First Meeting

Cape Lutra’s street lights didn’t do much to illuminate the blurry, rain-streaked late-night twilight. They were merely fuzzy blobs of yellowish white lining each side of the road, reminding Bai Ming of the lights lining the landing strip on the airport where she’d arrived a few weeks earlier. The darkness didn’t pose a problem per se, the big cat could see perfectly fine as long as there was some kind of a light source, and no large city would ever get completely dark. No, it was the rain impairing her range of vision, and the fact that no matter how good her night vision was, things just looked different at night, that had gotten her lost. And she was hungry, too.

Her sandals clapped against the cobblestones, and the soaked fur on her footpaws made squishy sounds as she moved down the street, seeking out the source of the voices and laughter she was hearing. If she was lucky, it would be a restaurant, and they may even have directions to her hostel that would be useful despite the pesky rain. Food and shelter from the rain sounded like a perfectly lovely idea to the waterlogged snow leopard in her impractical knee-long silk dress. A dress that would probably be ruined now that she’d been surprised by this rainstorm. It was a small comfort that at least she wasn’t homeless, when her temporary address could be a block away or all the way across town for all he knew. Judging by how sore her paws were getting from walking in the wet sandals, the latter seemed more likely.

The noise’s origin turned out to be a pub a half-set of stairs down from street level, complete with a creaking wooden sign. Ming couldn’t make out the gothic writing on it, but the scent of beer and grease in combination with the racket escaping through the rough black-painted door were telling enough. Pushing wet tendrils of blue-dyed hair back into something she hoped resembled order, she opened the heavy door and snuck inside, resisting the urge to shake the water out of her fur and soaking half the patrons in the crowded joint in the process. She somehow made it up to the bar, finding an empty seat and piecing out the menu scrawled in chalk on a blackboard behind the bar. Nothing looked very appetizing, but her stomach wouldn’t take no for an answer at this point. Grudgingly, she settled for a platter of fish-n’-chips and a glass of soda, with wistful thoughts towards zongzi and fried pancakes. Small blessing that she managed to wrangle both a bottle of admittedly cheap soy sauce and a bottle of ketchup from the surly, somewhat chubby otter bartender. Even the grease-dripping batter-fried fish and oily strips of potato were edible, if repulsive, when all but marinated in her condiments of choice. The amount of fish wasn’t exactly biblical, but it would be enough, and she doubted she would be able to stomach much more greasy food that night, anyway.

The people in the cozy, boisterous, half-underground pub overall seemed rather crude in their manners, cursing and burping between kegs of foaming dark ale in a way that brought sailors to mind. It made the spotted white feline uneasy, so she wrapped her dripping tail around the bar stool and tried to pass her surroundings out of mind, her ears held stiff as she pretended to have interest beyond hunger in the plate sitting in front of her. Even so, it was difficult to miss that the burly bear next to her was slowly leaning over, casually invading her personal space. It made her uncomfortable, but she wasn’t certain the man was being rude according to local customs, so she kept her peace.

That proved difficult when the man’s paw brushed over her rear. Claws unsheathened, she was going to start to turn towards him when something came flying towards them at the edge of her field of vision. She ducked, then flinched at the dull sound when a wooden tankard connected with the bear’s snout. Still uncertain as to how she should react, the leopard just hissed and backed up a step, getting off her stool. An authoritative voice cutting through the sudden silence saved her the trouble of deciding on her next action.

“Ye better let the lass alone, lest I miss yer noggin and hit ye yockers next time!”

Behind a table, a fennec fox with wild red hair and freckles had risen, fists at her sides. She couldn’t have been more than five foot two, but she still seemed to be towering over the rest of the patrons from her sheer presence. Almost-black eyes glared at the offending sailor.

Ming felt a pang of guilt as the mountain of badly-kept ursine flesh got down off the bar stool and started towards the woman who’d thrown the tankard at him. Her tablemates seemed uninterested in getting involved, trying to get out of the bear’s way without being too obvious about it. And the woman stood there calmly waiting for him. Whether it was a smile or a silent growl that made her teeth flash in the dim light was impossible to tell. Then, as the bear started making his way around the scarred round oak table, the tiny little fox upended it at him, knocking several patrons over and drenching the man in what was left of several pints of beer.

It was hardly a surprise that fists started flying about then, frightening the somewhat-sheltered foreigner. All she could bring herself to do was to stay put and keep an eye out just in case bar brawls really did result in chairs getting thrown around just like in the movies. Then, a small but surprisingly strong hand grabbed hers, and the freckled fennec stood before her with a friendly grin on her face.

“Ye should be thinking about getting yerself home, lass. Ain’t a place for a lady. Come along.”

The tiny woman somehow did manage to get them both out on the street without being tangled up in the dirty fist-fight that had broken loose inside, though part of Ming didn’t doubt that if the fennec had gotten involved, it would have been worse for anyone who swung at the redheaded fox. It was a relief that the rainstorm had turned into a slow drizzle since she’d entered the pub, at least.

“Thank you, miss,” the cat said, hoping her oriental accent wouldn’t seem quite as odd to the small stranger as the woman’s accent did to her. “I was not aware men would act like that in Britannica.”

“Ye found yerself in the wrong side of town then, lass. Barrel o’Hops ain’t the place for a qweer bit of skirt to be dining.”

“Oh. You see, I arrived just a few weeks ago and I lost my way in the rain, miss...?”

“O’Sullivan. Aideen O’Sullivan. Where do ye live, then, lass? I’ll take you home safe and sound.”

“I am Bai Ming. I stay at Mrs. Mitchell’s hostel on Minstrel Lane, it would be appreciated if you would show me the way, Ms. O’Sullivan.”

It turned out that the hostel wasn’t the next block over, but it wasn’t across town, either. The walk was, however, long enough to remind Ming that walking in wet sandals still was a bad idea. When the fennec bid her good night outside the hostel there was no hint of the confrontational tone from the pub; if anything, she almost sounded protective. Ming had to smile at that. She wished her proverbial knight in shining armor a pleasant evening, and then stood outside the front door watching the strange woman walk away for a short while before she went inside.