Club Hothouse wasn’t the sort of place Trick O' Radler’s copilot and best friend George normally would insist on patronizing. The sultry sounds and smooth music were a complete contrast to the hard metal music Mandragoras typically preferred. But the club was one of the few on the station that could, and would, serve humans. So with a few bristly waves, and a sardonic robotic voiced jibe, about barbaric human nutrient absorption. George agreed to suffer through the blues club.

"Don’t embarrass me with your disgusting human slurping sounds," said George, as he wheeled his motorized pot through the club’s doors. "I still say that we should just bunk up for the night and leave early in the morning.”

It was humid in the club, and bright lights burned from overhead.

"Four months in hyper, George. Four months of smelling nothing but shit, in hyper. I'm not getting back in that captain seat until I have at least one drink, and the scrubbers are finished clearing every bit of that stench."

"Aw, it wasn’t that bad. Besides jobs to the Greenhouse Station pay bank.” His leaves twitched, “And you know I hate it when the scrubbers touch my stuff... it’s unnatural."

The door to the club shut behind them with a soft swish. And the two made their way to one of the few tables at the back of the club.

"Unnatural! That’s funny coming from you. You know there’s not many bipeds that think a walking talking plant is natural. Besides their not touching your stuff, they're cleaning it. Their simple single-celled amoebas, literally the most natural thing in the universe."

George gave a little shudder, as his wheeled pot came to a stop at the table. Its mechanized motor wearing as it elevated him to table level.

"I don’t know how you humans can look past the fact that they are literally reproducing while oozing all over the ship. They literally get off while eating your dead, flaked-off skin cells."

Trick grimaced. When George put it that way it did sound wrong. But before he could think on it further, a hearty Conium Maculatum appeared at the edge of the table.

"Well, well, well, a human. It’s been a cycle since we’ve had one of your kind in house." A pink smiling emoji popped up on her pot. "Perfect timing not many humans get to hear the lyrics of Jezabel Brugmansia x candida. I'm Haley Conium Maculatum by the way, and I can take your order anytime you’re ready."

They made their orders: a fertilizer stick for George, and a Flirty Freda for Trick. He was dubious about ordering it. The amount of pureed fruit in it gave him pause. But Haley just emojied them a wink and quickly disappeared.

"Hum!"

"What?" said George.

"I was just surprised that they would serve fruit drinks. I mean isn’t that like serving up one of your own."

George flashed a side-eye emoji across the front of his pot.

"First off fruit is more the antiquated berthing byproduct of the human placenta. And I don’t see humans getting all weird about composting. You do know what dirt is made from... Right? Heck, I could be getting ready to digest your grandpa in this stick right now. I mean who knows maybe I will be." Devil face emoji.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"It would probably be the best meal you ever had."

"Doubtful," said George.

Haley reappeared with their orders quickly depositing them before making her way to the other clientele. The club had filled to a considerable extent, leaving the place feeling like a long-lost earth forest. Trick couldn’t help but begin to feel uncomfortable within the dense foliage. Nearly losing himself as the room erupted in shaking leaves.

"Finally, If I had to hear another hushed conversation about you from this undergrowth, I was going to lose my soil."

To Trick, the place had been deathly quiet. Other than the occasional leaf twitch. But that had always been the problem with plants, and the reason most humans hated being around them.

The lights in the club dimmed, and the rustling fell to a hushed whisper. As Jezabel Brugmansia x candida ascended the stage. Her sleek bipedal mechanical legs clicked across the stage. Her leaves swayed back and forth as if caught in a breeze. And her sleek black, and silver pot sparkled in the spotlight, which followed her every movement.

"Wow," said George. "Ok, well maybe this wasn’t a waste of time after all..." As his leaves begin to twitch along with the rest of the crowd.

Music began to play, quickly filling what little space was left in the club with the harmonic sounds of blues. It was the sort of music that brought Trick back to his childhood. And then Jezabel Brugmansia x candida began to sing.

"I came up from the ground."

"I came up from the ground where my momma put me down."

Trick sipped his drink hoping the fruity concoction would hide his grimace. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but the mechanical robotic voice coming from Jezabel was jarring. He downed his drink, wishing he had ordered two, as he plastered on a smile and glued his eyes to the stage.

"I came up from the ground and ain’t no one ever going to put me back down."

The music faded to the rustling of leaves. Jezabel Brugmansia x candida, shivered slightly before she made her way from the stage.

"Well that was something," said Trick, spotting the waitress and quickly waving her down.

"I'm sure you didn’t get the full effect of her... Human ears are so primitive after all. Hay, you know what? This has been better than I would have expected. I think I'm going to get a nitrate drip."

"Oh, a real splurge," said Trick, as he smiled at the waitress, a drink already on her tray.

"Hay you," she said, depositing the drink in front of him. "You have an admirer."

The drink was the same as the one he had ordered before. But now a single flower lay atop its fruity innards. Trick eyed it, confusion plain on his face.

"Okay, look at the time ha ha ha ha ha. I think it’s time we head back to the ship." George wheeled away from where he had been sitting and rammed his pot into Trick.

"Ow, what the hell? The ship’s not even ready yet, and I thought you wanted to get a drip." Trick picked up the flower and sniffed it.

"Oh god don’t do that." The club filled with the rustling of leaves, and George quickly rammed into Trick once again. "Man, we are going to get planted if we don’t leave. And drop the flower, unless you want them to think you’re a dendrophiliac.

Trick dropped the flower and stood. The rustling of the other plants in the room grew louder as Trick stumbled backward making his way to the door. George followed in his wake, his leaves rustling as antagonistic emojis flashed across his pot in various directions.

The doors to the club shut behind them, cutting off the angry rasping of leaves. The ghostly sounds of the Greenhouse Station quickly overtook them.

"What just happened?" said Trick.

"You my friend were just solicited by Jezabel Brugmansia x candida. I guess all your smiling and staring really turned her on, and it pissed some plants off."

The two moved away from the club, Trick glancing back over his shoulder every few steps to make sure no plants decided to follow them out. But the door remained closed.

“What, how…” said Trick, feeling more confused than he ever had in his life.

“Pollination. Geez, what do they even teach in human school.”

Trick stopped, and stared at his best friend, and copilot.

"How is that even possible..."