The Happy Cow

The interior of the Happy Cow was rife with life. Almost every table was occupied, mostly by men, and every table was tended to by a topless waitress. Each had a bust that rivalled Gin's own. They couldn’t have been natural. Gin's weren’t. It seemed glasses weren’t really used here, the men choosing a more direct method to get the milk.

Exhausted from her trip over here, and having barely been given a chance to recuperate since her skirmish with the succubus, Gin took a seat in one of the few vacant tables.

She folded her arms on the table and buried her head in them. She most have dozed off, because she was shaken back to awareness when her name was called. “Gin Narukami, how about that,” a familiar called from behind her. The peppy tone betrayed malice, this woman, this thing, was pure evil. Gin turned around to find who she expected to find, seated on the floor, looking up expectedly.

“You know,” the woman continue, “they say it’s bad manners to keep your hat on indoors. Surely they same could be said about masks.”

Gin's hand reached for her katana, but the woman was quicker, jolting upright and putting both her hands on the swordswoman's shoulders. She trembled at the touched, petrified in fear. The redheaded woman liked this, laughing to herself as she guided a hand to Gin's mask and crushed it in her grip while it was still on her face.

“If you’re going to kill me,” Gin whispered, her fists clenched and pressing down on her knees in anxiety, the sword left at her side, “just get it over with.”

The redhead pouted, giving Gin a soft pat on the cheek before swinging around the table and taking a seat opposite her. “Oh my god, aren’t you just the most insulting little bitch, I love you so much,” she said, softening her words in a babyish tone. “If I wanted to kill you, you and that weirdo lesbian you keep out in those old apartments would already be dried into the walls by now you big dumb goofer you.”

We have to move, right now, she thinks. She knew where they were hiding, the place was no longer safe. In fact, by the sounds of it, it seemed the place was never safe. Gin quickly sprang from the table, intent on running back and making sure Ligeia and Shaw were safe, but once again the redhead was quicker, rising to meet Gin before taking her by the throat and slamming her back down onto the table. Gin crumbled back into her seat.

“Now why did you have to go and do that. Ugh, you’re such a joker, Ginny. Maybe I didn’t make your tits big enough last time. How about we try that again, hmm? Stand up, and I swear I’ll make those balloons so big you’ll never be able to stand up again. Now stay right there. We’re having a drink. WAITER?!” Her sudden shout was jarring; a sharp contrast from her preceding tone. Two waitresses immediately came to her head, skipping towards her and letting their absurd busts leak milk all over the floor.

“Milk, glassed,” the redhead told the waitresses, all the while keeping her eyes needle focused on Gin.

“They say this stuff is orgasmic to men. I’m not really sure the effect it has on women, let’s find out why don’t we,” she proceeded, taking the glass once it was filled and sliding it along the table from hand to hand.

Gin watched the glass move across the table. In her mind, it might as well have been a loaded revolver. Eventually, the woman slid it across the table to gin, landing just in front of her.

“Drink it,” she said. Gin wondered if she had a choice in the matter.