"Hmm...." Melonie groaned, her face in her glass. She had been refused another date yet again. The guy must've been either grossed out by how she swallowed food whole, or by her long and thick serpent's tail. "Why is it that all the good guys run away?"
The bartender, a young woman of about 30 with gentle eyes, brown hair, was listening to her troubles. Melonie had known her for the last six years as possibly the best person to talk to. Rawlins was her name, she said. Rawlins always listened to Melonie and gave advice when need be. Today, she was just the audience in the empty pub. She was busy polishing a glass, her lean and muscular arms taking care to hold the brittle mug carefully. Melonie sighed and let her head hit the table, rattling the other mugs and glasses on the counter. "I guess I'll never have any luck now...been doing the same thing for the past thousand years and I still can't get someone who isn't freaked out by me and isn't a pervert."
Rawlins set the mug down, obviously done polishing as it glowed brightly in the warm light. It was highly unusual for a woman to run a pub, Melonie had said. Also, she had said, was how strange she dressed. Rawlins was clad in a tight tanktop, the collar sinking just below the neckline. She had skintight shorts, blue and slightly ripped, and wore odd socks with combat boots. She also had a weird hairstyle: her bangs were draping over her right eye, and it was let loose in a pineapple-reminiscent bunch at the back. Still, Melonie loved her like a sister, and spilled all her secrets to her. Rawlins simply listened.
"Do you have any ideas, Rawlins?" she asked, raising her head a little in false hope. Her heart was just about ready to cry itself out. Rawlins pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a small puff of the oddly potpourri-smelling stick before speaking.
"Well, Melonie," she said, in a drawling Southern accent, "Ah reckon you should actually TELL people about your entire body first. Ah've known some people into really weird stuff that aren't complete jerks, idiots, or perverts. They would simply DIE to have someone like you, darlin'. You just have to try."
Melonie sat up. Rawlins was right! She couldn't give up now. At this time, she remembered a war story Rawlins told her. Her platoon was outnumbered. Her tank was out of ammunition. And there were at least two heavies injured. She had pulled out her rifle, dubbed "The Mediator" for obvious reasons, and took out large encampments while her radioman phoned in for support. It went on for three days until they were able to be pulled out. Her situation was just like Rawlins' back then. "All right! Thanks Rawlins!" She was about to leave when she remembered the bill. "Oh, sorry! How much do I owe?"
"Ah'll just put it on yer tab, sweetie. Come back anytime ya need help." Rawlins waved Melonie out and watched the cheery lamia slither out into the night, whistling a happy tune. She turned to a computer behind the bar and ousted her cig. "Well, Samsara, looks like we're in it for the long haul..."
= = = = = = =
The next day Melonie got up and stretched, yawning loudly. Today was the day she was going to get a man! Taking a set of clothes with her and a towel, she hopped in her bath tub and twisted the knob all the war to hot. As she soaked in the steaming water, the phone rang. Irritated that her morning bath was interrupted, she slithered out and into the bedroom, picking up the phone and stopping its annoying ring.
"Hello, this is Melonie Lamia residence, how may I help you?"
On the other end it was...
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