Definitions
The lyric "it's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday" floated through Barton's mind as he tended to yet another customer. As was usual for a busy day, the three rental stations were active with their various clients and dressers, and conversation was lively and varied. Una served one of her matronly regulars, kvetching with her in such a way that the two sounded as if they were performing some kind of rap-like duet. Malik seemed to be everywhere at once, providing exactly what was needed, where and when it was most valued. Barton had, on occasion, wanted to nickname him "Radar," but he wasn't sure if the kit had seen enough reruns of M*A*S*H to get the reference.
"...never seen anything like it, the graphics and all." Barton's own client was waxing eloquent about something that he'd never heard anything like of, and he did his best to blarney his way through. The word "graphics" gave a clue, so he followed it.
"Amazin' what they're doin' to our pictures and all, enit? Still or video, it's all becomin' like a Walt Disney dream, perfect an' real as if we were there."
The client, a thirty-something raccoon with a head-full of fine flowing locks, hesitated only a moment. "I don't think Disney would have had anything to do with Grand Theft Auto."
"From what I've heard, ye've a point there..." Barton went back to mane-dressing; he knew far more about that than whatever the 'coon was telling him.
Truth was, he wasn't paying as much attention as he might. His thoughts were on Lyris and Lyal, and what he was to do about them. He was no fool; there's no such thing as truly "saving" anyone. They'd have to make up their own minds about what they wanted, but if they wanted his help, that was something he could have a say in. He couldn't likely adopt them or anything, even if they were in the system to be adopted. In fact, Social Services would most likely simply pack them up and ship them back to their adoptive parents, which is the last place they needed to be. Involving the system seemed like the worst idea possible, although it did open the door to one other option: Find an advocate. If he could get the kits to make the formal complaint, tell a Social Worker about what happened so that they could get an investigation started... that would mean placing them in a temporary home of some kind, and that wasn't necessarily a good solution either.
What he needed was an expert in these matters... and a slow smile grew across his muzzle as he thought of just the furson he could call on. There might yet be a ray of hope in all this madness.
"Tracey, darlin', a favor t' ask ye." He put his forepaws to the chair and looked at the raccoon's eyes in the mirror before them. "I need t' check on somethin' in back fer just a few tics; would ye stay right there fer me?"
"Sure, no problem."
"Thank ye, lass." He smiled at her. "Won't be long at all."
Stepping down the hall, he passed Malik on his way back to the front of the salon. "Barton, do we have a client in Two?" He indicated the door with the DO NOT DISTURB sign on it.
"Favor t' a friend who needed quiet time. I'll tend 'im, no worries."
The young dark-furred meerkat noded, smiling, asking no questions. Barton had a moment to think once more how lucky he was to have such a fine lad working for him. He quietly thanked Wallace for his undoubted influence in hiring the meerkat, then turned to check on his ragamuffin charges.
He refrained from knocking, as he didn't want to wake them. He made sure that he was alone in the hall, then opened the door silently. He didn't hear any water running or anyone moving about; he took the chance that they might both be napping and peeked in. He smelled shampoo (a vast improvement), as well as a bit of conditioner (found the fancy stuff, did ye, lass? Good f' you!), and noticed one small lump of robe-covered bunny, but not two. The shower curtain was pulled back; there was no closed linen cupboard, just the racks with towels and robes... there was neither a place nor a reason for the other - Lyris, he realized - to hide. His brows furrowed. She wouldn't leave her brother behind... and over there, both packs were still up against the wall. She had to be close by.
He'd just come from the front of the shop, and Malik would have noticed anyone back here, unless she hid from him... but where? He padded from place to place, a worm of dread uncoiling in his gut and wriggling maddeningly. Nothing in his office, nor the other private room, not the sauna, the storage room...
A bit of cool draft there in the storage room told him more than he really wanted to know. She'd gone - not permanently, her pack was still here, and more importantly, her twin. She left herself a way to get back in, so she was coming back, but what did she think that she had to sneak out for, not leave a note, not tell him? Something that she had to keep secret...
Oh Saints, no, not that, anything but that...
There were no obvious signs, other than the emaciation, and Lyal being sick, but surely that's just because they've lived rough for so long? But if he were wrong... he had to know...
He ran back to the room and moved quickly and silently to Lyal. He knelt next to the bunny, his stomach plunging as he prayed he was wrong. "Lyal," he said softly, touching the rabbit's shoulder tenderly. "I'm sorry, lad. I know ye want t' sleep, but yer sis is missing. I think she went out."
Groggy, the young buck managed to nod, his half-lidded eyes not quite focusing on the badger. "Yes," he said thickly. "Out."
Swallowing hard, Barton asked, "Was it drugs? Did she go out for drugs?"
Lyal blinked, clearly not yet awake. "I think so, she said..."
Hanging his head, the badger tried not to cry. Dammit, no! After all he'd hoped for, not drugs, not... He could still remember the face, the drawing the police had shown him, the hard, wiry Dobie they had arrested in connection with Wallace, the "known junkie" who had been seen in the back alleys of the town recently... He choked back a sob, still praying it wasn't true...
A sound from behind him made him raise his head quickly. Lyris stood in the doorway with a bag in her hand. A small, neat, clean white bag with a familiar logo on it, something in blue and yellow, something very familiar... The doe stood stock still, eyes widened in shock before starting to narrow accusingly. She stepped inside, letting the door close behind her as she nailed Barton to his place with her sharp gaze.
Lyal shifted on the bench, pulling himself up to a more sitting position, dislodging both the towel that covered him and the enclosure of his robe. By the time he was comparatively vertical, he looked to be nearly undressed. "Lyss?" he asked softly. "Lyss, what's wrong...?"
The doe moved closer, staring down at the badger, reminding him of the phrase if looks could kill. She smelled cleaner, her fur retaining the scents of the products she'd used on herself, but there was an unquestionable tang in the air, a scent of sex, both her own and something male. The evidence was half a meter from his nose; there was no mistaking it.
"If you didn't want me to watch," she spat, nearly hissing, "you could have just said so. At least let him take the medication first, okay? He might want to breathe at some point." She thrust a paw into the bag, pulling out a box of over-the-counter medicine
drugs
that bore familiar claims of relieving cold symptoms for hours. She threw the box at Barton, who flinched as he tried to catch it. The doe stormed over to the counter and snatched a water bottle from it, taking it to her brother and all but shoving it in his face. "The pharmacist said to avoid being in the cold for too long and to take these twice a day until the symptoms go away. If you're not better in a few days, see a doctor... as if we could afford one." She pivoted silently on one paw and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
It took the badger a long moment to gather himself. "Ah God, what've I done?" He looked back to the buck, who looked no less surprised and uncertain than the old mane-dresser felt. His forepaws moved almost automatically, opening the new box of medicine, popping out a pair of liquigels from the blister pack (he almost couldn't, harder to break into than the Fed), handing them to the buck. "Lyal, I'm so sorry, I thought..."
"I know." The buck's voice was low and calm. He took the pills with some water and looked kindly upon Barton. "You said 'drugs,' and all I thought was 'drug store.' But we're street rats, so you thought the worst. I can't blame you for that."
Lyal turned to set the water down on the little table near him, then turned his face back to Barton. He leaned a little closer - he still hadn't bathed, he smelled to high heaven, his fur still patchy and sticky, some part of it possibly some phlegm that he'd coughed up on himself in his sleep. The badger turned toward him, not quite realizing that the buck had tilted his head to one side and ever so tenderly touched his lips to Barton's.
The badger found that he could not break the contact. His mind raced with every excuse from it being child molestation, to prostitution, to not wanting to catch a cold, but nothing would let him release the sweet touch of the rabbit's lips to his own. There was something in it that he could not clearly understand. The young buck was no doubt experienced in his ability to earn money through sex, yet this was different. He might have been imagining it, for whatever reason, but Barton felt no aggression. Lyal had begun the kiss, but he wasn't pushing further. His maw was still closed, he used no tongue, no forepaws reached out to grope or fondle or massage. The buck just let the kiss be a kiss, and that, more than anything else, scared Barton down to his claws. A soft whimper filled the silence of the room, and it took the old badger a moment to realize that the sound came not from the rabbit, but from himself.
After several seconds, Lyal pulled away and looked into Barton's eyes, his own chocolate brown orbs holding more sadness, more experience, more neediness than such young eyes should hold. "Thank you," he whispered. "For the food and all."
The badger found it difficult to think clearly. "Lyal, where's yer sister gone?"
"I think she just wanted to let us be... alone together. In case you wanted..." The buck stopped, letting the idea remain unfinished. Something in his eyes told Barton that he hoped he was wrong about the old mane-dresser, and that it wasn't just that that he wanted.
Sighing heavily, Barton shook his head. "I hope I haven't just bollixed this all t' hell. Look, laddie, I'm goin' t' look for yer sister. I know she'd nae leave w'out ye, but she dinna need to be out in all this, doin'..."
Lyal's eyes carried no emotion as he said, softly, "We need the money."
"God, no... not like that..." The badger understood clearly how she'd gotten the money for the medicine. The skirt and leggings, the school-girl look, the whiff of sex from her... Emotions warred within him - rage (not at the girl, but at a world where she would have to do such things just to live), terror (at what might befall her), disappointment (at himself for making it so easy for her to leave), an agony of compassion that wanted to make him stop and weep for them all.
"I'd've gotten ye th' pills," Barton nearly wailed. "She dinna have t'..." The old badger sighed heavily, the weight of the world on his conscience, and reached toward the young buck. Lyal responded by moving to open his robe, but Barton instead took the kit's forepaws into his own and looked him in the eyes. "I'm goin' t' have a look fer yer sister, laddiebuck. If she's left th' buildin', I'll have t' go out on the streets to find her. If she comes back here, ye've got to promise me that ye'll make her stay. Both of ye. There'll be a dinner an' a warm place for ye both to sleep safe tonight, an' before ye ask, there's nae price tag on that either. Later, I'll tell ye why, but right now I've got t' find Lyris. Promise me ye'll stay?" He shook the paws very gently. "Please, Lyal. Promise me."
Lyal looked so stunned that, for a long moment, Barton thought that he wouldn't be able to speak at all. Finally, the kit nodded. "Okay," he said. "I promise."
"That'll be a'right then." The badger released the paws and stood.
"You do realize," the kit said in a dull voice, "that you've just gotten a promise from a whore...?"
Barton looked at Lyal and shook his head. "Yer nae a hoor. Yer a young buck. A desperate young buck who's managed t' stay alive, agin' all odds. Ye've done things ye had to do, and ye may or may not have gotten any pleasure from it. But yer nae a hoor."
"How would you know?"
"Because a hoor's kiss wouldna' touch m' heart." He bent down and gave the kit another brief, closed-lipped kiss that was no less warm than the first. When he pulled back, he touched Lyal's cheek softly, looking into his eyes. "I'll go find her, an' I'll bring her back. I'll nae let ye two get separated. Ye may lay t' that."
With that, he turned to the door, padding lightly on his toes and moving with an urgency even he didn't quite understand, until he heard the commotion from the front of the spa.
* * * * * * * * * *
"I've got the little thief!"
Lyris wrestled and fought against the paws that held her tight, her mind whirling with fear. The black cat wasn't that much older than she was, but the doe was still weak with malnutrition, and the feline had an advantage of size besides. She lashed out with her hindpaws as best she could, still trying to understand what in hell had happened... as if that actually mattered at this point.
"Someone call the police!" the feline snarled. "We'll get this sorted out!" She shook the doe hard enough to make her ears fly against her head in audible slaps. "What did you steal? What were you trying to take from here? My boss will have you flayed alive, you filthy--"
Lyris didn't hear anything more except for the scream from the cat, resulting from as monstrous a bite as she could land on the feline's arm. When the crazy female let go from pain and panic, the doe broke free. Her only thought was to get Lyal and run, fast and far and forever if they had to...
"STOP her! Don't let her get away!"
Following a kind of herd instinct, the clientele of the shop did nothing at all except try to cower out of the way. One of the stylists was talking quickly, softly, into a phone. Despite the black cat's screaming, no one else really wanted to get involved. The meerkat, though, he was fast enough to block the front door, making a nearly comical stance, as if he thought he could tackle her. She could almost have felt sorry for him if she hadn't been filled with the ice of panicked resolve. Her only goal was Lyal, then escape, and both would best be had at the back of the building.
"Lyris! No, wait--"
The doe was vaguely aware of crashing into a large someone or something, sending it to the ground before bouncing off of it and caroming down the hall. She was at the door to the private room in seconds, bursting in, almost not surprised to see Lyal already pulling on his jeans. "Move fast - they're calling the cops!"
She threw the clothes into the backpacks, knowing there was no time to make sure everything was there, hoping she missed nothing. She saw Lyal reaching for a shirt. "Keep the robe!" she screamed. "No time! Keep it!" Grabbing up the packs, she took hold of her brother's arm in time to see the meerkat appear in the doorway of the private room, blinking at them as if he's trying to understand why he's seeing double.
"Out of the way, shorty!" Lyris threw her ears upward, failing to notice that, without the false appearance of height, the meerkat had a good fifteen centimeters on her.
"Wait, please, I don't think you're a thief, just wait--"
He didn't get to finish the thought. In panic mode, Lyris had the tackling power of a pro linebacker, and the hapless meerkat found himself knocked breathless and halfway down to the old badger's office. As the doe pulled her brother toward the storeroom again, she could hear a loud, anxious voice shouting, "They're on their way, they'll be here any minute!"
That was all Lyris needed. She hit the door to the alley at a dead run, almost knocking herself out when she missed the push-bar lock on her first try. She slammed against it again, holding the door open for Lyal... where was Lyal? She looked around frantically, seeing him standing in the doorway, staring down the hall to the front of the spa, where even now, she heard that damned feline screaming, "OH MY GODS, ANOTHER ONE!" What the hell was the stupid buck staring at? Didn't he understand...
"LYAL, COME ON!"
He stood there, staring, his ears drooped low and limp, his eyes staring at something (someone?). He raised a forepaw as if trying to say something, like thank you, or goodbye, or whatever it might have been. A sudden scrabbling sound and a shout from the meerkat down the hall made the buck turn toward it, then toward Lyris, and finally he moved with a purpose and sped past her, the doe following at his heels and letting the door slam shut behind them. The cold November wind seemed to grab them in tendrils of ice, robbing her of any warmth, any connection, any hope of any kind, ever, ever, ever...
* * * * * * * * * *
Barton sat on the floor, not so much injured as stunned into a kind of non-understanding. The last thing he could really focus on was seeing Lyal, in jeans and the white robe still half-wrapped around him, standing in the doorway to the storeroom, looking at him. The chocolate-brown eyes told him volumes, with sorrow, apology, regret, so very much regret... Barton felt his heart explode within as surely as if he'd just suffered a major heart attack. Before he could speak, the buck spun and dashed outside, and the badger could only cry out in pain larger than mere words before the bunny was gone.
Voices and noises finally began coming into his awareness - Una trying to ask if he were all right, clients fluffing and fussing themselves, Malik running into the storeroom even as the back door clanged shut, then tried to burst open again, screeing on its hinges. He flailed his paws at the feline, trying to scrabble himself off the floor, finding the voice that once could clear the noisiest pub to announce closing time. "DAMN THE BLOODY LOT OF YE, WHAT HAVE YE DONE?"
Into the shocked silence that followed, he continued, "Call back that constable an' cancel that damned call! Any one of ye tries to report a crime, I'll have ye on charges o' false witness, wastin' police time, and anythin' else I c'n get ye smacked with! Those two kits were in the back alley starvin', and I brought 'em in t' feed 'em and let 'em get warm f'r a time. Does th' word 'charity' mean nothin' anymore?"
Una sputtered and spat, finally getting out, "But that doe was trying to--"
"Tryin' t' what?" Barton turned to face her directly, secretly pleased at the look of sheer terror on her muzzle. "Find a place t' sit? Read a magazine? Ask fer some help, or even some damned spare change if she needed it? Are ye after accusin' her of a crime before it happens? Ye don't bloody know what she was tryin' t' do, do ye? Ye just assumed it because she looks like a beggar an' a thief, and her twin brother besides, and ye've just turned 'em back into beggars and thieves and Saints only know what else! You stupid, STUPID..."
The badger stopped himself before he really did start wanting to use fists instead of just words. The stunned silence in the salon was deafening. He was within an ace of falling into the cliché truths of his species, and what stopped him was not a fear of police or prosecution, nor even that of losing his business. It was those eyes, the memory of those beautiful, painful, chocolate-brown eyes, that stopped him. Violence would solve nothing. He had to find them.
Standing upright, breathing hard, his forepaws clenched helplessly into fists, he leveled his gaze to everyone in the room. "I'm gon' t' lookin' for 'em. Anyone thinks I'm doin' wrong by tryin' t' help 'em, yer work today is on th' hoose... and ne'er ye come back again. If ye had any love for the kits and pups bein' mistreated in this world, ye'd help me look for 'em."
For a long moment, nothing and no one moved, save for a few lowered muzzles with devoutly guilty looks. From the hallway, a young voice said, "I'll help."
Barton turned to look the meerkat in the eye, unable to help the fleeting glimpse of Wallace there on the yowen's muzzle. "Did ye get a good look at 'em?"
Malik smirked a little, nodding. "She ran me over like a freight train. I think I'll know her. The buck's her twin?"
"Close as makes no odds. They went out th' back; I'll try there. Circle 'round out front there, in case they're tryin' t' head t' th' bridge or somewhere away from town. And YOU..." He gave Una a look that could have fried paint off a wall at twenty paces, and the black-furred feline's eyes glowed yellow as if she was about to burst into flame herself. "Yer gonna tell the Old Bill that ye overreacted, and there's nowt t' see here, no complaint t' be made, and no description. If any one o' these people says otherwise, yer t' say they've been sniffin' the hair dye too much. Don't make me come back here an' have t' take it out on yer job. I need ye, but don't think that'll stay my paw." He paused to make the last words heard properly. "It's lives we're talkin' 'boot here."
He nodded to Malik and moved quickly toward the store room as the meerkat pelted out the front door. He knew the kits had gone out the back, that they were probably long gone, but he had to try. For their sake, for Wallace's, for his own, he had to try...