Beasts Like Us

Chapter 1-1

Chapter 1

“Hey, man! Nice tail!”

Mateo smiled, not simply because he appreciated the compliment, but because the person who made it, who was dressed as a purple wolf, didn’t know it was real. The tip of his tail twitched in delight, and Mateo hoped no one else saw it, or if they did they simply chalked it up to a trick of the light. The Alabaster Springs Convention Center was well lit, but the wandering crowds cast plenty of shadows. This was the fourth Northern Nevada Con-fur-ence Mateo had attended, and it grew every year.

There were many felines and panthers there today; some were dressed as small domestic cats or lynxes, and others were lions and tigers and leopards. Mateo noticed a few people who might also be black jaguars, but unlike them, Mateo was the real thing. Descended from an ancient line of Maya shamans, known by most as the nagual, Mateo could do what nearly every furson in that convention center wished they could: turn into an animal. His tail was a remnant of his lineage, but his grandfather had been the last to have fuzzy jaguar ears instead of human ones. Mateo counted himself lucky, since hiding the tail was a pain in and of itself.

The Con-fur-ence was where Mateo could be himself, for the most part. Prowling the panels as an actual jaguar would have caused more trouble than he liked, but his headband ears, paw slippers, and fingerless gloves with paw pads on the palms were enough. He had even altered his pants so it looked as though his tail were a mere fake sewn onto a more realistic location than his belt loop.

This was also where Mateo had found his passion: comic artistry. At his first Con-fur-ence, he had attended a few art panels and found that he wasn’t bad. The anime style demonstrated at his first panel didn’t quite suit him, but he was able to adapt more contemporary styles he learned from later panels with the blocky traditional style of his ancestors to create his own web comic based on old tales and myths from his culture.

Mateo checked his watch. Eleven-forty-five, fifteen minutes before the next art panel was scheduled to begin. His stomach clenched. That wasn’t enough time to make it to the front of the line, or even the middle. He rushed towards the display room, praying he could squeeze into one of the last few seats.