The others in the bar wore dark clothing. Clothing for blending in and being unseen. Helena wore a clash of colors: a soft pink blouse with white and red hearts, baggy green slacks, and practical black boots. The clothes in the closet had been things that she liked. She picked them before she knew about her babies. Now she was angry and wanted to drink and fight. The pretty clothes would get bloody. She felt bad about that.
Helena sat at the bar. She had no family here. She had no babies. She did not even have Jesse Towing, who she had met at a bar. She slouched, cradling her chin in her palms. "I want the drinks that are sweet," she said to the bartender.
The bartender looked at her with one eyebrow raised. "Sweetie, does this look like the kind of place that does girly drinks?"
Helena did not change her expression. "I want these girly drinks. I want many of them."
The bartender froze as suddenly, the weird Russian-or-whatever girl had a death grip on his collar from across the bar. She'd barely seemed to move. "I want them now," she said.
"I--I'll get them now," he said.
Helena let the man go. "Good," she said, sitting down again. She did not want to fight with the man at the bar. If she did then he would not give her drinks. She did not know how to make the drinks herself.