Re: (Before Ninja: The Cat)
Oh, Cat would argue that men were always the same, but they behaved in certain ways depending on the location. At the strip club? Things were different than in church, for example. And this was a small, small town. This place? Wasn't about ass slaps on the sidewalk. But Svetlana would learn that, Cat knew. Right now? The other woman was a fish out of water. Cat had learned the hard way once, leaving home and figuring out that the entire world wasn't like that smoggy nightmare. It wasn't a bad lesson to learn, actually, as long as there wasn't naive trusting involved.
But surviving? Surviving was how Cat lived. She was a hedonist to the core, and she wasn't going to endure. But she couldn't tell if this woman had that kind of burn. She barely remembered the redheaded child that had arrived at the brothel as Cat was packing up and heading out. In memory, this woman was a thin and angry thing, but perhaps that was Cat foisting her memories on someone who they didn't belong to. Her memories, they were missing so many things, and oftentimes her mind tried to fill in the gaps with substituted things. It was both a blessing and a terrible thing, but Cat knew that could be said of most things in life.
The comment about the baker's lover, it made Cat elegantly lift a shoulder. As for the police? "Sometimes it's a man. Sometimes it's a woman. The point is, the town has a history for it. Town Hall gets a cut, and everyone is happy. The trailer park outside of town, Hookerville? Is owned by a woman." She didn't lower her voice when the bartender came to replenish Svetlana's drink; there was no need to.
She tapped the bar herself, and she didn't have to order her bourbon. When the glass came, Cat took it, hip propped on the barstool and declaring a wordless lack of commitment to conversation. But she did raise the glass, and she smiled at the other woman over the amber liquid. "To dead women."