Colors of Love

One

March, 1983

        Los Angeles, Cali

Nineteen-Year-old Robert Bobby Kuykendall looked up at all the sights around him, no doubt with Stars and a childlike Wonder in his eyes. He’d never been to a City bigger than Harrisburg, Penn–unless one counted his hometown of Miami, Florida, that is–so this was like Traveling to a completely different Planet. Such sights never woulda been available to him back on the East Coast, especially after growing up as poor as he’d grown up.

        Granted, these sights coulda been a lot better than what they were, but there was nothing he could do about that particular problem. Like all Nekos and Zorros, he was completely Color blind since he hadn’t found his mate, which prolly wouldn’t happen for several more Years. Even though he could make out different amounts of Light, all he could see was black-and-white like humans claimed old TV sets played movies and TV shows in. There might be a lil bit of gray thrown in from Time to Time, depending on the actual Colors of things and the Lighting, but that was about it.

        Still, he didn’t let that bring him down as he explored his new home, glad that he’d a way of seeming unnoticeable in even the smallest crowds. Bobby attributed that to being part-Fox, though, considering how clever and good at hiding typical Foxes were known to be. It was kinda like being a Cat, or part-Cat to him–good at hiding in plain sight, if he didn’t wanna be bothered by anyone.

        He soon found himself outside a bar that didn’t look like any other he’d seen on the Sunset Strip, and not ’cuz of his Color blindness. The exterior décor of the place didn’t look anything like the rock ‘n’ roll clubs and dive bars he’d seen so far, and it piqued his Curiosity. Luckily, he’d his fake ID on him that’d allow him entranceta just about anywhere without really being questioned. Well, he’d get a few looks from folks wondering just how old he really was, but he down-played it by saying he was just a lil baby-faced. Claiming that his older siblings also looked a lil younger than they really were helped him with that since he kept pictures of them in his wallet.

        “What can I getcha, kit?”

        Surprised by the term the bartender used, Bobby paused in Thought for a moment. “Bud, man.”

        “Ya sure you’re old enough to even be here?” he queried, the smirk playing at his lips suggesting that he knew more than he was letting on. “Not that I’ma give a shit, as long as you’re responsible about whatcha do.”

        “Then why ask?” the young, aspiring bassist countered curiously. He slapped down a couple bills in payment for the beer once it was handed to him.

        “’Cuz I’m the owner of this joint, and I purposely market to a certain crowd most others don’t,” he told him. “Name’s Rikki, by the way. Call me anything else, and I’ll spell your tail fur off quicker than ya can blink.”

        “Bobby,” he told him, unable to help his eyes widening at his threat. “Wait, how’dja know about my tail?”

        “Kit, I’m an Elf–and a far more powerful one than you’d think,” Rikki laughed. “Your Glamours’re useless against me and even my wife.”

        “That must mean ya market to the supernatural crowd.” He couldn’t help a thoughtful look as he raised the Amber bottle in his hand to his face again.

        “Hardly anyone else on the Strip does, and besides–I’ve a friend who likesta get away from that more than he’ll admit,” the Elf chuckled. “One I’d like to throttle more oft than I don’t, but Helheimr–he’s a grown man, so I can’t make his choices for him.”