(Back to 2nd Person POV for now)
You hear the muffled noises of Asher and your mother speaking as you head to the loo to take care of a bit of late-night preening, still a bit vexed as to why your mother was behaving so oddly that evening. “Poor mum, perhaps the stress of moving across the Atlantic is causing her a bit of bother,” you sigh, hoping she is able to find some time to relax once everything was settled. “A hot cuppa and a few hours with her cello and she should be right as rain, I think.”
Satisfied that your dear mum was in good paws with your boyfriend, you walk up to the bathroom vanity to groom, but one again you feel simply flummoxed by how very wrong it all seemed. The utilitarian mirror and medicine cabinet combo, the cheap cupboards, and so many brushes, combs, and the like scattered all around the counter in no order whatsoever. Was this really where you were expected to groom yourself? If anything, it was the room itself that needed some grooming!
“Simply unacceptable. A proper life starts by keeping a proper home properly tidy,” you mutter, sticking your snout up dismissively at the mess on display. “...I suppose it will have to do for now, though. No point quibbling over what’s done. I shall have to do something about it soon, however.”
You glance in the mirror and tut disapprovingly at the state of your whiskers. True, they were a handsome set, long and gently drooping yet proudly erect upon your face. The brightest of white, standing out even against the other white fur upon your face and contrasting beautifully with the deep black stripes of fur that were the hallmark of a proper British badger. And, finally, at the very tips they changed hue to just the slightest shade of strawberry-blond, which you suspect is all thanks to having a fox for a mum. But, although they were fine whiskers, they were clearly in need of a bit of grooming; a few biscuit crumbs still clung to them and the fur around your lips was still a bit damp with tea and lemonade, and the individual whiskers themselves were completely out of order and sticking out every which way.
But, of course, you knew exactly what to do about that, didn’t you? Humming cheerfully to yourself, you open one of the drawers of the bathroom counter and fiddle around inside, looking for…
“Oh, crumbs, where is it?” you fret with an exaggerated huff as you pull out all sorts of things except what you need. An electric razor, some old shaving cream, a nearly-empty bottle of aftershave… Why in heaven’s name would you have these things, anyway? “As if a proper badger would shave off his fur, like a mangy mutt! No, no, no, what I need is...” you murmur, completely exasperated. You feel your frustration beginning to grow, but you settle down by telling yourself that a gentleman doesn’t let minor inconveniences ruffle his fur. And as you do, you start to focus a bit more on finding what you require, and out of the corner of your eye you spot a small tin and a set of tiny tools seeming fade into existence at the edge of the counter. “Ah, there it is! Peculiar, I swear it wasn’t there before…”
Putting aside the odd feeling for a moment, you take up the tin and smile fondly at the image on the cap, a dapper badger wearing an posh 19th century style suit and top hat, with a walking cane and an elegantly styled set of whiskers upon his face. “Ah yes, J.W. Smythe’s Patented Whisker Wax! None but the best will do,” you say happily as you unscrew the top and take a whiff of the smooth and waxy scent, delicately perfumed with hints of fresh citrus and pine.
With your tools ready, you take the tiniest bit of the whisker wax upon the tip of your claw and rub it between your fingers, letting the aroma spread as the wax melts ever-so-slightly upon your skin. With measured precision, you carefully daub the wax into the whiskers on the right side of your muzzle, then with one of your whisker combs you undo any kinks and smooth them out into perfectly even lines that stick out from the side of your face. Taking a pair of small, silver scissors in the one hand, you carefully clip at the tips of each whisker, preferring each to be exactly the same length. With a final flick of your finger, you turn up the tips of each whisker into a handsome curl before taking another daub of wax to do the same with the whiskers on your left side, then you slick the short hairs beneath your mouth into a slightly pointed goatee. After each hair had been immaculately waxed into the proper style befitting a badger gentleman, you intensely survey your appearance in the mirror, making minute adjustments to ensure that your prized whiskers were perfectly, properly even. With one final application of barely a drop of wax to make sure any stray whiskers were dealt with, you smiled fondly at your reflection, admiring the gentle twitch of your whiskers beside your black-nosed muzzle. Paired with the dashingly precise hairstyle that Asher had styled you with earlier, you were truly a sight to behold.
“Perfection,” you sigh with satisfaction looking upon the truly handsome badger in the mirror. “I’ve truly outdone myself, haven’t I? Oh, Asher knows how to handle my hair, certainly. But it’s a gentleman’s duty to keep his own whiskers neat and proper himself.”
With a satisfied chuckle, you carefully put your whisker grooming supplies back where they belong, you exit the loo and step out into the hallway. For a moment, you feel a bit disoriented as you take in the wide hall and high ceilings, wondering whether the framed artwork or the attractive brass sconces on the walls had been there before, but soon this confusion passes. “Naturally, of course they were there, you silly badger” you reassure yourself with a chuckle as you strut toward your bedroom, a slight waddle in your step due to your attractively plump figure. Still, out of the corners of your eyes, you kept on seeing things that were just out of place, like cheap furniture mixed in among the antiques or various other items clashed with the proper British décor you were expecting. At the end of the hallway, where you knew your suite was, Asher stood patiently at the door and looked fondly at you as you approached.
“Ah, there’s my handsome gentleman,” Asher gushes lovingly, and as soon as you were near enough he immediately pulls you into a tight kiss, his tongue exploring the inside of your muzzle and eagerly tasting the lingering flavour of tea, lemon, vanilla shortbread, and herbal wax. The flavour of a gentleman, of the proper badger mate he’d always dreamed of having. And thanks to the fresh coat of wax, your immaculately styled whiskers stays perfectly in place despite the rather aggressive snogging. You nervously return the gesture, letting your tongue entwine with Asher’s, though you feel a hot blush under your fur at your boyfriend’s sudden outburst of affection. When he sees you glancing up and down the hall to be sure that the rest of your family weren’t watching, Asher chuckles and breaks the kiss, finishing with a gentle peck upon the tip of your leathery black nose. “Your mum’s gone to bed for the night, so we don’t need to fret about being interrupted, love.”
Putting a paw around your ample waist and gently stroking your rear end through your trousers, the smitten badger eagerly leads you out of the hallway and into your bedroom, his broad and fluffy tail wagging excitedly behind him...