<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Tamia Sciurus</span><br/><br/>Using a small file, Tamia worked at her natural claws, scoring down the points to a reasonable curve.  No need to snag a run in her pretty knit dress today, her soft shoulders shown off to advantage by the thin straps.  Russet but for the most central line of her front exposure, the squirrel-girl shifted in her seat, bored already.  She sighed loudly, glancing to her 'date', wondering if he would give her a stipend for a treat.  Sure, there was a lot of noise and excitement... but since when was a racetrack the place for a pretty girl, all dressed up in her new outfit?<br/><br/>"Donny, honey... could I have some money for a drink?  It's hot out here and I'm thirsty," she pouted, sounding so much like a whiny moll.  She fluttered her lashes, giving her furred cleavage a little shake... all to no avail, he wasn't even paying attention.  Biting the inside of her lower lip, Tamia curled her fingertips around his bicep, tugging playfully.  "Donneeeeeeee!"<br/><br/>The gruff cigar-chewing gangster extricated his arm from her grasp with exaggerated irritation, his thick brows knitting menacingly.  Growling out the side of his mouth, "I'm doin' bizniz heah, doll.  Go play a pony or sumthin," tossing her a slim packet of bills before turning back to the ruffians in the next seats.  Suited just like him, their bowler hats and dark glasses a common theme when they met in public, they argued over the next move in their cartel's protection racket - not that Tamia had paid it any attention.  The quality of fluff between her ears could rival virgin mink, no brains to speak of to compete for room in her head.<br/><br/>Tap-tapping in her heels across the concourse, she swatted anything near enough with the flick of her tail, her sense of outrage quickly tempered with the distraction of the call, "Last bets, last bets, place yer bets!" from the overhead speaker.  Glancing to the money in her hand, she was curious... what could it harm, he gave it to her as a treat, right?  She trip-trapped over to the betting window, giggling and flirting her way in front of a few gentlemen.  Looking over the crazy names, she bobbed in place for a moment, wondering on whom to bet.  Coming to the decision that not knowing about their skills or odds was just as good as flipping a coin, she followed that logic... and chose Number 2 in this race, there being only two sides to any coin.<br/><br/>Then finding the refreshment stand, she chose a strawberry lemonade and sucked at the icy beverage, watching the silliness down on the  track from the shade made by the clubhouse, leaning against the wall with a vacant expression.  Well... let's admit it... all her expressions are generally vacant.  Only when Number 2 seemed to be pulling ahead in the last circuit did she blink in vague awareness, pricking up a furry ear to listen to the overhead announcements closer.<br/><br/>*****<br/><br/>Dancing on her tippy-toes, Tamia whirled and flitted, outrageously happy with her luck today.  Winning a small fortune simply by picking a certain number off a board?  Unheard of!  What a fun game... she'd have to play again.  Tucking her winnings into her purse, the squirrel-girl avoided colliding with the bustle of distracted people, all exiting the concourse at the same time.  Crossing the lot, she wondered at her companion's luck but decided to forego finding him... after all, he hadn't seemed all that interested in her during the race.  Why would he be all that interested after the race?  Unless he'd hoped she would put out as a consolation prize, she couldn't imagine.  HA!  Fat chance, sucker!<br/><br/>Adjusting her dress to allow her tail freedom, she again admired her yellow knit sundress, feeling so very springtimey in it.  She flicked out her tail for shade and crossed the street, headed for a lovely little cafe.  Hungry to celebrate her luck before it ran sour, she hoped they might have some almond milk or mushroom soup... maybe a little pine nut and apricot salad, yum!