“It really does,” I admitted, loving the gear he pulled from the bag.
Instead of the midsection of the costume being obnoxiously fluffy and thick like a mascot’s would be, which would make it ungainly and difficult to move around in, ours were molded leather, giving enough form to make the duck and swan recognizable while being form-fitting enough that we shouldn’t have an issue moving around in them. I loved that he’d chosen the colors of a mallard for the duck costume, instead of bright yellow, though I was certain that there were those who’d love yellow ones too. Mallards just had personality to them, at least in my opinion.
Getting into them was easy, with him helping us; the webbed feet were no different than walking around in flip plops, only shorter and more proportional to the outfits. Both headpieces allowed our vision to remain unobscured, while the bills had nostril holes, just like the real animals, which made breathing super easy.
“How do they feel?” he asked once we were sufficiently geared up.
“Comfy,” Raleigh said. “I was a little scared that it would be hard to breathe with the cowl and bill, but it’s not, and the inside is soft. I wasn’t expecting that, either.”
“It’s reversible,” he explained. “They both are, or at least, that’s the hope.”
“Woah, I love that.”
“I wanted to see if having the fuzzy side facing inward would make wearing it too hot and uncomfortable after a while, which is why I put them on you that way first,” he explained. “I went with breathable material, but I’m going to set a timer when you start playing so I can get a feel for if they are breathable enough. If there comes a point where you start getting overly warm, you let me know, and I’ll reverse them for you and mark down how long it took before you got to that point.”
He'd set up a large kiddy pool full of balls, as well as a tug-of-war rope and other toys for us to mess around with, and I loved the way the wings flowed off the arms, ending in wingtips that melded our four fingers together while leaving the thumb separate, so we could still pick things up, though something told me it might take practice.
Fortunately, we had a whole play space waiting, not that we rushed for it, though it was tempting. We stood poised and waiting to see if he had any more instructions for us.
“Go ahead and walk over to the window and back,” he said, “and let me know if you have any issues with the feet.”
“Okay,” Raleigh said, heading out first, which was great for me, since I got to watch him make that ducktail sway as he strutted across the floor in his best duck walk impression.
“Strut that tail,” I catcalled after him, making Mr. Dorian chuckle.
“It’s a finely constructed tail, if I do say so myself,” Mr. Dorian said.
That got some chuckles from Raleigh and a bit of quacking too as he really started to get into character. I threw in a few honks and hisses like the swans Raleigh and I had seen arguing with one another the last time we visited the pond in City Park. We’d had a great time making up stories about why they were so pissed off at one another too. Simple pleasures and all that. When you grew up with next to nothing, you learned to be amused by small things.
“I was worried that the tips of those webbed feet would scrape on the ground, but I’m not seeing any scraping,” Mr. Dorian said as we’d both walked across the floor and back. “Are you feeling any?”
“No, sir, I’m not,” Raleigh replied, startling Mr. Dorion with the honorarium, if the slight widening of his eyes was any indication.
“I’m not either,” I replied.
Raleigh was comfortable. It shocked me because he was usually the one who hesitated and held himself back from being fully immersed in things, which made me wonder if the stress of our visit to the police station this morning had led him to cracking quicker. It hadn’t been easy for Raleigh to speak to the two officers who’d taken his statement; his folks, both imprisoned now, had instilled fear and mistrust of the cops in him from an early age, but he’d held nothing back in his statement and even managed to make eye contact with them. That alone had been ahuge feat, but I’d reminded him, right before we’d gone in, that he’d need to do so, or they might feel that he was being evasive. I was proud of him for managing and thrilled that he was starting to escape all of that now.
“Did anything feel tight or uncomfortable while you were walking?” Mr. Dorian asked.
“Can I walk back and forth again?” Raleigh asked. “I didn’t notice anything, but I was paying more attention to walking and not tripping than I was to the rest of the outfit.”
“Did you feel like there was a moment when you might trip?” Mr. Dorian immediately asked, features morphing from pleased to one of concern.
Wow.
Like, I’d picked up on how seriously he took his craft when he’d showed us around his creative space but seeing him worry over our welfare reminded me a lot of the folks at work. We’d heard horror stories from a few of our female friends who stripped at a club a few blocks from where we did. They hated the management and the way they were treated like pretty plastic blow-up dolls instead of human beings. We knew we’d gotten lucky, being hired to dance at Hot n’ Bothered, which was family owned and family run, to the point that two of the dancers were blood relatives of the owners. Even Phoenix was related to them, the nephew of James, the bartender, who was the nephew of the owner.
“No, sir, but I have tripped on swim fins, and I was worried that these would be more like those, so I was being extra careful.”
“I used the basic swim fin design but sought to shorten it so it didn’t extend too far from the tips of the toes.”
“They’re comfortable. I think I’d be more aware of having something on my foot if it was too loose, because I’d be worried about them flopping around, like when you step into shoes that are too big for you,” I said. “But the way you constructed these and how they taper down the legs, just like a bird’s, makes it feel like I’m wearing a well-worn pair of jeans.”
“That’s exactly what I was hoping for,” he replied as we headed across the floor again, “comfort in a way where you are able to forget what you’re wearing and just go with the flow of whatever pet mindset you’re in.”
“He’s right, the legs feel like my favorite pair of joggers. Not too tight, nothing rubbing, just comfy and easy to relax in.”
“Perfect,” he replied. “You guys go have fun now and let me know if anything feels uncomfortable to you.”
