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Aug 21st, 2019
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  1. "So you're saying you think guys are smarter than girls?"
  3. Lewis most definitely had not said that. Yet in the maze of discourse, she definitely heard that in his comment—the very same way he saw her smirk as anything but confident, powerful, knowing. He matched the mischievous tinge of her countenance with one of his own. "Oh? What if I did?"
  5. It was all too easy to watch her slick, shining lips bloom into a full smile until her eyes quietly beckoned him toward the next vacant room. Lewis' heart was racing, following her in with neither question nor a single clue what they were going to do; or rather, what she was about to do to him. He blindly reached to close the door only to flinch when it loudly and gustily slammed behind him. "Oh, this has been a long time coming," she mused, less to her ensnared man than to the open steadily-cooling air, and her body language shifted from sensuous to occultishly functional.
  7. Whatever incoherent bursts of confusion he'd voiced were quickly silenced by the vivid orange energy crackling through the creases of her palms. With her raising them toward him, a primal sense of urgency washed over him, entirely too late as identical salmon-colored electricity was already pooling and climbing upon his feet. In a blinding glowing wave, he felt his feet pop as the balance shifted in his feet slightly, blue trainers being replaced by petite white tennis shoes as the wave only ascended. His blue jeans swirled, dying a stark black as they magically clung to his legs, mass dissipating as they did so until they abruptly didn't, instead thickening in the thighs and ballooning his hips, eliciting a gasp from the oblivious erasure of his manhood on multiple levels as well as the new undergarments and jeans clinged around a bubbly backside.
  9. His confusion only escalated further as his waist crunched inward, the blue jumper concealing it all shaping up into a red sweater that whirlwinded itself lacy sleeves after dainty fingers and hands. Lewis' shirt, meanwhile, was replaced with a simple white unseen tanktop while he jumped again at the bra stretching itself around his expanding chest. The blinding light scanned over his head, remaking his admittedly plain male visage: Plump pink lips beneath a round nose now framed by a heart-shaped face, with smoked piercing green eyes to replace his dull blues. A much different sounding gasp came after the clasping bite of two dangling earrings paired in quick succession with the pulling, lightening, straightening, and twisting of his wavy brown hair into a tidy blonde bun. With that the wave condensed over the head, tangerine energy dissipating into a wafting poof of sparks. Without any real warning or climax, she had rendered Lewis from head to toe into a woman of her own very specific design.
  11. Said woman stumbled as the glassy layer binding her in place disintegrated alongside the sparks. Lewis was wholly muddled, every inch of her shapely new body radiating an overwhelming amount of feedback. He looked down at her patterned sleeves. "Wha-" he'd started before promptly going pale, fumbling toward strange vibrations in her throat.
  13. The witch did her best to hide the genuine smile toward the fruits of her labors. "So," she inquired, "How stupid are you feeling now?"
  15. The new girl, naturally, responded by intensifying her breath, looking around nervously and doing his best to ignore the supple press of her backside against the wall, all the while fumbling for the door's handle. She found it and pulled it open, half-stumbling out, only to stop dead at what he saw—or rather, what he didn't see. Gone was the mundane hallway, in its place a bustling, wide-open space of unfamiliar people and sounds. "Wha, where?" Stammered her voice.
  17. "This place, hon," started the witch, joyfully wresting her hands around Lewis' shrunken waist, "is Chess Club." And an awkward groping shove sent her stumbling into the room. ▼
  29. In front of the floating doorway, the sorceress' words at least seemed accurate—there stood a particularly mundane table decorated with a chessboard and accessories one would expect to find at such a table. She sauntered around the farther end, never taking her eyes or smirk off of Lewis even as she waved a hand to dissolve the magical door or gingerly sat down in the chair. "Here." As an afterthought, she tossed the new girl a lanyard, her pristine hands all-but accidentally managing to snag it.
  31. Lewis struggled to read the attached namebadge, the unfamiliar almost-English alphabet hard enough to comprehend even without her panicked hands obfuscating the text. Squarely in the middle rested a name, or at least, what he thought was one. "Elliska No-vacko'vuh?" He winced at her unfamiliar new voice and the vibrations in her throat, to say nothing of how he butchered it.
  33. "Eliška Nováková," came her harsh and nuanced—rehearsed—correction. "Don't worry about the pronunciation," she said, leaning back and shrugging gently, "you're gonna get real good at it ifI win."
  35. Yet despite his peril, Lewis couldn't help but find a hint of sexiness in her poise, somewhat distracted, and she shook her head to regain focus, eyes straying and countenance souring for the briefest of moments at the seeming antenna stuck atop her head. "W-wait," she said, unsure which word to latch onto, "win?"
  37. "Oh; yes," she responded, matter-of-factly. "Sit down. You 'n me, we're gonna play a nice round of chess. If you win? You get to go back to your day. Lose? Well, then-"
  39. "But I barely even know how to play chess!" He interrupted, ceasing her curvy discomforted fidgeting just long enough to try and awkwardly protest.
  41. The magical one shrugged. "If you're so smart then why can't you?"
  43. Her face flushed. "I-th, that, that wasn't even what I said! I was talking about college courses!"
  45. Another dismissive shrug. "And I'm talking about chess, so sit your pretty ass down before something else happens to it, hm?" She did as she was told, blushing at both her powerlessness and her backside's abrupt splaying into the chair. "You're white, so it's your move, Eliška."
  47. To say the sorceress, a woman who painstakingly made preparations for chess matches with a nonexistant girl only to make said girl and then rope her into said match, was skilled at chess was all but a foregone conclusion. Yet it was one thing to be so conventionally outclassed as Lewis was, another entirely to have a plethora of distractions ruining his concentration comprehensively. Her body—not just her generous curves but the sheer softness of her skin—meeting with delicate and unfamiliar garments and jewelry. The tight pull of her hair, as if tugging at his brain itself, dancing and twisting and bound atop her head. Even the nuances of her new senses: Beyond the obvious touch and clumsy new physicality, the altered perspective her eyes physically conveyed, and the passive scent and taste of simply living as Eliska-with-a-weird-S.
  49. And then there were the sounds. The foreign chatter, gentle as it was given the game being played all around, was easy enough to tune out, but the witch wasn't fully concentrating either, instead diverting mental presence towards snide comments. All Lewis could do was try her best to avoid tilting and not let visibly get to him in any way. "Ooh, that's an...interesting move." "You'll be way cuter if you speak with an accent, y'know." "Two in a row. Don't tell me your brain's all girly already?" "Oh, Eliška honey, what a bad move." "Check. Maybe start thinking about all the other things you can use those lips for, hmm?" "Wow, okay. Check." "And that's checkmate, darling; tough break."
  51. And like that, it was over. His heartbeat was rippling through her more intensely than ever, yet growing more and more firm as if drying cement. "This isn't fair," he squeaked, "This is a game! What's it have to do with being smart?"
  53. His-or-her opponent scoffed, rising from her seat. "Maybe you should've thought about that before you were all," and she mocked, "oh, what if I did say that." After a moment's pause, she sat back down. "Tell you what, how about a rematch. If you win, I'll call it a tie and you can go back. Deal?" Her trembling opponent nodded eagerly. "You go first."
  55. Lewis moved the Knight's Pawn two spaces out. In response, a smile crept onto the ominously quiet witch's face and she pushed her King's Pawn two out. The Bishop's Pawn moved one space, not inviting a capture but to catch said pawn if it advanced. She immediately flew her queen out to the far corner. "Checkmate, Eliška." This time, in literally two turns.
  57. He literally could not believe it. "No, I can..." He looked around. There was no piece of his that could stop it. By the time this realization was fully comprehended the woman was already on his side of the table, and he realized this, gazing up at her exactly in time for the witch's palms to clasp against Lewis' temples. Her skin stood hairs-on-end at the primal energy he was again too unwitting to evade, except this time it was like his brain was being shoved into a viscous vat. The sensation of being unwoven, unraveled, mixed, blended—scrambled—rocked his thoughts and her body twitched erratically, mouth hanging open. All the while, the enchantress smiled on and the process drug on for no more than a minute until her hands quietly withdrew, allowing her patient's thoughts to finally recongeal.
  59. "So, how do we feel, Eliška?" Eliška didn't feel any different. And that was the funny thing: The way the brain truly compartmentalized thoughts. She was oblivious to the change in perception of most the crowd's dialogues, but she absolutely missed whatever her tormentor had said.
  61. "Huh, co?" She blinked a few times, literally unable to comprehend what just became of her. "Co to k sakru? Co říkám? To není—Nemůžu mluvit anglicky! Proč nemohu mluvit anglicky?" Her expression intensified as she probed her brain in uncomfortable places just trying to force herself to be understood. "No...English?"
  63. "Ooh," she faux-swooned, "what a sexy accent," fully aware the newly-minted Eliška couldn't comprehend any of that. So she slowed down her next line: "Goodbye, Eliška," and punctuated it with a smug wave and a smile.
  65. "Ne!" She yelled, attracting some of the players' ire. "Prosím! Změňte mě zpět! Nechci být dívkou! Nejsem Eliška, jmenuji se Lewis! Muž!" Trembling and out of options, she reached out to her maker, fully desperate now to avoid whatever fate she had in store for her. The witch responded by shimmering once and simply dissipating into the air, within moments leaving no trace she was even there.
  67. Except she would have a reminder of their meeting for the rest of her life. She fell to her knees, fixating on her now perfectly-legible nametag. "To nemůže být..." And so began Eliška Nováková's life, all from a simple miscommunication.
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