Author's note: I know, I know - it doesn't seem much like a 'Part Two'. It will in the end, and all of these "One Night..." stories should work just as well on their own as they do in the series. Thanks for reading.
- - -
"There sure are a lot of people out tonight considering it's balls-ass cold."
"Balls-ass cold. That's a lovely turn of phrase. Who fucking talks like that?"
"Don't try and fucking talk down to me when you've got a cute little nose and that stupid... doggy stubble painted onto your face. Talking down is reserved for people who still have dignity."
"Is that you?! Do you still have dignity? Really? Does it come with the 'King' costume that makes you look like a total ass?"
It wasn't quite a blizzard, but there was definitely something stirring in the blackness above them. A wind with a few more teeth, a certain tone it hadn't carried before.
"You know, I wish they'd sent that blonde who was working this corner last week." Regal gauntlets pushed shiny slips of paper into the reluctant, frozen fingers of pedestrians. Regal only in their adherence to an archetype - they were some form of leather-print nylon. "There was a dog I could really give a bone - if you know what I mean." The leer was most un-kingly.
"Oh my God, I can't believe I'm going to freeze to death tonight with someone like you." Brown, furry, vaguely paw-like gloves shoved glossy sheets at the people passing on the opposite side. The animal gloves stretched up her slim arms like caramel coating, going up past her elbows. She was incredibly thankful for that on this bone-chilling night. "My last night on earth spent with the world's biggest jackass. Anyway, aren't you working for a burger bar?"
"Why?" his grin was calculated to grate, "You hungry? You wanna flyer?" He was holding out the whole, bulging messenger bag that he had to hand out tonight.
"I mean," pausing from her designated task - letting passers-by pass-by without forcing any of her own glossy slips on them, "The manager of your place wants to advertise his burger restaurant with some idiot dressed in a king costume." She paused, clicked her tongue, shivered. "Was his other idea a red and yellow clown?"
"There's a totally original king character on our menus!" He was ignoring their targets too now, turning to face her, thrusting crumpled burger menus at her. The king certainly wasn't infringing any copyrights. Then again, it was hard to make out that it was a king - it looked more like Santa Claus. "What the fuck does your place have to do with puppies?"
She looked down at her get-up and (to her immense disappointment and rage) had to admit that he had a point. The ridiculous 'Puppy-girl' outfit that she had to wear had no connection whatsoever to the bar she was flyering for. She had stupid floppy ears, long furry gloves, thigh-high furry socks, a white-trimmed skirt and a thick-furry hoodie. All in the same, generic, golden retriever caramel. With her nose painted a glossy, wet black, the overall impression was broadly that of a puppy - but only broadly.
"You don't think it's cute?" She shot him a teasing smile and executed a neat half curtsey and twist, letting the skirt flare up a little. This chauvinist fucker could do with a little teasing.
They were an island in the middle of a crowded sidewalk, garishly costumed and given the unenviable duty of handing out flyers to winter-time drinkers who would much rather keep their numb fingers firmly in their pockets. They had only been out for half an hour, both arriving at their designated spot at the same time, but already their own anti-freeze methods (hot-pads and thermal underwear) were starting to seem pretty skimpy in the face of a mean, muscular night.
They were starting to attract more attention for the obvious spat that was going on than for their outfits. Possibly the outfits amplified the eye-catching effect of a face to face argument in the middle of the sidewalk, possibly the argument made their ridiculous clothes seem all the more apparent. People were giving them both space and smirks now.
"Cute... whatever..." she had him tongue-tied, she grinned. "I guess it must be nice to just be able to hike your skirt whenever you're on heat though, right?"
"Fuck off." She pivoted on the heel of a well-worn sneaker and turned back to the crowds, cheeks hot and scarlet from something she couldn't quite place.
"Oh, that's wit. Real canine wit there."
They didn't talk for a few minutes, icy dispositions matching the freezing night air. The wind now was a bladed, edged weapon and the snow was getting thicker as the crowds got thinner. The nastiest, most cutting gust brought a convincingly puppy-like yell from her, and another un-kingly curse from him.
"I want to be the guy who works for that sushi place across town." He didn't look across, but his tone had some kind of reconciliation in it. She waited a couple of beats and bit.
"How come?"
"Fucker's in a full-body, furry fish suit. That stuff's thick as all hell - I'm sure he's doing just fine tonight." The crowds really were thinning out, the lights and signs around them were taking on a weird, dreamy, gauzy shimmer. She couldn't feel her fingers. She let the few pedestrians that were struggling along pass unmolested. Her arms were wrapped around herself now - that was more important than giving out fucking flyers.
"But imagine how he feels in the summer." She had wanted to giggle to follow that up, but it came out as a kind of chattering groan.
"If I'm still doing this next summer I think I'll kill myself." His tone was sour, but the bile wasn't aimed her way. He thrust his flyers carelessly back into his bag and hefted it, resettling it on his shoulder. "Excuse my crudity," he had to raise his voice to be heard over the wind, and fired off half a smile that caught her by surprise - made her reconsider him, "but fuck this. I don't wanna lose my fingers for this paycheque. Do you drink?"
- - -
"Are you two... part of the... show?" The clumsily tattooed guy behind the bar was squinting at them as if he had half a clue what was going on. The soft, dull thump of a heavily amplified bass line pulsed through the ceiling from upstairs. Otherwise the bar (his choice) was quiet and half empty. Not that she felt all that self-conscious about being dressed as a puppy and getting a drink - the freezing conditions they were fleeing made it so that the only thing she was thinking about at that moment was getting warm.
"Show...?" She made a face, curling her lip, hesitating by the door.
"I have no fucking clue what you're talking about dude." She had paused but he had steamed straight in, hardly even glancing at Sketchy-Tattoo-Guy. "No show, just two beers over here."
"Thank Christ," Tats started pulling beers, "I thought things were gonna get really freaky up there." Oh, some private party upstairs - her brain was thawing and she joined the King at the bar, dusting snow off herself before it melted and matted the cheap, synthetic fur.
