There's a 'ping!' in your mind, and a rush of cold water floods across your nerves and through your body, dousing the inferno. You shake your head vigorously, senses momentarily overwhelmed. Coming to, you find your nose jutting out several inches in front of your face, and feel your ears twitching near the top of your head. Holding out your hands you find them gloved in black fur, tipped by dainty-but-sharp claws. "Oh snap, it actually worked," you mutter, before squeaking as you feel your spine flexing much longer than you're used to. Twisting around you grab hold of a fluffy gold-furred brush, flinching a bit from your own touch. A warmth rises in your cheeks as you note that even when relaxed it pushes up your skirt a bit, and of -course- the pervert just -had- to write you without panties. "Eh, I'll fix it later," you sigh. "Oh, damn!" Your feet, having changed into hocked fox-paws, have torn through your socks and shoes.
Taking a moment to steel yourself, you unlock the cell block door and swing it open. You immediately recoil as the she-wolves' musk rolls over you ten times strong. Recovering, you find them staring at you dumbfounded. Sizing yourself up, you stride forward and slap them both across the face. They shudder as if doused in ice, and when they focus on you again their faces look a lot more lucid.
"-Damn-, Jess!" Becky breathes, unabashedly scoping you out, "If you'd told me earlier, I might've held out for—ow!" You slap her again, albeit softer. "OK, I'm sorry, I'm -sorry-!"
"Is that enough? We good now?"
"Yeah, OK," they mutter, somewhat dejectedly.
"-Okay-," you sigh. "Hopefully these new magic fox powers will keep our pervy writer from screwing with -us- directly, but before we fuck this story up any further, we need to figure out a plan of attack."
"Plan of attack?" Becky repeats, "Don't we just pull whatever twist we need, when we need?"
"Too obvious," you explain, "If we god-mode the plot, the writer will push back with -more- wish fulfilment, and before we know it the story will collapse into an unsalvageable black hole of three-line lesbian herm orgies." Though from the look on Becky's face, she doesn't seem entirely opposed to the idea. "-Three lines-," you repeat through gritted teeth, "-Actual- IKEA assembly instructions are more engrossing. And don't get me -started- on the spelling..." That -does- wipe the grin off her face.
As you stride back over to the station's front windows you hear soft 'mmm's. Spinning about, you find them both ogling your butt. Scowling, you try to tug your skirt a little lower, tail coiling in protectively. "We can't out-write the author," you continue, "At least not yet... but we -can- try to out-maneuver him." Peering outside it seems the rest of the world is still in stasis. Does that mean you still have time to plan? Or is the writer merely focusing all attention on the station? And if it's the latter, are you -hurting- your chances by dragging this scene out?
Actually, that gives you an idea...