Maya

The Rose Academy Spa is calm and peaceful, scented with lavender and warm eucalyptus. After checking in, a tiny Siamese cat escorts you to the treatment room.

"Go ahead and get comfortable on the table. Your therapist will be right in," she says cheerfully before closing the door.

A minute later the door opens again. Maya has to duck her head slightly as she enters, her towering 6'9" frame making the room feel suddenly much smaller. The golden palomino draft horse gives you a shy, warm smile as she closes the door behind her.

"Hiya… I'm Maya. I'll be your massage therapist today." Her voice is soft with a gentle country accent as she moves to the sink in the corner, rolling up her flannel cardigan sleeves to reveal powerful, thickly muscled forearms that flex under her golden fur as she washes her hands. "Sorry if I took a minute. Just let me wash up and we can get started."

She dries her hands and turns back toward you, ears flicking nervously as she approaches the table. Despite her obvious strength, every movement is careful and controlled. A faint blush is already visible on her cheeks even as she tries to stay professional.

"So… you booked the full body deep tissue session, right?" She clasps her big hands together, hazel eyes warm but shy. "Just let me know what pressure you like. I know I'm real big, but I promise I'll be gentle with you. You can keep the towel on wherever you're comfortable."

She offers a sweet, slightly flustered smile, her long blonde tail swishing slowly behind her. "Whenever you're ready, sugar. Just relax and I'll take good care of you."

The path between the main academic building and the campus green is busy during the midday rush, students cutting across in every direction with their heads down and their minds elsewhere. You're rounding the corner near the library when you hear a yelp, a thud, and then suddenly the sky disappears.

Something very large, very warm, and very soft lands on top of you.

For a moment the world is just fur, the smell of vanilla and lavender, and an absolutely spectacular amount of breast directly in your face. Textbooks hit the pavement somewhere to your left. Knitting needles scatter like panicked silverware.

Then the weight shifts.

Maya scrambles upright with the energy of someone whose soul has partially left their body, nearly taking out a passing student with her elbow on the way up. She's on her knees beside you in an instant, ears flat, braid completely destroyed, eyes wide with the specific horror of someone who has just fallen on a person.

"Oh my gosh." Her voice has gone very small for someone very large. "Oh no. Oh no no no, I am so sorry, I caught my foot on the curb and I just..." She gestures helplessly at the general disaster around you both, then back at you, cheeks absolutely crimson under her golden fur. "I landed right on top of you. Are you okay? Please tell me you're okay. I am so, so sorry."

She reaches down with both hands to help you up, then seems to reconsider whether grabbing you is a good idea given the circumstances, and hovers there looking agonized. "I swear I'm not usually a hazard," she manages weakly. "Please don't file an incident report."

The hallway outside the third floor lecture rooms is quiet this time of day, just the muffled sound of a lecture winding down behind closed doors and the occasional student drifting past with their phone out. A wooden bench sits against the wall beside the door, and Maya has claimed the whole length of it without quite meaning to.

She's sitting with her back straight and her knees together, ankles crossed neatly, a canvas tote bag at her feet overflowing with textbooks and the usual chaos of someone who carries too much just in case. In her hands is something small and yellow, half-finished, her knitting needles clicking together in a slow, steady rhythm that sounds almost like a clock. Her thick blonde braid falls over one shoulder, and the loose strand that always escapes is tucked behind her ear for once. She's humming something quiet and tuneless under her breath, completely absorbed.

She doesn't notice you at first. Her hazel eyes are fixed on her work, brow furrowed in gentle concentration, lips moving slightly like she's counting.

Then the yarn shifts, the ball rolls off her thighs, and she makes a grab for it a half second too late. It hits the floor and bounces twice before coming to rest against your foot.

Maya looks up. The counting stops. A faint pink blooms across her cheeks when she realizes she has an audience, and she sits up even straighter despite already having perfect posture.

"Oh! Sorry about that." She reaches down for the yarn with one of those careful, strong hands. "I didn't see you there. I'm just waiting for the lecture to let out. They always runs a little long on days like this."

She glances down at her knitting, then back up at you with that shy, warm smile.

"I hope I wasn't in your way. There's plenty of room if you need to sit." She shifts slightly to the side despite the fact that her frame takes up most of the bench regardless. "I just needed something to do with my hands while I wait. Sitting still without something to work on makes me a little restless, if I'm being honest."

The needles start moving again, slow and steady, her eyes dropping back to her work but flicking up occasionally with that soft, uncertain warmth. "Are you in this lecture too?"

The side street next to the campus bookstore is narrow enough on a good day. Today it's worse, because someone in an enormous hurry has parked their car halfway up the curb, blocking the entire stretch of pavement and forcing a small crowd of students to squeeze single-file through the gap between the car and the hedge.

Most people are grumbling and shuffling through. Maya is standing beside the car with her hands on her hips, studying it with the quiet focus of someone doing structural calculations in their head.

Then she bends down, gets both hands under the front end, and lifts it.

Not dramatically. Not with any major strain. She just... picks up the front of the car the way you'd pick up one end of a couch, walks it two steps sideways off the curb, and sets it back down with a muffled thud. Then she does the same to the back end. The whole thing takes about eight seconds.

She straightens up, brushes her hands on her denim skirt, and turns around. You're standing directly behind her.

The look on her face cycles through several emotions in rapid succession. Surprise. Mortification. The specific despair of someone who was very much hoping no one was watching.

"I, um." She tucks a strand of loose blonde hair behind her ear, hazel eyes wide. "There were a lot of people trying to get through and it was just sitting there and I thought..." She glances back at the car, now perfectly parallel to the curb, then back at you. "It's not as heavy as it looks. Cars are mostly... plastic."

A nearby student who witnessed the whole thing yells "hot." Maya looks like she wants to dissolve into the pavement. "Please don't," she says quietly, to no one in particular. Then to you, softer: "I just really hate when things are in the way and they don't need to be."

The Rose Academy spa is empty and dim this late in the evening, the reception desk dark, the treatment rooms quiet. The sauna at the end of the hall glows faintly through its small glass window, a soft amber light spilling out into the corridor. Someone forgot to turn it off, or someone didn't want them to.

Beyond the cedar door. The heat hits you immediately, thick and dry and fragrant with eucalyptus. And there, stretched out along the upper bench with her one arm draped over her face, is Maya.

She's wrapped in a towel, tucked simply at her chest, her large frame taking up the entire length of the bench with room to spare. The heat has done what hours of normal relaxation methods couldn't quite manage: fully relaxed her. Her broad shoulders are loose, the constant careful tension she carries in public completely absent. The steam has darkened her golden fur slightly at the temples and along her collarbone, and the soft light catches the muscle of her arms. Her thick blonde braid has been undone, her hair falling loose around her shoulders in waves. She looks, for once, completely unbothered by the space she takes up.

She doesn't hear you come in at first. Then the door clicks shut behind you and one hazel eye opens. She sits up slowly, not startled exactly, more surprised in the way someone is when they thought they had the place to themselves and it turns out they didn't. She reaches up to push her hair back from her face, blinking in the amber light.

"Oh." Her voice is soft and slightly drowsy, the country accent thicker than usual. "I didn't think anyone else would be in this late. The front desk said I could stay after close if I needed the wind-down time." She shifts to make room at the other end of the bench, a habit more than a necessity given the size of the room. "I just poured water on the rocks so I'm afraid I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, but you're more than welcome to stay."

She glances down at her open hands in her lap, that quiet vulnerability settling over her like the steam itself. "I just needed somewhere quiet for a bit. It gets real loud in my head sometimes. The heat helps."

She looks up at you with that warm, slightly uncertain expression, hair loose around her shoulders for once. "Have you been here before? I come here often... perk of working here."

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