“Look kid,” Benton watching John Shafer cut and prep potatoes and onions; “this gathering is going to have a bunch of lonely females looking for a hook-up. Once they see you.”
“My boss Mr. Franklin gave me a brief run down,” John answering; “I’m well aware that I’m going to be eye candy to several of the were-panthress’.”
“You won’t be the only one kid,” Benton staring at the werewolf while recalling what Lance said regarding Eric’s pure white were-panther fursona; “just keep the serving staff in line. While some of my more amorous guests will try to hit on them; they are on the clock until midnight.”
“Mr. Franklin told me,” John absently answers; “It’s also why he put me in charge. While all of the were-staff know I am werewolf, this is the first time they have seen me in my fursona. The image of me bearing down on them should be enough to keep the staff in check.”
“Especially if most are were-skunks and were-otters;” Benton chuckles.
Benton leaves the kitchen as John continues while in his fursona to prepare the buffet for the were-panther gathering. Benton checks in on Frieda, Eric and Spencer and sees they are watching t.v. quietly closing the door he heads to his study to make a private call. Seeing its four thirty in the afternoon; Benton knows he would still be at work but didn’t care. Dialing the number he is somewhat relieved that Lance picked up.
“Lance. It’s me Benton. The catering staff is here and preparing the buffet as planned. But the head chef is a fourteen year old werewolf.”
“Interesting,” Lance answers; “but why tell me?”
“Because I need you to look something up,” Benton seeing it’s time to take his bi-polar medication; “When you get here can you tell me everything you know about the Shaffer family?”
“What am I a private investigator,” Lance sounding impatient at the request.
“This kid told me a few things I would like you to confirm,” Benton not interested in having an argument; “his father’s a police officer dying in the line of duty and his mother’s death this pass Sunday. His mother was in the county jail in Seattle. There should be articles detailing these events in the newspapers, hell even yours.”
“All right,” Lance answering; “can I have a name?”
“John Shaffer,” Benton states; “with two F’s.”
“All right Benton,” Lance answers; “I’ll do this. But next time use google like everyone else.”
Benton’s call is disconnected before he could thank his brother.
“What’s got a bug up his ass today,” Benton wondering as he checks his emails. Seeing nothing pressing he gets up to undress and shifts into his were-panther fursona. A black furred were-panther standing at a good ten feet in height with intense amber feline eyes; he heads back to his kitchen to see John Shaffer still busy cooking while everyone else was assisting him. The other cooks stop what they are doing as they see the imposing were-panther enter and open the fridge to grab a few sodas. Staring back at them Benton growls; “don’t you have jobs to do?”
“Back to work all,” John being the only one not intimidated by Benton’s fursona entrance, checks on the roast beefs in the ovens to see if they are ready. Seeing everyone still looking like they are going lose control of their bowls growls; “we are her to do a job. Stop staring like a deer in the headlights and get to work!”
Benton looks at the young seven foot werewolf and silently nods in approval; turning around he heads to the living room where Frieda, Eric and Spencer are. Opening the door; Frieda turns her head to see her father entering with several cans of pop.
“The sun will set in about forty five minutes,” Benton approaching the three and handing them sodas; “you might want to start getting ready.”
“Eric and Spencer will need the robes,” Frieda drinking her soda; “you have those tucked away father.”
Benton opens a hidden cabinet to produce two red robes and places them on an end table and looks at his daughter. Frieda just sighs and shakes her head as she hands Spencer and Eric a robe. Watching the two quickly undress and put on the robes Benton speaks up.
“Just so you know, some of the were-panthers are single and will view the two of you as a potential mate.”
“They can’t force themselves on us if we are not willing;” Eric answers. “And if they try with Spencer or Frieda,” Eric growling as he effortlessly shifts into his fursona flexing his retractable claws; “they will have to deal with me.”
Benton sees Eric’s fursona for the first time; while Eric was wearing a red robe, Benton could clearly see that he was a white furred were-panther with a subtle hint of brown on his head. The intense green eyes that shifted from human to feline, made him striking.
“Oh the were-panthress’ are going to be clamoring for your Eric,” Benton looking impressed.
“Then they will have to deal with me father,” Frieda speaks up as she is already in her fursona. A grey furred were-panthress, with russet highlights; her eyes also the same intense green as Eric’s.
“As well as me;” Spencer Lawson states. Shifting into her fursona; a black furred were-wolf/panther/feline hybrid, she also stares at Benton; her eyes flashing the same shade of green as Eric and Frieda.
Benton seeing the three all staring at him with green eyes; reminds him of that scene in the movie ‘Village Of The Dammed’ where the platinum blonde children use their powers to harm those that wronged them. He shakes his head and mutters; “this is going to be one hell of a night.”
“On that we both agree father,” Frieda answering.
“Be sure to shift back before the start of the induction,” Benton addressing Spencer and Eric; “you don’t want to spoil the surprise as you shift into your fursona and disrobe.”
Benton leaves the living room and walks to the windows overlooking the grounds where the gathering will take place. Not concerned that it is still light outside; the windows have a translucent film that prevents people from looking inside, allowing Benton to remain in his fursona as he observes as the serving staff finally here help the cooks finish setting up the buffets and platters of hor d'oeuvres. Afterwards, John Shaffer joins them in his werewolf fursona. Unable to hear what he is saying, Benton clearly watches as the staff effortlessly remove their clothes and shift into their fursonas. Each tying on an apron, not out of modesty but to identify themselves as caterers; Benton observes John and the rest of the cooks adjusting their chef’s hats just as the first of the many were-panthers arrive.