I wake up next morning, after a dream where I’m a fox kit chasing rabbits, to the sound of my phone ringing. I scramble for my phone and pick up.
“Hello, Reggie speaking -“ force of habit is a terrible thing; saying my dead name makes me shiver a little and not in a good way.
“Reg, what the heck did you do yesterday?” It’s Bob. “I just got off a Zoom call with Jim, HR, and the bloody Deputy Director for Ops for the entire APAC region. They wanted recordings and video of you. What did you screw up?”
“Bob, relax, it’s nothing you need to worry too much about – “
“Is there a problem with your voice? You sounded a bit weird in handover yesterday, do you have a cold or something?”
“Relax, I briefed Kevin yesterday as the whole thing is a bit hard to believe on the face of it. Management was probably contacted by the Japanese embassy; they need the recordings for… do you know what a DeepFake is?”
“I think so, not sure why they would want to build one for you though.”
“Might want to fire up a Zoom call. Bring Michael in on it for a few minutes so he can assure you I’m not pulling your leg.”
“Sure, I’ll send the link through Slack.”
I pull out my work MacBook in preparation for the call and watch for the Zoom link coming from Bob. Bob also sends me a note, “Jim wants to join the call as well, is it OK if he’s in?”
“Sure, though he’s probably going to be a bit shocked as well…”
Bob spawns a Zoom call and sends through the link. I join the call minus video. After a few minutes I see Kevin join, then Jim. Jim starts as soon as we’re all on.
“Reggie, what’s going on that has HR and the Deputy Directory all excited? Something about the Japanese wanting video and audio of you? What’s it all about?”
I’m sort of regretting at this point trying to source recordings from work. Surely, I could have figured out another way. Well, too late now.
“It’s… complicated. I’m going to turn on video, then Kev can confirm it’s legit, then I’ll cover the basics.”
I psych myself up a bit and nervously enable video.
Bob interjects, “Reg, what are you up to? Is that some kind of Deepfake hackery? Is that why you were asking me about them before?”
“Please, let Kevin speak for a second.”
Kevin starts. “It’s real. I met Reggie yesterday at Burwood and it’s legit. That’s what he… she looks like now.” I’m glad for the correction.
“So basically, this happened to me Thursday morning; not sure how much I’m allowed to tell you about it, but this isn’t a deepfake, it’s the real me. The video and audio materials are to build a deepfake of my old appearance, for when I need to show up on video.
“Basically, because of maaagiiic” – I wiggle my fingers dramatically – “I look like this; it’s what the Japanese call a kitsune, but which you might want to think of as a fox girl. I can sort of fake it in real life as I can mess with illusions a bit, but it doesn’t work with digital video for, I dunno, reasons.
“This stuff is sort of secret-ish and pretty rare so we’re trying to hide it from as many people as possible. Ergo, the deepfake. There’s a widget to redo video on the fly, but they need video and audio recordings to prime it.
“Hey, on the bright side, Jim and Bob, there’s plus one for your diversity quotas! That’s plus one female and plus one minority – I’m now about as minority as they get!”
Jim groans. “So that’s what all this is about. Well, I’m glad it’s not as serious as I sounded. Try to give us some warning next time?”
“Well… I’m sort of hoping there won’t be a next time. I would have looked for another way if I’d realised how thoroughly the faecal matter would strike the rotary air impeller.
“If I could ask one thing though… could you call me Geona now? That’s the name I’m now using; Reggie just sounds wrong to me now. And why I had a bit about how trans people felt about pronouns before, it really hits harder now. I’m a girl, please treat me like one?”
Bob reflects a bit. “We can, but won’t it sound a bit strange when everybody is seeing your old appearance?”
“I suppose so.” I slump a little. “I suppose we could just tell everyone I’m trans now and to swap over. The people building the deepfake may be able to do some sort of transition thing so it looks like I’m changing to female over time.
“But for now, being called a guy hurts a bit. It’s like a spike driving into my brain every time somebody does it. So please, do what you can.”
“Sure,” Jim says, “We’ll sort something out with HR and get your gender corrected in the records. I hope this means you’re sticking with us?”
“Yeah, though I may need to take some time off occasionally for weird stuff, but I have a bunch of annual and sick leave accumulated so we should be right for now. Ah, I’m learning Japanese for the next few months, but that will be in my off time. Might come in handy for something.”
“Right, let’s wrap this up, Jim can sort out the necessary with HR and Security and we’ll chat again Monday. Are we good?”
“Sure, thanks.”
“Anyone else?”
Kevin clears his throat. “This is going to make joint events like dinners and the end of year barbecue difficult.”
“It’s OK,” I reply. “While I can’t do much about digital cameras, in person I can use an illusion to disguise myself for about an hour at a time. That should cover most things.”
“Right, let’s leave it there then. Have a good weekend, everyone.” Bob terminates the call.
The call was pretty early in the morning; it’s still only about 7:30am, a benefit of sorts for having one person in the call being from the US. I’m glad they didn’t wake me up for it.
It does leave a bit of a dilemma though. My D&D group meets Saturdays in Stanmore. Should I go in? If so, am I using an illusion or my true self?
It doesn’t really take me long to decide. The group is actually half therapy, monitored my a psychiatric clinic that specialises in gender identity issues. Presenting myself as something I’m no longer seems wrong on… so many levels.
My main worry is that I may raise false hope; one or more of the others may think that I can give them the same chance. It seems unlikely; my understanding is that this is not only a literal one in a million chance, but also requires a physical visit to Japan. I suspect the criterion where they must be happy with their kitsune selves will not be a problem.
Although… kitsune have life magic. Does that mean that, once I know enough, I might be able to work with the physiology of some of the trans women to make their biology more feminine? Or for the trans men, vice versa?
I reflect guiltily that my hangups with masculinity tend to blind me a little to the problems of those born male but stuck with a female body. It’s a problem I struggle with understanding on an emotional level, even if I understand it intellectually. If it turns out I can do something with life magic, I might be able to sort out something with the clinic. However, before I even think of doing that I’ll need to learn more about life magic and about human biology, as my current knowledge of anatomy is strictly high-school level.
The potential for harm in messing with somebody’s physiology without understanding what I’m doing is fairly frightening, so I need to hold off for now. Burning stuff is much easier than building stuff. Destruction is easier than creation. I’d rather not mix them up.
That decision made, I grab the “fashion accessory” from the satchel from last night to disguise my ears for the train trip, then throw together a pink blouse/lilac skirt combo and a set of pantyhose and bra from yesterday’s delivery. I slit a vertical hole below the elastic in the back of my panties to slip my tail through.
If I allow a solid half hour for my shower and another forty-five minutes for travel, I need to start getting ready at around nine thirty. So I set my alarm…
… and dive onto my bed to scratch my reading itch for a while.
An hour and a half later, my alarm goes off and I – manfully? Womanfully? Tear myself away from my novel du jour and head for the shower.
Shower done, I use a diffuse ball of foxfire to dry myself off in those places where the towel is least effective. There’s still a few minutes to spare; I remember something else I saw in the satchel.
It’s a brush. A beautiful, broad brush, inlaid in mother-of-pearl, with nice stiff bristles. I give the silver hair atop my head a brief but thorough brushing, then divert it to my tail.
Oooooh, that feels SOO GOOD.
I lose myself in the brush for a while but am interrupted by a ping on Discord. I’m running late!
I throw on the blouse, laboriously thread my tail through the hole in my panties and pull up my pantyhose. Skirt goes on, sanity check, all looks good. Tail is hidden, ears disguised by the headset. Grab my bag of D&D books and dice sets then head out the door. As I walk to the station, I drop a note on Discord warning I’ll be a little late.
After catching the next service to Stanmore, I rush off the train and into the office where we hold our D&D group. In the elevator, I raise my “old me” illusion but remove the headphone disguise accessory; it will make explaining a bit easier, I hope.
The group is still in pre-game chat, catching up on what’s happened during the week.
I walk to the table and find a free chair, pull out my favourite dice, plus the Player’s Guide, Xanathar’s and Tasha’s in case I need a better handle on game mechanics and spells; I’m still pretty new to D&D. The others look at me a bit strangely; as before, the illusion can’t quite cope with the fact that my actual height is over half a metre less than my apparent height.
They look at me even more strangely when I clear my throat.
“Um… everyone, can I please say something?”
It’s a bit more formal than our usual talk, so the others stop chatting and turn towards me.
“There’s a couple of things. Firstly, from now on my pronouns are her/she, and please call me Geona or Geo rather than Reggie.” Nods and supportive murmurs.
“The second part is sort of related. Please don’t discuss this with anyone else; it’s sort of secret.”
I drop the illusion.
Michelle, our veteran DM, goggles a bit then slowly a broad grin spreads across her face. “That’s so cool! What happened?”
Kay, one of the veteran players in the group, reacts fairly placidly, reaction largely limited to a slight widening of the eyes as they lean forward. “Yes, what’s going on?”
Fidgeting a little, I look around the group, to various mixtures of curiosity, wonder and perhaps, here and there, a trace of hope.
“It’s… sort of complicated. Let’s just say there are some Japanese deities with a sense of humour and… maybe more compassion than I really deserve.”
Jen, a trans woman and one of the newer players, frowns a little. “Don’t put yourself down so much Re-… Geona. Joke or not, you’re grinning like you won the lottery. Never seen you so happy. So… are those ears real?”
“They’re real all right. Pretty sensitive too – I’ve been wearing a hoodie to disguise them, and you wouldn’t believe how much that makes them itch. Ah, you may not have noticed this but“ – I stand and raise my tail from under where the skirt is hiding it – “I also have a tail now. I could say it’s weird, but… honestly, it feels natural to me now. Almost as natural as… now being a girl.”
Jen has a slightly jealous but hopeful look. We don’t initiate physical contact in the group, as a rule, so normally this would be no-touch, but… under the circumstances, I don’t mind “If you want to feel it, you can. Just, please don’t touch right at the base; it’s fairly sensitive there.”
Jen rushes over and gently pets halfway along the tail, where the fur is at its fluffiest, then strokes it carefully. “It’s so soft and warm,” she wonders. “I’m so jealous…” Jen can’t afford the hormones or the operation, so still looks mostly male except for a touch of make-up and a feminine bent to her clothing. It seems a little unfair, I almost think she’s the one who deserved this – which she does – but I really need to lose the whole “Reg doesn’t deserve nice things” thought reflex.
I ponder whether it might be worth raising the option of using Life Magic to alter Jen’s physical gender. Problem is, I don’t know if I can get it to work, and if I can when or how effectively. It’s probably best for me not to mention it at this point; better hope deferred than the chances of premature hope being dashed.
While Jen is admiring my tail, I think for a moment then look to Michelle. “Shelly, I’ve got an idea for something we can mess with later…”
I concentrate a little then construct an illusion from last session. A dragon turtle comes to light over the table – a little transparent, so we can see our player characters huddled underneath. I scuttle our characters around a little to demonstrate.”
Michelle’s eyes light up and she seems to be reflecting on the possibilities. “That could be… really nice in bringing the campaign to life,” she notes. “Anyway, it’s about time we got started. Anyone good to give a recap of last session for an inspiration point?”
I’m a little distracted, as is Jen, so Kay volunteers and laconically summarises the events of our last session. No level up from last week, so we move forward with an encounter with a dragon turtle which we initially mistake for part of the scenery…
We finish up our session with a grand encounter against a group of Tabaxi who had been disguising themselves as a merchant group, only to turn around and attack us in our sleep. As the encounter finishes, Jen’s character is down and on her second death save, so I use my last second level spell slot to heal her up, then we count our losses and loot the caravan for background information.
Having established where we’re going next – a set of pirate islands to the west – we gather our loot and are told to level up and take a long rest to round out the session, then wind up for the day.
I carefully re-apply my illusion before heading out the door, then head to the train. My phone rings on the way home; I’m told to head out to the Lancer Barracks – a historical Australian Army base out at Parramatta – on Sunday morning for “special skills” training. I’d thought that was to be done from Japan, but the countries are allies, so maybe they figured something out?
I’m also told my Japanese teacher will be coming around on Monday night. The name surprises me a little; Amanda Chapman is pretty obviously not a Japanese name. Apparently, she’s a postgrad language studies student at the University of Sydney.
Saturday night is when Mum calls.
While our family isn’t very close, that doesn’t mean we get on badly. It’s a sort of comfortable, always-there-for-each-other relationship, where we’re not constantly checking up on each other, but get in touch once or twice a week to catch up on anything new.
That said, while I love Mum and Dad, and they’re moderately flexible as parents go – judging from what I’ve read, anyway – I don’t think they’re ready to discover their son is now a cute fox girl. Regardless of how much it thrills me personally. I’ll have to break it to them personally sooner or later, preferably sooner, but it’s not the sort of thing you break over a phone.
They would probably think I’m pulling their leg.
Actually, that’s probably not a bad idea. I need to work on my kitsune mischief badge anyway.
Google Meets rings for an incoming video call. I answer.
She looks a little stunned when I answer the call, then a look of profound suspicion flits across her face. “Reg,” she starts, “I know you like the Japanese stuff, but isn’t taking this a bit far?”
I giggle.
“Mum, like the new look?”
“Very pretty. Is this one of those weird fake video things where you look like somebody you’re not? I think you tried the talking hamburger on me a while back, hmm? This one’s far more convincing, it’s doing the voice as well, and those ears look pretty realistic.
“But I’m calling to talk to my son, not to some fake. Can you please drop it?”
“Not for now, Mum, the software doesn’t allow it — ”
Quite true, I don’t have the deepfake model yet, so I can’t fake the camera…
“— so maybe next week. So how have things been?”
Mum starts in about the people she met at her volunteer job at the local tourist centre / museum, takes a brief detour into how one our cousins in Belgium is getting married, then moves on to my father’s various health issues. He’s getting a new walker next week, but Veteran’s affairs still hasn’t approved the chair lift for the back stairs, so for now he’s still stuck easing his way up and down.
I really hope that once I learn some life magic I’ll be able to do something to help them.
I obfuscate my activities this week. No way I’m telling Mum anything near the whole truth just yet.
“Mum, I’m hoping to duck up for a week or so in a couple of months to talk about a few things. I’ll probably be taking another trip to Japan in a few months, so I’m brushing up on my Japanese again, but there’s also some other important stuff I need to talk to you about.”
“You’re not losing your job or anything?”
“No, no, I wouldn’t be thinking of going to Japan if I’d lost my job. There are some pretty major changes lined up, though, Marie knows some of the details, I’ll fill you in when everything’s sorted out properly.”
“Fine, fine, keep your secrets. I’ll wring them out of you next week. Say hello to your father.”
She points the phone at Dad. Usually, he’s concentrating on watching assorted videos on Youtube or reading a book, but at the moment his tablet is down and he’s looking directly at Mum’s camera.
He guffaws.
“Very pretty, Reg. I think your ears need combing.”
Dad snickers again.
I reply, “Sorry, Dad, but my tail needs more attention…” and I bring it up and caress it a bit. I shiver a little.
Dad goggles a bit, then chortles again.
“Yeah, sure, just don’t let your Mum near it with that confounded hair clipping set of hers. Give her five minutes and it’ll look more like a rat’s tail than a fox’s”
I hear Mum giving an outraged exclamation from off camera – “I would not! And it’s all fake anyway.”
There’s a reason why Dad is our family’s prime advertisement for male pattern baldness. We all speculate it’s Mum’s skills with the shears; it’s the number one reason I always get a haircut before visiting. Not to mention it forestalls any excuse she might have for attacking my now-nonexistent beard.
Mum’s back to pointing the camera at herself.
“Anyway, I’m taking up learning Japanese again shortly. Looks like I’m even getting a professional coach, since my superiors want me to learn as well. So I’m going to be busy for the next few months, but I’ll see if I can duck over for a few days before Christmas.”
“Let me know if you’re coming so I can get a bed ready for you. I’ll call you next week, and hopefully see you in a few months. Love you.”
“Love you too, Mum. Love you, Dad. Take care.”
We all wave ineffectually at the camera then hang up the call.
In all honesty, I’m feeling a little guilty about home much more openly I’m expressing my feelings with Inari. She’s my second mother, not my original. Maybe there’s some magic in there; all I know is that I love both my mothers, but what I feel for Inari is somehow more profound. Maybe it’s something about the magic.
Or maybe it’s just emotional stuntedness from being raised as a male.
Eh, whatever. I love them both, and Dad too. Who’s to know whether things might evolve once they’re fully aware of my new circumstances.
I fry up some tofu with vegetables and a bit of chicken for dinner, then spend a couple of hours catching up on the week’s anime.
I brush my teeth, perform my evening ablutions, and grab my tablet.
Then, as the night grows late, I head to bed and read myself to sleep.