For moonwolf1988‘s prompt

Fae Apoc has a landing page here.

“Look out for Captain Fuzzy.”

As advice went, it wasn’t the best their employer could have given them, but it was something. Something was more than they often got.

So they had a warning, a goal, and a direction – “When you find the wannabees, you’re probably going the right way.”

They’d found the wannabees, or at least a gathering of fuzzy-motive sorts that could definitely have been called that, full of tight clothes and a certain style of make-up that suggested inhumanity. They fit right in, which was funny, as long as nobody looked too closely at their leather, or their prosthetic ears, or the beads in Tinka’s dreads. They looked a little rough around the edges, truth be told, compared to the shining people, but wasn’t that always the case with originals against cheap imitations?

The crowd was surging towards the 51 Cards, bopping along like the world wasn’t ending, Tink and Rube moving with them, smiling and laughing and joking. If they could find the damn Mandrake, they could get out of here before the glow sticks came out and the wannabees started making fools of themselves.

Whoever had told some teenybopper than 51 Cards was a fae bar had a lot to answer for. And whichever teenybopper had then decided that, with Thor and Athena coming out of the woodwork, pretending to be fae was a brilliant idea – she had some pain coming to her, too. It made 51 Cards into a place that no true fae wanted to spend much time. It was like a football game being taken over by tutus.

Orders were orders, and the idea would appeal to Catnip anyway. Their boss liked making them uncomfortable.

They stepped into the club, into the thudding beat and the brightly-hued crowd. It was Real Night, but you can barely tell the unMasked from the made up in the strobe lights; were the DJ’s horns real or prosthetic? Was the bartender that color naturally? In this crowd, Tink and Rube were sparrows among peacocks. They slipped to the bar; there was always information to be had there.

The doors slammed open.

The man in the giant Captain’s hat with the rabbit ears strode in like he owned, not just the place, but the city.

Tink and Rube slipped behind a pillar, only to find their hiding spot already occupied.

To one side of them, somebody muttered something about a Mandrake and Lute. To the other side, a girl looked up, her ears perking.

The rabbit-eared pirate yowled into the music, and the music redoubled its efforts to deafen them all.

They crowded further behind the pillar, trying to dislodge the previous tenant. He, in return, was holding both hands to his ears while trying to curl up on himself. His drink spread forgotten over the floor, red as a pool of blood.

It was staining the smoke that had, presumably, at one time been his feet a sickly mauve.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/392429.html. You can comment here or there.

For wyld_dandelyon‘s prompt (most of them, really)

Fae Apoc has a landing page here.

There were better things to do on a Saturday night than follow a neon-lime tart around the clubs. Cary was sure of it. There had to be; even staking out The Most Boring Man in the World was starting to look good after this.

But the boss had said to Follow the Rabbit, and the Rabbit was following the neon-green tart, so Cary and Usha were following her, too, and trying to ignore her ignorance.

The Rabbit, now, she was something else. She was dressed like the main course in an all-you-can-eat-pervert’s buffet: kitten-mittens and fuzzy cuffs, a tall leather collar shaped like the top of a tux and a tiny dress to match. If she weren’t with a pack of girls, she’d have gotten eaten alive in the first club they’d gone into. In the pack, however – the only reason Cary was tolerated was that he appeared to be totally under Usha’s thumb. Other guys didn’t get close.

“Where next?” They hadn’t so much gotten kicked out of the last club as moved gently aside – too young, too out-there, too loud.

“What about the Deck?” That was the Rabbit, voicing an opinion for the first time. “I want to go to the Deck.”

“The Deck is boring.” Lime had opinions. “And kind of skeezy. I want to go to The Briton.

“The Briton’s boring.” Wytton was smitten with the kitten-mittened Rabbit. “How about the place on Leviton?”

“Too much grit. I like the Briton.”

“There’s the vampire club? Bitten?” He didn’t know why Usha was putting in an opinion, but maybe she just wanted to annoy Lime. Maybe she didn’t think their goal was going to be at a stodgy pub. Maybe she just wanted to rhyme with kitten.

Rhyming.
Rabbit.
Jabot?
Sabot.
And rabbet.

“Let’s go to the Dutchman.” He tugged on Usha’s sleeve: two short tugs, one long, and just in case, reached out a hand to the Rabbit. “Come with us? It’s right behind the Deck.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/391712.html. You can comment here or there.