Blue's Cantina

Logan leaned against the wall in the back room of the cantina, her eyes on those of the baby in her arms as she tried to remember the tiny face by heart so she'd never forget it.

Bethany looked back, her big blue eyes far too serious for a baby of six and a half months as she lay quietly. It was almost, her mother thought, as though she knew what was happening.

Logan closed her eyes for a moment and held her little one close, then said without looking up at Charlie, "Yer sure it's her?"

"I've checked and rechecked," he rumbled softly.

-She looks so tired.- Logan leaned Bethany back so that she could look at her again, her heart feeling as though it were being ripped from her chest. "'N they'll love 'er?"

"Oh yes." His deep voice held quiet assurance.

"'N... I'll never see 'er again." Her voice broke on the last words and Bethany frowned in concern.

"I'm sorry."

Logan closed her eyes and wept for a few moments, but then steeled herself and held the baby out to him. "This better not be a screw up, Boyscout."

"It's not." He accepted Bethany and cuddled her close as she tipped her head back in attempt to see his face. "I wish I were wrong. I don't like tearing families apart."

"Yeah," she rasped, taking a last look before she turned and left the room. "Whatever."

Mind blank, she wandered across the cantina and dropped onto the window seat, where she curled up and stared sightlessly through the window. "Whatever."

Victor was uncomfortable after Zanoah had changed her into a wolf for a few moments. 'M sorry!

"Don't worry 'bout it, mate," said a voice that holds traces of England and the West Indies. "She ain't got the best social skills sometimes."

"'M really sad 'bout it, I didn't mean t' think it, I guess I shouldn't read Stephen King books no more..."

A lovely woman in white shirt and dark pants, a red sash, and a flowing purple satin cape walked around to where she could see her and hunkered down, her violet hair moving very slightly in a breeze that Vic can't feel. The seabreeze is gone now. "See, mate, there's a difference between a dog 'n a guardian fae. We live ter protect, 'n we'll die ter do it. Savvy?"

"I got it, but...dogshape. Dogfeel." She reached down and brushed her fingertips against her cheek. "No face."
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A tall, muscular man clad in sport jacket and jeans walked into the cantina, then stopped and looked around as he recognized the place and remembered when he'd been here last.

-Four years,- he thought, pondering going back home for a moment before shrugging and walking over to a booth. -This is as good a place to work as any.-

One hand went up to absently rub the big purple bruise on the side of his face; souvenir of his last encounter with a door frame. Then he seated himself and asked the furry waitress for a coffee before immersing himself in his work.

((continued from here ))

Piotre started at a touch to his chest and opened his eyes, then let out a small sound and closed them again as emotion threatened to choke him.

"Laura," he rasped, a small spark of gladness showing in his scent along with the weariness and sadness and pain.