The Search for Vanessa Hawthorne: Seventh of Seven

‘Pride’ simply put all the other sins to shame.

Size, sound, sensuality, spectacle! Everything had been turned up to eleven and then cranked a few degrees further. The interior was absolutely huge, the size of half a football field in width alone, and it stretched up, up, and then up some more. John counted six floors of balconies, but it was difficult not to lose track where the architect had decided that physics was more of a guideline than a set of hard rules. Stripper poles extended up from the ground floor all the way to the distant ceiling, periodically encircled with disks of plastic for attractive, scantily clad men and women to dance precariously upon. A bra drifted down from one into the crowd below and landed on some lucky individual’s lap.

Dominating one side of the ground floor was a gigantic bar that curved along the wall to the left, tended to by three separate bartenders, who were engaged in entertaining clients with flashy tricks and magic. One of them levitated the **** straight out of the bottle and into a swirling ball from which he formed icy cups, then poured drinks complete with little paper umbrellas that popped open by themselves.

It was hardly alone; John could see at least two other bars on the upper levels from where he stood, including one that was incomprehensibly on the ceiling with a bat-humanoid-hybrid hanging behind it. Based on the proliferation of drinks in hand and empty glasses on the many tall tables scattered about, there were enough to ensure that everyone was properly socially lubricated.

On the ground floor, past the crowd of raving, moshing, twerking and grinding dancers, was a soundstage that was sheer overkill for a nightclub. Towers of speakers rose several stories high, flashing with purple and white lights. They throbbed with a beat that didn’t just synchronize with his heartbeat but wrangled it into a rhythmic submission. Even as he managed to resist the pull of the revelry, John could feel the mental exhaustion of the last few hours swept away by the electrifying intoxication of the music. He felt better than ever, better than human, like a god infused with ambrosia.

Clearly, he wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Hedonism was on display in every form possible wherever he looked: from the patrons throwing cash at strippers, to a fight that had started in the mosh pit, to a man doing a line of white powder off the jiggling breasts of one of the three women he was groping or groped by.

This was a place of excess and indulgence, greater than any passing fantasy or mundane dream could live up to. John stared at it all with a smile spreading across his face. This had to be it. Every instinct screamed that Vanessa was here somewhere, why would she settle for anything less?

He turned back to Erica, who seemed less enthusiastic about the obvious answer, and he gestured their surroundings. “She’s got to be here!” His partner looked directly at him, then grabbed his arm and forcefully pulled him back out of the club. “Hey! What’re you doing? Let go of me!” John asked, struggling against her futilely.

The moment they crossed the threshold, the music faded away and, with it, his absolute certainty. It was as though he’d completely forgotten the other sins the moment he’d stepped inside. Yes, ‘Pride’ was still a strong candidate, but… not the only one. ‘Greed’ was worth considering, at least. He shook his head and then glanced back at the nightclub entrance. Realization slowly dawned.

“The music’s enchanted, isn’t it?” he asked the berserker.

Erica nodded. “Yeah, it’s a lot stronger than the last time I was here too. They must’ve gotten a new singer or something. I didn’t know it’d be this bad… This could be a problem. I’m really not good with this sort of thing, dude.” To say that she looked uncomfortable would be a major understatement. Now that he was clearer headed, John could see that his partner’s right hand was balled into a white-knuckled fist.

“Hold on, if you hadn’t dragged me out, what would’ve happened?”

“Best case scenario? You play around in there until the band leaves and someone kicks you out for running out of money.” Erica scowled, “You don’t want to know the worst case. Trust me.” From the look on her face, John was certain that he didn’t.

“Great, so how are we supposed to search it? I can’t shake the feeling that Vanessa’s in there.” Glancing back through the entrance to ‘Pride’, John searched the crowd for a sign of the cheerleader. For a moment he thought he caught a glimpse of her, but it was a different beach-blonde bimbo.

Erica leaned against the wall beside him and followed his gaze, “Agreed. That’s why you’re going to have to go in there, dude.”

“Hold on,” he turned to face his partner with a stunned look. “What do you mean I’m going to have to? I thought we were doing this together!” It came out a bit harsher than he wanted, and the way Erica’s expression fell further made his chest throb painfully.

She looked down, refusing to meet his gaze, “We are, that’s why I’m going to go check out ‘Greed’ while you investigate ‘Pride’. Okay?”

“This could be a problem. I’m really not good with this sort of thing, dude.”

John looked at his partner, and in the guilt on her face, he saw equal measures of anger and frustration. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to search ‘Pride’ with him, but that she couldn’t. That gave John some pause, how much, in truth, did he know about the berserker’s situation? She’d fought with him, stood up for him to Lord Brighton and gone with him on this manhunt knowing that it could get her in trouble with Mrs. Wentworth. Time and time again, Erica had proven herself an ally… and yet he knew almost nothing about her circumstances. It was only fair he repaid the trust she’d shown when she needed his.

“Okay. Meet back here in an hour and see what we’ve dug up?” he asked, to her surprise. “Now, how’d you get us out without succumbing to that music?”

Relief washed over Erica’s face, and she pulled herself together. “Right. Ok, dude, you know how sometimes you’ve got a song stuck in your head?”

John stepped back into ‘Pride’, but this time he was prepared. As the enchanted music washed back over him, he hummed the theme from Mechaburn Finite to himself as he had for the last five minutes. The clashing tempos causing enough dissonance that he was able to keep from being lost to the rhythm. It turned out that was all he needed. Once the initial effect was resisted, the music was just that: mundane, if well played. Any urges he had to dance were solely a result of the atmosphere, and that was easily resisted thanks to his fear of looking like a complete imbecile.

Unfortunately, if Vanessa was in that crowd, it’d be nearly impossible to pick her out of the hundred or more gyrating patrons… and in practice it was. The first thing that John did was wander up and down the floors, checking each for a glimpse of familiar blonde hair. There were plenty of women with a similar style to the obnoxious cheerleader, including one stripper that looked so similar he’d almost called out her name… but Vanessa remained elusive. Just wandering around wasn’t getting him anywhere, John needed a source of information.

In games, bartenders are usually good sources of information. Maybe that’ll work? Bearnard seemed like he always knew what the customers wanted…

Most of the bars on the upper floors were completely full, but when John descended back to the ground floor, he was pleased to discover that a couple had just vacated the two seats at one end of the main bar. He took the furthest and waved at the bartender, a hispanic man with the largest handlebar moustache he’d ever seen, to try and catch his attention.

The bartender finished taking the order of a client further down the row, and just as he approached John, someone took the seat to his left.

“Shots, I don’t care what kind, just keep them coming until I pass out,” demanded an oddly familiar voice. A small, green hand slapped a stack of hundreds onto the table, prompting John to reach for his wallet. Erica had lent him a thousand dollars in case he needed money. The bartender collected the other customer’s cash and looked pointedly at John for his order.

“Uh…” John glanced up at the rows upon rows of alcohols behind the bar, pointing at one at random. “I’ll take one of… that?” The bottle was on the smaller side and distinctly styled with a motif of stones and runes. Maybe it was dwarven?

The bartender’s moustache flexed in a inquisitive way, as if to ask him if he was sure. John replied with a hesitant shrug and nod. Several shot glasses appeared out of thin air, deftly filled to just beneath the brim with a bubbling cider and paired with a full mug of the smooth, dark-brown drink of John’s chosen bottle.

This is probably a bad idea… I mean, I’m underage in the first place, and who knows what kind of crazy stuff the booze here could do? If the music’s hypnotic, then what about the drinks? What if it lights my hair on fire or dissolves my stomach cause I’m not as sturdy as a dwarf? Those guys seemed like they could drink acid and walk it off...

With a flick of the wrist, the bartender sent the glasses sliding to a stop before John and his neighbor, then turned to take care of other customers. John stared in a daze down at the drink sitting in front of him. It smelled pleasantly like nuts and rain. Maybe this would be fine… oh for fuck’s sake! He’d forgotten to ask about Vanessa!

“Hey, uh, hello? Could I ask a-” he trailed off. The bartender was busy with other people now, he’d need to wait for an opportunity later. He half considered getting up and looking for another spot at a less busy bar… but he’d bought a drink already, and the bartender had taken away all the money he’d put on the table. Were these things really that expensive?

“Stupid couples, always wandering around flaunting how great it is to be bonded… never willing to share or try anything new,” the person beside him grumbled at nobody in particular. “Oh no… it’d probably be cheating, and that’s bad cause something about morals or prudy religions and stupid human stuff. Fucking teases, getting me all worked up over a great cock…” An empty shot glass slammed down next to his, the third so far.