Lunch
Barton's brain froze at what he saw before him. Underneath the smell and undernourished body was a young gray male rabbit who had been forced to grow up, far too quickly, in all the wrong ways, in the worst possible conditions. The milk chocolate eyes displayed a horrible combination of innocence, desire, manipulation, and resignation, all covered in a veneer of confidence and control. In his mind, the old badger clung to Wallace for comfort, his thoughts sheer disbelief: What have they done to him? What have they done to these poor kits? How could this have happened?
All too easily, the meerkat's voice told him, and all too often.
_ Was this what ye saw?_
_ Sometimes. And sometimes worse._
He couldn't imagine worse... or was it more terrifying to realize that he could? Barton swallowed, still trying to really understand what he saw. The male rabbit - a child, yet not a child - stood waiting, a finger to his muzzle in an obscene parody of coquettishness, clearly waiting for the badger to do something, to take him, to unzip his pants, whatever it was that the kit had experienced in this part of his life that had gone horribly wrong. Slightly behind Lyal, his sister waited, tensed, perhaps ready to fight, perhaps ready to offer herself in her brother's stead despite their "trick's" admission to preferring males.
Barton knew that he wasn't reacting to being in the presence of "the world's oldest profession." The idea of exchanging favor for favor, be it work for wages or sex for money, didn't faze him in the slightest. The laws around it were puritanical and a clear persecution of females, all for the protection of the males that they served. The practice would never end, for the demand would always surpass the supply, whether for kicks on the street or manipulations in the halls of power. One way or another, all of us whored ourselves to something.
_ But not children,_ Barton's mind cried, _no please, not children..._In spite of himself, to his own self-loathing, the lonely old mane-dresser found that some part of his mind (and his body) was ready to take whatever the kit might be offering for the price of a bowl of soup. The small rabbit was - or could be, at least - a lovely little morsel. Cleaned up, shampooed, dressed... or undressed... and young or not, the rabbit was well on his way to living up to the clichés surrounding the lapine race, if that sheath were anything to go by. And it had been so long, so very long, even a pretense of love would be welcome...
It took many long seconds before the badger moved. He bent, picked up the robe from the floor and, moving slowly in front of Lyal and looking only into his eyes, held it up to cover the young male. "Soup's on th' house, lad. Like th' laundry service, an' the shower an' soaps and all."
"We're not asking for charity," the doe said from behind her brother.
"Then yer nae likely t' get any, are ye?" Barton snapped before he could stop himself. He regretted it the moment he saw the fear creep into the young female's face. He shook his head gently. "There's nothin' I need from either of ye, nae fer the price o' a bowl o' soup. Take it fer free."
"Nothing's free," the boy spat, regaining some of the feral, cornered look he and his sister had shared earlier.
"Well, mebbe I'm a nutter then!" Barton made his right eye twitch a little. "Yer in deadly danger o' bein' given somethin' fer free, and only a crazy ol' silly-buggers badger would do that, aye? So ye'd best take advantage of't afore I put panties on me head, shove a pencil up me nose, and start shouting WIBBLE!"
The buck tried valiantly to keep his face straight, but before long he had to give in to the giggles, and his sister did too. Barton smiled, his forepaws on Lyal's shoulders, the cloth robe between them.
"Good t' know some o' you yowens know quality telly when y' see it! Showers first, or food?" the badger asked. "If it's food, I'd like t' stay and talk a bit, if ye don't mind an old fart like me fer company. There, mebbe that's yer payment - ye have t' listen t' me stories, and ye have t' tell me yers." He glanced back over his shoulder at the cups of soup on the counter. "I think ye'll have more stren'th t' bathe if ye eat first. An' then I can go away an' let ye clean up an' rest a bit more. How's that, then?"
"Why are you doing this?" Lyris asked, her voice quiet, more genuinely curious than suspicious at this point.
"That's part o' my story," he said softy. "Yers first, at least a bit of it. Start eatin', and we'll talk as we go."
Barton felt the buck's eyes on his own, a question there that he could read clearly: Why don't you want me? The simple truth was that he did want the lad, but not like this. Probably not ever, since no amount of time or brain-bleach might totally eradicate the young rabbit's notion that sex was only for payment in specie. It would take someone far more special than the old badger to change that sort of programming. Slowly, the buck took the robe and, whether consciously or unconsciously, gave Barton one more clear show of what he was offering before wrapping up the robe and tying it loosely around his emaciated middle.
The buck turned his head just as he began coughing again, and his sister came up behind him to pat his back and rub his fur softly, showing her love and support so tenderly that it almost caused Barton to blush. "Come here, Ly-bunny," she said softly, "come sit down." She shot the badger a dirty look, as if it were somehow his fault that her sibling was coughing again. Barton didn't take it personally; he would be the object of mistrust for a while yet. The young rabbits ended up in the middle of the padded bench once more, the boy leaning against his sister with his eyes closed.
Rumbling from one or both of them resounded in the otherwise quiet room, yet neither bunny moved toward the food. The girl's eyes continued to accuse him of crimes not yet committed, as if convinced that Barton would, ultimately, prove to be no better than she thought of him. The anger in that look gave the old mane-dresser a shiver, yet it also gave him a strange source of comfort. They were survivors, and it was because of the fierce love and loyalty that they felt for each other. Each would protect the other with their dying breath if necessary.
Barton turned back toward the counter where he'd set the food and plucked the lids off of the two Styrofoam containers of soup, taking them back to the bench. "Here now, gi' this a try." Each kit took a cup, then a spoon from his shirt pocket. "It's still pretty warm, watch yersel's."
Lyal took an experimental sniff, looked up at the badger again. The glance reminded the older male rather horribly of a beaten feral dog, begging for permission to eat, afraid of being tricked again and punished out of sheer spite. Barton tried as soft a smile as he could manage and nodded. The buck took a spoonful and tasted it tentatively, swallowed, made an expression that looked like he'd experienced that strange sensation that happens with sore throats - hurts to swallow, but feels good to have something warm to soothe the cough-scarred surface. He did manage to smile at his sister, who didn't seem quite as impressed but was nonetheless grateful for the food.
Turning once more to the counter, Barton took up his own container - cooler, but not yet cold - and dug into his two-pepper General Tso's chicken. After a couple of bites, he felt a bit more like himself again, and the kits - bedraggled as they were - looked more like they had strength, and perhaps resolve, enough to talk. "Ye've already tol' me ye left the shelter because o' Lyal's illness. What has ye needin' a shelter t' begin with? Where are yer parents?"
Both sets of soft brown eyes gazed up at him, but they reflected nothing at all of their emotions, as if some switch had shut everything off. The badger felt the fur on the back of his neck rise up, made only worse as Lyal uttered a single word: "Dead."
His desire was to rush ahead, to ask the how's and why's, but backtracking seemed a safer option. "Is that why yer on th' streets?"
"No," the buck said, still hoarse. "We were in a group home for a while."
In the pause that followed, the kit took a few more sips of soup, then looked to his sister. Barton could almost read the conversation between them. More than merely siblings, these two were twins; they shared that bond that had been told of since the days of story-weavers round a fire. More than body language, less than telepathy, it spoke volumes. A sensitive outsider (perhaps, the badger thought, he qualified to be that) could be aware that it was happening, but only the twins knew the language well enough to translate it. Layl's ears twitched a little, and Lyris sighed and took up the story.
"Momma and Daddy were in a car crash; drunk driver hit them when they were coming home from dinner with friends. They didn't survive."
The doe's voice was nearly expressionless, as if she'd rehearsed the words so much that she no longer felt their impact. Perhaps she believed that feeling it - feeling anything - would only bring pain. "How old were ye, lass?"
"Twelve. We were shuffled around for a while, put into a group home."
"No other relatives," Lyal added.
Barton nodded. "I was an only kit meself, and naen of the big family so favored by the church. Friends o' the family, naturally, but nae relatives to claim. I only hope that the group home was good to ye... or am I pretendin' that some Southern slave owners actually respected their slaves?"
It took a moment for the analogy to sink in, and the badger chastised himself for throwing the political statement in with the communication. Lyal nodded after a few seconds, glancing over at his sister, who looked back at him. His ears twitched a little. Probably made th' lad uncomfortable, Barton thought. Lyris seemed to nod, then went on with the story.
"The home was okay. We made a few friends there, and we actually were happy when they were placed, although we didn't see them again. School, food, safe beds - it was okay, for what it was. We were together, at least." The doe turned to nuzzle her brother, making Barton feel... what, embarrassed? Jealous? "We spent two years there, thinking we might never get adopted. Older kits don't usually make it. But we did. We were sent to live with..."
Lyris paused for so long that the badger wondered if she had somehow fallen asleep. His desire was to prompt her, but his instinct took over, in the form of Wallace seeming to touch his shoulder and quiet him for just a bit longer.
"It was good for a while. Private school with good teachers. New clothes. Good food. But the reason we were adopted was because they thought we were twin sisters. They weren't nearly as happy when we arrived at their door, and they discovered Layl was male."
Once again, Barton stopped himself from racing ahead. He had a vague and utterly nauseating idea brewing in his belly, and he shoved it away before it could reach his brain. There were still far too many questions brewing for him to make any real sense of the story, but he'd realized one thing at least: He'd misjudged their ages already. As painfully thin as they were, it aged them in one sense but it also made them seem smaller. They were adopted "a few years" after their parents were killed, so they were at least fourteen; he guessed at closer to sixteen now, given their time on the street and some time for them to have made the adoptive home at least partly a home. They'd certainly passed early puberty, so that would explain how they had found sex in order to...
He mentally slapped himself for being so clinical. It wasn't like him to be so analytical, so callous. He worried about his reactions, more brain than heart. Gathering himself, the badger settled into his chair a bit, letting himself enjoy the familiar burn of the orange-sauced chicken, double-spiced the way he liked it. He never much cared for the broccoli the chef always put in with the dish, but Barton was used to eating around the troublesome sprouts. He just wasn't one for...
A thought struck him, and he set down his dish. "Oh saints and martyrs, what have I done?" He leaned forward. "Are you two omnivorous, or herbivorous?"
Both rabbits seemed to withdraw slightly, pulling the soup cups closer to themselves as if afraid he'd take the food away from them. He put up his forepaws in a placating gesture, leaning back. "I just don't want ye t' get sick over food. If yer herbivorous, ye probably can't digest the proteins well. Look, I know there's no meat in there; the chunks are tofu, and they should be all right for ye. Don't eat too much of the egg, if ye canna digest it right. And d' ye' like broccoli?" He indicated his own dish, and scowled. "Can't stand the stuff meself. Yer welcome to it. The sauce might be a bit spicy for ye, be gentle w' it."
He suited actions to words, using his chopsticks to maneuver the dreaded green alleged-food into the inverted cover of his dish. He stood, moving slowly, passing it over to the young kits. Lyris took it carefully, sniffed, wrinkled her nose a bit. "That's spicy!"
"It's called two-pepper for a reason," the badger grinned. "Some folks go for three and more, but two's where I draw the line. We could try to wash it off..."
The doe had already popped one in her mouth, and Barton kept his face as straight as he could as he reached for the water bottle to give to her. To her credit, she didn't spit it out, but she did grab the water quickly and swished some around her mouth to try to stop the burn. Lyal, however, was not to be outdone; he too popped a floret into his muzzle, tasted, paused, took one more chew, and the tears began in his eyes, but there was also a grin on his face. "It's good!" he said, surprised.
"Prolly good fer what ails ye as well, lit'lun. Peppers are supposed to help w' chest colds and such. Just make sure ye've got water, or yer likely to regret it. And when ye tend t' yer toilet t'marra, ye may discover an old secret - burns twice!" Barton smiled and went back to his chair to resume his lunch, strangely pleased to hear the young buck coughing, because it wasn't the chesty, phlegm-raking cough but one born of the body warning against a bit too much spice. The buck's chest was probably still clogged up - he made a note that he should get some expectorant, though he should check first to make sure the rabbit could take it - but at least it sounded like his lungs weren't so full that he'd drown. The lapsed Catholic tossed up a mental prayer to St. Luke and hoped that the saint's knee-mail box wasn't overflowing.
"Right then," he said softly, settling himself in. He looked at the kits tenderly, hoping that his eye reflected that his heart really was back in the game now. "I'm sorry about yer folks, yowens. And if ye'd rather nae speak of it... Lyris, ye said they'd kill ye if ye went back. I'm nae callin' ye a liar, lass, but is it as bad as that? Can ye tell me about it?"
The doe's ears shifted a little as her brother looked at her, and Barton had the crazy idea that she was saying something. Indicating it, at least. Whatever the case, Lyal caught the brainwave well enough. "There isn't much more to tell. We..." He paused a moment, glanced at his sister, then quickly edited what he was going to say. "We left about six months ago now. Something like that, anyway... It's hard to keep track of the time when you..." He trailed off and left that sentence hanging picking up another piece of the hot broccoli and popping it into his mouth.
Barton only nodded softly. The kits were leaving out huge amounts of information, but it wasn't time for them to tell him. That would take trust, and he didn't expect he'd get it anytime soon, if ever. He looked over the remains of the food that they'd been eating, realizing that they must have learned the hard way about putting too much food into a tummy that had been without for too long. He'd no idea how long it had been since they'd eaten last, but they'd managed about a third of the soup and some broccoli. And that, he realized, is what refrigerators and microwave ovens were for.
Lyal found himself yawning grandly, then popping a forepaw to his mouth in mild embarrassment. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to show you my tonsils."
"No worries; ye've still got 'em." Barton smiled, setting the rest of his lunch aside. "A bit o' food'll help ye sleep, and I'd say ye both need it."
Lyris took her brothers cup from him, handed both to the badger. "Lie down, Ly; time for rest. I'll have a shower first; you can go later." She bustled about like a mother hen with her chick, bundling up some towels for pillows, stretching out one of the large ones as a blanket against his otherwise bare legs, pulling up the folds of his robe to help keep him warm. Witnessing all that tender treatment, Barton himself started to feel sleepy. He stood and stretched slowly, fully aware that he was likely to be busy all afternoon.
"I'd love a nap mesel', but there's clients who think I'm actually here t' do them a service, can ye fancy that?" He chuckled good-naturedly. "A'right then... think ye'll be all right to nap for a bit? None'll disturb ye in here, an' the shower's just there; pull the curtain to, and ye'll be fine. Shampoos and conditioners are there t' be had; use all ye need. An' before ye ask, no charge fer that either. I c'n always write it off as a shop expense." He smiled, assembling the soup containers again, finding a marker and writing each kit's name on the lid of the appropriate cup. "I'll pop these in the fridge in the break room... no, wait a tic." He nodded. "These'll go into me own little fridge in me office, just next door down there. If'n ye want more, ye can hot 'em up in the micro in the break room. Anythin' ye need, come get me up front." He collected everything and slipped out while the doe still fussed over her brother.
* * * * * * * * * *
Kneeling down next to her brother, Lyris whispered softly in his ear. "Do you think you'll be all right on your own for a bit? There's a drug store just down the road. I want to see if I can get some medicine for you."
"We haven't any..." The look on her face shamed him into silence. "He said he'd get some for me."
"You want to be even more in debt to him? What do you think he's going to want of you just for this?"
"He's not like that."
"All males are like that," she spat, then tried not to laugh at his raised eyebrow. "He'd just better not try anything while I'm gone."
"I still don't think he's like that. I'll be okay. You heard him; he's got clients to take care of." He yawned again, against his will. "How will you get out, back in...?"
"That's for me to work out, Ly-bunny. You just stay warm here and get some rest." She caressed his brow softly, hummed the song as best she could. He closed his eyes, the little smile on his lips telling her all she needed to know about how he felt. In only a very few minutes, he was breathing slowly, regularly, only a little hitching in his chest to show that he still had congestion to deal with. And that's what the drugs would help. She knew what to look for; all she had to do was get the necessary, by doing what was necessary. It was the only way that she could let herself think about it anymore.
When she was sure her brother was sleeping soundly, Lyris stripped off the robe and stepped into the shower space. She set the temperature a bit hotter than she usually liked it, examined the various fur washes available to her, then scrubbed herself down nearly to her skin, getting the stink out. For a moment, she had the horrible certainty that she had taken the smell into her so deeply that she would sweat in that disgusting scent for the rest of her days. Ultimately, however, the shampoo did its job properly, not just covering up the odor but actively obliterating it. She'd heard of the names attached to the various fur conditioners and, only partly out of spite, picked the one that she knew would be the most expensive. Such stuff worked best when used sparingly, so she didn't use up too much. She allowed herself a touch of astonishment - a product that actually worked as advertised? Wasn't that illegal or something? She smirked at her own cynicism and rinsed off, feeling better than she had in months. A combination of towels, judicious use of the warm air blowers in the wall, and a good body brush, and she looked and felt like a million bucks.
The thought made her sad for a moment. Wealth, she had been forced to discover, did not by itself make you a good furson.
She rummaged through the carefully folded pile of clean clothing and selected her best - a short green and blue plaid skirt (she thought she remembered someone calling it a Dress Campbell plaid, or close to it, whatever that meant), a light blue t-shirt, and a pair of green leg-warmers that came up to her knees. It was still cold enough that she would welcome a jacket, but the one she had was too worn and too stained to pass any shopkeeper's approval. She'd be marked as a street rat in seconds, and probably bounced out of the store.
Lyris took a look at herself in the mirror and saw what she was afraid she'd see: A teen-aged whore trying to look like an even younger whore. Males liked that, apparently - the idea that they're getting twice the thrill, not just sex for money, but sex with an underage female. Did they think she was a virgin, just because she looked like a school girl fresh off the sixth-grader bus? Sure, mister, I've never done this before, so it'll cost you extra. How do I know? Saw a movie about it, yeah that's it, no really, I've never even seen one up close before, ooo it's so biiiig, how will I ever, no mister, please be gentle, it's only my first time...
The light in her eyes went out entirely, dark and unreal, like a doll's eyes, or a shark's eyes. This wasn't about her. It was about Lyal. She had to get him healthy so they could get out of there, back into the world, where it wasn't safe, but at least it was theirs, what they had was theirs, and no one could take it from them. They'd have to buy it, and how they afforded it was no one else's business...
Peeking out the door of the private room, Lyris saw the coast was clear. She dashed into the back storage room and, finding the brick that the old badger would use to prop the back door open, she slunk into the alleyway, headed for the street and whatever location she knew well enough to do what she had to, to get Lyal what he needed. She'd do anything for him. He was her brother. Her twin. Her reason to stay alive.
The alley behind the beer joint a few streets over might work to her advantage...