, but it seems he can make them move somehow.
You chuckle quietly before saying "good morning", almost under your breath.
The taur turns his head towards the sound and takes the situation in — it's morning, he's in an unfamiliar room, lying partly on top of you — then rather suddenly he twists and scrambles to his feet, apparently embarrassed, nervous… fearful? It's hard to know what his gesturing means, but you can only guess he didn't expect to fall asleep during the film and stay here through the night. Understandable.
"It's okay!" You smile and hold your hands up and try to make your voice reassuring. "It's all good, don't worry." He stands there tensely. "I really don't mind that you fell asleep on me, you're good to cuddle!"
After a few seconds, he seems somewhat relieved and calms down, shaking his head and pacing back and forth for a brief moment, his back feet turning mostly on the spot while his front feet move around. Then he freezes for a moment, before he scampers around the room, looking around as he does so. He doesn't go in the bathroom, just looks through the open door. Likewise with the bedroom, he pushes the door a little to see in, then he makes a circuit of the table and comes to a stop in front of you again. He's definitely still quite tense, legs splayed out a bit as if ready to run at any moment, but he's trying to control his breathing and calm down, too. He looks over the sofa, where you're still lying, at the curtained window behind you.
You turn to watch as the foxtaur steps around one side of the sofa and picks his way through the narrow gap between it and a small cabinet in the corner of the room, reaching forward to tweak the curtain aside and peer out, leaning forward on his front feet and letting his back legs stretch out behind. He wouldn't have known it was only a view of the car park out there, but when he's seen out for a few seconds he retreats back until he's standing in front of you again. He puts one hand briefly to his face, then turns to you again.
You smile, pushing yourself into a sitting position and blinking up at him. With a bit more daylight filtering in, you're getting a better look at his suit than you ever got yesterday — by the time you even realised he was a taur you were crammed into the elevator, and you didn't get much of a view while walking along a windowless corridor with subdued lighting, or while you were bringing your guests into the room. And after that, the lights were off so you could all watch the screen.
The foxtaur just looks so… natural. Not that it isn't obvious it's a fursuit, but the details don't scream "artificial" like some suits do. You can't see any zips or obvious seams. Most fursuit paws have an overlap with the bodysuit's sleeves or legs, and the head normally has a kind of flap that covers up the neck area, but this taur's suit gives the impression of being all one piece. Yes, you remember — when you ran your hand down from his head to his shoulders, you didn't feel any gaps, overlapping fabric, or anything but continuous soft fur. Pretty good!
The foxtaur still looks nervous, tense, ready to run. You speak again, telling him it's okay, nothing's wrong, he can relax. He does visibly relax, or at least tries to, and nods as you stand up and ask for a hug, which, after a short pause, he then provides enthusiastically.
"You have a lot of energy for this time of the morning", you point out, while looking over the top of his head to see the clock. Huh, it's actually not that early — it's a bit later than you normally wake up, but not so late you'll miss breakfast. Hopefully. Maybe.
You let the hug linger, and the foxtaur seems to be fine with that. He shifts all four feet after a few seconds to stand more comfortably — less ready for fight-or-flight — and cuddles his upper body into your arms. You wonder if his lower body needs hugs too, or whether that would be weird. Maybe you should just ask. You mumble stuff about how cute and cuddly he is, but that just makes him shuffle his feet awkwardly and bury his furry face into your shoulder a little more than he already was.
Eventually the hug ends — it's probably only been 20 seconds or so but it felt much longer — and you make a show of brushing his fur straight with your hands where the hug has messed it up.
"I should get a comb and fix this properly", you say. Sleeping in his suit hasn't helped him keep his fur tidy. "But, uh… do you want a hug here too?" You indicate his back half.
The foxtaur tilts his head to one side quizically. You demonstrate by wrapping your arms round his lower body and give him a bit of a squeeze. You can't feel anything under the heavy padding around the barrel of his lower body's chest, and squashing the foam further in order to try to feel something doesn't seem like it would be a good thing, but you get the impression there's an actual body there, an actual someone in there that you're hugging. The foxtaur reaches round behind his upper body to pat you awkwardly on the shoulders, but seems nonplussed. Well, so much for that.
You mumble something and go to fetch the comb.
The foxtaur does seem to like the attention as you comb his fur from ears to tail. You make sure you get a good look at the suit while you have the chance — it's stunningly good. You don't spot any zips or openings; even the seams are hard to find. He's entirely unfazed as you comb between his front legs; in fact, he moves his front feet apart to give you a little more room to work. The body shape around his front legs where his upper abdomen meets his lower chest is so different from a human crotch that it doesn't really even occur to you that it would be inappropriate to touch that area until you're already combing it. As you approach his back legs, though, he's a bit more wary. You don't want to push it, though, so you avoid working between his back legs or under his tail, even though the suit's clearly G-rated and nothing's visible.
As you brush, you try to think of something more to say. The foxtaur silently watches you work, upper body twisted so he can look behind him, one handpaw resting on his lower torso. As you reach for each of his rear ankles in turn, he lifts that foot for you and you comb it smooth. Luckily, the rubbery pawpads on the bottom of each foot don't seem to be ticklish.
"Oh, uh… I don't think we got introduced properly", is what you come up with after a long silence. You give him your name, and he nods and offers you another hug, which you stand up to accept. "How about you? You don't speak at all?"
He shakes his head.
"Oh, uh. Hmm. You don't have a con badge with your name on, do you?"
He holds out his hand towards you. After a few moments where you just look at it, not knowing what he wants you to do, he points to your hand and holds his out again. You hold your hand out to him.
He moves round to stand beside you, takes your hand, and holds it up in front of you and him, palm towards you. Then he touches with a fingertip and moves it down the side of your hand, near your thumb, as if he was drawing a line. Then he draws some lines across, then down again, then a kind of zip-zag. Then another line down and a semi-circle.
It takes a bit before you work it out. It's letters. He's writing! You ask him to repeat it and watch again as he draws out the letters E, R, I and C.
"Eric?" you ask.
He touches his chest and nods.
"Eric the foxtaur", you grin. "Glad to meet you."
He looks away as he nods, looking down towards the floor and you hear him awkwardly shuffling his back legs a bit behind you. He really appears very shy, which seems odd for a fursuiter.
"Are you okay?" You rub his arm and try to be comforting. "You seem really off. I didn't notice that last night."
He shakes his head.
"You seemed quite confident then."
He tilts his head.
"Or at least, I didn't see anything to make me think you weren't. Hmm, but I didn't see you very much at all really last night." A thought occurs to you and you add, "There's nothing you should be embarrassed about."
He nods again, but once more takes your hand and draws letters on it. An F, then an I, an R, an S and a T, then he glances at you before drawing a C, an O and an N.
"First con. Your first con?" He nods. That seems wild. To have a fursuit like this, so far in advance of anything the rest of the fandom has made before (as far as you know) and to debut it at your very first con is definitely a wild idea.
"You know", you say, "you should really get your badge as soon as you can. They won't be checking everyone downstairs just yet but they will after opening ceremonies. Could be really awkward if they pull you up for not having one."
He writes another few words on your hand. "TOO LATE FOR REG".
You smile at him. "No, don't worry, they'll be open today and tomor… oh! Did you arrive late last night?"
He nods. That makes sense. The registration desk closed early yesterday evening. If he arrived later in the evening he wouldn't have been able to get his badge yet.
"Oh, I see. Yeah, definitely go and pick up your badge soon. You'll get the event timetable and everything too."
You glance over your shoulder at Eric's lower torso standing behind you both, and wonder if they'll want him to have two badges. And if they do, if he'll be able to get two badges.
"Is there anything you really want to go to?"
He looks around the room for a moment, then trots across to a table in the corner and picks up a little stuffed lion, holding it out to you and pointing at it.
"Plushie panel? Oh neat, you'll see Lin there. My roommate? That's her lion you're holding! You must have seen her last night."
He nods briefly, but then points at you.
"Oh, not me, I'm not really the plushie type", you grin. "Although… if you're going… I mean, maybe?"
Eric's shoulders hunch as pulls his arms in to his chest and looks away from you, his embarrassed body language so clear to read. He smooths the little lion's fur and puts it carefully back on the table.
"Anything else you want to see?" you ask. "I'm going to the fursuit making tutorials. I've wanted my own suit for ages but I have to admit to myself I just can't afford one, so… I need to know how to make my own."
Eric holds his hand out towards yours as he did before, and you offer it to him as you both move side by side again.
"ILL COME WITH", he writes.
Now it's your turn to hide a blush. "I'd love that", you say. "But… weren't you going anyway?" But then you snap your fingers, "oh, ha, no, it's obvious you don't have anything to learn about fursuit making!" You grin and nudge his shoulder with yours. "Heh, maybe they'll use you as a demo suiter. Best one around."
He shakes his head and looks down at his front feet. All you can do is smile. The guy's nice but so shy, and you can't help wanting to take him under your wing, as it were, and show him the con ropes.
"THANKYOU", Eric writes on your palm.
You grin. "I mean it, your suit is amazing."
He shakes his head. "FOR BEING", he writes, then hesitates, looking towards the window as if trying to find the next word.
A long moment passes.
"FOR HELP".
Then "FIRST CON".
"Aww." You ruffle the fur on his shoulder. "I'm sure anyone would help you. Furries are a friendly bunch."
Eric's whole body sags a bit, like he's frustrated. He looks up at the ceiling and drags one handpaw across the top of his head, his ears popping up as each is released again. Then he grabs your hand again.
"YOU FIRST PERSON I TALK TO". He's using some shortcuts now — for "YOU" he points at you, and for "I" he just taps his chest.
"Wh… really? Oh right, you only got here last night. You didn't talk to anyone before me?"
Several minutes of this and you get more of Eric's backstory. He arrived last night too late to collect his badge, and decided to wander the lobby and meet the other fursuiters. It seems quite a few took photos of him, or with him, and he got loads of hugs (which he seems really pleased about), but he never really spent more than a few seconds with anyone before you collared Pete, who he happened to be getting a hug from at the time, and ended up here.
And it seems he didn't even join your movie night deliberately, just felt too nervous and awkward to refuse. You can understand that. It can be really difficult to find a good moment to excuse yourself.
But… wild. His first con, and the first thing of note to happen to him is… he lands in your lap. Literally!
By this time you've sat back down on the sofa and encouraged him to sit too. He's found a way to do so, with his back legs tucked under his body at one end of the couch and his front feetpaws on the floor, his upper body leaning against you to stop him toppling over. It really doesn't look very comfortable.
"Wow… well, I hope our movie night wasn't too dull for you."
He immediately shakes his head and makes "no" gestures.
"I mean, you could see films any time. It's different for us — my little circle of friends — because we know each other but we only get to meet up once a year. You should've been downstairs getting to meet more people. Sorry."
He shakes his head again and makes an "OK" gesture.
"Ha, good", you smile. "I do know you were awake for most of it at least. You were lying on top of me, remember, and I could feel you flinch at the line in that last thing we watched where he said, what was it… 'Kill anything with more than two legs'!"
Eric slaps a handpaw over his eyes. You can't help just hugging him again, a massive grin on your face.
"THANK YOU FOR BEING FRIEND", he writes, when you finally release him and he gets hold of your hand again.
You shake your head and hug again. "You're so welcome."
You pull a few comics out of your luggage and leave Eric leafing through one while you freshen up enough to get breakfast. He doesn't seem in a hurry to leave, and said (well, wrote on your palm) he'd come with you back to the lobby, so you take a few minutes to change your shirt, splash some water on your face and clean your teeth. You really have to shower… after food.
This gig of writing with his finger on your hand is quite fun. It's ephemeral, like speaking — it leaves no trace afterwards. It doesn't consume ink or paper, and… well, it's intimate. Talking with touch. Very personal. It's hard not to feel really close to Eric.
"Okay, I'm ready", you say as you emerge from the bathroom.
Eric has left the comic where he was sitting and has pushed his way down the side of the sofa again. He's drawn the curtain partly back and has his elbows on the sill, staring out at the car park. Or actually, maybe over the car park at the hills beyond. His front legs are splayed a bit to drop his body a bit lower so that his elbows comfortably reach the window sill, while one of his back legs is relaxed, crossed over the other rear leg with the footpaw's toes on the floor and the rubber paw pads towards you. He almost glows in the morning backlight.
He turns his head and gives you a thumbs-up. As you grab your badge, wallet and phone, Eric shuffles back past the sofa, then, to your surprise, kneels before it, all four legs folded, and reaches underneath.
He comes out with a small canvas bag with long straps, looking like a tiny backpack, or maybe more like one of those belt bags. He must have had it on him last night and taken it off when everyone was arriving. He proceeds to strap it around his waist — the strap is a little loose but it can't fall down because of his lower body — and then he puts a second strap round the top of his front right leg, anchoring the little bag just above his thigh. It's ingenious, and must have been made specifically for a taur because you don't see how it would work on a biped.
You wonder what's in there. If there's ID, you kinda want to see, although you also kinda don't. If he has a phone, surely that would have been easier for communicating than the hand-writing thing — much less fun though.
But Eric sees you looking and decides to show you anyway. He unzips the top and pulls out a plastic card, holding the little pouch open to show it's otherwise empty. You recognise the convention's mascot on the card; it's the key for his hotel room. And that's all he's carrying.
You smile again. This guy, eh.
The two of you exit, heading for the elevator lobby.
Eric is immediately mugged for photos, almost finding it hard to get out of the lift. You leave him to it, giving a wave as you head for the caffeteria.
The next time you spot the foxtaur is a couple of hours later, and he seems to be getting on well. He's standing with another fursuiter and seems to be absorbed in his interaction with them, petting the head of the puppet they are wearing on one hand. He's been to the registration desk, too, as you spot his con badge hanging from his little thigh-bag.
Later still, there's a tap on your shoulder as you join the queue for the con's opening ceremonies. Flinching at the unexpected touch, you whip round to find Eric standing behind you, one hand out to your shoulder, the other arm across his chest, his hand on his opposite shoulder. He's still anxious?
"Eric!" You break out into an immediate grin, which he mirrors by dropping his arms to his sides and holding them out to offer a hug, an offer you take immediate advantage of. "How's it going?"
Eric shrugs, but also nods, although you can see his demeanor is now clearly a little more open and happy than, as it was earlier, anxious and shy. He joins you in the queue, grabbing your hand again to tell you he's been having a great day. He's clearly met a lot of people but he only knows a few by name; it seems most just wanted photos and hugs, some complimented his suit, and one or two asked about it… but then they each moved on. He drops a couple of names, one of which you recognise: she's a fursuit builder, who, he says, asked him if he would be at the fursuit-making panel. Another reason you need to make sure he sticks to his word and goes to it.
Half an hour later the line starts to move and you and Eric eventually reach the auditorium. You pick a seat at the end of a row and Eric sits beside you on the floor… unless it would be more accurate to say he lies down? The lower section of his body lies on the floor, legs tucked underneath like a loafing cat, while his upper torso stays upright. His head height in that posision is somewhat lower than yours and you're not sure he'll be able to see the stage very well, but it turns out most of the show is also projected on a big screen beside the stage, easy for you both to see. A few times he pushes up onto his knees, raising his head height enough to see the stage. One of those times he taps your knee excitedly, pointing out the antics of one of the con mascots at the back of the stage while the show's host isn't looking.
During the more boring bits — particularly the convention's safety guy explaining fire alarm procedures — you find Eric leaning his head and shoulder against your side. In return, you drape your arm around him and give a bit of a sideways hug. The show's over quicker than you remember these things lasting.
That night, after a bite of dinner with a friend, you spot Eric again. You're sitting in one of the sofas around a low table off one side of the foyer, just people-watching. He pads over to you and gestures to the floor next to you.
You grin. "Be my guest!"
He plops down next to you in the same sitting/lying/kneeling position he used during opening ceremonies, but he gives the impression of being somewhat tired now. He doesn't sit with the grace he used earlier, but rather almost collapses into that pose, front knees touching the floor just before the back ones do, settling back and immediately leaning against you.
"Oh wow, hello! You tired?"
He nods, putting his arm on the arm of the sofa and pushing his head against your shoulder. You move right up to the end of the seat and wrap an arm around the foxtaur's shoulders, giving him a sideways cuddle.
He doesn't take your hand this time and you guess he doesn't have much to say, and nor do you just now, you guess. Right now, you're happy to just rub his opposite shoulder with your thumb and hold him close, and continue watching convention attendees circulating in front of you. You occasionally point out a particularly interesting fursuit, and Eric does the same, but mostly you just enjoy having him there.
Lin, your roommate, drops by a little later, sitting across the table from you to discuss arrangemnts for the next day. She casts a smirk at the closeness you're sharing with the foxtaur fursuiter — "can't put him down, huh?" — but doesn't linger on the subject.
She's throwing a little party in the room tomorrow afternoon and fills you in on the timing. It's mostly people you don't know, so you say you'll probably leave her to it. When you check the events timetable and find her party overlaps with the beginners' fursuit construction panel, the one you're attending with Eric, you realise staying out of her way will be easy.
Another of her friends joins the table just as Lin is about to leave, and they instead discuss the films from last night, then, as Lin departs, one of your friends — Pete, the one Eric's back legs pinned in place on the sofa last night — sits beside you and joins in the conversation too. You exchange a glance with the foxtaur. Neither you nor, apparently, he are inclined to join in.
More people arrive and depart, but your eyes aren't focussing any more and neither, to be honest, is your brain. At some point you find your attention attracted, and someone you don't know is asking everyone at the table if they want to come back to their room for "a few drinks". You decline, as politely as you can, saying you need an early night, which is quite true. Eric, though, is nodding. He looks at you questioningly and you nod back to him.
"Go on, have fun!"
You suspect he won't actually drink with them even if he goes; after all, he seems much too committed to being a foxtaur to take his suit head off.
You could swear for a moment Eric flashes a grin at you with that foxy muzzle, despite it being part of an immobile sculpted fursuit head. Eric puts one handpaw on your knee and gives it a quick squeeze as he stands up, his six limbs unfolding in an understatedly coordinated way. You raise a hand in a goodbye gesture to him; he nods to you and follows the others towards the lift lobby.
The circle of life, eh? You hope tonight he'll have an adventure as good as the one he shared with you last night.