A crib is where most human babies end up. Inside this crib is a human baby, unremarkable, crying, whining, wiggling slightly as normal. A shadow falls over the baby and crib, a pokémon. Shortly after, joined by two humans, but they aren't the focus right now. The pokémon and the humans reach down with gentle and slow hands, and dress the baby in a piece of clothing that covers every part of him, save the head. And that is gently covered with a hood. With that action, suddenly there is a furfrou in the crib, not a human. Baby stops whining and wiggling for a moment, taken by confusion, but that soon passes. And like all baby's, he wiggles and whines again. The three above him watch on with love.
My name is Dancer of Ballet. I am a human, and my second skin is a Furfrou, when I am on two legs, I am a human, when I am on four legs, I am a Furfrou. I live in an apartment with my mom and my dad.
The eight year old selkie looked up from his first diary entry and wondered, what to put in it next? Chewing on the cap of his pen a bit, he looks at the white and black fabric of the glove part of his onsey. He decides on what he wants to write.
I love my Furfrou skin. It's so fluffy!
And then he shuts his diary for the day and stands up out of his chair. Then pulls up his hood, and suddenly his point of view is lower, and he is on four legs. He wuffs with his blackish-grey furred snout, gives his head a shake, then starts running all over every surface of his room like the excited puppy he is.
The playground is a fun place for Dancer. So many pups, kits, chicks, and other strange forms of childhood tumbling over each other. Some play-fighting, others in human shape building sandcastles, playing on the playground itself. He looks to his left as he passes by some tall grass, and sees a Snivy. She has a yellow bow on her neck. He smiles, takes off his hood, and holds a grey-black gloved hand out to her. "Hi! My name's dancer, whats yours?" The snivy looks at it for a moment, then brings up one of her arms. Suddenly she is the same size(ish) as him, and human shaped as well. "Pat Fields." She shakes his hand with a Green-gloved hand. "Pleased to meet you."
The classroom is abuzz with conversation and speculation. Its not really a 'room' either, the whole class of 15 is out in a training field in the woods. There are various targets set up against some trees, training dummies of various shapes and sizes. The scents of the woods and his fellow classmates send his nose a-twitching, and his head on a swivel. Dancer is excited and he doesn't know why. He is dressed in his yellow sunhat style today, it matches the woods and sunny day, he thinks.
"Alright class!"
Immediately, all chatter stops, and everyone looks at our new teacher. He wore an Emboar onsey, looked large, strong. His voice drew in all our attention as he introduced himself.
"My name is Alfozo Green, and I will be your teacher for your first weapons class."
Behind him was rack after rack of wooden practice weapons of all shapes and sizes. Some were obviously only supposed to be used by Psychic levitation, some were enchanted wooden guns that spat harmless light and a weak push, but my vision gravitated to one of the simplest shapes available. A wooden sword. Three-ft long, a circular cross-guard, and a wrapped hilt only meant to fit one human hand. Pulling back my hood, I walk up on two legs to the sword rack, and pick it up. The sandy wood looked… good. I liked the way it contrasted my grey hand and white arm. I wanted another one. So, I picked up another. Now I'm holding two wooden practice swords, I swing em around a bit. Then startle as another clack's into one of mine. And Pat is standing infront of me, sword in each hand and a smile. I'm smiling to, tho I don't realize till we are both bruised and panting on the grass, swords scattered about us.
Pat is a Servine now. Not really sure what to think of that.
I made all the right happy noises at her when she showed off her new second skin, but . . I felt empty to. I was born a furfrou, and I always will be one. No matter how I style my fur. No transformation for me. A strange thing to be upset about, seeing as we all change eventually, or we all have the option to. It's during this day in class, just into our proper teen years, that I finally see true magic. And its all I want. A Tailor is brought in as a guest speaker for the day, she tells us about what she does, she shows us the parts of her that aren't flesh anymore, . . she tells us about how it's people like her that make the second skins, and I know what I want to be when I grow up.
It's hard.
The lessons are hard. Becoming a Tailor is hard, my head hurts from the concepts, rules, shapes. Sometimes I pass out and wake up on my desk, laying in a mixture of drool and blood. I complain to Pat sometimes as we cross swords and magic in the fighting pits. She bitches back at me about how her teachers won't let her experiment with plants in the ways she wants.
But. 'Butbutbut~!' Lifting myself from my desk, I can see. Its. . . blurry, and indistinct. But:3 I. can. See. I look at the wood of my desk, and I see Wood. I see what wood is, at a deeper level. I can… do, things with this wood. Make it MORE. More that it is, more that it ever would be. I just need to give it some of my magic.
Looking down at a hand encased in cloth made to look like a paw, the hooded human's eyes look more canine than simian. They glint. And Dancer knows the next step in the path. He stumbles to his feet, and goes to the craft's station of this particular place of learning. He opens a drawer, and takes out a knife. It looks like. . Conviction.