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Cooper strolled the avenues for over an hour before he found the painted sign of a well-dressed vulpine, complete with top hat, which announced the establishment to be Le Terrier du Renard. Like most of the buildings in the district it was a block covered in white plaster with nothing save the sign to announce that it was anything special. It was tucked away at the end of a small cobblestone side street at the bottom of the hill which gave its name to the district. The fox wasn't sure what to make of that other than the place did fit the bill for quieter and less crowded. Cooper let out a quiet sigh and approached the older looking fox standing behind a lectern next to the cabaret door. The fox greeted him, reached under the lectern to retrieve two menus, and gestured for Cooper to follow him inside. As the pilot entered, he noticed a scent that seemed familiar though he couldn't quite place it.

The interior of Le Terrier du Renard was sparsely lit, but as a descendant of nocturnal mammals, the fox could see just fine. The main room of the cabaret was a semicircle with an elevated platform on the flat side. The floor was filled with circular tables, arranged in arcs facing the stage. The walls were painted a pale color that wasn't white, but it was difficult to tell more in the dark. The light in the room was provided only by a series of widely spaced electric bulbs along the back wall, and a candle enclosed in a glass jar on each table. The air was filled with the scents of other species, and the greasy, dirty odors that never quite left those in industrial trades. One other oddity struck Cooper as the host led him across the floor--the clientele was almost exclusively males. That put the fox on edge, as if he sensed an enemy plane behind him, but shrugged it off as the rest of the crowd hadn't arrived yet.

The host took him to a table against the back wall, with a booth bench around two thirds of it and took a seat. Cooper took a look at the menu, which was rather sparse--unsurprising, given the food rationing going on. The wine and liquor list was much longer, but given that it was in French the American knew he was going to need help with it. He sighed, set the wine list down, and again allowed himself to regret that his command of French was still rudimentary at best. For whatever reason he just didn't have the gift for it, and it had turned out that most of the Frenchmen at the aerodrome spoke fairly decent English anyway. And those here in Paris, as the host had also addressed him in English. Cooper stared at the empty stage and wondered just what it was that marked him as not French, before he remembered he was in uniform--his U.S. Army uniform. He was still cursing himself when he noticed the server approaching his table.

He was a lion, the first that Cooper could recall seeing in the city since his arrival. Like most lions he was a head taller than the fox, with a closely trimmed mane of dark brown that contrasted nicely with his tawny fur. He wore a bland black tuxedo with white shirt, red bow tie, and matching cummerbund. The outfit was well cared for, but showed the little bits of fraying that told Cooper it was heavily used. The lion had been muscular, though he'd lost some tone--probably due to rationing, or due to whatever caused him to limp as he approached the table. Cooper winced. There was no doubt: the lion was making a concerted effort to put as little weight as he could on his left leg. The server caught Cooper's gaze and smiled warmly.

"Bonsoir monsieur," he greeted in a deep rumble. "How are you this evening? I noticed that you were having difficulty with the wine list. Would you like some suggestions?"

"Does this entire fucking country speak better English than I do French?" Cooper grumbled under his breath. The lion heard him and laughed, which that caused Cooper's heart to flutter. He'd forgotten that the lion likely had better hearing than he did.

"Monsieur has been very fortunate in his encounters. Alas no, it does not. I have passed since three years as a liaison to our British allies before my discharge."

"Ah." Cooper breathed, feeling a bond form between them. He'd been correct: the lion was a former soldier. "Well, yes. I could use some help."

"Certainly. I am Monsieur Gee, and it will be my pleasure to assist you."

Cooper gave his own name, gave a brief summary of his evening including his encounter with the vixen, and invited the server to sit while they spent several minutes pouring over the menu and the wine list before eventually settling on a chicken dish and a white wine to go with it. Gee took the menus.

"It will be a while before the dinner is ready," Gee said. He paused for a moment, and Cooper caught the nervous expression on his face. It was like he was having an internal debate. "The meal is served during the performances. I will be back with the wine shortly."

Cooper nodded in response and watched the lion depart, taking a special note of the way the tuxedo hugged his rump nicely. The fox's eyes went wide. He shook his head, and flicked his attention to the dormouse that was approaching the piano next to the stage before anyone could notice that he was looking at another male's rear.

Cooper made the effort to keep his fur from bristling. It had been months since he'd had any urges, and he wasn't going to backslide now. Not that he was terribly ashamed of his attraction to other males, not anymore after living with the knowledge for over a decade, but in his personal opinion society as a whole wasn't ready to acknowledge his desires as "normal." At least not in the States. The fox sighed and put on a smile as Gee returned with the wine. The server gave a smile of his own, one that left Cooper with the distinct impression that whatever debate he'd been holding with himself was resolved, and leaned in just enough that Cooper got a good whiff of his scent.

It was warm: dry and grassy, reminding the fox of the wheat farms just outside his home city of Dayton, Ohio. Over it was the lighter odors of musk and amber that Cooper assumed were the lion's scenting powder. He was rather pleased to find someone that understood restraint when it came to powder--to a canine's nose, a little went a long way. Cooper sniffed a few times before Gee withdrew slowly with a broad smile. The fox frowned and stuck his muzzle in his wine glass, letting the floral bouquet and sharp alcohol purge the lion's scent from his nose. But it lingered in his memory. The lights above the stage lit up, and the first act of the evening began.

The first two shows composed of single males singing to the accompaniment of the dormouse on the slightly out-of-tune piano. The fox sipped his wine and focused on trying not to think about when Gee would reappear to refill his glass. The lion and the third act arrived together.

There was a pause in the show after the second performer left as a small orchestra joined the piano player. The break allowed Cooper to sweep his eyes over the room. The crowd had grown a little bit since the fox had been seated, but not by a great deal. He noted that the audience remained predominately male, with only a few females scattered about. That was curious. Given that the all the acts had also been male, Cooper expected a larger female audience. They seemed to be a fairly broad sample of people from France, and the military fox quickly picked up on the scent of chemicals and coal dust. Factory workers then, the fox thought-- though here or there he noticed one or two fellow soldiers. Like Gee, who was hobbling towards him with a wine bottle in his paws. The server reached the table just as the band struck up.

The song was a higher energy piece, a bit louder than the other acts previously that night and the curtain parted to reveal a line of mustelid dancers. Cooper let out a short laugh: the dancers wore frilly skirts that reached down almost to their ankles, despite the fact that even from where the fox sat in the back of the large room, it was clear the performers were all males. There was no attempt hide this fact either, as all of the dancers were bare-chested. Cooper assumed that it was a farcical performance, and the failing at being females was supposed to be obvious for comedic effect. The music picked up and the quartet began to spin and gesture enough for the fox to recognize that they were performing the cancan. Gee finally reached the table and slowly began to refill Cooper's glass as the dancers formed a line for what he now knew would be the high kicks that had given the dance a somewhat scandalous reputation. The otter, weasel, and pair of martens went at it with admirable gusto, kicking so high that paws almost reached their heads.

Revealing that none of the dancers were wearing undergarments of any kind.