dessa-- a funny conversation

"You take money for sex?"
"Yes."
"So you’re a whore?"
"I’m an opportunist."
"Who moonlights as a whore."
"No."
"But–"
"I take money for sex when the situation suits me. It rarely does. Whoring is a career. Moonlighting implies a second career. I do not have a career. I do not have a job. I am an opportunist. I take opportunities I like when they arise."
"That’s just semantics. You’re still a–"
"I don’t like you anymore."
"Excuse me?"
"No. Like my knife?" She pulled a two-foot blade from the sheath strapped to her thigh. "See how it reflects the light? It’s not just shiny. It’s bright. I do love bright things. And it’s ever so sharp." With a roll of her wrist the blade’s edge snapped to the counter. In its way had been a wooden bowl of plenkins. Now there were two wooden spoon rests and plenkins on the counter. The man scuttled off.
"Gah. Whad ya gone do that fer? You know woods ‘spensive." The new voice was rough but weak. The woman’s long curly black hair was a mess as always and the black men’s tank and trou were almost falling off her lanky form.
"I wanted plenkins."
"Ooh plenkins! And ya split’m already. How you do that? I can’t never get’m so clean."
"Knife’s sharp." A severe frown furrowed the woman’s brow as she took note of the weapon.
"That ain’t a knife."
"It’s metal. It’s sharp."
"Might as well call a sword a butter knife."
"Sword’s a knife too."
"No it ain’t!"
"A big knife."
"You do this just to piss me off."
"Why else?"
"Who were ya talkin’ to?"
"Some guy– wanted sex."
"Why weren’t ya nice to ‘im. By the way he run off there ‘n the look in his face you weren’t real nice. Coulda stole his chips."
"Did."
"How much ya get?"
"Don’t know haven’t checked."
"Give’m ta me. I’ll check’n stash those babies."
"Careful."
"Why?"
"You are in danger of appearing sober."
"Excuse me!"
"You are unusually coherent. I suggest you start drinking heavily."
"Sober! Blech! How dare you make such an awful accusation. I can’t risk my rep like that. Shouldn’ta got out a bed today. Coulda got drunk just as easy down there."
"Sorry I woke you." The lanky woman was slapping items on the counter. A glass and a bottle of something questionable but unquestionably strong. She didn’t drink weak. She also apparently didn’t use glasses.
"There is a glass there. You even got it out yourself."
"Hm?"
"The glass. To be drunk out of. You are chugging the bottle."
"Might as well. Save a glass."
"Excuse me ladies." Together they looked at this latest intrusion on their little paradise. He looked to be a polite pirate wannabe. Over tight pants. Fluffy white shirt. Expensive looking and clean. Not from around here. Besides ain’t nobody a lady on this planet but the transvestites over at the dock.
"Who are you and what do you want?"
"My name isn’t important–" The two women rolled their eyes. The not-fully-sober one opened her mouth:
"No shit, dumbass. If it were we’d know it. We asked who you were not what yer name was."
"Um... well. I can’t say I understand." The fluffy man was obviously taken aback.
"We, for example are bartenders. Shaz is the one who just insulted you. Her name it’s best ya know. Now. Who are you? Or should I make this easier. What are you and what are you bothering me for?"
"Oh... I am a spaceship captain... and I uh, am here–"
"Points are good. Make some. Fast. I have a short attention span."
"I need beef." She and fluffy just stared at each other. Shaz was chugging again. The woman on the stool was wondering why her ass hurt at just that spot and he was begining to sweat. The women did not find him at all interesting or intimidating. He was about to need a change of pants.
"...and you are telling us this because– why?" She just sat there. On arm resting casually upon the counter. The other dangling at her side with the weapon still in her hand.
"I thought I could get some from you."
"Do we look like damned cattle farmers." Shaz was not one to take insults. Intended or not.
"Ranchers." The woman with the weapon was looking at him with disgust but speaking to Shaz.
"What?"
"You ranch cattle. You don’t farm it. Unless you stick them in the ground and weed out the chickens."
"Yeah, um... whatever. We ain’t cattle people. Yeah. No cows here. This is a very dirty bar. We serve liquids of varying levels of toxicity. Not cows. Unless you want them fermented and served in a glass. We can do that. Just give us time."
"Uh. What? Wait don’t answer that. I was made to understand you could get things here. Things you’re not supposed to get. Can you?"
"Shaz?"
"Yeah?"
"I am confused."
"Me too."
"Nice to know."
"Dammit are you two being thick intentionally? I need to get a hold of some beef. I was told you could get it. I have money and can pay."
"Get out."
"What?"
"Like my knife?"
"Gah! Girl– that ain’t a knife. Stop calling it that. It’s a damn shimkir! I’m going to sleep." She dropped down. There was a thud, a shwish, a creek, and a thunk. She was gone. The hammock under the bar being put to good use yet again.
"Get out you moron. You don’t come to us for cow. It may be illegal but that don’t mean we deal it. Go to someone a little closer to the core. Or you could just find yerself a rancher and buy it. Got it. You are irritating."
At that she turned and sucked the centre out of the remaining split plenkin and whacked a couple of others. The man walked out and was knifed by a rat.