Kerri G
Pet and Annie wanted to know where I hung out when we were at the Center. I told them they wouldn’t like it, but they were welcome to come see.
Hallways on the sylph side of the Center are dimly lit, narrow and tall. They emulate running around in between the walls of someone else’s house.
It’s a statement. It’s saying ‘this place is just for us, just for sylphs.’
Some halls are more dimly lit than others. Down in the area frequented by what we’d been calling ‘Rescues’ for two days, the shadows hide a lot of scars.
The Foster girls followed me trustingly, even as the lights became fewer and people looked… Well, darker.
Outside the door to ‘Lisa’s Bobbing Dockit’ I turned up to them. “When you’re uncomfortable, let me know. We’ll leave.”
“Wait,” Annie said. “Bobbing and Docking? Is that referring to boats next to a pier or what they do to Doberman’s tails?”
I just nodded towards the door. Pet opened it and they followed me through.
You don’t exactly have to be an amputee at LBD, but all the regulars are.
The lighting’s positively Stygian, except just inside the door. There’s a spotlight so people can see who just walked in and what their damage is.
Visible damage, of course. This isn’t a place for people with heartbreak or depression.
The clientele here were former cage fighters, escaped pets who’d been altered for someone’s aesthetics, and those who’d been harmed in traps.
They have booths with seats about a quarter of an inch off the floor, for people like me, and some for people who can no longer sit. Some for people who can’t lift a drink. Some for… Well, the seating is eclectic. And flexible.
If there’s no stool for your particular problem, they can configure one in moments.
Lisa’s a friend and I try to see her whenever I’m in town. When I’m not floating in Nolan’s bath to make sure he relaxes, that is.
We went up to the bar and took three empty stools. A bartender took our orders and we waited for Lisa to notice us.
A bruiser leaned on the bar next to Pet. He was one-handed, the other being amputated at the elbow. He had a bit of an attitude, his arm was tattooed with ‘Cut On Dotted Line’ and a line of dots at the scar.
His other limbs were all well-developed. I couldn’t tell if he’d been into working out before sylphing or if it was a reaction having lost a limb.
“Hey,” he said to Pet. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing.” And she was. A young, skinny blonde, dressed in bright colors, a t-shirt and shorts showing no scars, no prosthetics, no piercings.
“Thank you,” she said with a bright smile. It angered the bruiser.
“He didn’t mean it as a compliment, Pet,” Annie said.
“He means you’re pretty enough to go anywhere and no one will stare in horror,” I explained. “So he’s suggesting that you’re here as a tourist, to get a look at the freaks.
“He’s suggesting that you ought to go where you belong,” he said.
Annie was tensing beside me. I didn’t want to see her fight with this guy. We had no idea if he had skills to back up those muscles. I was trying to think of a way to defuse the situation, or to delay it long enough for Lisa to show up.
Pet nodded at my explanation, then turned to Bruiser. She placed a hand on his arm, just above the tattoo. “Who or whatever took your hand, you couldn’t stop them. And that’s sad.”
“Fuck your pity!” he snarled. He went to brush off her hand but she grabbed hold tight and went on talking.
“But if you let them cut off your personality along with your hand, that’s your choice. No knife or trap can take the beauty out of your soul. You can let the scar shape you, or you can tell the scar to screw off and die.”
For a second I thought he was going to punch her. I heard Annie’s stool scrape on the floor as she started to lift it as the nearest weapon. Pet just stared up into his eyes.
He looked away first. “I, uh, I take your meaning, missy.”
“Can I buy you a drink?” she asked. Annie relaxed behind me. I took a deep breath.
Bruiser shook his head with a smile. “No, I’m going back to my table with my friends. Thanks, but… No.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’m glad to have met you.”
“I… I honestly don’t know how I feel about meeting you, miss,” he said. He turned around. A group of other muscular types were at the nearest table.
One guy sneered. “Are you backing down from a little slip of a cutie, Tom?”
“Fuck you, Twitter!” our bruiser, Tom, shouted back. He punched the speaker in the face. “I still have beauty in my soul, assface!”
The conversation went downhill from there, but at least they took it outside before the real fighting began.
“Not bad, Pet,” Annie said quietly. “I’d have just kicked him in the balls.”
“In this bar?” Pet replied. “I’d think there’s a good chance he doesn’t have them anymore and you’d have wasted your one free shot and then he’d have had a chance.”
“Oh….” I had to laugh at Annie’s expression at that.
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Index
118. Electra G
120. Blank