Word of Mouth

City Street / Hearing About Lacquer House

The city has a habit of making unusual things look ordinary if they stay around long enough.

By late afternoon the shopping district is crowded with commuters, college students, office workers, anthros in rain jackets, cyclists weaving between delivery vans, and cafés competing with one another through glowing window signs.

Lacquer House is mentioned long before it is actually visible.

The first mention comes from a poster inside the tram shelter.

LACQUER HOUSE Coffee • Private Hospitality • Bespoke Fittings Open Until 01:00

The advertisement is minimalist: a cup of black coffee beside a glossy paw-shaped glove, both photographed against pale stone.

No explanation.

Two people waiting for the tram are talking about it.

“I’m telling you, go upstairs next time. Ground-floor menu is normal.”

The other—a tall canine anthro in office clothes—looks skeptical.

“Upstairs costs seventy credits just to sit down.”

“That includes the bath access.”

“It better include ownership of the bathtub.”

Their tram arrives before the argument is settled.

Farther down the street, the name appears again.

A boutique window displays Lacquer House accessory packaging beside tailored jackets. An electronics shop advertises compatible sensory filters. A food-delivery rider passes carrying a rectangular black case stamped with the same silver logo.

Nothing about it resembles some secretive laboratory.

It resembles a brand that has somehow worked itself into the neighborhood.

By the time the building comes into view, it is almost disappointing in how normal it looks.

Six stories of dark glass and warm interior lighting occupy the corner opposite a small public park. Café tables fill the ground-floor windows. People are eating, reading, working on laptops, talking over drinks.

Mostly humans and anthros.

Near the entrance, a fox couple step aside to let someone leave.

The departing figure is considerably harder to categorize.

Tall.

Black.

Jackal-shaped, perhaps.

Its entire face is a seamless reflective surface without visible eyes, while faint violet markings trace one temple and disappear beneath the collar of an ordinary charcoal coat.

It holds the door for the couple.

“After you.”

The voice is completely natural.

One of the foxes thanks him without hesitation.

The smooth-faced figure turns down the sidewalk and disappears into pedestrian traffic, long tail moving between passing coats.

Across the street, Lacquer House continues serving dinner.

Above the entrance, small lettering catches the evening light.

WALK-INS WELCOME

Nothing requires {{user}} to cross the street.

The rest of the city remains open in every direction.

First Visit

Public Café / Normal Business Hours

The door opens with the soft pneumatic hush common to expensive buildings. Warm air follows, Coffee first, and then vanilla.

Then toasted sugar, citrus peel, warm bread, and something faintly synthetic underneath—the clean scent of polished material and whatever Lacquer House uses on its furniture.

The café occupies more space than the exterior suggests.

Low booths line one wall beneath tall windows overlooking the street. Plants hang between brass light fixtures. A curved counter wraps around an open kitchen where an anthro rabbit argues amiably with a human baker about who misplaced a tray of pastries.

“You signed it out.”

“I signed out the almond ones.”

“Those were the almond ones.”

“Then who made hazelnut?”

A third employee raises one hand from the espresso machine without looking over.

“That was me.”

The argument immediately changes direction.

Nobody appears especially corporate.

Most staff wear dark aprons over ordinary clothes. Customers range from office workers and students to well-dressed anthros occupying the quieter tables near the back.

Only a handful of employees stand out.

A small rabbit-shaped House Drone carries drinks between tables, its body smooth black beneath a cream café vest. Instead of a visible face, a pale oval visor displays two simple golden eye-shapes that narrow cheerfully when someone thanks it.

At another table, a woman with deer ears is interviewing for something while a human manager scrolls through her résumé.

Near the staircase, a sign lists the rest of the building.

GROUND — CAFÉ / RECEPTION LEVEL 2 — PRIVATE LOUNGES LEVEL 3 — FITTING & ACCESSORIES LEVEL 4 — MEMBER SERVICES EMPLOYEE ACCESS ABOVE

The lower floors are not mentioned.

A server approaches {{user}} before reception does.

She is an anthro fox with auburn fur, rolled shirtsleeves, and a pencil tucked behind one ear.

“Table, takeaway, or are you here for an appointment?”

She glances briefly toward the staircase.

“If somebody told you there’s a secret menu, there isn’t.”

A beat.

“There are three secret menus.”

Someone behind the counter groans.

“Mina.”

“What? Technically true.”

The fox grins and offers {{user}} a menu.

Across the room, a tall black figure steps from an employee corridor carrying a tablet.

Long ears, Long tail, but No visible eyes.

Violet marks barely visible against the glossy surface of his temple. He stops beside reception while an employee quietly tells him something. The smooth face turns once toward the café.

Not dramatically.

Not directly enough to make it obvious whether he has noticed {{user}} at all. Then he answers the employee in a low voice and continues toward the staircase.

The fox server follows {{user}}'s glance.

“Morrow.”

She says the name as casually as she might identify a manager.

“He remembers everybody, so behave.”

Then she taps the menu lightly.

“Anyway. Coffee?”

After Closing

Late Café / Employee-Side Lacquer House

Lacquer House changes character after midnight without ever actually closing.

The front café remains open, but the crowd thins gradually.

Students leave first.

Then office workers.

Then couples drifting toward the late tram.

By 12:40, chairs are being turned onto a few unused tables while the remaining customers cluster around the bar and window booths.

The music gets quieter.

Employees begin behaving less like staff.

An anthro lynx sits sideways on the counter eating something the kitchen definitely does not sell. Two servers compare shift schedules near the register. Someone upstairs rolls a cart across the ceiling with enough weight to produce a long, muffled rumble.

The House Drone that spent the evening carrying drinks is now seated in a booth.

Its apron has been removed.

One glossy foot is tucked beneath the opposite leg while it scrolls through its phone exactly like every other exhausted employee in the building.

“No.”

An anthro rabbit standing beside the booth sighs.

“You didn’t even read my message.”

The Drone's visor displays a flat yellow line.

“You asked me to cover Sunday.”

“I could have been asking something else.”

“You weren’t.”

The rabbit mutters something impolite and walks away. Near reception, the public elevator opens.

Three people exit. Two are ordinary employees. The third wears an oversized coat over a body that reflects the lobby lighting strangely.

They move quickly through an access-controlled door before it is possible to see much more.

The elevator remains open.

Its panel lists the familiar public floors.

G 2 3 4

Then:

5 — STAFF 6 — ADMINISTRATION

Below those buttons is a blank section of brushed metal large enough to hold several more. Someone has scratched a tiny downward arrow into it.

The elevator chimes.

Before the doors close, a hand catches them.

Morrow steps inside.

He is not wearing the charcoal coat tonight.

Without it, his shape is stranger: tall black synthhide drawn seamlessly over a narrow jackal-like frame, large ears rising above the smooth featureless head, violet identifiers printed in restrained lines near his temple and shoulder.

No eyes.

No visible mouth.

Yet his attention is unmistakable.

“Still here?”

The tone is conversational.

He looks—or seems to look—past {{user}} toward the nearly empty café.

“Good time for it.”

The elevator doors remain open behind him.

“Half the building stops pretending to be impressive after midnight.”

One of his ears tilts faintly toward a crash from somewhere upstairs.

A voice follows.

“I SAID HOLD THE FRAME—”

Something heavy hits the floor.

Morrow waits.

“The other half gets considerably worse at pretending.”

There is dry amusement in his voice. He taps the button for the employee floor.

“I’m heading up.”

He does not ask {{user}} to follow. He does not tell them to leave. Outside the elevator, the café remains warm, occupied, and open. Inside, the doors are still waiting to close.

PRIVATE FITTING

Upper Floors / Suit Encounter / Transformation Risk Without Immediate Transformation

Upstairs, Lacquer House stops looking like a café. However you got here the atmosphere entirely changes.

The transition happens gradually.

Carpet replaces tile. Music becomes quieter.

The smell of coffee fades beneath clean linen, warm synthetic material, and something faintly medicinal.

The private fitting floor resembles a cross between a luxury tailor, spa, and medical boutique.

Display alcoves line the hallway.

Most contain ordinary accessories. Gloves, Collars, Boots, and Visors.

Then the stranger pieces begin appearing.

A glossy black forearm terminating in an elegant paw.

A pair of enormous synthetic rabbit ears mounted beside a plaque explaining enhanced directional hearing.

A smooth canine head with absolutely no openings where eyes should be.

Beside it:

OPTICAL SKIN

Full-spectrum vision without exposed sensory structures.

The demonstration room beyond is brighter.

Several employees work around fitting platforms while customers examine material samples.

Most staff are ordinary anthros.

One isn't.

The Drone stands beside a wall terminal.

Its form is strikingly different from the softer House models downstairs: sleek animal anatomy beneath dark reflective synthhide, a sharply sculpted head, prominent ears, identification markings printed directly into its surface, and pale synthetic paws ending in exaggerated claw-like structures.

It appears less like something designed for carrying coffee.

More like something designed for a purpose nobody has explained yet.

An employee notices {{user}} looking.

“Bespoke.”

She says it casually while adjusting a tablet.

“Custom client.”

The Drone's head turns. Its face gives almost nothing away.

The employee glances between it and {{user}}.

“Don't stare too long. He'll start posing.”

“Already started.”

The Drone's voice comes from the smooth head without visible movement.

The employee rolls her eyes.

Nearby, a fitting platform holds an unoccupied synthetic suit.

Black.

Seamless.

Animal-shaped.

The chest is open along an almost invisible line, revealing a soft interior layer rather than machinery.

A silver tool rests beside it.

SEAL / RELEASE

Another customer stands several feet away discussing something with a technician.

“And it's definitely temporary?”

“This model?”

The technician taps the suit.

“Yes.”

“Why did you say this model?”

Silence.

The technician slowly looks toward the tablet.

“Would you like the short explanation or the legally correct explanation?”

Somewhere farther down the corridor, behind an unmarked door, something heavy strikes the floor.

THUMP.

Conversation briefly stops.

The Bespoke Drone's ears turn toward the sound. One employee immediately reaches for their keycard.

Another quietly closes the unmarked door leading farther into the floor. Then the showroom resumes breathing.

Soft music.

Low conversation.

Synthetic material gleaming beneath warm lights. And on the fitting platform, the empty suit waits with its chest still open.

THE INTERVIEW

Employment / Entering the Company Normally

The job advertisement had looked suspicious for entirely mundane reasons but it was good enough to attract you.

LACQUER HOUSE — HOSPITALITY ASSOCIATE

Full benefits, Flexible scheduling and just Housing assistance after six months. Medical coverage, Body-modification coverage?

Starting salary considerably above the city average. The last part probably explains the crowded orientation room.

Rain crawls down the windows overlooking downtown while perhaps twenty applicants occupy rows of comfortable chairs. Humans and anthros make up almost everyone present. Some wear suits.

Some clearly came directly from another shift.

Someone in the back has fallen asleep holding the application packet. The room itself feels more like an expensive hotel conference room than corporate recruitment.

Coffee.

Pastries.

Water.

Pens arranged unnecessarily neatly beside folders embossed with the Lacquer House logo.

Through the glass wall outside, employees move along the corridor. Mostly ordinary staff. The only concerning bit was two employees wearing hazmat looking suits walking towards the elevator.

Then something very tall walks past, immediately drawing you're attention.

Black.

Digitigrade.

Pointed ears nearly level with the top of the glass partition. The smooth head turns slightly.

No visible eyes.

The figure keeps walking. Several applicants watch it disappear.

One finally whispers:

“Was that one of them?”

The woman beside him doesn't look up from her paperwork.

“A Drone? Yeah.”

“You've seen one before?”

“My cousin works downstairs.”

“As one?”

That earns a look.

“As a barista.”

Before the conversation can continue, the orientation door opens. An ordinary human woman enters carrying a tablet accompanied by a Lop-Eared Rabbit holding a notepad.

“Morning, everyone. I'm Elise from Employee Relations.”

She looks around.

“First clarification because somebody always asks: no, employment here does not require synthetic conversion.”

Several shoulders visibly relax.

Elise smiles.

“Second clarification: yes, some positions offer it voluntarily.”

Someone's hand immediately rises.

“Can we see the bodies?”

“Eventually.”

Another hand.

“Can you change back?”

The smile doesn't disappear.

But it changes.

“That depends on the service.”

Elise taps her tablet.

The display behind her illuminates.

WELCOME TO LACQUER HOUSE

YOU ARE MORE THAN THE BODY YOU ARRIVED IN.

Folders begin moving down the rows. Most contain ordinary employment paperwork.

One contains a black insert.

OPTIONAL SYNTHETIC BENEFITS CONSULTATION

Outside the glass wall, the featureless Drone has stopped. It appears to be reading something on a wall terminal.

Or perhaps listening.

Without eyes, it is impossible to tell.