Maybell sat beside Wolfe at the Ravenclaw Bar on Beta Corvi. Although the mirror in front of them reflected the doorway leading into the establishment, Maybell chose to stare at her half-full glass of Irish whisky, with a Coke chaser sitting beside it. As Wolfe watched with her bright yellow eyes, Maybell sadly stirred the last ice cube in her chaser with a fingernail. Having never been in a bar before in her entire life, Wolfe sat up straight and still on a barstool, sipping pineapple juice from a tall glass through a straw.

The shape of her little bat face made her lips curl into a smile whenever she sucked. "You miss him," she said softly to Maybell around the edge of her straw.

"Yeah. No kidding," Maybell whispered back. She flashed the tracker band she wore on her wrist. "I know he's nearby."

"He'd be foolish to come in here."

"I know. I just wish… like maybe he'd send me a sign. I want to know he's okay."

Using the mirror, Wolfe scanned the patrons in the bar. "He's okay. Those hunters wouldn't be here if he wasn't."

Maybell hadn't seen her man Heinemann since two months ago on Cygnus-X1. There, in an unused warehouse of the British Dockyards, she unwittingly led a pack of jackal bounty hunters right to where he was hiding. Fortunately, thanks to her quick thinking, she let herself be shanghaied by the jackals, giving him time to escape.

"Why aren't they coming up to us?" Wolfe asked, referring to the bounty hunters in the saloon, who were keeping their distance. "Do you think it's because of me?"

Maybell's shoulders shook from a silent chuckle. "Maybe. You sure showed those jackals at Tan's."

Wolfe's pretty lips smiled for real. "You showed them. And Claire, with her big gun."

Maybell touched the spot on her lip where Claire had punched her, smiling a bit as well. "She does have big guns," Maybell said, as a joke about busty Claire.

Wolfe didn't catch the pun. She had her eyes glued on the mirror, with her bat strength ears turned back as far as they could go.

"They're talking," Wolfe said of the hunters. She repeated their words as she heard them. "They know where he is… She has a tracker."

Using the mirror, Maybell scanned the patrons behind her. "Who's talking?" she asked. "Everyone's sitting alone."

With her eyes, Wolfe pointed out two men in the mirror. One seemed normal enough, but the other man was enormous, with an obvious amount of tiger DNA in his genes. They each sat at a separate table, with the doorway leading in spaced between them.

"They must have an inner ear mic," Maybell guessed.

"I'm going to make nice and see what she says," Wolfe repeated hearing one of them say next.

"Who?" Maybell asked. "The normal guy?"

"The tiger," Wolfe replied. "And the other guy has wolf in him. Or some sort of dog anyway, because I hear him panting."

Maybell rolled her eyes. "Great. Another goddamn Genetic."

Wolfe did her best to not feel hurt by Maybell's slur, hiding her concern by sucking on her straw. She knew Maybell didn't mean those sorts of things when she said them. It was just in her nature to be crude.

And to be sexy as hell. Maybell dumped the last of her whisky into her Coke and poured the whole thing down her throat. She then slammed the two empty glasses on the bar to draw attention to herself, and kicked the stool out from under her ass.

She turned to face her prey. "Does anyone here wanna fuck?" she asked the room, staring straight at the tiger.

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Colored Schenore (Star Wars) [https://i.imgur.com/UYpOJhp.jpg]

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Wolfe froze in absolute terror. When the tiger blinked, Maybell sidled up. She stood before him and struck a pose, with the table he sat at between them.

Maybell purred. "You're a big kitty," she said. The man huffed. "I know why you're here," she said after that.

He shot a glance at his partner at the other table. "Oh yeah?" he replied when his gaze came back to Maybell.

She put both hands on his table and squeezed her boobs with her elbows. Her cleavage spilled from her vest.

"You want me," she said.

"Ha! You wish!"

He took a big gulp from his drink. As his eyes darted back to his partner, Maybell leaned further over the table and sniffed the rim of his glass.

She wrinkled her nose. "What is that?" she asked. "It smells gross."

"A salty dog," the tiger replied.

Maybell smiled as sunny as a Georgia peach. "Like how your partner over there tastes?" she teased with too much cheer in her voice.

The tiger took another swig from his glass, forcing Maybell to pull back her nose. "I suppose yours is a manly drink."

"Irish whiskey!" Maybell said as she straightened up, posing tall and proud. She then slumped. "I prefer Kentucky bourbon myself, but this dump doesn't have any."

After a long moment of staring, the tiger spoke. "You know what we want. Where's your mate?"

Maybell feigned surprise. "Why, my mate is right there!" She pointed at Wolfe with a thumb. "Can't you tell?"

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"That mutant ain't your mate. We know who he is."

Wolfe had a face that couldn't hide emotion. She looked stunned, hurt and amazed, at both the insult and the scene taking place. She wore a simple salmon shift with capped sleeves and an open neckline, exposing most of her chest, which was covered with adorable, soft gray fur. The dress sealed shut, top to bottom, with a long strip of Velcro, hidden behind bountiful frills.

"What's wrong with her anyway?" the man furthered. "Did the splicers mess up when they made her?"

Though the dress she wore was tastefully layered, with tucks and gathers showcasing her girlish hips, there was no way to not notice the huge lump Wolfe's hidden wings formed on her back. They made her look more hunched over than Quasimodo.

Now the center of the whole bar's attention, her wings quivered, making the sight of her even more queer. Maybell sucked on her lower lip, fighting to not return the slur. Instead, she let the moment pass, and released her lip with a smile.

The tiger took note of the tracker Maybell wore on her wrist. "We know you've got him collared," he said of Heinemann. "Where is he?"

Maybell looked at her wrist. "What? This thing? Oh, it doesn't work."

"Tell him to come here," the tiger said, not believing the lie.

Maybell slung an empty chair underneath her and sat wide-legged at the opposite side of the table. She pulled a sonic derringer from a holster in her belt and set it to switchblade mode. With the laser forming a tip about seven centimeters from the barrel, she played mumbletypeg with the hand wearing the tracker.

"Do you know what I do for fun?" she asked in a casual manner, stabbing the table between her fingers ever faster with the blade. "I hunt critters the size of Subarus. Bull rex on Mu Beta Prime. Have you ever heard of them? I kill'em and eat their meat."

She struck the butt of her derringer on the table with a smack. Leaning in, she nestled the blade dangerously between her breasts.

"I could gut you right now with a thumbtack," she said sweetly to the man's face. "So you leave me and my mates alone."

The man at the other table spoke up. "Call him on the tracker, or we'll cut off your arm and do it for you."

Maybell pointed her derringer at him and, without looking, shot the sonic blade at his face. She made it miss on purpose, by inches, slamming into the wall near his ear.

"I am not talking to you," she said to him, still not looking. She produced another blade from her derringer, and used it to toy with her tracker. "This stupid thing doesn't work," she lied again, after a theatrical sigh. "He got it hacked in a week. It's what I get for buying a cheap brand."

She smiled again, Georgia sweet, and locked eyes with the tiger. "I'm much better at making friends than I am at making enemies. I mean, I could spend all day tracing your stripes with my fingers!" She sighed lovingly. "I'm waiting here for him too, just like you. I'm hoping he'll show up! So let me buy you a drink—" she made a cute face at his glass, "—not that doggie thing you got there, but a whisky, and we'll wait for him together. I'll even buy one for your partner, if he doesn't bark at me anymore."

Maybell rose and swung her hips up to the bar, ordering three shots of Irish whisky. She delivered one to each bounty hunter and, as sexily as she could muster, threw her head back and downed hers whole. Then, with a slight wipe at a wet spot on her lip, she swung her hips back to Wolfe, again taking a seat beside her.

"How do you do that?" Wolfe asked with admiration.

"Do what?" Maybell asked back as she ordered a Coke.

Wolfe shook her head in awe. "I mean, I am not gay or bi or anything, but you… you're hot!"

Maybell grinned in spite of herself. "I'm just made that way, I guess."

Wolfe grinned in kind. She then sat up straight and stared, with her eyes locked on the mirror. A look of concern crossed her face. Her ears twitched as they honed in on a sound coming from just past where Maybell sat.

"What is it, Wolfie?" Maybell whispered into her Coke.

"There's another hunter here. I hear him, but I can't see him. He's… talking to himself."

Oh! She hears me!

Wolfe spoke in a quiet voice. "He's there, at the end of the bar."

Shut up! She knows!

Wolfe spoke as softly as she could. "His ears are as good as mine."

Yes they are!

Maybell got up and sashayed to the end of the bar. She peered around the corner, and then had to look down. There, with his back pressed to the bar, stood a short little man, covered head to toe in white fur. He wore a tight black leather jacket and pants, with more bling hanging off him than Sting's motorscooter in Quadrophenia. He pulled down on his long ears with both hands, to keep them from being seen over the top of the bar. He barely noticed Maybell, as he chumbled and mumbled to himself.

Maybell clucked her tongue before speaking, to gain the man's attention. "What, if I may ask, are you doing?"

With one eye covered by a black patch, he looked up at Maybell and growled. "I work for the Panda Overlord! The feared crime boss of space!"

"Okay," Maybell said slowly. "You're a rabbit."

The man nearly spit on himself, chumbling and mumbling like crazy.

"What?" Maybell asked with false concern.

He growled incoherently. "I am not a rabbit! I'm a hare, goddammit! Hare!"

"Is there a difference, really?"

"Yes! Rabbits are soft and fluffy and useless. And stupid."

Maybell eyed him mockingly. "And you?"

"And I will box yer ears if you call me a rabbit!"

Maybell reared back, confused. The man would have to jump half a meter straight in the air to come anywhere close to touching her ears. "How about telling me your name?" she asked in a sweet voice.

"Ha! I already know yours! It's Maybell."

"Well all-righty then," Maybell said, as she turned and walked away.

The little man hopped after her. "And the girl you're with is called Wolfie!"

Maybell spoke over her shoulder. "She's a grown woman. And her name is Wolfe."

"She's a wolf?"

"Oh for gods sake." Now back at her barstool next to Wolfe, Maybell squatted down and stuck her cleavage in the man's face, to talk to him more eye-to-eye. "If you're gonna trail after my ass, you're also gonna tell me your name."

"I am Bad Bunny!" he said to her tits.

Maybell nearly keeled over while laughing. Bad Bunny chumbled in rage.

"What?" he grumbled. "What! What?"

Maybell sat on her stool, now putting her butt at his eye level. "You are too much," she tittered.

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Bad Bunny! [https://i.imgur.com/GhXQ1t6.jpg]

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Bad Bunny set his one good eye upon Wolfe, who stared in silence at the pint-sized hare. Her pie-sized eyes implied that her heart was fluttering. He hopped around Maybell and approached Wolfe, as she bent low to better see him.

"Do you know who the Panda is?" he asked. Wolfe slowly shook her head. "He's the feared crime boss of space!"

"You already said that," Maybell said to her glass of Coke.

Bad Bunny continued with Wolfe. "My own mom is ashamed, knowing I work for the Panda. She tells her friends I deal drugs."

"And do you?" Wolfe asked, enchanted.

"No! I spy on people! I infiltrate!"

Bad Bunny bounded about the room, acting sneaky and sly. When Maybell groaned, he easily hopped up on top of the bar. She then rolled her eyes, to which he squatted low and before her.

He snarled into her face. "What? Why would you not want my help?"

"Because I don't like you."

"I don't know," Wolfe interjected, her voice meek as a lamb. "I think he's kinda cute."

Bad Bunny stood up tall at the compliment. His over-sized ears pricked straight up in the air. Maybell plucked him off the bar with both hands and stood him on the barstool beside her.

"No, you don't," Maybell said to Wolfe, about Bad Bunny being cute.

"Do not deny her opinion!" he said.

Maybell looked first at Wolfe, and then at Bunny. He responded with menacing faces, exposing two big buck front teeth.

Outvoted, Maybell gave in. "All right," she said. "Let's have a drink and we'll see where we stand."

"I want a Peter Cottontail!" Bad Bunny hollered at the barkeep. When Maybell signaled that she would pay, the barkeep produced a glass of brandy and peppermint schnapps.

Bad Bunny took a small swig. "Ack! Phooey!" he cried. "This tastes terrible!"

Maybell couldn't disagree. She could smell the concoction herself. "Then why are you drinking it?" she asked as he took another swig.

He made a host of noises and faces in response to the swig. "Because I like them," he gasped as he swallowed.

Maybell couldn't help rolling her eyes.