The sweet smell of liquor, mixed with the unpleasant scent of tobacco. The clashing of smells assaulted my nose the moment Anya opened the doors to the Brass Light.
My eye took a second to adjust to the dim overhead lighting that gave the room a golden hue. A drifting melody came into earshot, a piano, one played by a skilled pianist dressed in a flashy brass-colored suit. He played a piano with an exterior made entirely of polished brass.
With each note he played, I noticed Anya's steps. They were calculated, drawing eyes from the existing patrons within the club, chatting happily with the hostess who attended them. To my surprise, those same hostesses did not look at Anya with disgust or envy; rather, they were welcoming. Like individuals knowing that they were working for a business, not for themselves.
Behind me, I could hear the faint rumbling of gears as steam hissed out. Muller was looking around, his eyes darting from spot to spot. Once he noticed I was looking at him, he cleared his throat and pushed me forward.
I'd be a fool to just gawk at how nice this place looks with its booths lining the walls of the building, centering a bar with several hosts tapping away, idly staring at the door with bored eyes.
Why?
The more I focus, the fewer things make sense. This is prime time for customers, yet several tables are empty. Besides Anya, four hostesses and five hosts sat behind the bar.
"Anya," I said. Anya tilted her head back as we moved.
"Yes, Mister?"
"Are there more hostesses like you outside looking for more customers?"
She turned back forward, staying silent for a moment. Then, with a breath of air, she spoke, "Why, Mister? Am I not pretty enough for you?"
"That's not it."
"I know," she chuckled, "but yes, times are tough right now." Then, under her breath, she said, "I will change that."
What she meant by that, I could not fathom. I know too little about this place to pretend that I know what's befell this place. All I can say is that this place is betraying the rumors that praised it.
"Here we are." Anya led us to a U-shaped booth larger than what we really needed for two people. It was different from the others, as a display of empty bottles lined the back wall like a trophy collection, and there was a fabric divider that could be lowered.
I slid towards the center of the booth, while Muller sat at the end because of his large mechanical arm. Anya sat next to me and placed a menu right in front of her. She slid close to me, forcing me to look down at her.
I would be lying if I said this was not a pleasant experience, but something about it felt weird. This was one of the few places where the employees did not rely on sex work to keep their customers, so why was Anya doing this?
"What can I get for you?" Then she glanced at Muller, "And the sheep to drink?"
"Something dark from the top shelf," Muller said, paying her petty insult no mind. Anya seemed to be bothered by his lack of reaction as she turned to me.
"And what of you, Mister?" She said in an alluring tone, pressing herself against me.
"I suppose I'll take anything that you can whip up, and an additional bottle of anything you grab for Muller."
"Tsk."
She was not very subtle in her mistreatment of Muller. I wonder, though, what did she have in mind if I hadn't chosen the same thing as Muller?
"Understood!" She then got up from the booth. "Oh, and get some stories ready. I heard that talking about fun stories while drinking is a good way to relieve some stress."
I gave her a smile and a nod as she walked off towards the bar. She was right; telling stories while under the influence is a good way for me to relax.
"Axien," Muller's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I turned towards him, and he motioned with his head for me to slide over. "What do you think of this place?"
"That this is a club that has fallen from grace."
Muller nodded as he looked around. I noticed a strange noise from above, like several people moving and chattering. The sounds were too faint to make out anything in particular, but something about it felt odd.
Why would a club need an upstairs?
"You've been here before, right?" I asked Muller. He shook his head as he turned back to me.
"I've only heard of this place through the scouts. They said that this place had been booming with female customers for a while now, but…"
"There's not a single one in sight."
Seeing the idle hosts was evidence of that.
"How recent was that report of yours?" I continued.
"About a week ago." Muller said, "One of my scouts claimed something suspicious was happening in the Outer Ring and followed some strange movements to this building."
"But after investigating, they concluded nothing was strange."
Muller nodded.
Then the doors to the building opened, and a woman dressed in strange, heavy clothes stepped into sight. She moved in tandem with the piano as if she were hypnotized by every key press. Muller grunted as he kept his eyes on the pianist.
The hosts behind the counter, their eyes once filled with life the moment the doors opened, now stared at the woman with pity in their eyes. Several of them gave me a passing glance, then looked back toward the woman.
As the woman stepped closer, I felt a similar presence from her. During the attack on City Hall, Kelly suddenly behaved differently, as if she were nothing but a doll. This woman's eyes looked hollow with a neutral expression on her face. She moved without looking at anyone who stared at her as if she didn't even notice they existed.
Was this a simple act of arrogance? No, she was brainwashed; that much I am certain of. She made her way upstairs and vanished out of sight.
*Crash!*
"Anya!"
I heard the sound of glass dropping from the direction of the bar. I turned to see Anya staring at the staircase with a bitter expression. There were the faint embers of anger as blood dripped from the palm of her left hand.
The hosts who were with her scrambled to clean up the glass while tending to her injuries.
"Sorry for the wait," Anya came over with a host at her side. The host wordlessly placed two bottles on the table and gave us a nod before walking off. Anya, holding two empty glasses and a mixed drink on a tray, sat next to me. She gave me the drink as she prepared to pour drinks from the bottles into the other glasses. On her left hand was a fresh bandage, tied tightly.
I picked up the drink and took a sip. It had a fruity taste with a carbonated kick to it. The aftertaste burned, and I felt the alcohol run through my system. Without realizing it, they finished the glass, prompting a weird look from Anya.
"That's pretty strong, you know." She said, "But I'll take it that you enjoyed it?"
There was a genuine smile on her lips. "Yup," I said. I should know better than to drink on an empty stomach, but it's too late to fix that.
I turned to Muller, who stared quietly while drinking. "Anya," he said, "Get him drunk and I'll pay you extra."
"Why…?"
"Extra, huh?" She said under her breath. "Guess the sheep can be thoughtful."
Muller then stood up from the table. "I'll be outside for a while; I can't do this stiff tobacco air."
"Wait—"
"Understood!"
Anya's voice drowned out my protest. She wasted no time in pouring another drink for me and, like with the previous one, I immediately downed it. The artificial warmth spreading through my body felt better than anything I had to deal with all day. The pain in my chest from my wounds, the stinging of my eye, was gone.
When I turned back up, Muller was already gone. When did that happen? I swear he was just right there.
"So, Mister Axien." Anya pushed up against me, her lips inches from my ear. "Have you ever killed anyone?"