Candace being Candace (bonus) - Cages

I recommend reading this, as well as all of my stories, on SoFurry. I always make them available for public reading (as in you won't need an account) beyond the single click to verify you're of age to read the content. All the same, thank you for reading, whether on here or elsewhere.
Sofurry link - https://www.sofurry.com/view/1638690
Furaffinity link - https://www.furaffinity.net/view/38678026/

					Candace being Candace (bonus) - Cages

	I can see Max outside. He's sitting and reading while eating a sandwich. Nothing strange, but as damn usual I can't take my eyes off him. It was part of growing up, as my mom said a few years ago, that I'd get these weird feelings and I might be led astray or whatever and it might take a few attempts to 'get it right' as I fell in love a few times.
	Maybe she was right, but I swear I could feel it deep down that I loved Max. It felt as natural as breathing, or fate or something like that; I dunno, I'm no poet. Some people would say he wasn't anything special, but I was much the same and maybe that was why I felt this way. He was tall, lanky, more a thinker than a 'doer' (is that even a word?) but whenever I looked into his eyes... just these deep brown eyes, it was indescribable. Maybe I was being shallow, maybe not, but that was just what I could see; he was so kind and understanding and never judgy. He was always supportive and didn't have a bad bone in his body.
	He's my oldest friend and I've been harbouring a crush on him for a couple of years now but it never seemed like it would amount to anything. I was just glad we could hang out as friends almost any time, but any time I tried to lead him on and maybe see if he showed any interest, he wouldn't come along. I honestly couldn't tell if I was pushing too hard or if he was scared or maybe he just wasn't interested.
	Then he started seeing Hazel Pengrove. Early developing, tit having, blue eyed rat rodere bitch. As if on cue, she walks up to him in her over-tight shirt to show off her fat tits and a skirt too short to show off her skinny, brown furred legs. Max even breaks away from focusing on his book and smiles at her. It's such cute smile; sweet and honest. Hazel's a fucking whore, but... he looks so fucking happy. I can't take that away from him.

	“Ms. Powell!”

	Shit.
	“Yes, Mrs. Cole!” I snap my attention back into the classroom. Simple desks, a couple of other students who'd mouthed off at the teacher or thrown a burning roll of toilet paper through the home economics classroom window. Me? I might have tossed one of the local tough kids (so tough he was picking on a mouse rodere half his size) into a dumpster when a teacher was watching. He earned that outcome, and I guess I did too.
	Mrs. Cole is a wrinkly old human woman with narrow glasses, worn low so she can pull of the old 'down the nose' look. Behind her, the whiteboard had 'Detention Project: Read and report on 'Light in the Tower' by Mildred Johannes' written on it. I look at the opened book in front of me, which I'm surprised I've read about half of already, then back at the human woman at the front of the classroom giving me a look that would normally make me slap her at full force with how goddamn snooty she always acts.

	“Do I need to remind you that if you don't provide a coherent and accurate assessment of the literature, you'll be in tomorrow for each recess to do the same? Either that or perhaps I should advise the principal that your parents should be brought in so we can discuss your ability to study in your own time? Or perhaps the time you use for basketball practice?”

	I sigh and say, “no, Mrs. Cole,” in the least sarcastic way I can muster. It doesn't work as she continues to stare at me like I'm something she needs to scrape off the bottom of her shoe.

	“Then I suggest you read the material, Ms. Powell!”

	I wait for her to invest herself into her own book, wonder whether to continue to stare out of the window, but remember the threat against my basketball team. I have no choice. Boring ass shitty ass book. The story a couple of hundred years ago of a mouse rodere who was hard done by life and just to happens to catch the attention of an old, lonely soldier recently returned from some colonial English war. Then she gets adopted and trussed up like a 'proper lady' by him because he liked her or something.
I pick it up and continue to read.

					*    *    *

	Samantha tugged at the hem of her dress. Less to present herself as a well as possible, but more because it was, as per the norm, far too billowy compared to her usual manner of outfit. The silken gown was almost guaranteed to be more expensive than any single ensemble she had ever worn in her seventeen years as an impoverished member of mouse society. It might even be more expensive than every possession she had given up since she had been adopted. Yet now she was expected to be a proper lady and daughter to the famed General, Sebastian Bridgemoor.
	Today would be the day that she was to meet her suitor. A fine and upstanding gentleman, at least as told by the house staff, and one that was both noble and kind. A fellow soldier to Samantha's new father, and she suspected she was to be wedded away for some form of political sway or favour owed, but whenever the matter was addressed, the good General would always speak at length as to his wish to have a child before her unfortunate passing while he was away at war.
	By the by, it truly mattered not; Samantha had been plucked from a life of abuse and strife, and would never want for anything, ever again.
	This was her life now. She had spent a lifetime fighting her own war against the oppression of society, and now she had found the the light atop the tower of her struggle.

					*    *    *

	“Fucking really?” I mutter.

	Mrs. Cole stares down her nose and through her glasses at me. “I beg your pardon, Ms. Powell?”

	“This book is shit!”

	“Right, that does it, I'm getting the principal!”

	“What, for believing this book ain't worth wiping my ass on? I thought half the point of English Lit was to,” I put on a snooty tone and continue, “'dissect and draw alternative conclusions to already existing stories and make comparisons to important issues under a modern lens?'”

	“Don't talk back to me, young lady! I've made up my mind,” she stands and heads for the door, “we'll see what Principal Geoffries says about your position in the sports club!”

	As much as I hate to admit it, I realise I'm not doing myself any favours. Well, fuck. “Wait!” I didn't realise humble pie was on the cafeteria menu today. “I'm sorry for snapping and swearing, okay? I'm seriously trying to make a point here; Samantha's just gonna take this shi- this baloney? What happened to her strength earlier in the book?”

	Mrs. Cole, and I hate to say but to her credit, settles down and pulls back her anger. “I suggest you read on and perhaps you'll revise that statement.”

	I grumble and carry on.

					*    *    *

	“Captain Farrant,” Samantha gasped and pulled hoisted her dress up to perform a curtsy. The dashing man before her smiled, warm and honest, as he stood and studied her, as one would indulge in a fine tapestry or statue. She blushed at his ongoing regard, smoothed her hair behind her rounded ears and hoped her mouse lineage wasn't spoiling her fine regalia.
	“I beg your forgiveness; I was not expecting you quite so abruptly.”

	“Think nothing of it, Lady Bridgemoor,” he swooped in and took her hand before she had even finished rising from her curtsy, then brought her dainty hand to his rugged muzzle and kissed her fingers. “I fear your father has not done you justice. I have seen many women from both near and far this great nation, from the most cosy village to the most exotic cities, but have never seen such beauty.”

	Her heart raced and she flushed hot. It was only thanks to her etiquette practice alone she produced a folded fan and used it to attempt to cool herself down at the attention.
	“My good Captain, your attentions are wasted on me. A mere vagrant. I deserve not your advances, nor such kind words. I... I dare say I doubt my worth in cleaning the chamber pots of your home or even polishing your boots.”

	“Nonsense, my lady. As much as a diamond is to be plucked from the dark, filthy earth, such a beauty cannot simply be left in its natural squalor, but taken, polished and cut to fit their true purpose. Truly, a fine woman such as yourself must grow familiar with such treatment to enhance your beauty to ever greater heights.”

	“Oh, captain...” Samantha's words escaped her for a time as the gentleman's deep, brown eyes locked into hers. She truly felt as if hewn from such a precious mineral. But what other paths, other roads and strands of destiny would have befallen her? Death in the gutter? A woman of ill repute repeatedly taken by some cunny-warren regular, too weak to fend for herself owing to her lowly mouse rodere blood? Her position was clearly a position for barter and little else; what other purpose could she hold?
	Yet, compared to the firm knuckles of her late father, or the unrestrained fist of her previous 'lover'? Her mind was set and now she had to but gleam. “I... I cannot deny your words, Captain Farrant. If you would but permit it... I know my father, the upstanding general, has already said as much, but I must say it from my own lips and muzzle... would you take this lowly soul into your arms?”

	Captain Farrant took up both her hands and held them in his warm, smooth own. His thumbs gently pressed against the top of each and once more he stared, an intensity as the sun before her and just as blinding from her budding tears.
	“I would. A thousand times or more, my lady. To be so distressed must have been sheer torture, and if you, in turn, would allow to return my affections, I feel we would be as perfectly matched as a fine band of gold to your precious stone.”

	“Oh, my captain!”

					*    *    *

	I gagged in outrage. This slut of a mouse was the biggest fucking easy lay in fucking existence. Not to mention the fucking portrayal of mouse rodere as fragile little fucking princesses.

	Mrs. Cole cleared her throat as she looked over her book. “Ms. Powell, do you have a new opinion?”

	“Yeah; Samantha Bridgemoor is a goddamn whore. Considering the struggles she's gone through, it's an insult that she suddenly decides to take it up the ass from a guy she's known for all of a single day!”

	“I don't care for the tone, Ms. Powell! I suggest you curb your language while in my classroom.”

	I bit my lip; cool it Candace or you know she's going to stop you attending basketball practice and the all-school competition was coming up.
	“She's just bowing down and taking it! It's horse shi- I mean, it's not right. It's just trading one type of being a slave with another.”

	“But when there are no other options, Ms. Powell, isn't her path the optimal choice?”

	“I'd rather die in the gutter as myself than some painted tramp.”

	“I again believe you should read on and see if your judgement of the woman changes.”

	“And another thing... I don't think rodere were around back when this is based. Also, ain't.. uh,” I flip the book in my hands to remind myself of the author, and continue, “Mildred Johannes a rat rodere? This book's racist too!”

	“It's an interpretation, Ms. Powell. A blend of period truths and modern understandings to assist the reader in relating the characters. I'll also have you know that even respected mouse rodere literary professors found the representation fitting for the time period. Nevertheless, I again implore you to read on and you may still amend your conclusion of Samantha Bridgemoor's character.”

	I pout and settle in for the final few chapters.

					*    *    *

	The cascading moonlight was captivating, and as Samantha extricated herself from the bed and the slumbering embrace of her new husband, she felt compelled to take in the cool Spring air, or perhaps pinch herself; she had to be sure that this was real.
	The gardens were just as beautiful during the night as they were under the brilliant sun. The flowers, exquisite things that had been painstakingly cared for by none but the most experienced hands, swayed gently in the April breeze. The rain that had poured throughout the day had given way to a crystal clear night, and Samantha observed the stars and dew-laced floral garden both in wondrous their collective shimmering shine.
	To imagine that a mere six months ago, she was a barmaid at a tavern in London, earning a thruppence a day was astonishing. At last, she had been given the perfect position to glisten as the true diamond that her husband deserved. She was truly a flower, as below, reflecting the glorious celestial splendour of the moonlight against the real star that her husband so clearly resembled. Born of greatness, yet able to shine such strength and beauty onto herself to help her stand out amidst the weeds, just as these gently coaxed flowers demonstrated.
	They were perfect together.

	A hand ran across her shoulders, but she knew the gentle touch already so very well. The tall, gallant rat rodere slowly took a knee and wrapped his arms around her, as if something to be worshipped. Truly, as he pulled her ever tighter, she was now the light of Farrant Manor.

				*    *    *

	I slam the book onto the desk. “Yeah, no, it's some bull-... some BS where a mouse rodere is small, meek and can't do anything alone and needs a big, strong human or rat to save her. It's crap!”

	Mrs. Cole lifts her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose, “then you haven't properly read the material. You're supposed to glean that by accepting her new life, she is able to adapt, and that adapting is a strength in its own way. Samantha has gone from an abused husk of a woman to one of power and prestige. Let us not forget how she garnered the attention of the General to adopt her to begin with as-”

	“That's still crap! A woman should stand by her own power and she certainly shouldn't let some dude be the one to bring her up! I don't care-”
	The door opens and the principal enters; a big, fat human guy with thick glasses but a notorious temper. He approaches Mrs. Cole's desk and hands over a couple of stapled sheets of paper, then looks at the whiteboard.

	“Ah, 'Light in the Tower', eh? A fine book to study.” He turns and gives each of us a glance but focuses on me. “And it would seem one of you has finished it. So tell me, what do you think of Samantha's struggle?”

	I brux my teeth and want to just get this shit over with. “She took the easy way out.”

	Mrs. Cole butts in and says, “Ms. Powell's been quite... militant about the novel and Samantha as a character, Principal Geoffries.” The principal gives her a glance and she continues, “I fear she hasn't truly grasped the inner meanings of the work.”

	I figure I'd use this as a way out. “Yeah, I probably just,” I slow myself before I lose my temper again. “misinterpreted the meaning, Mr. Geoffries.” Fuck, I hated long words. That was Max's thing. Give me an intense game of basketball any day of the week. Didn't matter, just take the loss and get out of the classroom before you end up throwing a fucking table, Candace.

	He smiles and asks, “all the same, I'm very curious as to your opinion, Ms. Powell. In my experience, those who don't take to the literary greats often have the most enlightening views on them. There's less expectations on equivalent works, not to mention less chance of being awestruck by the name of the oldest, most respected authors that might curb a stronger critique.”

	Shit. I either sat there like an idiot or spoke my mind like an idiot.
	“Well... Samantha didn't need to just marry a guy to improve her place in the world, right? That was just the easy way out, a way to improve her lot in life without fighting like she used to earlier in the story. I mean, she was tough early on! She'd fended off that scumbag boyfriend from her neighbourhood and even plucked up the courage to face her father before he died. She just threw it all away!”

	“That's certainly one approach, Ms. Powell.” The principal nods and walks over to where I'm sitting. It made me feel boxed in and I felt the fur on the back of my neck rise.
	He continued, “but don't you think that in the same situation, when given the choice between life in a slum, fighting for your bread and water for what would likely be forever or a life of luxury and a chance to start anew with someone of not only influence but respect, you wouldn't also take marriage? To live in the dark for that long surely makes being given a light a reasonable excuse that sometimes things go right, and that there's no shame in taking advantage of such an opportunity?”

	Any worry faded and it was replaced with frustration now that I was being talked to like an adult instead of a fucking five year old. I took a second to think it over, the book and the message it was apparently 'supposed' to have.
	Yeah, no; it was still a fucking travesty. “And prove what? That you have to hope for some lucky goddamn break to save you from a hard life? Screw that!” I stand as my blood fires up and the principal cocks an eyebrow. Goddamn this Pariah syndrome shit triggers in weird ways sometimes but the adrenaline's pumping and I've gotta say what's in my head.
	“I've seen struggle, sir. I've fuc- yeah, actually, I've fucking lived struggle! I've had assholes bully me, I've watched people hoping for something better get their faces slammed into the dirt and I won't stand for it. Nobody should have to. I lost... I lost someone close to me because I was hoping for good shit to happen for me or expecting to be saved and I ain't letting that happen again. I'll fight every second of every day as I damn well need to.”
	I feel the tears start to trickle from my eyes but 'in for a penny, in for a pound', as my dad says.
	“Samantha should have kept her goddamn pride and held out instead of some perfect solution. Fuck the light in the tower... sir. People might climb for it, others might go inside and find the goddamn stairs, but me? I'll find me some wood and make my own fire and light, thank you very fucking much! People might steal it, but at least I can make another one and I'll make them pay for taking it! The tower, though? Some asshole decides to blow that up and nobody'll have anything left.”

	Mrs. Cole stood and went to speak, to no doubt reprimand me, but Principal Geoffries raised a hand and never lost his little grin. “I don't care for your language, Ms. Powell, but I can't deny you've got fire aplenty already and I get your point. I can see why you're still captain of the school basketball team and whenever I sit in on practice, you're there, fighting tooth and claw over every play and pushing everyone else on as hard as you can. And yet I've never heard a single complaint from the coach or any of the participants that you're going too hard. I deeply respect that.
	“I also think you've learned something from detention, but I also appreciate you're also your own woman and I suspect you'll go on to do great things if you set your mind to it.”

	“Oh. Um... thanks, sir.” Shit. What else could I fucking say?

	“But make no mistake, Ms. Powell. While you're in school, you will listen to the teachers, you will make it to class on time, you will obey the rules and you will watch your language. What you do afterwards is up to you.
	“For now, I expect for you to apologise to Mrs. Cole, finish the day on your best behaviour. Then go home and have a long, hard think about what you want to do with your life, because you're right; more often than not, life won't give you the opportunity out of the blue and you have to fight for it. However, you also must seize the opportunity if it does arrive, learn to adapt as Samantha Bridgemoor did, and fight from that new position for all it's worth. Either keep building the fire on the ground or you protect the tower, and be prepared for either outcome.
	“Just don't fight with your fists or anger, Ms. Powell. Words, reasoned actions and logic will take you far. Am I clear?”

	Double shit. I couldn't argue against that either. I nod and say, “yes, Principal Geoffries.”

	He gestures to Mrs. Cole and asks, “well?”

	I walk up to Mrs. Cole, who's as shocked as I was, nod and say, “I'm sorry I've been disrespectful, Mrs. Cole. I won't let it happen again.”

	“Oh... w-well, yes, it appears you've taken the lessons on board. You're dismissed, Ms. Powell. Just make sure you don't let it happen again or we will be speaking to your parents and taking you away from the basketball team.”

	I make sure I have all my things, leave the classroom and head out the building. Once again I see Max with Hazel sitting on a nearby bench and I sigh.
	Maybe I haven't learned my lesson after all; otherwise I wouldn't keep getting hung up on him. With nothing left for me there, 	I walk away. I think I hear Max call my name, but I ignore it. I'll just get in the way of his happiness.
	I won't try and force it. I have to stick to my principles and maybe something will go my way. Until then, just keep on fighting. Just like my uncle told me to.
	I'll make my own goddamn light.

The End