Henrik has saved the most difficult clients for last; the first one, the installation of a set of fangs. And the last, a replacement liver.

  The transmogrifier finishes his soup, places the dishes in his dish cleaner, and heads back down to his parlor, washing his hands thoroughly once more before gloving up. The client is waiting outside for him and rushes in when he signals her.

  The woman has chosen the sabertoothed cat option despite Henrik warning her ahead of time how difficult that will make her life. Bad idea, but he's not here to live peoples' lives for them, nor is he here to act as their parent.

  He will however take her money.

  Henrik goes through his usual spiel; installation, aftercare, and healing. The woman only half pays attention to him, so eager is she for her new fangs. It's stupid of her really; she's paying him a small fortune for this work. The least she could do would be to care for the implants properly.

  Well that's none of his business either. He'll perform the same immaculate work for her that he does for everyone else but when she does something stupid and cracks a fang, well, he won't be liable.

  The transmogrifier hides a wry smile, even as he sedates the woman.

  Teeth are always so damned difficult. So it proves today when he has to pry four of them out of the client's upper jaws - being certain, of course, to get out any loose fragments of enamel that might become infected. Add that to the fact that he's working in a very small area and...well, there's a reason he charges so much for fangs.

  Very few want to pay such an exorbitant amount for a cosmetic change that will mark one out quite clearly as altered from baseline. But this woman's reasoning is yet another thing that isn't his business.

  Henrik continues his bloody work with the occasional assistance of Detlev - mostly it shines a light in the appropriate area as he operates. Carefully he adjusts the implants to the size and shape of the woman's mouth, lining them up so they will give her the least amount of difficulty eating. Still, the effect is rather grotesque; two large fangs burst from beneath her upper lip and hang down below her chin. They have to be flattened from front to back to allow her some ability to close her mouth, but again it's likely to give her difficulty in the future.

  Not his business, he reminds himself. He's simply doing the work for which he's been paid.

  After the tooth implants are installed Henrik cleans the woman up some and packs the wounds with gauze before bandaging her jaw so she can't move it. She'll have to be on a liquid diet until the implants heal in place - something she'd know if she'd been paying attention. He's sent a message with instructions to her as well but there's only so much he can do.

  Henrik wakes the woman and helps her outside, pouring her into her vehicle and setting the thing to take her home.

  Finally, the liver replacement.

  This last client, a woman named Bianka, he's doing...well, almost gratis; he knows the woman and doesn't particularly want to see her in the kind of debt a hospital would put her into. This is even less legal than his usual work. Certainly the law mostly turns a blind eye to people like him, but it turns out real doctors don't like losing money to the likes of him.

  Well it's only illegal if he gets caught at it.

  Replacing the woman's liver takes hours, and once again the help of his robot assistant. At last, exhausted, smeared with blood, and absolutely starving, Henrik stitches her up and leaves her there to recover before instructing Detlev to tell him when she wakes up. Normally he'd never allow her to stay in his parlor but this is a special case.

  She happens to be one of the vanishingly few relatives he still cares about - one of his cousins, in fact. When he's done bandaging Bianka up he simply covers her with a blanket and turns up the heat in his parlor so she doesn't grow cold.

  Normally he'd set his nanobot swarms to scrub this of all organic matter at the end of a day. But, well, not to put too fine a point on it, but Bianka consists of organic matter. He can do that chore when she's recovered and gone. Besides, knowing that today was likely to be more taxing than usual, he's planned to take tomorrow off.

  Bog said they were coming over tonight, he recalls.

  That's enough to put a smile on Henrik's weary face, even though he said he'd make them both dinner. It's a good thing he got something easy to prepare. Bog's told him that he needn't bother...but he's starving and if he knows Bog they'll have neglected their own needs in whatever the day's pursuits brought.

  His lover truly is a work of art though Henrik knows too well how the demiguy thinks of themself. Still and all he looks wonderful gracing Henrik's bed. The transmogrifier himself has become rather attached to what started as a simple fling.

  Ah, but that's neither here nor there.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  The slender person checks the time - enough to throw the frozen lasagna in the oven and then shower the blood out of his hair. And so he does, excited by the possibility of imminent company that isn't passed out on his table or about to be stabbed dozens of times by an injection gun.

  The shower refreshes him so he's not too tired once he gets out. He dresses in more casual clothing for his date - a dark sweater with a long skirt - and applies his makeup again. It's likely to get smeared with all the...activity he has planned for the evening, but that's no reason not to make the effort.

  Besides, Bog's told Henrik that he likes the way he looks, all messed up afterwards. But it's best not to think about that too much. He's likely to start this party too soon and that simply won't do.

  Not for the first time, Henrik considers certain implants that some folks with his sort of equipment favor, to help them last longer in the bed or go multiple rounds. Certainly it won't do him any good tonight but...

  That thought is interrupted by a message on the computer in his bedroom. It's Bog of course; a voice-to-text message so they must be driving. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes," it reads. Henrik smiles, knowing that the other lives in a world of their own as far as time and punctuality go. Ah, but he could forgive Bog for much. He is...hmm.

  Instead of worrying about it the transmogrifier goes to his little kitchen area and putters about with their dinner, checking the lasagna which is of course not done yet. He bought a cake too, knowing the other's love of sweets in general and ganache in particular. He's almost like a child that way.

  Ah, but not other ways, the blue-eyed person thinks, grinning to himself.

  It's not too close to the thirty minute mark when Henrik gets another message, reading simply "outside". He must be parking his bike, the transmogrifier thinks with a smile. The blue-eyed person goes down to the outer entrance, the one not connected to his parlor, to greet his sometime lover.

  Bog's on the landing, dressed about as fancy as he ever dresses with a bouquet of flowers hanging loosely in one hand. "Hey hon," they greet.

  Henrik kisses the slightly shorter person's cheek, leaving a slight smudge of blue there a-purpose. His own little mark on the other. "Come in, liebchen," he urges, "it's rather cold out, and dinner's nearly ready."

  Bog returns his rather fangy smile and together the pair dip inside out of the cool evening air. Together they settle at the table and Henrik reaches inside his small refrigerator to extract a couple of glass bottles of beer from a hole-in-the-wall brewery he and Bog both frequent. "Look, I got your favorite." They’re Henrik’s favorite too, which he needn’t mention.

  "Don't mind if I do," Bog replies, grabbing the bottle and popping the top with the opener on his keys. He opens Henrik's too, and both of them sip their beers as they discuss what's going on in their lives lately.

  There's some talk about work of course; no avoiding that when he depends so heavily on the implants Bog sells. And then, pleasantly, the conversation turns to Bog's other lovers, especially Etienne.

  "You could just ask him," Bog insists. "He ain't gonna bite your head off for askin'."

  "I know, but..." Henrik can't finish that; he's had a bit of a thing for Bog's boyfriend for a while now but he hasn't been able to bring himself to act on it. And the man lives so far away; and any number of other excuses he might make to himself.

  Perhaps someday.

  They drink and chatter until their dinner is ready. The meal goes down a treat, what with Henrik starving from his day and Bog apparently doing the same. Dessert goes down the same way although by the time they're both through the mood has changed somewhat.

  He recognizes the look in Bog's eyes, though the other's eyes are prosthetic and they cast a pretty cyan glow over his stubbly cheeks.

  A booted foot running down Henrik's calf seals the deal. The person chuckles despite the shiver that gives him. "Eager, are we?"

  "You know I am," the implant fence drawls.

  Things progress quickly from there.

  Afterwards they lie panting in bed together, his head pillowed on Bog's slightly glowing chest. A chubby hand strokes through his blue hair and he smiles against the other's warm skin. His makeup is, of course, mussed beyond all repair but he simply feels too good to care about that. "Darling..." he allows himself to murmur.

  Henrik has never particularly understood...romantic involvements terribly well. It seems to him like they bring a lot of troubles with very little exception. But this is different, this something nebulous between himself and this person in his bed. He could certainly stay like this forever.

  After some time they clean up and then he changes the sheets so they can lie back down together. Aching pleasantly, Henrik sprawls out on top of his lover, who wraps their arms around him. "Pretty," Bog murmurs, running fingers through his long blue hair.

  "Mmh, thank you darling."

  It means more on both their ends than someone outside might think. It means that their hearts, real and artificial, feel more than their lips might ever say. But for now, half-dozing with the other stroking his hair, satisfied beyond what he might have imagined possible even a few years ago, Henrik settles in to sleep with a will, enjoying the warmth of another body in his bed.