A Tale of Three Pixies: Scene Three
It wasn't crowded. There were a few patrons gathered around the corners at dingy tables; fishermen, mostly, and workers from the canneries. The battered jukebox was playing something by a man with a leathery voice singing about a downtown train, and a tall, skinny woman with fiery hair and impressive arms was working the bar.
Petal flounced over to her, her flower-print skirt swishing around her thighs as she grinned her most dazzling grin. "Hi!" She said. "I'm Petal. I'm looking for a prophet. Have you seen one?"
"In this place?" The barkeep asked, laughing. She gestured at the smoke-stained walls. "And despite the name, we have a strict no hustling rule. I'm sorry. It just leads to trouble. In the bar, at least. What you do outside is your own business."
The woman stared at her. "Pearl's dive? I mean. Come on."
Petal just frowned, looking confused.
"She thinks you're a hooker," Lapis laughed, plopping down next to a man with a great big fuzzy beard and taking a long draft from his drink. She wiped his mouth off. "A pixie of negotiable virtue. It's probably the flowers on the skirt. Open invitation to all the bees."
"I like the skirt! It's floofy!"
"I like it too," a man with a scarred face said with a leer."
"You're gross," Fen said, stepping between Petal and the man. "And if you touch my sister I will slice off your fingers." The man wilted away, and Fen looked at the bartender. "Regrettably, while negotiating our favors may be a pleasant diversion, we have other business here tonight." She put a small brown bag on the table. "We are looking for the prophet. And there is gold in it for you if you help us."
Fen picked up the bag and poured out several coins. They hit the chipped counter top with an unmistakable sound, and even in the neon lights they shone. "Gold," she repeated.
"I wouldn't trust it," A voice said as a shadow fell over the counter. It was a shaggy looking man with a faded bomber jacket, and a single blue eye gleamed out from under his leather trilby. "Faerie gold is the definition of easy come, easy go. Bourbon, please. Make it a double."
"Faerie gold? Pixies of negotiable virtue?" The bartender asked the him, grabbing a bottle from the bottom shelf and pouring two amber-red fingers into a tumbler. "Saul. What the hell. Do you know these weirdos?"
"Sure do, Aerin," he said, picking up the glass and swirling the bourbon around. "That's Petal in the skirt. She floofs. The creature drinking all of Fuzzy's beer is Lapis. And this one..." He gestured.
"With eyes like Hoth, and at least three knives on her you can't see? That's Fen."
All three of the disguised pixies were watching him.
"And do you know who the hell they're looking for?"
Saul lifted his glass a little higher, staring through the liquid into one of the neon lights as if searching for answers.
"Aye," he said at last, and took the shot. He slammed the glass down. "That would be me."