It isn't Always the Captain's Fault

Clint Austen (the Companion) wasn't as shocked as he might have been to see the tall, mysterious brunette in the passageway of the RMS Dragon Fire. They were at almost 8,000 feet, and hadn't set down in over a week, but the Captain had been known to stow away companionship for long periods of time. Usually the Companion knew about it and pretended not to notice, as long as he was fairly certain they weren't Hungarian spies. 

Something struck Clint as different about this woman. She held herself like a warrior, and was graceful in a dangerous way. This could not be good. Assassins didn't usually make it this far onto the Dragon Fire.  Clint pulled out his blaster and aimed it at the deadly woman. "Stop where you are and identify yourself!" he barked.

The woman slowly turned around and raised an eyebrow. A soft smirk touched her lips. "You know who I am."
​...

​​In the fraction of a second when Clint was trying to figure out who she was, her boot knocked the blaster from his hand. Fortunately, he was fast enough to block the punch to his throat that quickly followed. Swift and calculated punches and kicks were thrown and blocked. 

"How many times must I tell you that there is to be no sparring, except in the gymnasium?" Auntie Duchess demanded as she brought her walking stick hard against the decking. Both combatants stopped immediately. No one went against the Duchess' demands.

"Madam, this woman is a dangerous spy. I'm fighting for my life, and quite possibly your life as well."

"You pulled your blaster on me first." The woman pointed out, now leaning against the bulkhead in an annoyingly casual manner. Clint was still panting from the exertion of fighting at 8,000 feet.

"Don't be daft, Colonel Austen." Auntie Duchess snorted loudly. "This is Gwendolyn, and you have spent many hours in her company these last few weeks. What is wrong with you? You're starting to remind me of one of my nephews." Clint cringed at that. The Nephew Crusher had a low opinion of most of her relations, but especially her nephews.

"Madam, I can assure you that I have never laid eyes on this woman before in my entire life." Clint was more puzzled than ever. The woman pushed off the bulkhead and walked toward him. "You have not only seen me, but you've caressed my naked body." 

Clint's mouth hung open at that. Auntie Duchess had decided that she was enjoying the show, and remained quiet, with a wry grin on her face. "I'm certain that I would have remembered such an interaction, Ma'am."

"Well, I certainly remember it. Especially as you kept calling me a 'Good Boy'."

Clint stumbled for a moment. "Wait... you're... the werewolf? The Courtier's new friend? I thought you were... well... that is to say... of the male persuasion."

"Why would you ever think that?"

"I thought all werewolves were males. Plus, the Courtier is a bit of a... courtier."

"What he means to say is that he's an idiot who doesn't know anything about werewolves, and that your lover is a bit of a flopsy." The Duchess chimed in. 

"He's certainly never been at all flopsy around me." Gwendolyn winked at Clint, who was once again without words, which was probably for the best as he kept making matters worse every time he opened his mouth. "If you would like to spar again, you know where to find me. Now, your Grace, I believe that tea is being served in the forward sitting room."
​
The Duchess and Gwendolyn strode down the way, arm in arm. Their shoulders shaking from poorly repressed laughter. Clint sighed. It's not like he had seen her as a human before now, and it would have been rude to ask, or worse, look, to determine her sex. Oh well, as long as she was in human form she wasn't shedding all over the ship.