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The Hairless Cat is a Bad Name for a Bar

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There was nothing special about the Hairless Cat bar on Beaumonde. The Maidenhead was much more popular, and The Slutty Wench served Earth-that-was booze. Julian de Courfeyrac preferred the Hairless Cat, as it was a locals favourite. Customer service was excellent, and the only really downfall was the gang of homophobes who would enjoy the opportunity to smash him to a pulp after catching him kissing a gentleman of the night where they saw. Ooops.

“Can’t we talk this out, dudes?” Courfeyrac grinned nervously at the morons standing in front of him. “Not like I did anything wrong!” his voice rose in pitch with every step backwards he took. These assholes were slowly backing him his into a corner. He was going to be gay bashed. Courfeyrac drew a harsh breath in, terror overwhelming him.

“Aww, don’t’cha worry, darling.” the head thug smiled and Courfeyrac shuddered, chilled to the bone. There was nothing in that smile, nothing Courfeyrac could read in those dead eyes but pure malice. “We’ll fix you up nice and proper.” the thug brandished a wickedly sharp knife, while his buddies laughed. Courfeyrac thought he might be sick.

An ear piercingly shrill whistle rang out, providing the distraction Courfeyrac needed. He vaulted over the bar and hit the floor, just as the lights went out.

There was an immediate uproar, yelling of the question ‘where the fuck did he go?!’ repeated several times by each thug in turn.

Never being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Courfeyrac got going while the getting was good, only to run into an attractive, bespectacled stranger, who had already looked quite flustered before Courfeyrac had run into him.

“Hello there.” Courfeyrac couldn’t help the seductive purr that came out of his mouth. “My name’s Julian de Courfeyrac.” he grinned.

The blond man smiled smugly, and Courfeyrac's eyes widened slightly when he introduced himself as, "Henri Combeferre, whistleblower."