Everyday Life with a Humanboi (Bonus Chapter 3)

Twirling about in front of the mirrors, the purple cloth shimmered as it swayed effortlessly to the delight of its wearer.

“Oh Goddess this is so lovely!” The centaur giggled in a giddy fashion. “So light and thin! Truly arachne silk art Echidna’s gift to the world!”

“Thou art truly shameless,” an older, female voice growled from the doorway to the younger centaur’s room. Her figure was toned and muscular, and her raven hair short, a rare style for a centauress. Then again, her younger brother was an even rarer oddity in his very own right.

“And thou art simply jealous, Sister,” the dress-clad centaur turned about to face the elder of the two.

“Jealous? Of thine frivolous and childish habits and lifestyle? Hardly, Brutus,” she rolled her eyes.

“Ah ah ah,” the gelding held up his finger. “I am to be addressed as ‘Bridget’, Sister. My paperwork for the name-change hath been approved for nearly a week now.”

Her eyes narrowing, the centauress hissed back, “I do not care if the paperwork ‘twas approved by even the High Counsel themselves! Thou art a man even if thou art a freak of nature!”

His chipper smile unphased, Bridget only giggled at the insult girlishly.

“URGH! Thou cur! Why Mother and Aunty let thee behave as such is unprecedented. Geldings are still lower than a true man and yet thou basks in the same honor and privilege as I do! Were I mother I would have-“

“Thou would do what?” A much older female voice chimed in from behind the younger centauress. Her tone was stern yet calm, and her figure imposing in its curved yet firm physique.

Though she had stiffened when she heard the matron’s voice, the younger centauress calmly turned to face her mother with a stoic expression.

“Speak, Julia,” the mother scowled.

“Dear Mother,” the sister began. “I feel that were I thee I would be more stern with Brutus and have him abstain from such unbefitting lifestyle choices. ‘Tis only proper for a male blessed with the gift of rationality and-“

“Hold thy forked tongue,” the older centauress spat. “Let thy brother be and focus instead on thine own affairs. Understood?”

Suppressing a growl, the daughter kneeled her front half and bowed her head politely stretching her arms out.

“It shall be so, Mother,” she responded with perfectly-rehearsed etiquette. “I shall take my leave then,” she then rose and trotted off, leaving her mother and brother alone.

“Such a boorish girl,” the centauress sighed once her daughter was out of earshot.

“It is to be expected,” the effeminate son smirked. “After three warrior sons the first and only daughter carries some masculinity with her too.”

“And as for THEE,” the mother resumed her disciplinary tone, her youngest child gulping with a leer. “Do not take thy status for granted, Bridget. Never forget that thou only possesses it because we ALLOW it. While my mother, my sister, and I doth find thy condition a...worthy exception to millennia-old traditions on gelding status, never forget that in other houses thou would hath been quickly disinherited upon discovery of thy ailment.”

“Y-Yes, Mother,” Bridget nodded meekly.

Silence passed between the two for what felt like eternity until the mother finally cleared her throat.

“Tease not thy sister, Bridget. Thou must remember that she still has much to prepare for as an heiress. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Mother,” the brunette centaur boy bowed respectfully back.

“Excellent. In any case,” the mother’s voice became warm then. “Thou doth look adorable in that dress.”

His eyes widening, Bridget smiled back with a curtsy.

“I thank thee, Mother!”

“Thou art most welcome. What a shame thy sister prefers more masculine fashions, for I would truly enjoy seeing her in a similar ensemble.”

“To be frank, Mother, I prefer seeing Julia in boyish clothes.”

Giggling in response, the matron stepped forward to hold her youngest son up close.

“I expected thee to be yet another warrior-son, but instead thou became the daughter I always longed for.” Then she added with a forlorn sigh, “Such a shame thou shalt beget no grandchildren for me. Truly a waste of good traits.”

“But Mother,” The brunette centaur boy embraced the head of the house. “Would thou really want to risk having weak grandsons that no good centauress would ever wed?”

“I do not believe ALL centauresses would be displeased with a mate like thyself,” the mother grinned slyly. “After all, there art some of our kind who prefer weaker mates of other races.”

“Like Lady Rohana?” The boy asked in curiosity.

The mother merely looked back and sighed.

“Nay, my dear,” she shook her head as she parted from her child. “Lady Rohana married that manticore for political reasons.”

“Truly that can not be the only reason, Mother,” Bridget blinked as he frowned. “Sister Hippa hath told me of her parents loving one another mutually.”

The matron rubbed the back of her neck with another sigh.

“That merely came after their marriage, my child. Rohana married the wealthy manticore to align his family’s financial dealings with the Basilequos family’s affairs, thus allowing young Hippa to be accepted into the Basilequos family officially.”

“I...I see...” the gelding wilted at the story he had been oblivious to. “And thus explains how Sister Hippa shall be marrying Cousin Tiberius despite her impure blood.”

“Thou art...half correct,” the head of the household replied with intrigue.

“Hm?” Bridget looked up at his mother in curiosity.

“‘Tis BECAUSE of her particular breeding that Hippa shall be marrying thy cousin,” she winked.

“How so?” The gelding blinked, confused by the cryptic response.

A somber, knowing look in her eyes, the matriarch spoke in a stoic tone.

“What I shall tell thee now must never be discussed aloud, and never ever in the company of other races, my dear. Understood?”

The boy nodded with a gulp. His skin prickled in fear as his equine stomach began to knot up in uneasiness.

“In days of old, our kind were weak, inferior to most races as illiterate nomads. Men and women were no different than thou: lithe, puny, yet fair. Our kind struggled to survive as hunter-gatherers whilst other races built early cities and lived in prosperity. After generations dwindled, we became desperate for that same strength and prosperity too.”

“I recall of no such thing in my history lessons...” the gelding blinked with a raising of his eyebrow. “The books doth tell of our kind beginning as chivalrous mercenary warriors.”

“And thus ‘tis written in other races’ histories too, my love,” the mother added. “But much of our history as a race by that point ‘twas passed down through oral traditions. When our kind began to settle in permanent locations we then began our written histories to hide the dark truth we maintain a secret to this day.”

“Truly being nomads can not be that dishonorable, yes?”

“‘Tis not our old lifestyle that we wish to hide, but the transition from nomads to city-dwellers that we must always keep hidden.”

Taking a step back, Bridget asked with uneasiness, “And how didst we change our lifestyles then?”

Her eyes narrowing, the mother hissed, “We resorted to the most lowly of methods to grow stronger. The men went about and captured very young girls of strong races whilst the women seduced every strong male they could find of other races to copulate with.”

His fair skin bleaching in his face, Bridget covered his mouth to stifle his gasp of horror. “No...!”

“Yes, my dear,” his mother nodded sternly. “The kidnapped maidens were forced to bear the men’s children in captivity whilst the women birthed child after child of men they only met but once. All centaur children were then trained to carry on the traditions and learn to fight.”

“What...What happened to the non-centaur children...?”

Taking a deep breath the matriarch spoke in a grave tone that gave her son chills.

“The sons of our men and the daughters of our women, taking after their non-centaur parents’ races...were all slaughtered at birth.”

The gelding’s hands shook, his breathing quick and shallow. His light skin grew clammy as his insides twisted within as a rush of horrid disgust overtook him.

Waiting for her son to return his attention to her, the mother remained patient. When the poor boy finally looked his mother in the eye again, she continued.

“This we did in secret for nearly a century, until we had become like we are today: women strong and intelligent, and men powerful and brutish. We women took charge and used the men to began conquering territory after territory, absorbing knowledge and arts of the vanquished and molding it to our own culture as we worked as mercenary armies. Once our people amassed enough wealth, we then built our empire, and well...the history books all tell of our race from that point to the present.”

Bridget Incitatus stared at his mother with his mouth agape yet covered by his delicate hands with his eyes wide as saucer plates.

“H-How...How could s-such history be unbeknownst to the world...?” The mortified boy gulped as he continued to sweat uneasily.

“‘Twas not an easy conspiracy to conceal all these millennia, my dear,” the mother took a deep breath. “Countless lives hath been lost to preserve its secrecy, towns leveled, priceless books and artifacts destroyed, all to maintain the narrative of our kind being a truly noble race from the beginning.”

“Th-Then, what right doth we have to be the esteemed and noble society we are today?!Our kind art no better than the humans of legend! Nay, we art worse!”

A deafening slap echoed through the room as the young boy was nearly thrown to the floor from his mother’s hand. Tears in his eyes, he held his bright pink cheek as he breathed raggedly through his clenched teeth. Avoiding his mother’s glare, the boy merely sniffled as he cradled the stinging side of his face.

“I am sorry, my dear,” the matron breathed, calming herself. “But thou art a fool to think so poorly of our kind. Hast thou forgotten thine histories of other monsterfolk? The manticores of Mesopotamia were far more blood-thirsty and conniving for just as long as we were in the dark days. The harpies and lamia raped and enslaved countless during their tribal eras. The wargs and orcs of Africa to this very day are still vile creatures that have simply assimilated certain aspects of civilization into their long-held traditions of tribal warfare. And the scylla-“

“I understand! Please, no more, Mother! Forgive my impertinence...!” Bridget sobbed. “Even still...why tell me this? Dost Julia know of our true past?”

“Every centauress of considerable status knoweth the truth, Bridget.” The mother answered flatly. “Even young Hippa.”

The boy remained silent save his continued hisses of pain.

“And thou may be the first gelding to ever hear the truth. I tell thee such burdensome information for thine own good. Thou can never be a true heiress to our wealth, but thou shalt still be a pillar of support in our affairs. As such, thou must know the truth to temper thy resolve to become a matron of the house, even if thou art a gelding. Thy sister is not wrong in her judgement of thee. Thou must begin to shoulder more responsibility as a member of this family. Not today, or tomorrow, but soon. Thou must learn to behave not as a girl, but as a woman.”

“Y-Yes, Mother...” Bridget stood up again, still avoiding eye-contact.

“Once more: speak not of this to any other races or even to common centauresses. Thou hast been given a rare privilege in being privy to our true origins.”

“Y-Yes, Mother...” the youngest son nodded again as he stuttered, an uneasy feeling having spread throughout his entire body.

“And Bridget?”

“Yes, Mother...?”

“Face me, child.”

Gazing hesitantly at his mother, the boy expected a piercing gaze...only to lock his eyes with a sorrowful visage instead.

“Were this still the dark days, thou would have been slain years ago. The traditions we established when we began to prosper as a race were so that we were to never let ourselves fall again into such practices. And even now, some women of status such as my mother, my sister, and even Rohana’s grandmother Eowyn have begun to push for more lenient stances on geldings and half-breeds, even if just a bit. That is why thou shall wield some level of control in our family dealings. And it is why Hippa shall be marrying thy cousin despite being only three-quarters centaur. She hath proven to her great-grandmother to be worthy of continuing the family line, and not just because of her oni-blood.”

“I...See,” the feminine son nodded with a sigh. Gazing at his mother with determination, he then replied, “I thank thee for this lesson, Mother.”

“Thou art most welcome,” she nodded, hugging her son warmly. As they embraced,  she rubbed her boy’s long mane of brown tenderly as she whispered to him, “Thou shalt make a fine lady of our house. Remember that-“

But a squeak of fright by the gelding forced the mother to release her son as he backed away in disgust and fear. Turning about, the mother gasped in equal displeasure at what stood but a few feet before them.

It stood on too legs, it’s skin sebaceous with hair only upon its cranium, parts of its face, armpits, and a thick patch upon its pubic region where a flaccid but small penis drooped over a small scrotum. The creature was thin and sinewy, fumbling with a handheld device strapped to its bare chest before a high-pitched humming whirred before the monstrosity vanished in a short burst of blinding, white light. In its place the plush carpet was darkened and smoking lightly in an obsidian ring.

Clasping onto his mother, Bridget shook in fright as she quickly pulled out her mobile and speed-dialed a number.

“Security? Scan all rooms instantly! There art a....a...there art an intruder within the mansion! Apprehend any and all suspicious people upon the grounds immediately!”

(Yes ma’am!) a security guard replied on the line before hanging up. Pocketing her device, the mother held her son close, shushing him as he shook while burying his face in her bountiful bosom.

“What was that, Mother?!” He fumed as he trembled. “It looked like a...a human!”

“I knoweth not what it was, my dear,” she softly whispered to the gelding. “But thou art safe now.”

Thou she said just that, the mother could not help but feel just as terrified at what she briefly witnessed. She had only seen humans in paintings and as special effects creatures in cinema and documentaries, but never in her whole life could she have ever believed them to be real. Whatever she and her son had just encountered, she prayed that they never had to deal with it or its kind ever again...