Title: Take It All Back
Status: Complete
Characters: Fang
Rating: SFW
Classification: One Shot 
Author: SomeStuffs

[PRE-NOTES]
Best read with https://youtu.be/6IBd7JZkkzk
[/PRE-NOTES]

Taking a seat on a stool, the pterodactyl woman leaned into the bar. She was in her 40’s; had pale blue skin and a long snout. Short, grey frayed hair framed her face and tattoos spattered her arms, hands, and neck. She wore a black tank top that clung to her shallow chest with summer moisture and crystals dangled from a leather thread around her neck. She had a pair of tattered wings, scabbed in patches. Her cheeks were smothered in makeup and black liner surrounded her broad eyes.

She looked tired as hell and equally depressed. It’s the vibe you see hanging on folks a lot out here lately, down the road from where the skinnies used to live. There's something in the wind, like the smell of black exhaust from the street outside.

It was mid-afternoon, too early for the afternoon rush and she was the only customer there.

“What can I get you?” I asked with a smile that I like to think looked empathetic. I’m not good with people and I practise my expressions in the mirror sometimes. Not that it mattered anyways because she didn’t make eye contact, her stare went straight through me.

“A Moe’s draft.” She said. Her voice was a throaty, raspy sort.

“A Moe’s draft,” I repeated with what I hoped was a casual tone, “coming right up.” I leaned over to collect a chilled glass from the cabinet fridge.

The 3 o’clock news was on the television up on the wall behind the bar. I don’t pay too much attention to it myself; I just like the background noise. I topped up a frosty glass of Moe’s and placed it on the bar in front of the lady. She was watching the TV, a frown creeped into the corners of her mouth. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Fucking skinnies.” She muttered to herself, barely audible.

She reached for the beer and tipped it back, taking one draw and then another. When the glass was half empty, she asked “Hey, what do you think of that Purity Act, the law that Kanyesaurus enacted?”

“Eh? I don’t know.” I said with my head down, shifting empty glasses from the dishwasher to the cooler. I don’t try to think about that sort of thing too much, not much point.

“The skinnies deserve what’s happening to them. Had it coming.” She said as she tipped back her glass, draining it. She put down the empty glass and pushed it towards me. “Another Moe’s.”

I obliged and soon she had another in her clawed hand. She stared down into it a while, watching the foam fizz away to nothing.
“Did you ever go to Volcano High?” she asked, gazing at me suddenly. I replied “Yeah, I was there back in the late 20’s.” She nodded, not really listening.

“I knew this one skinny kid, the only one at the school.” She had a look in her eyes, like she was peering at the past from a distance, through the wall. A smile formed around the corners of her mouth. She chuckled and shook her head again and sipped her beer.

“He was such a dweeb, holy shit. We’d play pranks on each other and this one time I got him good with this tiny mouse trap. He got me back for that one later, but the expression on his face was worth it.” Her smile broadened but then faltered.

“I trusted him the most, more than anybody. But he turned out to be just another asshole. Like everyone else. Another face in the asshole parade. A useless waste of space.” She barked a humourless laugh. She emptied another glass; I poured her another.

She continued, “They betray you eventually. The ones you trust, I mean. But out of everyone, he let me down the most. I hated him for that.” She took a deep drink and leaned back in her chair. She glanced at me. “Do you have any friends?”

The question surprised me. I didn’t know whether to lie or speak honestly, caught on the spot like that by a stranger. “No.” I said, “I don’t have any friends.”

She nodded sagely. “Good.”

She was quiet for a while after that. She cradled her stale, almost empty beer glass and looked at nothing, deep in thought. The ambient sounds of advertising jingles from the television and the traffic outside filled the void.

“Would you like another Moe’s?” I asked her, breaking her reverie. She looked up at me with a start, looked back down at her glass and then pushed it towards me. “Please.”

I poured her one more and placed it in her reaching hand. She sipped the beer before resting it on the counter. “Yesterday,” she said abruptly, “I was walking home from work. I was cutting through Skinrow as they used to call it, up the way. Not many skinnies out there anymore. There was a van parked on the street, one of the unmarked black ones that picks up strays. I saw national guardsmen beating the shit out of this one skinny. He was screaming for help, but everyone was ignoring him. We made eye contact, me and the skinny, as I walked by. He gaped right at me in surprise and yelled my name, the one I used to call myself in high school. He yelled and yelled ‘Fang! Fang!’, reaching out to me, begging me to save him.”

She blinked, her eyes glassy. “It took a moment for me to recognise who it was.” Her voice began to quiver. “It was Anon, the skinny kid I used to like back at Volcano High. I thought to myself ‘it serves your right, you fucking bastard’.” She choked back a sob, her claws digging into the palms of her hands.

“That night when I got home to my shitty apartment, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. When I close my eyes, I can still see his face. I can still see that look of deepest disappointment in his eyes as I walk away.”

She put her hands to her face and wept. I stood there feeling awkward for a time, not quite knowing what to say or do. I tore a few paper towels from a roll under the bar sink, “Here.” I said as I reached them out to her. She burbled a thanks and took them with one hand, the other cradling her face as makeup streaked down her cheeks.

She cleaned herself up with the paper towels, leaving them in a pile, black streaked and tear soaked. She rose from the bar stool. “How much do I owe you?” She asked. “Twelve dollars.” I replied.

She pulled out a crumple of dollar bills and counted them out carefully. “Sorry I can’t tip you.” She said with an embarrassed smile. “I didn’t go into work today and I don’t know if they will keep me on.”

I took the bills and put them in the till as she watched.

“What’s your name?” She asked. “Doug.” I said.

“Hi Doug, my name is Lucy.” She gave me a strange smile, one that I couldn’t quite place. She began to leave but stopped halfway to the door. She turned around. “Doug, do you ever wish you could take it all back?”

I wasn’t sure what she meant, at first. “All the time.” I replied.

Lucy looked at me for a moment with a wistful expression before she turned back to the door and waved from over her shoulder. She walked out into the street and faded into the afternoon smog.