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Hey, Señorita

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Peggy had never looked for a woman who'd been easier to find. The dive was packed past breathing, but Helen Cobb glowed through it, all ash-blonde hair and primary colours, moving like Bill Haley y sus Cometas were the only sound in the world.

Later, between most everyone leaving and the señora behind the bar throwing the rest out on their ears, Peggy bought her a tequila and said, "I've heard that you fly at least half as well as you dance."

"Half?" Cobb scoffed, "Twice as good, at least." Through the bravado and the booze, Peggy could see the fire of a woman who'd never turned down a challenge or a dare, and one with enough skill and luck to have survived twenty years of that attitude. "And, honey, you ain't seen a quarter of what I can do on the ground."

Peggy looked her over again, and knocked back her own shot. Cobb was ten years her junior, and far too much her reflection, but Peggy had never been good with dares either. "No?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and trailing her finger along the edge of the glass. "In that case, would you care to show me?"