“Hey, “Master of War”, you ever get mistaken for a fella, luggin’ around guns like those?”

The crackle of the bar’s cheap radio and the grumble of the patrons aside, Karin could tell an insult through the thickest buzzes of noise. This one was hardly new, original or even all that funny for what it was trying to say.

“That’s funny, Juke. I can’t seem to remember your old lady saying the same about you the last time after taking her to Cherry Street”

Juquen’s little saunter over to Karin’s end of the bar had been as fruitless as a date tree in winter. Seemed that all five and a half feet of him recalled the whole foot Karin had over him. His embarrassing little shuffle back to his table amidst the jeers and hollering of the younger infantry boys barely gave Karin a moment to collect herself.

“Gonna tell Aunt Mary ‘bout Uncle John!” A familiar tune, too familiar for her liking.

“Hey!”

Gwen’s voice shredded through the boozy choir and, like magic, got the lads quiet enough that Karin could hear herself think. The wooden assortment of sticks that one might have call a chair beside Karin was promptly filled with the tired posterior of her “superior” Gwen. Each instance of a person seating themselves in this bar always prompted a silent wish from Karin for the chair beneath to give out. No such luck today.

“Long Tall Sally, huh? Haven’t heard this track in a hot minute, eh, sis? Watcha say we cut a rug?”

“I don’t listen to this sort of music, much less dance, you know that, Gwen. Black music is so indistinguishable from itself, I don’t bother.”

“Yeah? If you say so…”

Karin made no attempt to meet Gwen’s toast. The index finger of her right hand shattered the top half of her beer. And by the time the flying shards had cut through numerous billows of cigarette smoke and hit the back of one Frucht Ruda on the back of the neck from across the dingy drinking hole, Karin’s drink had already disappeared.

“You know, Karin, I think maybe opening up your horizons, among other things, would do you some good. Maybe it’d help get the crowbar you’ve had up your ass since graduation.”

“Eugh. I’ve tasted blood smoother than this shit. How much did you pay for this garbage?” Karin slurred with a hefty belch for good measure.

“Classy, real classy, sis. Oh, you’re welcome by the way. Because it sure as shit wasn’t cheap”

That word, “sis”, never failed to make her cringe.

“You got ripped off, plain and simple. Go sit on a dick if you’re mad that I want beer instead of horse piss.”

“Scathing. You’ve got such a way with words, sis.”

Neither sister gave mind to the one-hundred and twenty pounds of midlife crisis that took his sweet time coming over to their table. A second of silence between the two, almost immediately broken by their continued belligerence.

“You’re really fuckin’ testing my patience today, fried face.”

“You’re getting on my nerves even faster than usual today, you runt.”

The sisters, out of touch as they were, decided to overlook the awkwardness that came with speaking in tandem. Gwen snapped her fingers, having remembered something.

“Oh yeah, you see the flick yesterday?”

“The flick? I don’t watch “flicks”, Gwen. If I wasted my time with that shit, I wouldn’t have biceps like these. If you want an idea of where meaningless pastimes like films get you, look in a mirror.”

Gwen leaned back with a hearty, purposefully mocking chuckle.

“Yeah, but this one was something special, “2001: A Space Odessey”. Some limey director struck gold with it a month ago and made a hit so big that Mawashi got a hold of some contacts back East to send us a copy and a projector- You’re not listening, are you?”

“Careful, she’s learning...” Gwen added with a sarcastic smile.

“And by the way, maybe if you pumped a little less iron and took in more silver screen, you wouldn’t scare off every chick, honey and kitty that gives you a passing glance.”

“I’ll take no action over the oversaturated market of bleacher hotdogs that you gorge yourself with on a daily basis. You practically jump on anything that’ll give you the time of day, after all.”

A glare was about all Gwen could manage before the Sergeant Major found the mind to compose herself, never being one to give in to her younger sister’s barbs when she could help it.

“Hey! I think you dropped these…”

By now, meals on wheels had arrived before the gruesome twosome. Click-Clack-tap went the saturated green pieces of glass of Karin’s bottled piss on the table’s cracked surface. Frucht had been kind enough to return each and every little bit, from what Karin could gather.

“Something you need there, Baby Huey?” Gwen asked, letting one of her eyes drift to look at Juke. As the heavyset soldier raised his own empty bottle of a similar hue above his head, neither seated sister poised themselves for what followed.

“Here, lemme throw in a little extra.”

All voices, even that of Little Richard himself, were no more. Every eye was fixed on a single, humble table situated in a corner, betwixt termite eaten walls. The glass fragments didn’t touch Karin’s scalp; no amount of Charlies or thick jungle would stop Karin’s hair from being in tip-top shape, thickness and colour. It was her own flowing hazelnut shield.

“Next time, give a thought, you tree trunk armed freak. Say you’re sorry and we’ll call it even.” Frucht grumbled, still seemingly not sure if he’d made the right call in pulling Karin’s figurative mane.

Gwen hadn’t blinked in at least 7 seconds. She knew damn well that an instant was all her little sister needed to break the burly beefcake before them into a poppadom.

“Sis…”

“Hey! Hey, hey! You want fight, outside!”

Not a single head turned to the main bar counter where the voice had originated. The overbearing blanket of cigarette smoke had lifted, making the little table in the corner totally visible to every patron, bar jockey and dubiously present baby in Sihnkatt’s Tavern. The titular woman at the bar couldn’t get in another word, as her crowing soundly evaporated against Karin’s order for the owner to shut her trap.

“But she has a point. If you’ve got a problem, and trust me, you do now, we should settle this outside like adults. Or in your case, like a parent who’s about to discipline her manchild of a son…”

The two had got in each other’s faces the moment Karin had begun speaking. Karin, once again, established that, women or not, the Shipman family tower above the common man in all things.

“Bring it on, shitskin. Your daddy might’a been something back in Normandy but that don’t mean shit to me. I ain’t afraid of you, so let’s go.”

And just like that, the two were on their way to the one and a half doors that comprised the bar’s entrance.

“I’m gonna beat you so bad, my buddies up in Danang’re gonna know about it.”

Karin’s fist tightened and her muscles swelled in preparation, the strain turning her skin just a tad darker than usual.

“Unlikely.”