Citrine aurora stones affixed to their robes flashed a yellow pulse. Loren explained to her in one of their recent classes that each type of gemstone has its own domain. Rubies provided kinetic enhancement while a citrine like theirs allowed for something called “soul manipulation”, specifically your own soul. This allowed an auror to change their appearance and voice. The product of the small citrine pin on the robe was a hood filled with impenetrable darkness. Tuna promised to show off her citrine crystalurgy sometime, but from the sound of it, Tuna was a person in high demand. She complained in long rants about how she doesn’t get any time away from work to visit the temple squatters. During these complaints, the rest of the congregation didn’t roll their eyes as they normally would have. Everyone appeared to agree with Tuna: she worked “too damn much”.
“I send you in with those outfits and you come back dressed as grim specters of death.” Trestovan harrumphed.
“You wanted us to parade around like this? We’d be attacked and I don’t want to kill anyone tonight too.” Adna complained.
Timbrelle glared at her, trying to catch a whiff of sarcasm. There was none. It seemed Adna had been keeping herself busy during her midnight jaunts.
“I’m just going to swerve past that minor confession and keep moving. I don’t see what’s so bad about these outfits. They’re definitely not risqué where I’m from.” She slid her hands down the black satin cocktail dress. It was far shorter than she had seen in this world, but she could have worn it to a conservative family member’s wedding back on Earth. Timbrelle’s dress was strapless with a skirt that pooled around her when she sat. Standing, the incredible floof only reached the top of her knees.
“I love this dress. I feel like a ballerina.”
Adna disagreed. “Assassin, more like. Those legs are killer.”
“Thank you! Just jog through a murderous forest everyday for a two months. I observed a paleo diet of raw mushrooms and paranoia. Bad for the skin, good for the glutes.” Timbrelle said modeling her legs.
“Now do me.” Adna posed.
Trestovan kept their personalities in mind when choosing outfits. This meant her outfit ended up being just as bold and provocative as her. She’d needed Timbrelle’s help to get into the contraption. They’d tried to put it on her as a long sleeved dress but there was no head hole. After flipping it around and right-side-out it had turned into skants… a pirt? Fitted black pants with a cape of gossamer fabric that flowed pleasantly behind her. The effect was a shimmering skirt when she stood and pure regality when she walked. The top, it seemed, had been forgotten. All that was included was a wide band of soft fabric. ‘I think I’m supposed to put my boobs in there…’ Adna had postulated, holding it up in front of her.
“You look like the motorcycle gangster hot-bitch in a post-apocalyptic wasteland with a badass name. Ooh! Ooh!” She held up her hands and spread her fingers wide, inviting Adna to picture it. “Abyssia.”
“I like it.” She grinned.
They turned back to Trestovan. “Show us your outfit.”
“You two…” he shook his head. “I’ve never seen someone so at ease while wearing these costumes.”
He peeled off his trench coat unmasking a surprisingly lewd outfit.
“Hey-o! Pretty boy is jacked as hell!” Adna squealed.
Trestovan’s blush could be seen creeping down his neck and across his chest. So too, could Adna’s eyes. Black leather straps crisscrossed his naked chest above high-waisted tight pants.
“You really do look great Tre-“
“AO! AO! AO!” Adna exclaimed. “Has Gren ever seen this outfit? Are we picking him up too? What’s he wearing? I’m so excited. Timbrelle, this was the best surprise. Where are we going?”
“You might not like it as much when I tell you what it is. Capri is a place of hedonism and drug abuse-“
“Why in the world would I dislike that?” Adna asked, offended.
“No drug use!” Timbrelle demanded. “I don’t know how you’d handle drugs but I’m almost entirely sure I know the answer. I’m not turning you into an alcoholic again.”
“Being drunk every night does not make me an alcoholic when I’ve only done it for a week.”
“Yeah, but for you a week is half your life experience. You’ve been drunk for fifty-percent of your life!”
Adna huffed.
“What’s that? No answer? Oh, it looks like a point for Timbrelle. …Ow! Ouch! Stop it, you butt!” She tried to hide herself from Adna’s pinches, but the robe was too thin. “Just be more clever! Then you won’t need to resort to violence!”
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“One would think with such a weak body, you’d have higher self-preservation instincts.” Adna shot back.
Trestovan spoke up. “May I cut in? I should tell you a bit about Capri. Some recreational drugs are ok; the kind you can buy at the store. Just don’t take anything offered to you. Drug dealers don’t give out samples and predators like to ‘share’.” He instructed.
“I know the spiel. ‘Say no to drugs.’ They were pretty tough on that while I was growing up.” Timbrelle assured him.
“Huh? No… you can say yes to drugs. That’s sorta the point of this place. Try to stay by me as much as you can and I’ll get you in. Here are these.” He handed them each a mask of black rhinestones. “They match mine, if you need unofficial identification. Just tell them you’re with ‘V’.”
As soon as they donned their masks and overclothes, the carriage stopped.Timbrelle was slightly surprised to see Trestovan open the door himself.
“Remember, for all intents and purposes, everyone is a commoner here. Royalty or beggar, if they make it in, they’re equal. Namedropping real names will get you kicked out. Unmasking yourself or another will get you kicked out. Heinous public indecency will get you kicked out—if you find an interesting person or people, there are intimacy rooms provided. Ready?” He held a hand out for them to descend.
Once they had disembarked, another dull, drab carriage pulled directly into the spot. Apparently, it was a busy place.
Trestovan led them through a door that swung open to a whispered phrase. Passing the doorway was like being dumped in the roiling ocean. Music blasted them from every direction, no sign of its origin. People bumped and staggered into the group as they walked. Trestovan absconded with their cloaks and returned immediately.
Plush velvet sofas lived in every shadowed corner of the room. They entertained couples and throuples in heated embrace. Timbrelle looked into each and every hidden corner, fascinated. She may have been to strip clubs, but this bacchanal was something entirely new. Adna grabbed her hand and pulled her along following Trestovan. She would likely have been gawking as well if their guide’s only advice hadn’t been “stay close”. Ahead of them the true magnitude of the building finally became clear.
An open area encircled by pillars gathered people to dance under a pulsing light. The ceiling, a ring of massive, luminous flower petals yet to bloom, sealed and bowed like an inverted parachute to hang, at points, just out of reach to the masked revelers. It was unclear where the flickering, club lighting was coming from, but the glow of the peach colored petals ensured a constant sub-illumination.
Among the hypnotic lights, music and movement of people, a heavy fruity perfume permeated the air. It was the least in a long list of sensations fighting for her attention.
An ornate gazebo sat in the middle of the room. Of all the chaos, this struck her as strangest. That wasn’t where that should be. It would be at home in a nice park, not the middle of her hedonism crash-course.
Just outside stood a large man in a mask who simply nodded at “V” and allowed them into the elaborate bowery. The ceiling unfurled, showing another nearly identical layer just above. Trestovan invited them to sit, then nodded back at the man.
The gazebo started to rise.
Timbrelle was excited to find another floor above the second and another after that, then six more. Each floor’s petals had grown a deeper shade of red until she exited under a sealed bloody burgundy rose. There were a scant few people on this level— a guard, a hostess at a desk. The lone waiter of this floor approached with a tray of drinks. The tallest, a glass flute of opaque onix liquid, was claimed by Trestovan. Leaving two bright purple glasses of shimmering drinks on the tray. The man departed quickly once his charges had been delivered. Timbrelle watched him walk to a random spot on the wall and pass directly through it. The only clue to the passage’s whereabouts was the blue aura glow shaken loose from use.
“V! It’s lovely to have you back. I believe it’s been three long months since you graced our halls. The time has been unbearable.” The hostess fawned over V, a little too obvious. “Your rooms have been kept clean and ready for your return. Please let me know if you’d like me to arrange additional company.”
Trestovan walked away, not acknowledging the woman. Ice cold.
Adna did her best to hide a rising interest. He was, first and foremost, not her type. Secondly, and probably much less problematic for Adna: in love with Gren. Timbrelle graciously punched her in the spine to realign her priorities.
“He’s taken.” She reminded the monster.
“Says who? Gren hasn’t claimed him yet.” She pouted. “You always have to rain on my bacchanalian orgies.”
Timbrelle shuddered. “I never want to hear you claim that ever, ever again. Never. You hear me?”
“Oh relax! You wouldn’t be invited.”
“…What? That’s not fair. I’m not some prude.” Timbrelle was oddly… hurt.
“Didn’t think so. I’m just not gonna have a sexual encounter with my sister.” It was Adna’s turn to shudder.
“What a sentimental and disturbing thought. I can’t decide whether to change the topic or dig right into that statement.”
“Luckily, you won’t need to choose.” Trestovan interjected. He led them around the giant, circular petal pit they’d ascended through. “We’re attending a… show.”
Adna followed him through a velvet curtain, down a hallway with many doors and past very few patrons. Timbrelle, since leaving the Dorark, had developed a taste for dawdling. She sipped her drink and accepted her role of duckling behind Adna. She’d spent long enough forging the way, it was only the universe balancing itself out. Karma, if you will. With her two companions being a full head taller than her and broad as bulls, she blindly followed them into a theater booth.
“Oh my.” Adna breathed.
“The acrobats are a quality act. A very good first impression of Capri.” Trestovan commented, already dipping into the drink cart in the booth.
“Acrobats? Is this some sort of cultural show?” Timbrelle asked, entering last. “I expected something a little harder core.”
Adna steered her to stand at her side and pointed her at the stage. “Oh, it’s plenty hard.”
On the stage three stories below, a fully nude troop of performers stretched, contoured and intertwined in a show Timbrelle found more fascinating than erotic—much like her perception of Capri on the whole.
“That feels like a lot of limbs for six people.” She mused.
“I count eight.” She tapped her head to gesture at her brain, while still maintaining unbroken eye contact with the stage. “Gotta use your head. Look for faces.”
“Right, right…” Timbrelle agreed, focused.
Trestovan cleared his throat from the chaise lounge. “I would like to remind you to blink, ladies. You’ll go blind at that rate.”