Maison

I hate how noisy my usual joint is this night. It's on the edge of Lumiose, so what the hell are so many tourists doing here? Part of me wants to shout out to them that all the pretty shit they came to see is in the center of the city but I drown it in another glass of whiskey. Six. Maybe seven. Who gives a shit, really? Somewhere in my peripheral I can see a guy looking straight at me like he wants to say something but I'm going to stare straight into my glass until he fucks off. I see him get up and almost sigh in relief but he walks over and sits down next to me. I can't see it, but I know this guy's got a grin wider than a Gengar's on him. “Let me buy you a drink,” I hear. I look straight at him – grin's just as evil as one too.

“Do I look like a fag? Fuck off.” His grin doesn't falter and he raises a hand to the bartender. “For fuck's sake, what do you want?” The bartender walks over and the guy points to my glass. Well, what the hell I think, might as well enjoy a free drink. The bartender fills up his glass and mine and walks off. “Alright, you bought me a drink but I ain't suckin' your dick.”

He sips from his own glass and chuckles. “No, you've got me wrong sir, way wrong. I've got a nice little proposition for you.”

I drain half my glass and give him a foul look. “I don't want it, whatever it is.” His smile doesn't flicker.

“I'm not here to sell you a product sir, just show you an opportunity.” His hands fiddles for a second with the lapel of my suit. It at least isn't sexual, I can believe that. “Fine threads, nice cuffs, polished shoes, he rattles off. His grin seems to split even wider. “And alone in a shitty bar on the edge of a big city intent on getting as smashed as possible.”

The rest of my glass goes down. I'm almost impressed with the guy. “Regular Looker aren't you? What do you want?”

He stands and gestures at the door. “I've got something to show you next door. Something that I think would interest a proper businessman like yourself.”

“And that's when you lead me down an alley and leave me without a wallet or kidneys. Sounds like a fucking great idea.” I take my wallet out and hand the bartender my card. “What a shame I don't carry paper anymore.” Half-true. I always kept a few bills tucked away but what's this asshole need to know that for? “Find someone else to prey on.”

He won't stop giving me that fucking grin and it's starting to piss me off. “You misunderstand me sir, it's only right next door. Everything is well-lit and you'll see anyone coming for you from a mile away, I can guarantee it. Just give me the chance to proposition you.”

I set my glass on the bar and grunt. The sooner this guy was out of my hair the better. “Fuck it, this place isn't getting any quiet anyway. Lead away.”

He wasn't lying at the very least, the place was right next door. It seemed to be a re-purposed boarding house or something, I honestly could not care less. He ushers me inside and I can hear something indistinct and muffled. Some of it was rhythmic and some of it was like what conversation sounds when you can just barely make it out. He leads me down the entrance hall and through a door into a lounge. I see a few more men – all in men in suits talking to women in cocktail dresses.

Personally, it just seems like a sad attempt at getting me to pay top dollar to drink in some place “classy.” This poor bastard was gonna get the letdown of a lifetime. He stops for a second to chat with some guy mixing drinks and then the guy hands him a key. We push past him through another door and now we're in another hallway. He leads me down it and we arrive at a large set of double doors. One of them has a shining placard on it labeled “The Nest.” He unlocks the door and points me inside.

“The attendant at the bar ahead will explain everything sir.” He bows to me and adds, “I will return the key. I hope you'll make use of The Nest.” I don't move – instead I cross my arms and just as I open my mouth he adds, “I can assure you, you can leave at any time.” He passes in front of me and jiggles both knobs on the other side of the doors. “The doors are always unlocked from the inside. There are also several extra exits inside.” My arms uncross but he must catch the confusion on my face because before I can even get a word out he adds again, “You'll understand inside.”

He walks away and, giving into curiosity, I cross the threshold. The door closes behind me and I try to open it immediately. He wasn't lying at least. I hear a call out from behind me and turn to face the bartender. “Head over sir, I'll explain.”

As I walk to the bar I look over to my left and notice a second lounge – more guys in suits, and a few more ladies in dresses, but then I notice none of them are talking to one another. They're all talking to...

“Pokemon?” I say aloud. I turn to face the bartender – he's already pouring me a drink.

“On the house,” he says as he finishes pouring. “And yes, Pokemon. The Nest aims to appease deviant tastes.”

I nearly drop my glass of gin. “Deviant?” I say, setting the glass down. “What do you mean deviant?” I don't want to believe he's implying what I think he's implying.

The bartender rolls his eyes at me. “Sir, I ask that you not be so dense. This is a maison de tolerance.” He turns to a guy that walks up and pours him another drink. I give the guy a glance – there's a Delphox clinging to his arm with a look on its face that makes me uncomfortable. The guy and the Pokemon walk off and out of view – I hear a door open and shut before the bartender snaps me out of the trance. “As I was saying sir, this institution is intended to cater to a decidedly deviant taste most working men and women do not possess. More than anything our seekers pull individuals from bars and bring them here. After a few years of practice, nearly all of them have become terrifically accurate at locating clientele. And of course, there's the usual underground network of communication...” He stops himself and waves a hand airily in front of him. “Boring details, forgive me. You were undoubtedly chosen by Franco because you had the air about you of finding some pleasure here.”

I feel like throwing my gin in his face, but that hardly seems the best course of action. “Listen here,” I say, my voice barely a whisper, “I'm not some deranged fuck that’s out looking to get a Pokemon between the sheets.”

The bartender doesn't flinch – instead he keeps cleaning his glass and gives me a disinterested once over. “I'm fairly certain you are sir. Franco hasn't been wrong in two and a half years. And neither have I.” He puts the glass away and pulls several bottles from below bar. He uncaps each and inspects their contents. “Perhaps if I showed you sir. To satisfy your morbid curiosity at least, given that you are not – ahem – 'deranged', as you said?”

This fucker's been doing this too long, I think, because he was right. I was curious as all hell as to what the fuck people came here for – and how this place could stay in business. I pick my glass up and drain it. “Yeah, fine. Satisfy my curiosity then. Then I'm getting the fuck out of this place.” He nods and reaches for a bell sitting on the counter. He gives it three rings and a few seconds later a picture perfect butler is standing before me.

“This way, if you please sir,” he says to me and off we go. We head down a short hallway towards the rear of the lounge, past a door labeled “Suites” and through a door labeled “Gallery.” I try to slow down as we walk past the “Suites” door and listen in but I can't hear a thing. As soon as we walk into through the “Gallery” door something to my right grabs my arm firmly and starts frisking me.

“Great, so now I get mugged,” I say aloud. I clench one of my hands into a fist and turn to look at who's frisking me. I'm greeted by a massive thug in sunglasses stuffed into a nice suit.

“Gotta check pal,” he says gruffly to me. “No funny business in the gallery unless you're a paying customer.” He lets me go and crosses his arms as he leans back into his little nook. “I've got my eye on you bud.”

I roll my eyes and walk up to the butler who stands gestures to his left. I glance over and through a giant glass window I see at least forty Pokemon, all of them “talking” I'd guess. Some of them are wearing clothes – proper clothes and I even spot a few near the back in what I can only imagine is specially made lingerie. Somewhere closer to the glass I see a Lopunny turn away from her conversation with a Gardevoir and look at me. Ugh, that same kind of expression that Delphox had. I know what it is – bedroom eyes. I sputter for a second and look back at the butler. “What the fuck is this?”

“Language sir, language,” he says insistently, “And this is the gallery. You may take your pick, or picks, from here. Your choice, or choices are logged and paid for, on top of a deposit for a room and the ensured safety of our workers and you may then relax in the lounge or retire to a suite.” He pauses as I sputter again but I guess he figures I'm not saying anything worthwhile because he continues, “And if you find something presently in the gallery not to your tastes, you need simply request of me something specific. Unless, of course, you believe you need to go through this door instead.” He gestures to his right – there's a large, shining sign on it labeled “Marked Deviancy.”

“What the fuck...” I begin.

“Language, sir,” he says again.

“What the...what is behind that door?” I say finally.

He adjusts the sleeves of his suit and says simply, “Non-humanoid shapes. I believe we recently acquired a Vanilluxe at the behest of one of our more frequent clients.

I almost forget to be disgusted, I'm so confused. “A Vanilluxe? Why?”

The butler shakes his head. “We do not disclose the reasoning behind our acquisition to ensure the privacy of our clientele. Indeed, we do not disclose the choices our clientele make when they visit – save of course, those that move out into the lounge with their choice.” He clears his throat. “Or choices.”

I look back into the gallery. The Lopunny is still looking at me, and it's starting to get to me. There were so many things wrong here that I didn't know where to begin. I can't tear my eyes away from how absurd it is to see a Lopunny staring at me like my ex did and so I ask the glass between us, “How have you not been shut down? This is illegal on so many levels.”

“I'm sorry sir, but I find it rather unintelligent to explain how an establishment such as this one keeps it's doors open and ignored by the proper authorities. I can assure you however, that our clientele are just as interested as we are in keeping our activities secret.”

From somewhere off to my left I hear the thug in the nook add, “And so am I.”

The Gardevoir she was talking to seems to have given up on getting the Lopunny's attention back so she walks off. The stare she's giving me is really starting to eat at me and I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

The butler clears his throat. “Sir, if you wish to give yourself more time to think, might I suggest I return you to the lounge that you may mull it over a few drinks?”

I wriggle my shoulder to get his hand off and raise my hand up. The Lopunny's stare doesn't change but I can see something like a smile cross her face. After a second her own hand comes up. The hand on my shoulder this time is much firmer, and the butler's tone is more insistent. “Sir. If you would come with me to the lounge.”

I take a deep breath and say quietly, “No.” It's those fucking eyes, I think, why does she have those fucking eyes, how does she just look at you like that? I have to know.

“Pardon sir?” I can hear it echoing in my head and I feel like clutching it. Everything seems to melt away – the butler, sunglasses off in his nook, the rest of the Pokemon and the glass in between us. It's those fucking eyes.

“No, I...” I stop. Finally, I choke out, “One, just one.”

“Sir?” I hear again.

“How much for just one?”