Sam, just as you always remembered him. Lucky, lucky Sam. Sam who got filthy rich from the stock market, Sam who wasn’t morphed into a little girl. You sigh in a mixture of relief and jealousy.
RIP!
A fluffy, white-tipped tail suddenly bursts out of the back of his pants. Your jaw drops so dramatically, you’re afraid it will smash through the floor.
Petrified by terror, you only watch helplessly as your best friend changes. Lustrous red fur sprouts all over his slim frame, which is rapidly shrinking. He turns his head over, snoring obliviously. His face is different now, too: his mouth and nose have pushed out into a foxish muzzle. Just before he rolls over again, you see his ears become pointed and move to the top of his head.
Feeling sick and faint, you glance at a bottle on a desk near him. After a fair amount of straining, you manage to read the label. “Vulypso: The Vixen Kit Berry Drink.” Well, that explained why he had suddenly become…er, foxy. Suppressing the urge to roll your eyes, you notice that the Vulypso bottle has the same lines measuring ounces you saw on the bottle of Calypso.
Sam seemed to have drunk more since you left, as only about two ounces is left now.
A crazy hunch hits you. The amount of ounces you drank correlated with what age you regressed to! You drank five ounces, so you’re five years old! Or maybe it was because you LEFT five ounces in the bottle? Your childish mind struggles to figure out the answer. Sam drank from a ten-ounce bottle. So if the former was the case, Sam would be eight years old. If the latter was the case…he’d be a baby foxy-woxy!
“Baby foxy-woxy?” You think incredulously. “Where the hell did that come from?” You look back over at Sam’s slumbering form and realize that…