Revelations
The Getaway had only failed to open on time twice in its long and respectable history. Once was due to the horrifying weather of Hurricane Sandy cutting just a wee bit too close for comfort, and even then the store only opened late. The other occasion was that of the day of Wallace's funeral, and in a way, it didn't matter since so many of the regular patrons of the spa were at the graveside, most of them crying more for the loss of a friend and mate than for the loss of a talented masseur. Some of the "gentlefurs of royal proportions" - a few bulls, horses, a pawful of big cats - were of a relative size that Wallace could literally walk on their backs, and the meerkat's hindpaws were no less talented than his fore. At the reception, great stories were told of the kit's exploits, and a great many laughs were shared and a great many tears were shed by big males who had been raised to believe that "real adult males don't cry." Each one, to a fur, raised a bittersweet glass to the fur who had taught them otherwise, and made them wiser for the ware.
This morning, Barton flipped the door sign and activated the discreetly-designed electric "Open" sign at a few minutes before ten o'clock. His staff and other stylists were not slated to begin trickling in before about eleven that morning, for various reasons. His own day was pretty thoroughly booked, but there was only one appointment for "first thing," and that customer wasn't quite as Johnny-off-the-mark as she might be. No worries, so far as Barton was concerned. He set up a few more of the amenities of the shop, such as the K-Cup brewing machine for general use, and checked to see that the style magazines that cluttered one table were at least pertaining to the current century. A local writer he knew was about to offer a collection of his stories in individual pamphlets that he hoped to leave in various locations, with a view toward getting readers to visit his website and order his books. At least the works would be more entertaining than what was currently available on the table.
The doorbell jangled merrily (Barton refused to have some sort of electronic buzzer noise; it was just poor feng shui), and in stepped the dazzlingly audacious but always kind Afghan, Mrs. Alison Hornsby-Stuart, in all her pseudo-aristocratic glory. In some ways as pompous as the infamous Hyacinth Boo-Kay of British TV, she never took it seriously, letting one and all know that she was as much in on the joke as everyone else.
"DAH-ling Barton!" she twittered as she entered, sporting two large cups from a certain chain shop down the street. "I'm a bit after my time, but it was in a good cause. In appreciation of your taking me in so early and on such short notice, a Venti caramel macchiato with just a hint of sharp espresso to put that spring in your hindpaws. Or anywhere else you might want it." She winked with vaudevillian lewdness that made the badger break into appreciative laughter.
"I'd call ye m' favorite customer, but I've got s' many of those, it's nae near rare enough for ye." He accepted the cup gratefully, toasted her with it and took a proper sip. His eyes popped open appreciatively. "That'll get the fur t' stand up an' be counted!" he declared and waved her over to his station to begin the day's first mission de coiffeur. "Allie, my pet, sit ye doone and relax a bit. I've one last thing to check in th' back, and I'll be all yer very oone."
"Promises, Barton my dear...! I'll settle for having you make me look irresistible."
"Only that?" The old badger grinned at his patron. "Ye've just to walk into th' room!"
The lady Afghan made a circle with thumb and forefinger, winking. "Good answer. You may live."
He chuckled, making his way to the sauna. He glanced in cautiously and saw what he expected to see - the sisters asleep, one on the bench, one sitting on the floor nearby. He checked the clock and nodded to himself. The prescribed fifteen minutes was up, but he didn't want to disturb them. Instead, he reset the controls so that the room would stay warm, the air slightly humid, a quiet cocoon that wouldn't let them run the risk of becoming dehydrated. They needed some real rest for a little while. He found the clothes piled in a pile on the floor and took them to the washer. While there, he tossed in his own shirt for good measure; "smell" shouldn't rub off like that, but something surely had. He had a few spare shirts in his office closet. Wouldn't do to return shirtless to the Lady Hornsby-Stuart; she'd think he'd "mended his ways" and was ready to woo her after all these years...
The idea made him chuckle, but he again glanced at the picture near his computer and sketched a little smile. "Whatever do I think I'm doin', lovely? Tryin' t' start a family or summat? This late in life... an' without ye..." Barton sighed, just a little. He and Wallace had talked a few times about raising kids (never had any of their own, which is sad... they tried so hard...), but nothing was ever resolved. He didn't have any idea of trying to adopt these two, mind you, but he found the idea of caring for them much at all somewhat daunting. He pushed the matter aside for the moment, realizing that, as the name implied, first aid was first.
While Barton washed, trimmed, dried, and set the Afghan's headfur, the rest of the crew began to filter in. Una, a sleek black domestic cat with (as someone once described it) delusions of pantherhood, was first, with a characteristic grumpiness that everyone from boss to customers had long since learned to ignore. Had she been of the right parentage, one could have called it kvetching and been done with it. Her fine scorn this morning was aimed at a pair of skateboarders who, by her account, came racing around the corner at transonic speed and nearly cost her one of her nine lives, whether through bodily collision or sheer terror, she did not elaborate. Wallace made a mental note to steer her toward the decaf today.
Malik arrived fresh from his morning classes at UConn's local campus, where he was following a course of study in social work. The young meerkat was no relation to Wallace, although Barton had occasion to wonder if that was part of the reason that he hired the frisky kit. Truth is, he was terrific go-fer and appointment setter, having each stylist's specialties in mind when he took calls for existing or new clients. He was always on time, always upbeat (a lovely contrast to Una's griping), and had the ability to listen to anyone about anything for any length of time. Older females and young males tended to love his presence, and he was one of the best assets the spa had. Although he'd seen pictures of Wallace and knew of his history with Barton, Malik never took advantage of his passing resemblance to the owner's mate.
The few hours of the morning passed quickly enough, and come lunchtime, the staff found Barton in a generous mood - lunch for all, "on th' hoose." He asked Una to place an order to be delivered from the local Chinese food takeaway, adding two extra bowls of egg drop soup to the mix. As cliché as it seemed, chicken soup - especially with a bit of spice in it - really did help a chest cold. Barton hoped that was all that the kit had; if it was more, at least he knew enough of the signs and symptoms to know when a doctor would have to be involved, other risks or no.
He took the soup and his own two-pepper General Tso's chicken into the private room that he had set aside for the sisters, then went to the sauna to fetch them. He opened the door slowly, noting the temperature was still just a bit warmer than the air in the salon, about where he expected it. He knelt in the doorway and called out softly, "Lyris? Lyal? I've got a bit of lunch for ye both. If ye like egg drop soup, that is."
"Egg... what?" The little sister stirred on the bench, which Barton thought was a good sign. She looked up with eyes that seemed tired but less sickly than before.
"Come have a sniff an' see," the badger smiled softly. "I think ye'll like it."
Lyris stirred by then, coming awake quickly, momentarily uncertain of her surroundings. She closed the robe closer around her, started to get up, became aware that she might not be able to do so without exposing more of herself than was a good idea. "Clothes," she remembered. She looked around for the pile until the old badger spoke again.
"I found 'em, lass; put 'em all in, along w' me own shirt. No offense," he added quickly. "I put everythin' in th' dryer a bit ago; should be ready b' now. I'll fetch 'em. Why don't you two go into th' private room I showed ye, Lyris? I've got food in there already. There's a curtained area for ye t' dress behind, if ye wish, or just stay in the robes till ye've had a chance t' shower. I'd say food first, wee bit o' soup t' give ye a little strength, then a wash, aye? We'll see t' getting' somethin' more substantial for ye a bit later." He smiled in what he thought would do for a friendly gesture, then left and let the door to the sauna close.
There was no telling exactly what they'd do, but he'd done what he could for now. They'd not likely leave without clothes, and probably not without food either. He found himself hoping that they were developing some small measure of trust in him - enough, at least, to eat a bit, wash, nap some more, perhaps even stay around for dinner after the shop closed. He hoped that they'd at least give themselves a chance to have a decent rest, even if they felt that they had to run away again. He found himself wishing that they wouldn't.
As he pulled the clothes from the dryer, he felt Wallace grinning at him. Becoming attached, are we, lovely?
Barton shook his head, but without much conviction. It's all too easy to fall in love with any sort of stray that turns to you for a modicum of safety and affection. Feed a stray feral pup at your back door, and it'll love you for life. Not so much with so-called sentient beings. The old legends would have us believe that it is the knowledge of good and evil, or right from wrong, that separates us from the ferals our kind. The truth is that it's not merely the knowledge but the ability to select, actively, to do good or to do evil. A feral dog will fight, flee, whine, or love because of what it has been shown. It takes a sentient being to take love and return it with cruelty, or to take hatred and respond to it with kindness. If you distilled the lives of the saints into simplest terms, you'd find that the former are devils and the latter are angels. And poor, limited, fear-filled mortals like us, Barton mused... we're the ones stuck w' tryin' to live as angels in a world filled with devils.
And that, Wallace's tender voice all but felt like a physical hug, is but one reason why I loved you so strongly... and love you still. You haven't given up. Perhaps that's all a saint is after all.
With a quiet humph of gentle disagreement, the old badger began to fold the warm bundle of clothes, ready to met the sisters in the private room he'd set aside for them, however long they decided to use it. If they did decide to scarper, he decided, they'd at least be able to pack more easily.
* * * * * * * * * *
After the door to the sauna had closed softly behind the badger, Lyris stood and helped Lyal sit up from his slumped sleeping position. Moving set the phlegm in the buck's chest to moving, and he bent over, coughing horribly. Lyris managed to get one of the towels into his lap before starting to pound on his upper back. He made a sound that she'd not heard from him before, a choking noise that was followed by a thick hawking spit, and a glob of mucus - that particularly grotesque shade of greenish brown that shouldn't be natural in any condition - fell into the towel. Both siblings were glad to see it; no matter how gross it looked, it was indisputable evidence that Lyal's lymphocytes were doing their work, battling the infection with all its resources.
"That sure looks pretty," Lyal managed to croak out with a faint approximation of a laugh.
"Good sign, though. Guess the steam worked."
"We made a good choice." He looked her carefully. "You okay with this?"
"I don't know." She made a face as she got her nose closer to his fur. "Ugh... I almost envy you having a cold. Your nose probably isn't working too well. We stink! I hope we don't have to put clean clothes over dirty fur."
"You heard him, Lyss... we can get a shower after we eat." He stretched a little, his robe falling open before Lyris made him close it up again.
"Ly, you're a 'girl,' remember? At least he thinks so, and the longer he does, the safer we'll be. When he finds out..." She shuddered a moment, hoping that he'd never have to know what she'd had to experience directly. "Just keep covered up when he's around, okay? We can eat, dress, pack, and be out before he knows it."
"We don't have to be." The doe was about to interrupt, but Lyal kept going. "It's warm here, and we could at least keep out of the cold for a night."
"Nothing's free, Ly, you know that," the young female spat. "And he won't take payment from me, and you're too sick--"
"You really think he's going to try something, sick as I am? He's a one-guy business; he won't risk it. And if he does, it's not a big deal, okay? I've sucked guys before, and it's not a big deal."
"And if he wants something else?" He stared him down until he finally cringed a little. "Not curious now, eh, boy-bunny? There's a reason a blow costs less than a screw, and that kind of screw costs even more."
He looked at her, his eyes wide, ears raised slightly as if in fear of what she might tell him.
"No," she said after a long moment, looking down. "No, I haven't. Guess I've been lucky. I've just heard other girls talk about it."
Silence lay heavy between them a bit longer, as each recalled things they'd both wished they could forget. "C'mon," she said at last. "Can't stay here forever. I know where we're going; can you walk on your own, or do you need help still?"
"Think so." He rose slowly to his hindpaws, taking a few hesitant steps toward the door, glad to discover that he wasn't as weak as he'd been when they came in from the cold. "How long have we been here?"
"No idea." Lyris picked up the backpacks, making a face; they were as smelly as their fur, although maybe not as easily washable. "It's obviously lunchtime, so a few hours at least..."
She pushed open the door to the sauna with ridiculous ease. For some reason, she still seemed to think that the old badger was planning to trap them in the shop somehow. Memories of being locked in, trapped, imprisoned... she shook her head clear. Peering into the hallway, she heard the noises of fur dryers, chatter, snips of scissors or some such, some electric clippers, chattering voices... the salon was doing well. Toward the back, it was quieter, almost deserted, although she heard someone humming a short distance away. She saw the door to the room the old badger had mentioned, the DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging on it as he'd promised. The doe turned to her brother - no, her sister, remember that, Ly is your sister - and beckoned him to follow.
Upon opening the door to the private room, the two teens experienced what medical students would describe as simultaneous spontaneous borborygmi. Both bellies woke up fully and gurgled from sheer disbelief. The room smelled like food! Neither of them had eaten a proper meal in weeks. Even at the shelter, they'd had to hold back a portion of each meal given to them in order to ensure they wouldn't go hungry in the night. The food was in little takeaway containers, waiting for them... like traps, Lyris thought miserably. The siblings moved together to sit on what looked like a padded bench against one wall. When Lyris was settled in, Lyal rested his head on her shoulder while she kept her arms wrapped protectively around him.
Only moments later, the humming grew louder and, after a short knock, the door opened slowly, and the badger came in with a neatly folded stack of clean laundry. Lyris froze for just a moment; there were male and female garments in there. The old guy didn't say anything. Maybe he thought that they were from a charity place, and you had to take whatever fit. He didn't seem overly interested in them, at any rate. He set them down on the padded table in the center of the room.
"Well there ye are, then, all clean and dry." It was then that he noticed they hadn't touched the food. He scowled for a moment. "Do ye not like the smell o' the soup? I'd be glad t' find ye somethin' more t' yer likin'. It's sort o' like chicken soup, and ye know, havin' a cold an' all..."
"We wanted to know how much first."
Lyris looked at Layl, surprised that he'd (she'd) spoken. The badger looked confused.
"What do you want in exchange for the food and shelter? We haven't any money, and you already said you aren't into girls..." Lyris tried to hush him but he pulled out of her arms and stood up away from her. "We can do chores or something." He had to stop to cough again but refused to look away from the badger.
"I'm nae t'all sure..." The badger shook his head slightly, as if just plain not getting it. "I mean, I've got good assistants here; they pretty much look after themsel's, nae much to tidy up..."
The doe's eyes went to her brother, begging him silently not to give the game away.
"We're street rats, mister. Nothing's for free. How will be pay for the food and shelter?"
Understanding of a sort dawned on the badger, and he smiled a little. "I'm nae that sort of feller, lass. I'm sure ye've nae had much charity in your days, but I've still got a little t' offer." We waved a casual forepaw around the room. "Not exactly the Ritz I'm offerin' here! Just a chance to give yerself a bit o' rest."
Lyal seemed to come to a conclusion. His face set, he took a step closer to the badger. Even as Lyris shouted out to him to stop, he had already loosened the tie around his robe and shaken out of it, letting it fall to his feet.
The old mane-dresser stood thunderstruck, his jaw dropping, his eyes huge. Lyal's body was far too skinny, ribs showing through the fur and limbs that had too little muscle on them. His gray body fur was matted and filthy, the normally creamy fur of his chest and belly continuing down to his now fully-revealed sheath and scrotum. He kicked the robe aside, and it skittered a half-meter away. Moving as carefully as he could, the young buck padded another few steps closer to the badger, trying his best to move with the grace that he once had when he was healthier. His eyes met the other male's hard, and his voice was pitched as close to a sultry and provocative rumble as he could make it.
"Now... can you think of anything we can do for you?"