Clubbing, Apparently

"John," the Doctor huffs, as I continue scrolling through the potted history of the Drahvin settlement of Venus that the TARDIS has been kind enough to print and bind for me, "you still haven't answered my question." I roll my eyes. "And you still haven't told me where we are," I shoot back, "so no answers until you do." "Hedon Station, 46192 CE, it's a Wednesday but I'm not sure what the rest of the date is," she rattles off smoothly, "now could you please tell me what you think of my outfit?" I sigh theatrically and look over at her, clad in hot pink booty shorts, a pair of white sneakers and Xs of pink tape over her nipples.

"I think," I say, "it looks like you'd be happy to get bent over and buttfucked by any man within arm's reach." She mulls the response over for a moment and then shrugs. "Not any man," she demures, "but that's about the look I'm going for. Because..." She tugs her shorts up to cover most of her ass, struts over to the doors and throws them open. "...this is Hedon Station!" I look away from my book and raise an eyebrow at the sight visible through the doors. The room outside looks like it started life as a large industrial plant, before someone turned it into a massive indoor market. Food vendors and market stalls are crammed into every alcove and open space, the air full of the scents of spices, perfumes and incense.

Oh, and sex.

Because there's a lot of it going on. Men and women are fucking in every possible combination and position against every free surface they can find. I see a female vendor haggling with a pair of customers who are presumably a couple, given that she's pinned between them with the man's cock in her ass and the woman's strap-on in her pussy. I look again, and spot a quartet of women negotiating with a salesman for t-shirts to replace the ones that have been ripped off of them. I turn to the Doctor and raise an eyebrow. "Hedon Station's the most popular nightclub the Milky Way's ever seen," she explains, "on-site vendors selling everything you need, the hottest DJs this side of Hogsumm and no restrictions on public displays of affection whatsoever. I swear, people'd never stop fucking if they didn't need to do other stuff."

"And the fact that they all look like the same sort of human as me, even... 44000-and-a-bit years later?"

"Oh, that's because it's a retro-species night" she explains, "free reversible cosmetic alteration at the door, and a crash course on humanoid movement uploaded to every guest so there's no embarrassing dancefloor incidents because someone's suddenly got more or fewer legs than when they got here." She gestures at the slightly ragged-looking jeans I replaced my ruined pants with. "You're basically dressed for it already," she says, "come on!" I give my book a mournful look and follow her, hearing the doors swing shut on my way out.