Lanon put his hand to his face, his long, slender fingers pressing against his temples. The chaos of last-minute preparations for the show bustled around him. The air was thick with the scent of hairspray and nervous energy. Most of the models were dressed, their fantastical outfits a riot of color and texture against the stark white room, but some were still quite relaxed, lounging in chairs, seemingly unbothered by being exposed.
"I see now," Lanon said, his voice overly exasperated, "you are so uneducated."
"Teach me, oh great super pimp," Kev said.
Lanon winced at the word and looked around, but all the models and outfitters were forming a disorganized queue at the door. Marybelle was barking commands about the order the models should appear as she moved Gretchen towards a fitting area, the assistants already beginning to remove her suit as they walked.
"We should get back to our seats," Lanon said.
Kev nodded. His spar with Lanon could wait another couple of minutes. "Gretchen, we're heading back."
"Dr. Lanon, keep an eye on Kev for me until I return," Gretchen said, her voice muffled slightly as the assistants removed her shirt.
"Of course, Gretchen darling! Enjoy yourself up there!" Lanon gestured for Kev to lead the way out.
Backstage was quiet compared to the dressing room, so the sudden, blinding spotlights that hit Kev as he stepped past the curtain dazzled him. The abrupt applause from the audience also made him jump. The clapping faded quickly as Kev and Lanon stepped down the small staircase next to the runway and walked towards their seats.
"So, you were going to educate me?" Kev asked, glancing around.
Lanon sat next to Fang, who was still fast asleep in the armchair. "Yes. Before you besmirch my name further. Come, sit."
"Sit? Sit where?" Kev asked.
"Mr. Fang's lap, of course," Lanon said.
Kev rolled his eyes and stepped just past Lanon. He grabbed the arm of the chair behind them so he could drag it next to the iguana. However, much to his surprise, he saw Elle sitting in the one next to it. He wasn't surprised she was there, he was suprised that he hadn't noticed the large elephant woman before this very moment. She seemed very interested in something in her bag. "I'm just snagging this," Kev said. She didn't look up.
Kev closed his eyes for a moment as he sat down next to Lanon. Fang was right; these seats were nice.
"So," Lanon began, "you need to be educated on the club. A brothel. No wonder you were angry." Lanon glanced over at the human. "If I were so ignorant, I too would be angry."
"Shut up," Kev said. "Just tell me."
"How can I shut up and tell you?" Lanon countered. "You see, so much confusion that you lash out and hurt yourself." He brought his hand to his chin. "Maybe we should have our own weekly meetings."
The lights in the room began to dim, plunging the audience into an expectant darkness. Then, a single, razor-sharp beam of white light shot down the length of the runway, illuminating the polished surface like a landing strip. A low, pulsing bass note thrummed through the floor, a deep, synthetic heartbeat. The DJ in the AV booth began to build a complex, layered track. It wasn't music for dancing; it was atmospheric, a hypnotic blend of industrial beats, ethereal synthesizer melodies, and strange, distorted animal calls that echoed through the cavernous space.
"I was very happy when I completed my PhD," Lanon's voice was a low purr in the semi-darkness. "The field of psychology was just so fulfilling. Getting to know my classmates and professors, learning how to get to know others better... But when I was ready to continue my work, I needed to find funding."
A stork-woman appeared at the top of the runway to light applause, her form a surreal, avant-garde silhouette against the dark drapes. She was wearing what looked to be an upside-down dress. The wide, starched hem of the A-line skirt flared out around her shoulders like an enormous, sculptural collar, her long, elegant neck and face just barely peeking above the fabric. The rest of the dress tapered down, clinging to her slender body before flowing out behind her head in a long, dramatic train, creating the illusion of a comet hurtling down the runway.
"My thesis was related to the ill effects of suppressing one's desires," Lanon said, his voice a smooth, academic purr against the pulsating beat. "If someone represses themselves, if they cannot indulge in what... excites them... then they become susceptible to ill mental health."
The frilled lizard model came out next. She had a cascade of tutus and ruffles all down her arms and torso, in shades of shocking pink and electric yellow. They all bounced and swayed as she walked, a living, breathing explosion of texture. Even her own frilled neck was puffed out, adding another layer to the chaotic, celebratory outfit.
"I was turned down by my university. By the other universities in the cities back home. None of them wanted to help me continue my groundbreaking research," Lanon sighed. "I even found out my original funding for my doctorate only went through because the person reviewing applications did not understand my white paper."
Kev nodded. This was a lot to take in. Lanon was a PhD-certified pimp, somehow, and it was making too much sense.
The panda model lumbered onto the runway, her walk slow and deliberate. She wore a simple, elegant dress in a vibrant shade of kelly green. As she reached the end of the runway, in front of their seats, she stopped. With a single, decisive motion, she grabbed the hem of her dress and ripped the bottom section clean off, the sound a sharp, tearing noise in the hushed room. She was left in a surprisingly chic miniskirt. Then, to the collective gasp of the audience, she calmly began to eat the scraps she had torn off. As she turned and walked back, Kev noticed the distinctive, segmented texture of the fabric. The dress was made of bamboo. It was a bizarre, brilliant fusion of food and fashion.
"It was impossible to get any type of funding," Lanon huffed, his voice laced with the bitterness of old resentments. "Even when I changed and began altering the scope of my experiment to appease the puritans, my name had been ruined. They called me vulgar things. Hedonist. Sensualist. But I had my doctorate, because they could not deny my rigorous research and results." Lanon leaned in towards Kev a bit, his reptilian eyes gleaming in the strobing lights. "In a safe and controlled environment, when allowed to indulge in one's true and honest desires, the body responds." Lanon grinned. "The positive physical response can be measured for days, or even weeks, after the treatment session."
The hummingbird model zipped onto the runway, a blur of motion. She wore a shimmering, iridescent dress that caught the light, refracting it into a thousand tiny rainbows. The tech at the AV booth was moving sliders and hitting buttons like crazy. The strobing lights synced with the pulsating beat, and as the model walked, the reflections off her dress turned her into a blinding, dazzling flare of light. Kev had to avert his gaze until she was gone, spots still dancing in his vision.
"I moved to Dala'Bon when I realized the reptile continent was not ready for such groundbreaking ideas," Lanon continued, his voice regaining its composure. "Unfortunately, I ran into other roadblocks here. I found myself losing out to candidates that were... furry... and less qualified."
The Gila monster model walked out next, her gait slow and deliberate. She wore a simple, flowing silk garment, but the silk was a deceptive, masterful gradient of black, pink, and yellow that perfectly mirrored the natural pattern of her beaded skin. Kev could not see a single stitch or seam. It was like the dress had been woven directly onto her body, a second, more elegant skin.
"I had heard rumors of Club Fang from the locals and from the newspapers," Lanon said. "Fang really was making the front page a lot back then. And wouldn't you know my luck, my old friend from school, Marybelle, also lived in the city and knew him. She even told me that the wolf needed therapy. Could you imagine my excitement?"
The rabbit-woman reappeared, her earlier tears gone, her posture now all professional poise. The room went dark, and a single, focused spotlight followed her straight down the stage. It was perfectly aimed, so only her dressed half was visible, the other, naked half swallowed by the inky blackness. What was the point of this? Kev thought, as he watched the half-woman strut back up the walkway.
"When I met Fang, I knew he needed a therapist," Lanon said fondly. "So I asked him."
Kev looked over at Lanon. "You asked Fang if he wanted therapy? How did that work out for you?"
"Oh, he got all snippy, but I managed to calm him down before Mr. Rex threw me out. You see, Kev, that club is the perfect location for the therapy plans I've developed. Secure, safe, secluded. And the electronics-free policy was such a revelation. I bet Fang right there that I could do it! Replace the less hygienic aspects of the club and bring his operations out into the daylight. No more getting raided by the enforcers every week."
"So what did you bet in return?" Kev asked.
"My life," Lanon smiled.
Just then, Marsha, the zebra-woman, strutted out. She was still in her bra and panties, but now wore black, knee-high socks, matching elbow-length gloves, and a ridiculously large, floppy sun hat.
Lanon whistled loudly and shouted, "BRAVO, MS. MARSHA! BRAVO!"
As Lanon settled back down, he continued his story. "Fang did say that the club was his life, so I wanted to bet something equivalent."
"Why are shrinks always nuts?" Kev said quietly.
Lanon continued, seemingly oblivious to Kev's remark. "Once we went to Mr. Bozeman and explained our plan, he was so... excited." Lanon smiled. "With my credentials and the city's laws regarding wellness and positive health outcomes, I could run my experiments, and Mr. Fang could make money. My staff are hired as 'physical therapists,' and every club member now goes through a therapy session with me before they are put on the invite list. So, they are patients. We have a clause of mutually assured destruction in the waivers too. If a member divulges information about the club, then I am allowed to release their medical files."
The final model appeared. It was Gretchen. Her dark panther fur was powdered white, giving her a ghostly, almost ethereal look under the stark spotlights. She wore a gleaming golden Valkyrie helm, complete with stylized wings, and a thick, white toga draped over one shoulder. She had the walk. Each step was powerful, deliberate, a display of coiled, controlled strength, less a model's strut and more a warrior's advance down the runway.
"I mostly just connect guests with each other," Lanon said, watching the white panther woman walking towards them. "Knowing their deepest desires makes it easy to play matchmaker. I only have a very small number of full-time staff for the patients with the most... intensive... needs."
When Gretchen was nearly in front of them, she broke into a run. Kev, who had only been half-watching the fashion show, snapped to attention, his eyes widening as he saw the guard charging towards him. Her toga fell away as she jumped high into the air, directly towards where they were sitting.
Wait, what the fuck? Kev thought.
Gretchen soared through the air, her body a perfect arc of muscle and grace, her elbow pointed down in perfect elbow-drop form. Without the toga, Kev could see she wore a golden metal bra and matching panties, like some sort of fantasy warrior. The white foundation was streaming off her in the spotlight, a cloud of glittering dust. She was a pouncing panther, a specter of vengeance diving from the heavens.
Kev watched in disbelief as she soared overhead and crashed with a large, sickening THUD behind them. He whirled around to see the Valkyrie pinning Elle to the ground, the red-dressed elephant moaning in pain.
"What is going on?!" Fang barked as he woke with a jolt.