Interspecies Potion Solution Part 3 Chapter 6

Chapter 6: "The Eggcident"

“Ghhhrrrg…”

Kirika slumped against the hallway wall, her wings folded tightly around her middle as best they could, which wasn’t much. One feathery elbow pressed gently into her stomach. Or… under it? It was getting hard to tell where anything started or ended these days.

She winced again, softly moaning as another wave of pressure rippled low through her gut.

"Okay," she muttered, voice strained. "This is getting ridiculous."

It wasn’t like it was always painful. Not exactly. The cramps came and went, sure, but even when they weren’t flaring up, something in her core still felt heavy. Off. Like someone had stuffed a hot water balloon behind her hips and forgotten to take it out. Just walking around the house felt like dragging herself through syrup.

“I swear, if this is the harpy version of IBS, I’m not sure I'll pull through,” she whispered.

Kirika leaned her forehead against the wall, breathing slowly. In, out. In, ow, out.

Unbeknownst to her, not too far down the hall, behind the kitchen doorway, two pairs of pointy ears perked in concern.

“…That didn’t sound good,” Miia whispered, tail swishing with worry.

Cerea, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, nodded grimly. “Indeed. Kirika has been showing signs of internal stress. She's paler than usual. She barely touched her oats this morning.”

Miia gasped. “Not the oats!”

They peeked around the corner, watching as Kirika slowly dragged herself toward the living room, wings drooping like she was melting.

Miia bit her lip. “What if it’s… food poisoning?”

Cerea blinked. “You think so?”

Miia nodded. “It has to be that pasta you made two nights ago. You used that expired ‘heavy cream’ thing. Remember? It smelled like cheese made of hate.”

Cerea frowned, indignant. “That was imported truffle cream! It is supposed to smell aggressive!”

Miia waved her arms. “What if Kirika’s delicate harpy stomach can’t handle truffle murder dairy?!”

Cerea huffed. “More likely, she’s strained herself. Too much exertion. Flying with untrained wings can place unusual pressure on the abdomen. She could be experiencing… core destabilization.”

Miia blinked. “That’s just a fancy way to say she pulled something.”

“Precision of language is important,” Cerea muttered.

They paused, listening to another faint groan echo down the hall.

“…Okay,” Miia said, turning serious. “Whether it’s flying or food, we need to call Mrs. Smith.”

Cerea nodded. “Agreed. Kirika will never do it herself.”

“Yup. She’d rather implode out of stubbornness than admit she’s falling apart.”

Together, they turned toward the entry hall.

“If anyone can fix this,” Miia said, “it’s the government agent who made us all someone else’s problem.”

“…A comforting thought,” Cerea replied dryly.

With that, they picked up the phone.

—

Roughly thirty minutes later, there was a knock at the front door.

Kirika, still groggy and hunched like a sad gargoyle on her favorite beanbag chair, blinked at the sound. She reluctantly dragged herself upright, wings dragging behind her like wet laundry. “Ugh… Coming…”

She opened the door to find none other than Mrs. Smith standing on the porch, flanked by a tall, very unimpressed-looking woman with pale skin, slate-blue sclera, and a mess of sea-green hair tied in a hasty bun. Several long, dark tentacles coiled beneath her lab coat, gently swaying like bored snakes.

Kirika blinked. “…Oh. You.”

Mrs. Smith gave her trademark crooked smirk, clipboard tucked under one arm. “Kirika. Looking… conscious. That’s a plus.”

Kirika grunted. “Wasn’t expecting company.”

“I know. That’s because your friends tattled.”

She stepped aside, gesturing to her companion. “This is Dr. Octone. She’s a scylla and a licensed practitioner through the Cultural Exchange Health Initiative. Specializes in extra-species physiology, rare biology issues, and basically anything weird.”

Octone barely raised her eyes. “Hi,” she said in the flattest tone humanly, or inhumanly, possible. “Technically, this is off-hours. I had a cup noodle waiting. Let’s be efficient.”

Kirika squinted. “You’re a doctor?”

Octone pulled a badge from her coat pocket and held it up like a tired retail employee flashing an ID for cigarettes. “Fully licensed. Think of me as a mix between a vet and a doctor.”

Kirika stared, then slowly stepped aside. “Sure. Come in. Sorry for… existing, I guess.”

“Mm.” Octone slithered past her with minimal fuss, trailing tentacles clicking softly on the wooden floor.

Mrs. Smith followed casually, eyes scanning the house with her usual bureaucratic detachment. “Miia and Cerea told me you’ve been having abdominal issues. Given your… unique case file, I thought I’d bring in someone who might actually know what they’re talking about.”

Kirika sighed. “Fair.”

They walked together toward the living room. From the corner, Miia and Cerea both perked up at the sound of footsteps, Miia visibly wringing her tail like a nervous towel, and Cerea sitting at stiff attention like she was ready to joust the problem into submission.

Octone didn’t even look up as she slithered forward, speaking in her signature deadpan.

“So let me get this straight,” she drawled. “You’ve been feeling periodic abdominal cramps. Low, heavy ones. They’ve become more frequent. Pressure lingers after each episode.”

Kirika blinked. “Uh. Yeah. That’s… almost word-for-word, actually.”

Octone stopped, finally looking at her directly for the first time. “May I touch your stomach?”

Kirika nodded. “Go for it.”

Octone stepped closer, brushing aside Kirika’s oversized shirt with clinical efficiency, and gently placed a cool, webbed hand low on her abdomen.

Everyone in the room held their breath.

Octone sighed.

Not the good kind of sigh. The “I’m so tired of this nonsense” kind of sigh.

“Of course,” Dr. Octone muttered as she slithered back a step, already reaching into her coat pocket for a small notepad she hadn’t yet used. She didn’t even write in it. Just held it like it validated her existence.

“She’s ovulating,” Octone declared bluntly. “You’re going to lay an egg.”

The room froze.

Miia gasped with her entire torso. “A what?!”

Cerea nearly lost her grip and fell onto the couch. “A-an egg?!”

Papi, who had been quietly nibbling on a piece of celery in the corner, perked up with a loud chirp. “Ohh~! Papi knows this part!”

Kirika, on the other hand, just stood there, half-sloshed in shock, face slowly twisting between confusion, horror, and the kind of existential crisis that would make Plato blink twice.

“I—I’m gonna—an egg?!” she croaked, wings flaring slightly in reflex.

Dr. Octone tilted her head as if genuinely confused by the reaction. “Yes. That’s… extremely normal. You’re clearly old enough. You’re not a juvenile, and harpies ovulate anywhere between once a week and twice a year depending on the body’s seasonal cycles. I’d have assumed you’d done this dozens of times already.”

Kirika’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I—!”

Mrs. Smith stepped in with a diplomatic cough. “Well, that’s… good, isn’t it? Normal’s good. Right, girls?”

Miia blinked rapidly. “W-wait, is there anything special about this one? Like—is it, uh, extra pointy or weirdly shaped? Or glowing??”

Octone turned her eyes toward Miia like she’d just asked if eggs had feelings.

“From what I felt? No,” she said, tone as dry as sand. “The follicles are well-positioned. The descent should be uneventful. Pretty standard ovulation. At most, mild discomfort. Maybe some cramping, but you’ve already experienced that.”

Cerea cleared her throat. “W-would it be beneficial if we… assisted?”

“No,” Octone said flatly. “How would you even do that…?”

Mrs. Smith clapped her hands lightly. “Well! If this is normal and not some sort of medical emergency, then I suppose we don’t need to bother our esteemed doctor further.”

Octone turned to her, eyes narrowing. “So I can leave now?”

Mrs. Smith gave her an award-winning smile. “Yes, Doctor. Thank you so much for coming out on such short notice.”

Octone didn’t need to be told twice. She was already turning toward the door. “Not that I wouldn’t have preferred to be doing this during paid hours,” she muttered, “but I’m contractually obligated to respond to anything the coordinator deems urgent.”

Kirika followed her toward the exit, still cradling her lower stomach awkwardly. “Thanks, though. Really. I appreciate you checking me out.”

Octone gave a small, approving nod. “My job is to provide accurate evaluations. I did that. You’re healthy. Just… fertile.” She paused. “For the record, please don’t call me again off hours unless something is actively exploding.”

“Noted,” Kirika said faintly.

“I was mainly talking with that lady with sunglasses, but I digress… Have a good evening.” With that, the scylla slithered out the front door and disappeared down the walkway, coat flapping lightly behind her.

The silence that followed was thick.

Mrs. Smith slowly turned toward the rest of them with a light shrug. “Well. That could’ve gone worse.”

Kirika stared at the floor. “I’m going to lay an egg.”

Miia put a supportive hand on her shoulder. “A beautiful, perfectly natural egg.”

“…This is not helping.”

While the rest of the group stood in the living room trying to process what they’d just learned, Kirika sat perfectly still on the couch.

Mrs. Smith adjusted her glasses with a casual shrug. “Welp, it might be the most extraordinary perfectly normal event I have ever witnessed..”

Papi nodded eagerly. “Papi lays eggs all the time! It’s like, whoop and then plop! Easy peasy!”

Miia furrowed her brow. “Should we… have told the doctor that Kirika used to be a guy?”

Mrs. Smith didn’t even blink. “Wouldn’t have changed her diagnosis. Also I don't want to tell too many people about dear Kirika's condition yet.”

Cerea still looked pale. “But what if this isn’t just normal ovulation? What if her body is rejecting the changes? What if it’s a stress response? What if—”

“Ladies,” Mrs. Smith cut in, “you’re all catastrophizing. She’s fine. A little hormonal flux and perfectly healthy harpy nonsense.”

Then Kirika stood up. Slowly. Silently.

Her feathers ruffled.

Her legs trembled.

Her eyes went very wide.

“…Oh no,” she whispered, clutching her lower belly.

A pressure was rising. Not just pain… a push. Deep and insistent and terrifyingly real. It came in pulses, each one stronger than the last. It didn’t feel like cramps anymore.

It felt like her body was trying to move something.

Something big.

“Gotta go,” Kirika hissed. “Now. Gotta go, gotta go, gotta—move!”

She half-ran, half-flapped her way toward the stairs, practically throwing herself upward in short bursts of panic-powered wingbeats.

“Wait—Kiri?!” Miia called, grabbing Cerea’s arm.

“Husband is gonna lay an egg!” Papi declared far too cheerfully. “Let’s goooo!”

Mrs. Smith sighed and followed at a much more reasonable pace. “…wasn’t expecting it to happen so soon…”

They all hurried after her.

Upstairs, the door to Kirika’s room slammed shut just after the last one tumbled in.

What followed next was… chaos.

“Is it time?” Miia whispered, peering over a wing.

“Yes! Good call! Take that off!” Papi chirped from the foot of the bed, hovering like a nurse on a sugar rush.

“There it comes!” Cerea exclaimed, hands covering her mouth but eyes locked on the scene.

“Oh wow! Look at how that stretches!” Miia marveled.

“This thing… is huge!” Papi gasped.

Mrs. Smith raised an eyebrow. “Was that really inside of Darling? How did that even fit…?”

“You girls,” Kirika screamed, her entire face red, every feather puffed and flared, “ARE NOT! HELPING!”

And then—

“UUUAAAAAGHGA!!”

The room echoed with the strained, pained, deeply humiliated groan of someone laying their first egg with three live-in monstergirls and their government handler in the room.

—

It was deep in the night. Midnight, maybe.

Kirika didn’t know.

Didn’t care.

She sat in the dim glow of the living room’s corner lamp, her legs tucked beneath her, wings slack at her sides, just… staring.

The egg sat on the coffee table. Perfectly round. Pale, glossy. Roughly double the size of a chicken egg. Not that the size helped. At all.

She had laid that.

And it was still there.

It hadn’t grown legs. It hadn’t vanished. It hadn’t exploded or dissolved into a “just kidding” note from the universe.

It was an egg.

Her egg.

Kirika rubbed her face slowly, exhaling through her feathered fingers. Her exhaustion had faded to a dull hum hours ago. Now all that remained was the disbelief. The kind that made everything feel floaty, like her brain hadn’t quite caught up yet.

A faint click from above broke the silence. Eight legs tapped lightly across the ceiling beams, and then—

Whooosh.

Rachnera dropped down, silky-smooth, landing without a sound beside the couch. She regarded the egg, then Kirika, then the egg again.

“My, my, my,” she mused, crossing her arms and resting one hip against the couch’s armrest. “Of all the people in this house to lay an egg, you were definitely not the one I had my bet on.”

Kirika snorted softly. “Tell me about it.”

Her eyes never left the egg.

“But when weird things happen…” She shrugged, lips twitching into the ghost of a smile. “They’re usually followed by weird consequences, right?”

“An eggscellent deduction, Sherlock Darling~,” Rachnera replied with a smug smirk.

Kirika groaned quietly and buried her face again, but in reality she was smiling, truly smiling now. A tired, helpless, you-won’t-believe-the-week-I’ve-had kind of smile. But a smile.

She stood up, shaking the numbness out of her taloned feet. “I should sleep. Before the walls start talking to me.”

Rachnera nodded, already climbing back up toward her room on a thread of silk. “Wise choice. Should I maybe indulge with you to make sure you properly reboot your brain?”

Kirika stretched her wings, cracked her neck, then paused for one last glance at the egg.

It was still there.

Still real.

Still impossible.

“You know my answer to that.” She let out a breath and followed Rachnera toward the hallway, the soft scritch of claws on hardwood accompanying her quiet retreat.

As she reached the stairs, she whispered to herself with the barest hint of dread:

“…Please don’t let Papi and I be the kind of bird that lays one of those every second Tuesday.”

To be continued…

—

So I guess, as a Harpy, Kirika now also has to do… that, every now and then. Great.