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The Great (Nerf) War of Plaisir

Act 2

Slatted rays played over the Sylveon's white fur as he crawled over the grating. It was the only light on him here, aside from a dull blue ambience. The walls of the ventilation shaft pressed in on Petier from all sides, edges of jagged metal catching at his hide and legs as he shuffled further along.

It seemed that his well-built and toned form, while optimal for a security job, left few possibilities for stealth work. The only thing stopping the banging and thumping that resounded off the cold metal walls from being the loudest sounds in the vent was the incessant grumbling. If anyone were to hear, they probably wouldn't understand, his language being from somewhere in Eastern Europe. Such ignorance would probably for the best.

“Do prdele, to je na hovno tohle to..." Petier muttered to himself in a voice that was uncharacteristically deep for his species. It was also pained from the straining and grunting through the tight spaces. “Whose idea was it to set up their base so far away? Pah..." He paused for a moment, reaching back with one ribbon, wrapping it around the handle of a well-packed dufflebag and hauling it after him. “And now I must crawl through all these vents, corner after corner… but will be worth it, will make it worth it…!"

He shuffled himself a few inches further, feeling that grating dig into his underside. “Ghhhh… can't fit through here..." More shuffling. His elbows and head banged again into the walls, making something untranslatable roll from his mouth. He grabbed and dragged himself forwards, sliding towards a junction. His nose twitched as he grimaced. “This place stinks, though. When were these cleaned..."

The Sylveon pressed his limbs against the walls and hauled himself up to a junction. His pale blue eyes cast right, left… down….

“Jeba?! I don't believe this…" The words dripped with spitefulness, but not even the acidity of the tone would be enough to get through the firmly locked grills to his left and right. And since going back didn't seem to be on his agenda, that really only left one option.

“'We need to beat them, Petier." He mimicked the words running through his mind. “We must win! For Plaisir!'" He glowered down at the murky, dust-choked depths of the ventilation shaft before him. “Arceus, I cannot work with these prostitutes…"

And so, with further clunking, banging and cursing which hopefully didn't get heard, much less understood, he grabbed the dufflebag and slid down into the next shaft.

* * *

Chai leaned over the turret, folding his paws over it as he stared up at the balcony of Captivate's upper floor with a smile. “Hey, can I get you guys anything?"

There was silence at first. Then, a muffled voice from somewhere behind a sofa on the balcony replied “Like what?"

Whisper, whisper!

“Well, I am a waiter. It's my fuckin' job. And there's a vending machine just down the corridor."

More whispering, louder this time. The voice from before continued. “Oh yeah? What does it have?"

“Chocolate. Potato chips. Those cheesy things."

“We'll have the cheesy things!" The voice replied, quickly.

“Frank!" Hissed a second voice, loud enough to be heard now.

“Hey, I hear they sell good ones here…"

“Well, I'd be happy to…" Chai said, showing his fangs. The Umbreon's tail wagged slowly from side to side. “Just gotta come out here and get them."

“Well, that seems a fair deal-"

“Frank! The war!"

“Oh… yeah… um… how about you come up here?"

Chai wrapped one paw around a switch on the turret's handle. The low roar of the motors filled the air.

“Um…" There was a shaky hesitation. “Uh… actually, I'm not that hungry…"

“What a shame. We here at Plaisir are always ready to serve." Chai said, releasing the switch, but keeping his eyes locked on that balcony. “All you have to do is come down and ask, and we'd be happy to give you everything we've got..."

The doors to his right slammed open. Chai glanced over to see a tan-brown streak barrelling through them and jump over a table, flying towards the main catwalk at the centre of Captivate. A paw clipped a passing chair, and the streak tumbled, coming to a crashing half across the length of the catwalk, revealing it to be a small, hastily panting Linoone. His sharp blue eyes stared wildly around. “Hey. Hey! Neon here? Neon? News! From Ceylon…!"

Near Chai, a Jolteon had been hunched over the bar counter along one wall, grasping a marker pen in her teeth. Until the sudden outburst, she'd been in deep conversation with a crimson Ninetales who was holding a small derringer pistol in his own maw. Now, both of them were staring at the new arrival. As one, they dropped what they were carrying and dashed over.

Captivate was not exactly at its height. Plaisir's Special Bar was the main venue of choice for all the big events that would pass by the Café, such as performances by freelance singers, shows by a couple of nearby contest stars, or sometimes, some ever-popular pole dancing by a few of the more skillful waiters. As such, it was outfitted to match; a web of catwalks, with a few large poles heading up the the ceiling, wound around a myriad of large couches and chairs. Across one side was a beautiful, sizable stage, resplendent in varnished orange wood.

The balcony, which spread across most of two sides of the room, faced the stage. It was normally for those who wished to watch over the performances and dancers, while in enough vague privacy to entertain a conversation - or a perhaps waiter - of their own. Meanwhile, an array of lighting, installed across the roof and walls, could fit any mood; from stage show spotlighting to a more conventional strip-club atmosphere with lavishes of vivid purples and blues casting the scene into a flickering dance of debauchery.

Right now, however, the bar's lights were at their brightest. The chairs and small tables were scattered around at whatever whim of whoever had last needed them. Some, of course, had been piled into barricades facing the eastern door, which lead out into the customer-held service corridor and towards the bedrooms. The stage, so often taken up with lewd burlesque dances or displays of some of the more dramatic waiters for a little enticement, was currently host to a collection of spare guns, ammunition, and discarded cardboard packaging.

There were a good few waiters around. Most either crouched over the barricades and talking in hushed tones, were huddled in dark, well-upholstered corners to discuss tactics, or like Chai, had their guns trained on the balcony above. Typically, the air would be filled with low, seductive mutterings and coy giggling below a background hum of revelling voices; now, though, were just the mutterings of strategy and the whispers of war.

At their own corner near the stairs to the Balcony, the Jolteon and Ninetales brought the wide-eyed Quippie over to a sofa, conveniently near to Chai. The Umbreon sat back on his haunches, turning to join in.

“Neon! October! It's Firenze! He's here!" Quippie said, switching his view from the Jolteon to the Ninetales after every few words. “He… he joined in! But he's on… the customers' side!"

“Yeah, we know that." The Jolteon, Neon, said. “One of them came 'round here a few minutes ago to tell us." She was wearing a lurid green visor and what looked like some kind of modified headset. She looked like she was from a war alright, if you believed what a 1950s sci-fi thought future wars were going to look like. “We know all the new rules too. No-one on the upper floors. That doesn't mean the balcony here, though."

“But it does mean the only other way off the balcony." Chai interjected with a smirk. At the rear of the balcony was another small set of stairs leading up to a collection of more private rooms and a fire exit to the roof… all on the Café's middle floor.

“Got a couple of 'em trapped." October added with a chuckle. “Yes, Chai has been having the time of his life antagonising them for the past ten minutes." One of October's tails had slid out to pat Chai on the head rewardingly. The Umbreon beamed a fanged smile of pride.

“Yes! But… Neon! Ceylon! He's been captured!"

The Jolteon's face froze, and then fell. “Dammit! We needed him. He knew how to handle a freaking gun for one…"

“Who else…?" October said, frowning.

“W-well… Mach… and Lovirus… and a bunch others! The whole offensive!"

“And you left them…?" Chai said, narrowing his eyes. He watched the Linoone closely. “Ran away?"

“I jumped into a box when the firing started. It was an ambush by Firenze! But I've got a message!"

“Hold on, Chai." October said, a tail moving to press against the Umbreon's chest. Chai twitched with annoyance. “What was the message?"

“He said… Captivate!"

“Captivate…?" Neon said, looking at October. The Ninetales looked back at her. Chai watched as a distinct flicker of recognition passed across his face.

“Yeah! Just that." Quippie continued. “I wish I could have done more, but… there were so many! And Firenze…!"

“Don't worry about it." Neon waved a paw dismissively. “Go and tell the others."

“What, that's it?" Chai butted in, forcing Quippie to jolt to a stop during mid-motion. “He ran away from a losing battle and he doesn't get punished?"

“He did what he needed to do." Neon waved the Linoone to keep going, before turning back to the other two. “Anyway, you two haven't exactly been on the front lines most of this past hour, what with that Leafeon."

“Now now, Neon, you know that's different." October chimed in as he sat down beside Chai, and rubbed a paw over his head. “That was a matter of the natural order of things, that was..." Chai found that his seething had somewhat relented now. The fires of the Ninetales burnt far brighter than such a mere shard of annoyance, anyway.

Neon snickered briefly. “Yeah. Well, anyway, because of what he did, we have a plan." Neon flipped her visor down, and bounded quickly back to the bar counter where two guns lay unattended.

“Oh yeah, and what's that?" Chai grumbled. “Turn tail and disappear at the first flash of gold fur?"

“Nope!" Neon grabbed both guns. “Ceylon says that we need to defend Captivate at all costs." She announced loudly, turning to grin at them. “So rev your guns, 'cause we're gonna be in for a hell of a night."

Chai raised an eyebrow, following her with his eyes as she strutted off towards the eastern door.

Curled up on a sofa, on the other side of Chai, a pink little Sylveon had wrapped himself in his ribbons and was currently rocking himself back and forth. “Awwwwwww… I wish we could just try talking to them, just once… I'm sure they'd listen to us!"

Chai snorted, choosing not to answer. Neon had walked out in front of the barricades, facing the door. “You two, we need those guns and all those darts moved back to the Lounge. Divvy out a few clips to each of the defenders, we can refill from what they fire back!" Sparks crackled from her paws as she wrapped them around the triggers of both guns. There was a sudden, juttering growling as the motors began to spin up under the new electrical charge.

Chai found a slow smile, and turned back around. “You heard the girl." He called up to the balcony, grabbing the turret's handle and testing the trigger a couple of times experimentally with one paw. “Gonna be a hell of a night. You want those snacks now?"

* * *

Ceylon fell against the side of the bed. He stifled a hiss of displeasure - after all, it did pay to be sporting, even when your opponent wasn't. He instead chose to stare up at his captors.

It was tough to see in this room; the curtain across the window didn't help, but even if it hadn't been there, the setting sun had long ceased to shine upon the Inner Garden that the window looked out upon. Even the gigantic Solar Mirror across the Café's roof, which usually did a good job of reflecting sunlight down into the green courtyard, couldn't capture the last rays of the day.

Still, there was enough ambient light for a feline like himself to make out the general layout. It was a ground floor bedroom - in the Bedroom Block, unsurprisingly - near the heart of Customer Territory. He'd serviced this room several times, of course, but this was different. It even felt different, at the core. The once warm and welcoming green shades were a cold, foreboding grey in the near-darkness. He watched the dull, monochromatic shapes that outlined the figures in the room.

“So do tell." He asked, forcing pleasantness into his voice, even as it seeped from his mind the more he was experiencing. “Who will I be at the service of for the next half hour?"

“Eager…" Said a familiar voice from the other side of the room. Two of the shapes parted. She stood there against one wall, arms folded, watching. Hunched over both of her shoulders, the large Skarmory cast its yellow eyes upon the room. “That's good. You'll be needing eagerness."

“Ah. Sam. I don't believe we've been properly introduced, it was your compatriot Joe that I had the pleasure of attending to upon your arrival. I'm-"

“Ceylon. English. Devon. Used to be a travelling Performance Battler before retiring very early to live here." She raised her head, but darkness still shrouded many of her features. “Performance Battlers are becoming new celebrities in the western world. A fine paycheck and a fair bit of fame to go alongside. Many would question your decision to leave for such an establishment."

Ceylon watched her with renewed trepidation. “You've done your homework. I tend not to put that information on anything public." He glanced briefly to the corner of the room, where a large pale patch was like a reverse-silhouette. The bulk of Firenze was sitting patiently and watching. Ceylon could see those dark eyes, and wondered what he must be thinking….

“I like to know who I'm up against on the field of battle." Sam continued, and then in a deeper voice, “...Arcwild."

Ceylon paused at that, and pushed himself up onto his haunches. He noticed Firenze's shift in posture, slight as it was. “Well." Ceylon said, quietly. “That's a name I haven't heard in a while."

“That you choose to keep it a secret is curious. You don't even care for the fame that you did garner?"

“I'm flattered, honestly. But I believe, well, isn't that rather beside the point right now? You have half an hour, and surely you'd like to spend it mo-"

“I shall spend my time with my waiter however I'd like to!" She said, fiercely, pushing herself from the wall and taking a step forwards. The Skarmory on her shoulders spread its wings threateningly, the sound like the unsheathing of several broadswords, making the others in the room wince. Like this, the Pokémon was a huge crest of dull metal in the darkness. Then, after a pause, she continued in a slightly softer voice, though the edge still clinged to the words. “That is… after all… what you pride yourselves on in this fine establishment." Even in the near darkness, Ceylon could see that smile. He found himself edging backwards against the bedframe. “Such a shame that it will eventually lead to your downfall."

“The downfall of the waiters, our pride?"

“Your eagerness to please." She said, harshly, drawing each word out. “Do you not see it? Every waiter out there has a duty to make the customer as happy as they possibly can. And no - do not insult me by commenting on their contracts or their paychecks, because I don't mean that. It's in their blood."

There was another pause as the point was left in the air. Ceylon brooded on it. Again, he flicked his eyes to Firenze, who still sat there, still, his ears turned forwards. Like a sleeping giant, with that same aura of potential strength. Ceylon looked back to Sam; did she mean what she'd said…?

“Pokémon have not lost their memories. Just a few decades is not enough to forget the times when Pokéballs were the norm, when it was a mere rite of passage into adulthood that led to their capture and servitude. Memory exists through the bloodlines, Genetic Memory; far more prevalent in Pokémon…"

Ceylon had lowered his head, still watching her. Claws rested on the floor.

“Oh, don't give me that look." She said, more normally, putting a hand on her hips and looking down at him. “I don't think of Pokémon as any less human. I'm merely stating the facts. Their jobs and their instincts both tell them to do what the Customer wants. We have your minds and your hearts." She took another few steps forwards, and then crouched down onto one knee, coming down to his eye level. “You have no chance…."

He could see her eyes now. Wide, alive, burning with… something. Some erratic fire that leapt and hissed behind those wide pupils. Ceylon met the gaze with a dark glower. His claws dug into the floor.

“Ms Sam…" Ceylon said. “I have taken upon myself to know each waiter in this establishment, and I can vouch for the integrity, the stamina, and the spirit of every single one, bar absolutely, positively, none…."

Sam stared back at him with that same unsettling expression. Ceylon leaned back, resting his head on the mattress.

“And because of that, I'm sure that my fellow staff will surpass all expectations you could have of them, and they will do everything in their power to make your stay… a memorable one." He grinned.

Sam mirrored his expression. They stayed there, staring into each other's eyes; relaxed and watchful, wide and alive. The tension hung in the air, as thick as wool.

“Well… Mister Ceylon." Sam said, finally. “You can start by proving your words to me." She rose, the Skarmory's feathers clinging against one another as she did so. “Alright. Tie him up, nice and tightly, on that bed over there. I say, go for the Kobaru technique." Two people beside her moved at her orders. Ceylon kept his gaze on her as he was manhandled onto the bed. “I believe he has his own supply of rope under that apron, and once that is used up, the bottom drawer of the right hand bedside table will have more. I want him to be unable to move, only the smallest of struggles. A half hour kept restrained and alone will about sate that little hunger in me, and no doubt will give you time to consider the situation of you and your… compatriots."

“Ms Sam…" Firenze muttered, finally, as ropes were wound around Ceylon's legs. His voice heralded a vague but definite warning.

She turned to him, waving a hand. “Oh, before you doubt that this really is my fetish and not just some scheme to keep you away from the front line for as long as I can possibly make it, I have enough evidence on my phone to support my case." She gave a hum of thought. “It's the expressions I like to photograph, as they realise what's befallen them…"

Firenze turned his head to Ceylon. Even the darkness couldn't cloak that expression of concern. “You do know that consent goes both ways, even here…"

Ceylon continued to stare, even as he felt his back legs forced against the covers. The rope was soft, but when bound tightly like this, even that wasn't enough to stop it from digging uncomfortably into his hide. That rope crisscrossed across his hind legs, from the paws, up across his thighs, before winding intricately around his hips. He grunted as some was wrapped around his sheath - not as tight, this one; firm would be a better word for it. Almost… arousing. But it too was tied securely, his front paws forced behind his back and kept there, more rope digging into his pads. He took to breathing slowly, holding his gaze on the two shapes on the other side of the room.

“Firenze." Ceylon said, even as his head was pressed against the bed's headboard, the ends of the rope being wound around the bedposts. Despite the tingling in his paws from the tightness, he steadfastly kept that smile on his muzzle. “If the lady would like me to submit, then I shall comply. I do enjoy keeping the spirit of Plaisir alive and well. I am sure that Ms Sam will find me as strong-willed… as any one of our staff."

“Oh… well we'll find out about that, won't we?" Sam said from the door. A grin was strong in her voice.

The two binding him pulled the last ropes tight, and Ceylon deliberately withheld a grunt of discomfort. Satisfied, they left, passing Sam and Firenze as they did so. He couldn't turn his head, but he could still see them out of the corner of his eyes.

“Come on now, Mister Firenze; I believe we have an offensive to plan." Sam announced, gazing at her prize. She reached a hand up to gently stroke the talons of the Skarmory. “I'm afraid those waiters that you hold such faith in, Mister Ceylon, are going to find that their little grasp of Captivate isn't as strong as they think…"

“Oh… I have plenty of faith…" Ceylon said, pushing the words out forcefully through the tight bindings. His body strained at the restrictive, unyielding ropes. “I'm sure you'll find that the loyalty and the camaraderie of our staff cannot be matched…."

* * *

“Is not!"

“Is too!"

“Is fuckin' not!"

“Is… goshing… too!"

Chai found a warm, black-tipped crimson tail sliding around his belly, while at the same time one slid around the belly of the Sylveon in front of him. The tails pushed them both back as October walked between them, looking down with that piercing green stare. “Chai, Colin, my two little lovelies. Why're you fighting this time?"

Chai grunted in annoyance. “He seems to think that this turret I have is too 'mean'." He said the word as if it was from a foreign language. “That I should play tea party with them instead."

“It's true though!" Squeaked Colin in an adorably offended tone, the Sylveon's ribbons waving up and down. “I just know that with the right words, and a nice cup of tea and two… no… three biscuits each, we can all be happy and we won't have to do all this awful shooting at each other!"

“Oh, for fuck's sake, they're toys…" Chai said, groaning. He leaned back against the turret, making it swing upwards as he huffed loudly. “And this is just a bit of fun that we're going to win at. Unlike fuckin' cups of tea."

“Actually, I wouldn't mind a cup of tea…" The voice from the balcony spiralled down.

A pop sounded from another bench nearby, and a dart sailed over the railing and bounced off the back wall.

“Yah! ...Hey, that almost hit me!"

“Thanks, Glimmer." Chai called over at the dart's source, without even looking up.

“Welcome!"

“Are rebounds even allowed…?"

“I don't like it!" Colin was whining. He stamped his little feet on the edge of the catwalk. “Nice people don't shoot at each other. Nice people sit down and talk about things like… like sweet cakes and what they like in the bedroom and what their jobs are!" He pouted a delightful pouty face, ribbons waving again.

October was chuckling. “Oh, Colin. You get more and more adorable every day."

Colin paused, and blinked, his ribbons frozen in mid-air. “I… I choose to take that as a compliment! Thank you, October! See, Chai? October can be nice!"

Chai stared at him. It was a long, exasperated stare, which was cut only by October pushing a five-chambered revolver into his paws.

“He is partly right, though. Take this one instead." October retrieved his own leviathan of a weapon and inspected it thoughtfully.

Chai stared at the pitiful thing in his lap. Small… lightweight… low capacity…

“The fuck? I got this thing." He patted the large turret he was leaning against. “What would I want this shit for?"

“Well, several reasons, actually. Just take it. Trust me, Chai, I do have your best interests in mind. You will see..." He gave a quick smile, flashing glinting teeth, before turning back to his loading and priming.

“Yeah. Thanks, but I'll stick with something bigger than a pea shooter…"

“Oh, take the bloody weapon." October said, snapping a clip into his gun. “It's been fifteen minutes now, an attack has to come soon. Firenze won't wait around for much longer. You and I are going to have to be ready."

“Oh yeah, and what about your sparklegirl?" Chai muttered, looking past a studiously ignoring Colin.

Neon was still sat in front of the barricades, her guns on the floor either side of her. It looked like she was giving some kind of pep talk to the assembled waiters; so effective, it seemed, that her fur was crackling with static. The waiters were grasping their guns and watching, enraptured.

“Ohhh, I think she can handle herself…" October chuckled. Chai rolled his eyes, before letting out a yelp; his world twisted as he was dragged against October's side with one paw. He huffed, his body deflating as the hot fur surrounded his head.

“Yeah, yeah, fine, fine…." He muttered. His nose twitched. A grin tinged the corner of his mouth as a suggestive scent met his nostrils. “Well, smells like you did have fun with that Leafeon…"

October chuckled again from somewhere above him. “Well. I think you should have known that already, you little voyeur…"

“Yeah, but I didn't know she smelt like that…!"

“Hrraf, yes… it seems that grass ty-"

The eastern doors slammed open, and all eyes turned to look as a Mienfoo stumbled through them. His eyes were wide, and the few steps he was able to take into Captivate were erratic and heavy. His yellow fur was mussed up, his belly streaked with white. The entire ensemble was topped off with a large dart with a sucker on the tip, attached firmly to his nose. Behind him, the doors swung shut with a dull thump.

“The… the customers…" The Mienfoo mumbled, distantly. He wouldn't have been heard if the whole of the Captivate hadn't fallen silent at his entrance.

Now, though, they could even hear his quick, ragged panting… and underneath that, slightly muffled by the walls, the dull roar of several motors.

“They're… they're…"

“INCOMING!" Neon yelled, slamming her visor down. She grabbed her guns in both paws, electricity arcing over her fur as she swivelled around.

The eastern doors exploded open again. A flurry of darts spat through them, bouncing off the backs of chairs and sailing just over the heads of the defenders. The Mienfoo toppled to the floor, showing several humans and Pokémon crouched on the other side of the doorframe, their large rifles hammering away.

Neon shouted an unintelligible battlecry. Her motors screamed as they span up under her own power. Planting the butts of both guns against her hind paws, she yanked on the triggers with her front paws in a quick, alternating beat, sending darts flying off through the doorway. Behind her, several of the waiters from behind catwalks and sofas sent their own shots swarming after them.

The firefight was an instant turmoil of vividly coloured darts zipping across the threshold. Many bounced off walls or bulwarks, coming to a rolling halt on the ground, a starfield of spent ammunition forming on the deep blue carpet. Some spiralled off into the far corners of the room, flying over the bar's facilities.

Many, however, were lodged in thick fur or caught waiters across foreheads or ears. Within just a few seconds of firing, there had been several cries of surprise and frustration as darts found their mark.

Neon sat in the middle of the deluge, her own retaliation in full force. Twin arcs of foam lanced at the customer forces. As a transfixed Chai watched, paws wrapped around that revolver, he could see customers jumping and wincing as darts glanced off their skin or fur, their shouts of annoyance barely heard above the motors.

Another slam of a door being shoved open. Chai turned - and then rolled suddenly, ducking out of the way as a dart whistled over where his head had been a moment before. The shooter stood in the doorway behind the bar, the woman grasping the rifle tightly, stock shoved against her shoulder. He rolled again as another dart flew past him, never letting go of that revolver.

“October!" Neon yelled as the outlines of customers shifted behind the windows in those doors. She hissed as those guns spat another volley towards her. “Go go go!"

“Chai, get behind me!" October shouted above the din.

“Not the time for that!" Chai said with a forced grin, pushing himself to his feet as he leaped for the running Ninetales. “Maybe later!" He tossed the revolver into the air as he leapt, grabbing it in his maw.

October growled, his tails wrapped around his gun, and he sent a few errant shots towards the bar. The shooter there dropped down behind the counter quickly in a sudden need for cover. Chai met up with October as he rushed on, towards and up the stairs to the Balcony.

“Oc'o'er!" Chai said through a mouthful of plastic. “Where 'he 'uck are you going!?"

“Just stay behind me!" October repeated, firing a few more blind shots back at the bar as they crested the top step. They turned as one, took a couple of quick steps - and then skidded to a sudden halt. Confronting them not a few steps away was a human, uncertainly holding a small, single shot pistol, its barrel wavering over them. His short, curly blond hair quivered as he shook where he stood. Behind him, sitting cross-legged and cross-armed behind one of the sofas, a pale-haired woman in a simple dress stared daggers at them.

“Don't, um… don't raise your weapons…" He said, staring at them. Even his eyes were shaking, flicking back and forth between the two Pokémon. He looked like he was more liable to shoot at himself than them from how the gun wavered in his unsteady grip. Sweat beaded on his high forehead. Chai and October remained still, Chai's gun clenched between his teeth, October's lowered and still pointed backwards.

“I said don't raise them!" The man repeated, louder, levelling the weapon at them again.

Chai frowned. “We di'n't…"

The man tried to harden his expression, and let out a breath. His shaking lessened, and his fingers played over the gun's handle. “I… would like some snacks… please…!"

There was an elongated silence over the raging firefight below.

“Is that really the best you can muster?" October said, cocking his head. “As one liners go, it's really not one of the better ones I've heard…"

“I think it could work!" the man said, biting his lip. “I… I might-"

“Oh, for heaven's sake Frank, give me the damn gun!" The woman said, throwing up her hands in an exaggerated fashion. She reached out, plucking it from his unresisting grasp, and pointed it at Chai. Her finger curled around the trigger…

A dart pop'd off the back of her head.

Chai grinned as the woman's expression shifted between shock, confusion and annoyance.

“Thanks, Glimmer!" October said in a sing-song voice.

“Welcom- ow!"

“Oh. Sorry to hear that, Glimmer!" October added, before trotting quickly passed the subdued humans, a tail reaching out to snag the gun from the woman's hands. It was a mere flick to aim it at the slightly confused and dispirited man, hitting him square in the chest at point-blank range. “Downstairs, you two~!"

Chai followed afterwards. A brief grin had passed across his face, but now he stared at October again as they reached the stairs as the back of Captivate, leading to the second floor.

“Oc'o'er!" He grunted, looked down, and then spat the gun out. “October!" He repeated with a growl. “The fuck do you think you're going?"

“Trust me, Chai. I'll explain later."

“You'll explain now! We have a war to win!"

“Stoooop!"

The high-pitched, plaintive voice cut through the scene. October and Chai wheeled around. Over the lip of the balcony's railings, they could see the scene splayed out below them.

It didn't seem to be going well for the waiters. All the defensive positions at the door seemed to have been completely abandoned, the waiters that had been there now sitting patiently by the edge of the room as the rest of the fight went on around them, probably awaiting a customer to claim them. What defenders did remain were further back, behind the main catwalk or under sofas or crouched behind chairs. At this point, most were grabbing used darts for a hasty refill of clips and guns. Those darts were clustered around the waiters' compromised hiding places.

Amazingly, Neon was still standing, surrounded by a V-shape of spent ammunition. She glared at the doors, still sending darts spiralling through them.

A pink shape jumped between her and the doorway, where several customers had gathered now, just visible through the doorframe.

“Stoooooop! Stop this, all of you!" Colin shouted, rearing up. His ribbons splayed, pointing towards either side. “Please! Stop! You don't have to do this!"

Amazingly, the rain of darts ceased, the last few bouncing to the floor. The motors still ran on both sides, but even those hastily reloading were poking their heads out from behind cover. October and Chai stared as the Sylveon twisted himself, trying to face both sides at once.

Chest rising and falling quickly, Colin made a half-squeak, half-grunt and closed his eyes. He took in a deep breath; it looked like he was preparing himself for a big moment. His breathing calmer now, he looked up, revealing those shiny, sparkling cyan eyes again.

“I believe… I believe in a nice Café, a happy Café! A Café where customer and- MYAH! Hey! St-nyaaah!"

What little of his speech he made was drowned out as he was covered in a hail of darts from both sides. Chai had to smirk as the fairy wavered and toppled backwards, whatever sound he must have made lost at the resumed tempest of foam-based fury.

Neon resumed her defence, another spark of electricity crackling off her fur. She yanked the trigger of one gun, flinging a dart between the doors, then yanked the other one-

And nothing happened. Nothing fired from her gun. She looked down, up - and a dart slammed into her visor. She jerked back, dropping her guns as she stumbled for stability, as two more darts hammered against her chest.

“Chai… Chai!!" October shouted, breaking him from the scene.

The Umbreon turned, staring up. “Wha- wait, hey!" He grunted as he suddenly found October's hot maw close around his scruff, hoisting him into the air. “The fuck are you doing!?"

October was panting hard as he began to run up the stairs, the breath uncomfortably warm across the back of Chai's neck. He came to a halt, just before the top step. The red carpet of the second floor lay before them.

“We can't go here… are you seriously running away!?"

“Chai, shut up for two bloody seconds!" Shouted October through a mouthful of fluff. “See that doorway over there?"

Chai looked. The stairs led onto a corridor, running left to right across the top of the stairs. The walls were a mixture of dark blacks and reds where there was wallpaper, and where there wasn't, the Café's typical red brick showed through. It was some kind of architectural thing that probably seemed like a stellar idea to the designer, Chai had thought when he'd first seen it.

Across from them, on the other side of the corridor, was a red curtain. It hung slightly open, showing a dark-coloured doorway with a bar across to open it with. The word “EXIT" hung over it on a luminous green sign.

“Yeah? The Fire Exit." Chai asked. “What about it?"

“Leads to the roof, yes? Well, we disabled the alarms so that we could go out for a smoke last week…."

“The fuck are you playing at, you idiot!?"

“Let's see if you can open it."

“What? But Firenze said we weren't allowed to go outside!"

“Firenze said we weren't allowed to step onto the grass. The Café's grounds." October's breath warmed his neck, and Chai felt those teeth dig in just a little tighter. “Nothing there about the roof. One… two…"

“Hey-!"

“THREE!"

October had pulled his head back, and now flung the Umbreon forwards. Chai tumbled through the air, straight over the red carpet of the second floor, his world spiraling around him.

“Grab the handle!" October shouted. Chai reached out, the cold metal slapping into his paws. He grasped it tightly, slamming bodily into the door, almost threatening to let go - but his grip held true. The door slid slowly open, bathing him suddenly in the cool, dusk air.

Chai felt his grip weakening, and let go, twisting his body as he fell. His paws landed on hard, cold roof felt, and he stood up proudly, flexing his digits as he did so. As he turned to look for October, a red shape sailed past him, claws scratching on the surface as he skidded to a stop.

October grinned, his face a picture of pride. “Must've been at least six metres there…" He flashed a smile, his black mane draping itself over his face. Chai huffed harshly, staring back at him with a mixture of annoyance and amazement. The pride he kept pushed down, but it was there all the same…

Behind them, the door swung shut with a dull clunk.

Past those doors and down the stairs, those in the bright lighting of Captivate were cut off from the outside world; along with their turmoil.

Neon had been watching that door. Not fully, just from the corner of her eye. She felt a small pang of relief as it had shut. Now though, she turned back to the eastern doorway.

On either side of her were two customers, a human and an Arbok, both with rifles in their hands or coils respectively. More guards stood by the open doors to the east, and additional ones were filing in quickly. Many took positions by sofas or pillars, facing the doors out to the rest of the waiter's territory.

Most of Captivate's compliment were already being ushered to stand by the stage. Waiters off all shapes and sizes, from a Kecleon to a Vulpix to a Sawk, were being lined up, disarmed and watched over by a couple more stern humans.

She looked back round just as Firenze appeared at the eastern doors. His tails fanned out behind him regally. He walked purposefully, one foot directly in front of the last with each step, claws half extended and shining in the light. He towered over the customers as he walked, casting his gaze across them before letting it come to a rest on Neon, levelling his sharp, pointed muzzle at her.

“Mister Firenze." She spat. “I should have expected to find you holding the customers' respect. I recognised your cum-soaked scent when the attack began…"

“Miss Staccato." Firenze nodded to her, still standing tall. “Admirable fighting. There are few who have the bravery to stand in the line of fire."

Neon's glare softened into prideful smirk. “Paid off, too. Must've fragged at least four of your guys."

“Five, by my estimate. I do know how you like your high scores. Alas, I believe that you too are a casualty…"

Neon held her head high, grinning. “Yeah, but it took you guys ages. Gee freakin' gee..."

“I would not be so self confident and boastful, if I was in your position. I shall choose to ignore the fact that your motors sounded distinctly louder than normal..." Firenze walked slowly off to the side.

Neon turned, watching as he surveyed the scene, saying nothing.

“You know," continued Firenze after a few seconds, “Captivate has always been one of my most favourite areas. The virility that this place entertains, do you not agree…?" He smiled to himself, musing. “Such the power and such the surge, such the spirits, and such the merge…"

“Is this my service to you? Half an hour of poetry readings?"

Firenze chuckled, turning to face her again. “I would love to, but I realise the appreciation does not always spread. Either way; it was not I who fired the predominant dart…."

Neon followed Firenze's gaze, and looked back at the doors. It was a tall guy, thin, with even his small T-Shirt looking very baggy as it hung from his waist. His hair was a mess, like he'd only just gotten out of bed from a rough night of sleep (and not sleeping), and thin wisps across his chin looked like he was one of those people that couldn't grow a proper beard, but he'd tried anyway and hadn't shaved in months in the attempt.

Next to him crouched a Houndoom. He stared at her, his eyes were a sharp blue, just like the human's. His head was low, his ears flat, and his gaze fixed. Behind him, his long, arrow-headed tail was straight and still. A classic hunting pose, she recognised.

“Gonna have some fun, Jolteon!" The Houndoom growled, showing a set of sharp teeth. A line of saliva dripped from his muzzle, falling to the floor, forgotten in the canine's intense focus.

Neon looked back to Firenze, putting on a good show of being unfazed. “So you've taken Captivate. One more CP, but you won't win. We'll make sure of that. We will fight you spark and flame to push you back…"

Firenze looked between her and the Houndoom, smiling distantly. “You assume that our Customers don't have a matching tenacity. A shame, it really is. If I were in your position, Miss Staccato, by the time this next half-hour is over… I'd question whether or not any waiters still stand." He smiled warmly at her, then glanced back to the doors. “Monsieur Farrin, Monsieur Trincendie?"

Neon turned back to the two at the door, who were waiting impatiently. Her ears lay back, a sharp jolt of electricity arcing suddenly from tip to tip with a loud crackle. The Houndoom merely grinned back, dark flames flickering between gritted teeth.

* * *

“ActingcommanderPrometheus! There's a problem!" Shouted Quippie from the doorway in far less syllables than it should have taken.

He stared into the dim, warmly-lit Special Lounge, adjacent to Plaisir's main Lounge. Unlike the large, open Lounge with the ceiling-to-floor windows looking out across the gardens, the Special Lounge was smaller, denser, had an array of dark tinted windows across one wall and was bedecked in red and purple cloth. The room was hot, and smelled very distinct and familiar. Indeed, the term 'Special' just dripped with euphemism.

Prometheus was standing near to the door. Behind him, other shapes and figures undulated in the dim lighting. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if summoning up some strength, and then opened them again. “Very well. I'm coming."

He turned, muttered something, and then stepped forwards. His tail was kept low and curled around his legs, leaving a slightly dazed-looking young man sitting on a cushion in his wake, wearing an entranced expression.

Quippie allowed himself a quick snerk, before bounding off back into the Lounge. A few moments later, Prometheus shoved his way through the doors like an icebreaker through a dense polar sea.

Around them, several waiters were running back and forth, carrying spare weapons or ammunition. Two of them were around the table which held the map of Plaisir, and it sounded like there was something of an argument going on. Prometheus walked up slowly, his dark red eyes fixed on them, while Quippie bounded alongside.

“No, you don't understand, we need to hold the doors!" Sinister was shouting, the Mightyena's tail flicking behind her with annoyance, her front paws up on the edge of the table. “If we don't, we can't keep the Dungeon or Dark Pulse!"

“Oh, lay off! They're good as gone!" Mariana muttered back darkly, standing on the opposite side of the table herself. “Look, I don't wanna be no downer or anything, be if we don't focus our efforts, we're gonna fall over like a tipsy Spinda, and I'm not waiting for that to happen!"

“What happened?" Prometheus said, cutting into the debate and looming over the table. The other two turned to glance at him as Quippie stuck his nose over the edge. They wore slightly guilty expressions, as if they'd just been caught chewing gum in a classroom. “Well?"

Sinister groaned. “Oh, look at the damn map…" She muttered, slumping down onto her haunches.

Prometheus walked around the table and stared at the map of Plaisir. Quippie followed his gaze, staring at the new lay of the land.

The front line had moved alright. The thick border that had been drawn across the middle of the map had been hastily rubbed out, and now several thick lines instead showed the new frontiers. Those near the Lounge were the same as ever, but…

“The customers took Captivate." Mariana folded her arms, tapping the map with her foot. “Firenze came in with a full strike team. We lost Neon, Charisma, October… almost everyone who was there. Not to mention a bunch of ammo. Good thing we moved out what we did, honestly...." She muttered to herself, walking towards the middle of the map. “These stairs beyond them, in the kitchen's store room, were our only path to the basement too. That attempt we wanted to make to retake them? With Captivate gone…, well, it's deep in customer territory now. There's no chance of getting help from down there, or vice versa. The waiters we had there are completely cut off."

“Which is why we need to hold the corridors around Captivate!" Sinister said again. “We have waiters fucking customers in Dark Pulse and the Dungeon and the function rooms. If we can hold them, we can get those waiters back for sure. If we don't, they'll probably just walk out into an ambush."

“We don't have the forces!" Mariana said, jabbing her foot at the stairs again. “Without those from the basement, we barely have enough to hold the Lounge so we can't defend the entire west wing of the Café with what we have left! Just because your boyfriend might be in one of those rooms…"

Sinister snarled. “Alright, sock puppet, I'm going to-"

“Enough. Please. You two must stop." Prometheus said, his voice deep and tinged with the idea of a threat. He looked down on the two bickering waiters. That gaze was enough to make the two of them fall silent, exchanging dark glances at each other.

“We can't continue to argue like this. We must be disciplined, we must be strong! Without that, we will fall indeed, but together we will find strength and the spirit." He looked down across the map again, inspecting it for a moment. He sighed, the sound like a distant storm as he looked up, surveying the Lounge. Quippie had only just arrived himself, so he took the opportunity to take it in for himself.

It wasn't looking good. The Lounge only had a handful of waiters left in it, most of them guarding the eastern doors that looked out to the Bedroom Block, but a few now were waiting by the corridors into the rest of the west wing. A few more were packing clips and dart boxes with what ammo they could scrounge up, packing them under lamps for visibility, as the sky beyond the large windows darkened further with the oncoming night. On the small bar against one wall, a selection of cleaning mice were in deep conversation. They had gathered around their own makeshift table, made from an upturned pretzels bowl, and a tiny map of Plaisir, taken from a pamphlet. Some held darts like rifles. Some held them like artillery shells.

Quippie looked at the map again. The function rooms would indeed be useful to hold! Not just as places to indulge in the customers they'd captured, but like Sinister had said, there were several waiters who were still there. With what few fighters they still had, especially after the capture of Captivate, that would be great, right? But... most of the corridors bordered Captivate; it would be so easy for the waiters to just hold the doors open and blast anyone trying to walk past, not to mention attack at any point….

“Mister Prometheus!" The voice carried across the Lounge, loud and casual. Several pairs of ears and eyes turned.

Standing at the mouth of the corridors was Nikki, one hand in the pocket of her pants, the other holding her large rifle across her shoulders. She tossed her head, gesturing him to come over. “I've got a request for a meeting, if you'd like to acquiesce. No guns - just a neutral talk."

Quippie looked up at Prometheus expectantly. He glanced down at him, then back to Nikki. He nodded, and padded heavily off towards the corridor. Intrigued, Quippie followed closely.

Nikki moved off just ahead of him as they moved down the corridor. Behind him, Prometheus nodded at a few of the waiters in the Lounge. Quietly, they found whatever cover they could. Quippie joined them, climbing up on the side of a couch which rested against the wall.

Part way down the corridor were a couple of doors leading into Captivate. They opened now, and they disgorged the sleek, carefully-stepping form of Firenze, who turned to face them. His tails were curled behind him, apparently free of weapons, though through the doorway Quippie could already see flashes of orange and yellow plastic.

Prometheus came to a stop in front of Firenze, a good few metres from where Quippie was standing at the new front line. Both of them staying standing. Nikki walked between them, shrugged, and sat down casually against the wall, standing her gun up beside her. “Well, you're here."

“I know you, old friend, so I trust you brought no weapons." Firenze said calmly, red eyes flicking over the Arcanine regardless.

“Coeus, you are a clever individual indeed." Prometheus rumbled, smiling warmly. “I know you wouldn't do something so rash, so I expect the same of you."

“Glad to know this war has not dampened our understanding of each other."

“Oh, but I think it has." Prometheus said, sadness tinging his voice. “For we find ourselves on opposite sides. Why do you not fight with your comrades, whom you work with and enjoy the fineries of life with?"

Firenze smiled firmly, nodding. “Prometheus, my friend, I would have thought it would be obvious, especially to an individual for whom the fires of passion are bright." His tails rippled behind him. “Café Plaisir was founded on one principle and one principle alone; a place of pleasure and indulging and enjoyment. Where humans and Pokémon of all types can come and find happiness, and that includes as waiters or as customers. Both are just as valued as each other - and the pleasure of both sides is the foundation of our entire life here."

“The pleasure includes your friends…"

“Indeed, but it includes the customers too. I have great belief and pride in everyone who works here, as you well know, and I trust that they will fight to the end, but… the customers need a guiding centre. They too are a part of this venture, this campaign. This war of ours will only reinforce the bonds between the employees for sure, but the employees will not exist without customers."

He glanced back towards Captivate. Quippie could still see the plastic guns within, held aloft. It was dark inside the barrels.

“Our customers are powerful, and are valued strongly here at Plaisir. To me, just as strongly as anyone else. I must support their cause. I must care for our customers. It is my duty as a waiter."

Prometheus stayed still, watching the Ninetales closely. “So now I know why you are on the side that you are on… but why do we stand here in the field of battle, unarmed, and talking like this?"

“I came to offer you a deal. A deal sent by the leader of the customers."

Prometheus frowned. “The leader? This is this Sam you speak of, yes?"

“Indeed. She seems to command some respect among them, and is definitely a… forceful woman." He said, almost distantly. “Anyway. The offer is simple. You lay down your arms, allow the customers in, and capitulate in full."

Quippie blinked, eyes going wide. Around him was a ripple of weapons being primed. What!? Prometheus turned, lifting up a forepaw to keep them at bay, before turning back to Firenze.

“In return," Firenze continued, “She will ensure that the remaining waiters will all have a willing, full-paying customer for at least the next hour. Most likely, this could also be for the duration of the coming night.

“That is it?" Prometheus replied. He let out a low growl of distant thunder. “We surrender, and they have their way with us? For some money for the Café?" His claws were unsheathed now and he leaned forwards. “Coeus, I trust you…"

“Mister Prometheus, do not be hasty. I only come with the message. I trust you'll consult with your fellow waiters."

Prometheus straightened up, their gazes holding firm, red on red. From the corner of his eye, Quippie watched several guns rest across the backs of chairs, pointed ready. The two seemed poised, tense… was this the final offensive?

Prometheus turned slowly, back towards the end of the corridor. His face was a picture of thought, and his eyes regarded many of them in turn. Quippie found himself standing up straighter under that fiery gaze….

“You have heard the offer." Prometheus shouted towards them. “We surrender now, and we will have warm bodies in our beds tonight, hot drink in our stomachs, and an end to our common hunger. And all that this Sam requires of us in our trade is a measly piece of our honour, and our upholding of our duty." He turned, glancing back at Captivate for a moment, before facing the assembled forces again. “So what say we? Do we let these Customers enjoy us, bending us to their every whim?"

There was silence. Quippie smiled, his paws curling into little fists.

He paused, grinning, showing his teeth. “Or do we fight for Plaisir?"

“For Plaisir!" Quippie shouted gleefully, thrusting his fists up to the ceiling. The cry continued in a staggered roar of replies. “For honour! For Plaisir!"

Nikki stood up as Prometheus turned back. She was staring towards Captivate, her gun ready. Quippie watched through the doors as several rifles were lowered at the unspoken threat.

Firenze smiled warmly at Prometheus. Quippie could see the slight hint of pride on the face of the Ninetales.

“In that case," Firenze responded, “Sam says that she wants it to be known that the customers will no longer be lenient, and that our hungers will be sated."

Prometheus chuckled to himself. “Then you can tell this Sam that she should be careful playing with fire…"

Firenze paused, staring at him, eyes slightly narrowed. His smiled broadened. “Very well. I shall indeed. Good luck, my friend."

Prometheus turned back, beaming like a second sun, walking heavily towards the waiters. “To your positions, everyone. Mice! We need scouting parties for more ammunition. We need to control all the choke points that we can; Caligula, Blossomfall, I want this corridor barricaded at the head; it'll be a killzone for anyone who tries to cross it. Joystick, get every waiter you can from the other rooms and tell them to set up a second defense in the Special Lounge, then move it forwards into Function Room C and hold it there. The main fighting will be here, but that will prevent an attack from the side.

Quippie jumped down from the couch, falling in step by the Arcanine. Sinister broke from the milling crowd in front of them “But what about the Dungeon, and Dark Pulse!?" Sinister shouted, eyes wide.

“As much as I respect your position, those must be casualties of war. Here is where we stay. Here is where we make our stand." He said, firmly, glaring her down into submission. Quippie looked up in surprise at the harshness of his words, but Prometheus glanced down at him with a serious expression.

“Sinister, go and raid the nearby storerooms for supplies; food, drink, everything you can think of. We are going to be needing them. And Quippie," He added, turning back to the Linoone. “Back behind the lines. Go quickly and let's see if you can get some more intel. Find out where our other waiters are, and if you can, get them back here."

Quippie nodded. “They'll be back quickasaflash!" he said, snapped off a salute, and turned on the spot, leaping onto on of the barricades. When he reached the front lines again, he turned back.

Prometheus was facing the assembled, now quickly-working crowds. “Comrades!" He shouted above the din, the roar immediately commanding their attention. “This is our last stand! They will assault our front, they will assault our sides. They will launch themselves on our defenses, and their darts will be like rain! They will taunt us and goad us and entice us, but! We will stand!" He grinned a broad, sharp grin. The fur on Quippie's back prickled as he shivered with adrenaline.

“Our fires burn brightly in our hearts, in our spirits, and in each other. We. Will. Stand!"

* * *

Chai blew out a cloud of grey, wispy smoke, letting it curl and tumble through the air currents. The taste of the cigarette was the same as always; the usual bitterness, the taste of dirt, the harsh bite of heat… all exactly what he needed right now. He savoured the release of endorphins, letting them trickle through him, invigorating his body right to the tips of his paws.

Next to him, October finished his own roll-up with a long, drawn-out sigh of pleasure. The two of them were leaning against the red brick wall, next to the fire exit they'd just come out of. October had two tails ready, tips gently touching the triggers of their guns; one pointed at the fire exit, the other from the opposite direction, towards the rest of the roof. Just in case.

October lifted up his cigarette, inspected the useless butt, then flicked it into the air and incinerated it in a gout of green flame.

“Fuck, I needed that..." he muttered, as Chai took a final drag of his own. The Umbreon looked over at the Ninetales resting against the wall, eyes almost closed, the green in them looking very dark indeed in the twilight. “So," October said eventually, keeping his voice in a half-whisper, “Going to ask what we're doing now?"

“You finally gonna tell me? I thought I was gonna be thrown through another door." Chai responded with a little bite. He matched the volume, though.

October chuckled quietly to himself, staring out at the last vestiges of glow on the horizon. “Those customers. They hit Captivate hard. Performed very well, I thought."

Chai kebabed the end of the cigarette on one claw, staring at it.

“Too well, in fact." October concluded. Chai noticed the Ninetales glance sideways at him.

“So? What's your point?" Chai asked. “Just goes to show that a bunch of these waiters can't shoot for shit."

“Oh, no, it's not as simple as that…" October murmured. “We had waiters hidden behind catwalks, the bar, the stairs… we had them everywhere. Captivate is probably the most defensible location in the Café, and they took it in minutes." He turned slightly. “Didn't you notice how all the darts clustered around those hiding positions? Most of them had barely got a shot off before they came under fire." He huffed. “I've been in firefights just like that, I know how they go down, and believe me - their positions had been made already, before those doors had even opened."

Chai glanced back at him, frowning. “What? You saying we got a mole?"

“I doubt it. Not impossible, but I doubt it."

“Yeah, and why's that?"

October smiled. “You should keep your chin up more, Chai. Keep your head up, and your gaze…"

Chai scowled. “You gonna tell me your plan or not?"

October smirked. “Captivate has two skylights along the ceiling, either side, right? Well… what if we're not the first ones on the roof?"

Chai blinked, staring at the cigarette again. “Wait… they got guys on the roof too? The tricky fuckers…!"

October leaned back against the wall. “Oh yeah. Saw a couple of them right before the attack."

“Why didn't you tell anyone!?"

“I told Neon as soon as I knew. Was about to tell you when the attack started, but I got a little… distracted."

Chai raised an eyebrow. “What, dragging an Umbreon half underneath you is distracting, is it…?" he grinned to himself.

October chuckled. “Hrrrf..."

“Right!" Chai said, turning towards him. “We've come up here to take 'em out!"

October waved his head from side to side. “Hmmm, well, yes, we will. The Lounge and the corridors have their own skylights. We can cut off their intel; blind them. They'll have a tough time fighting without knowing where we are…."

“They're not playing fair. Why should we?" Chai curled his paw, crushing the end of the cigarette, and grinned. “Let's take this fight to the roof…."

October chuckled again, and rolled to his feet. “And now that the day is over and the night has arrived…" His smiling gaze turned from the inky sky to the Umbreon. “...who better to do it than my own little Dark Type?"

Chai stared up at him, feeling his heart skip a beat… but he kept his expression as a cocky grin. He shrugged, standing up, and flicking the cigarette over the side of the roof. “Go on then, fucker. Off you go…."

The two of them kept low, one of October's guns pointed forwards, the other backwards. Chai grabbed his own gun in his teeth again, trotting alongside him.

The roof was fairly open around here, beyond the protrusion of the bulky corridor they'd jumped over to get outside. A network of ventilation shafts, and small boxes probably containing some kind of array of fuses and other electrics, dotted the surface. All in all, it provided ample cover; and not just from sight. Gentle breezes curled around them, carrying the scent of the wilderness that surrounded Plaisir.

Quietly, softly, the two of them slunk along the roof, keeping in the shadows, working their way around to the corridor leading to the Lounge. October paused at the end of a particularly large ventilator stack, and peered around it. He withdrew his head, and nodded at Chai to have a look, who padded softly past and peeked round the corner.

The lights of the corridor were bright, their radiance beaming through the tilted skylights. They gleamed off nearby boxes and stacks, the illumination a sharp contrast to the shadowed roof. Especially sharp were a couple of forms leaning over the skylights; two humans peering inside, small guns strapped across their backs. Their mutterings carried with the breeze.

Chai leaned back in, smirking up at October. “You were right." he whispered. “Looks like your plan's good after all…."

“Plan?" October said, smiling faintly to himself as the breeze lifted up a few strands of his mane. “Singular? My dear Umbreon… what makes you think I have only one…?"

* * *

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Ceylon closed his eyes, feeling his paws twitch, the tantalising buzzing sensation swimming through his digits. He gritted his teeth… just enough, just enough to not pull on the binds and make it even worse….

Tick. Tick.

He'd never really been bothered with ticking clocks. He'd known a few people that hated them, as if the ticking was the echoes of the sword of time, slicing away moments of their lives over and over again… well, he had never thought of it that way. If anything, he thought the slow metronome was relaxing. Peaceful. Reliable. He hadn't really thought about it all that much; heck, he hadn't even realised that the clocks here in these bedrooms ticked before…

But then, when all you can see are dull, indistinct shapes in the near-darkness, and the only other sounds are occasional heavily muffled cries from behind heavily insulated walls, one starts to hear these things. Alongside with the creaking of each bedspring, the rustle of the smallest shift on the covers, his own laboured breathing and stifled growls….

Maybe the fact that he didn't mind them was something to do with ticking clocks generally being antiques, something from a century ago or more. Family heirlooms, lovely Grandfather clocks sat at the end of a hallway. He could thank his British persona for that. The more you live something, in an act or even in jest, the more it becomes so. Not that Ceylon had really been that much of a persona; more of an embellishment. It was certainly a lot closer to him than Arcwild had been…

Another stifled growl rolled from his muzzle, heard and felt. He forced his paws to stop their shaking, to keep them in place - try not to move them, no matter how great the need...

He must have tensed at that thought of Arcwild. He knew why. She'd known…

And that was interesting. He'd thought he'd made peace with his past. Hell, he certainly didn't regret his years before the Café, even if he still thought that leaving was the right thing to do in the end, but then here comes this woman and and the very thought makes him-

Another growl, his eyes squeezing shut and he found himself breathing quicker. Don't tense, stop thinking about it. After a few seconds, a few more ticks of that clock, and he found the strength to slowly open his eyes. He looked down at the problem.

The Kobaru technique… he'd not heard of that one. Was that because it was old and obscure, or new and niche? Or was it something of Sam's own creation? Kinbaku was a delightful act, in his mind; lengths of rope tied into intricate patterns across the body, with just as much focus on aesthetics as practicality. It was almost the polar opposite to a leash and collar - while that captured the sub's mind and body, Kinbaku was almost like two people sharing a work of art. Lovely to behold, and arousing to be the canvas.

And if anything could be considered art, it would be this. Ropes tied and knotted and overlaid in such a simple way, such an effective way, that every little twitch and strain and struggle and tense led to…

He stared as his shaft, a pale spire against the dark shadows of the room. Fully erect, twitching… he could even feel the pre leaking down into his crotch fur, even if he couldn't see it. No ropes touched it - normally he'd acknowledge that as a good thing, but hell, right now he'd grind against the back of a Sandslash if he thought it would get him off. No, the only ropes near it were looped and curled around the sheath, his balls, between his legs and over his rear…

True art; aesthetic, functional, powerful. And he'd been wrapped in it for over half an hour.

He'd started counting the seconds shortly after Sam had left, just about when he'd realised the… effectiveness of the bindings. The doubt had settled in long before he'd reached fifteen minutes. When he'd reached twenty-five, he was getting very concerned. When he'd finally reached thirty, he'd breathed an uncomfortable sigh. He'd given up when he'd reached thirty-five.

He was out of his half hour, and he was still trapped, bound, strapped against the bed. Anyone could walk in and shoot him and there'd be nothing he could do. The only time he'd tried to free himself…

Once more he stared at his shaft. He could just see the spurt of pre, and he heard himself grunt in denied pleasure and exertion.

What had become of the waiters? Where was the front line? How was Captivate fairing…? He tried to think, but slowly it seemed, his thoughts were being overridden by that utter, overtaking need for release…

In the darkness, he was just able to stop himself whimpering. If nothing else, he would not give her that.

A sudden click from the other side of the bedroom. The door slid open. Ceylon's eyes turned towards it and, for sense of fair play, he forced himself not to use that Luxray ability and look through the dark, heavy wood.

The bright outline of a nerf gun appeared from the gap… followed by the pale tail holding it. Ceylon held his breath as the looming form of Firenze slid through the door, letting it swing slowly shut behind him.

“Yes… indeed…" Firenze murmured. “I was afraid of this."

“How we stand, twixt the schism of this beast…" Ceylon replied with a faint smirk, the half-remembered poem that Firenze had once recited swirling around his head.

Firenze watched him. His expression was tough to read in the darkness. “Yes, but this is war, but it is no beast. I was hoping that fairness would triumph."

“Yes, well your glorious leader may just have had it slip her mind…"

“I'm also curious as to why you hadn't freed yourself." Firenze said, walking up to the bed. Even now, Ceylon could see a very faint glow from those ruby red eyes, just slightly illuminating the fur surrounding them.

“The thought crossed my mind, and so did the attempt, and I must say I was left with… unsatisfactory results. Anything stronger and I fear I might arcweld something - ah..." he paused for a moment, eyes closing a shudder ran through him. “...Isn't that ironic…?"

Firenze was silent for a moment, before his posture shifted and he looked at him again, face etched with seriousness. “As your manager, consider me thankful for your respect for Café property. But as your friend…"

“As my friend, you shirked your duties to check up on me, yes, you're very dutiful and I love you too." Ceylon said, finding a grin. “Now don't worry about me. I don't intend to stay tied up forever, but I feel that if you were the one to release me, it might be perceived as a waiters-centric act. And anyway - I'm quite curious as to how far Sam will go with this…"

Firenze regarded him. Ceylon could make out his expression now - thoughtful would be the best term. Well, to others it would, anyway. Ceylon could see the concern behind it.

“I don't exactly agree with your choice, but I suppose I must accept it. Though, I worry that my sense of self-image may have adversely rubbed off on you…"

“Wouldn't be the first thing, old chap…" Ceylon snickered to himself, ignoring the rest of his body's sensations at the small motions that threw up. “Now off you go. The beast awaits."

Firenze shook his head. “No, this is just a war, not a beast. Anyway - I shall leave as you wish. I'll forget this conversation happened, as far as Sam is concerned." He paused. “And speaking of a beast…"

Ceylon smiled again, watching the retreating form of Firenze. “Why forget? Did I give something away?"

“Did you…?" Firenze said, and then with what Ceylon thought was a quick smile, opened the door and disappeared out into the corridor.

* * *

“So for that price, and I'll give ya… fifty darts, two o' these guns, an' the tripod."

Sinister blinked, staring at the Furret in horror. “I'd be paying how much for that?"

The Furret shrugged. “Hey, darts aren't cheap, darling. Listen, I'm doing your lot a service here! You guys are holdin' up all nice and snug in the Lounge. Last Stand, yeah, very honourable, catches the hearts of the masses, but ya can't hold there forever without ammo, right?"

Sinister rolled her eyes, shoving her shoulder against the trolley and shoving it again, pushing through the doors to the storeroom. The Furret rocked slightly, sticking his paws out for support. He was sitting atop a small pyramid of water drums, meant for water coolers, that Sinister was taking to the Lounge. Somehow, he'd managed to find a little tray with flip-up sections that he'd filled with darts, and on the top was a precariously balanced heap of small nerf guns.

“But I mean, I like where you're goin' with this. Should be a story to catch the papers and all, right? I can see it now - “Waiter's Last Stand!" Heroic battle reaches a climax; One Mightyena's story from the front lines. Could put in a neat little word for ya! I'll throw that in for free, how's about that?"

“Plaisir doesn't even have a paper. Who're you gonna sell to, the local press? Open with 'So there's this Pokémon brothel' and see how interested they are in a nerf war after that!" She snickered to herself wryly.

The Furret shrugged, then had to balance himself again as Sinister pushed the trolley and him along with it into the Lounge.

There had been a definite change here. Most of the furniture that had usually dotted the area had been drafted into service for extra barricades, leaving a swathe of empty carpet before shoulder-high walls, forming at least two lines of defense at each entryway. Darts were now clustered in one central location near the map table, and along one wall was a series of supplies; wholesale boxes of snacks, a few crates of fizzy drinks, even a number of boxes of vegetables. Next to the supplies were a small pile of spare guns yet to be fitted to the emplacements.

Sinister made her way past the semi-crowded bar. Since the Last Stand had been called, there was something of a need for morale, and their glorious acting-commander Prometheus seemed to have thought it would be a good idea to open up the bar and make everything on the house. It had worked.

“Alright then, what's the currency you folks seem to be usin' then? Time?" The Furret said, leaning in like a predator that also got a job as a door-to-door insurance salesman. “Go on then, I'll give ya all that stuff from before; darts, guns, good word, the lot. You give me two hours with any of your waiters, and we'll call it fair n' square, how's that sound to you?"

“Dibble, your salesmanship is as bad as your accent." Prometheus said grumpily, coming up behind him as Sinister shoved the trolley towards the rest of the supplies.

“Ah! Big ol' Prometheus, glad to see you here! I hear you've been up in the ranks, eh, sittin' on top? Was just giving this lovely lady here a deal, but I wonder if you'll be more interested! How's it sound? I got fifty darts here, and two - nah, y'know what, three lovely guns just for you guys, a tripod for that accurate shootin'. An' what's more, 'cause I like your… face, I'll give you a special deal and that's if you buy up now, I'll raise the price for the customers by 'alf. That's a deal I'm just gonna be givin' you and all, because I like your cause so much, and you know what, I'll even do it for twenty dollars less than what I said before, and that's- wah!"

Sinister shoved the trolley into the rest of the supplies, dislodging a few smaller boxes and - more importantly - the water tank that Dibble was sitting on. He struggled to stay upright as it toppled down, crashing into the floor in the middle of the packs, the cap springing off. There was a glug-glug as water flowed out onto the carpet, and an annoyed shouting from Dibble. “Oi, these are my wares these are! You can't shoot wet darts!"

“Sinister, please." Prometheus said with a small smile. “Be more careful next time."

Sinister smirked, turning and walking back with Prometheus to the map table. “Sorry, commander. Must've been a bit too rough."

“Gah!" Dibble muttered, grumbling to himself. “At least they're barely damp… but the price just went up, mind you!" There was a clattering as he extracted himself from the rest of the detritus behind them, and Sinister glanced as he wandered off down towards the corridor, climbing over the barricades. “'Scuse me! Businessman comin' through! Not a customer or a waiter, no time with me, sorry! 'Scuse me! Ah, don't you look like a fine fellow of a man with a damn good eye for a bargain…"

“So what's the report?" Prometheus said, snatching back her attention as they reached the map table. Sinister peered over the edge at the map. The thick lines had moved again, but now they only surrounded four rooms - the Lounge, the Special Lounge adjacent to it, one of the Function Rooms beyond that, and the storeroom. Shaded in red were their lines of sight, creating the current no-go zones for customers. Aside from a cross at the Inner Garden in the bedroom block, and a couple of lines at the both sets of stairs to the basement, The rest of the Café was largely unmarked. It didn't need to be. It was all customer territory now.

“No-one else came from the other function rooms. The customers must've got a hold of all of them, taken them out." She spat out the words harshly. “What about here, anyone come back?"

“A few." Prometheus said, looking around. Over by the bar, Mariana was sitting surrounded by three of the waiters, walking up and down the counter as she conducted a debriefing. “About twenty minutes ago, we got a few waiters back from Ceylon's offensive, were let go just before the end of their half hour. Seems like there's some fair play on their side - and before you ask, no, Dextus isn't among them. Neither is Ceylon."

“What!?" Sinister said, slumping down. “It's been almost two hours! Where the hell has he gone!?"

“Do not ask me. We're starting to get waiters back from the attack on Captivate too. That should help our defense."

There was a scampering of feet, and then Quippie appeared on the table, the Linoone sliding across the smooth surface. Great gashes appeared in the red, cross-hatched line-of-sight areas as he scrabbled to a halt.

“ActingcommanderprometheusSIR." Quippie blurted out, snapping off a salute so quick it looked more like a spasm. “Back from behind enemy lines! I've also talked to all the new waiters! They said that some waiters went to the basement, but Ceylon wasn't among them, so we don't know where he's got to!"

Prometheus nodded. “What else?"

“Well, I saw more customers in Captivate, I think they're going to try and attack down the corridor! And yes, you're right, they're staying near Dark Pulse and the Dungeon, and they're taking more captive waiters who are coming out!" He paused for a moment, watching them. “But…"

“But…?" Prometheus said, patiently.

Quippie smirked. “I got one of the cleaning mice to climb into the vending machine with a small gun. Y'know the one near Dark Pulse?" He grinned widely. “If anyone tries to order a drink… BAM!"

Prometheus chuckled. Sinister couldn't help but let out a little snicker too at the concept.

“Alright." Prometheus said, looking back down at the map. “What about the basement?"

Quippie shook his head. “Too heavily defended! Too many guns! I could jump in if you wanted me too, but I couldn't get out again! I could though, I could surprise them real good, jump off their head and then down the wall and then-"

“Alright." Prometheus cut in, stopping him in mid-plan. “That won't be necessary. You should stay here. We have to assume that Ceylon won't be coming back soon. Perhaps he was captured a second time, maybe he is stuck in the basement. This is not good news. Fortunately, we might get some of the waiters from Captivate back soon, their half hour is almost up, yes?" He glared at the map again. “But we will be fine, we will be strong. We should be able to hold out here for several hours at least. We have food, we have supplies-"

“And I've got you!" Came the banshee screech from behind them. All three turned as one. Sinister stared at the sight in surprise as Prometheus let out a long groan of annoyance.

One of the guns by the supply was a large monster of a turret. Two barrels, each with its own drum of darts, sitting on a firm tripod. Behind it, still-dripping paws wrapped around the handle and pointing both barrels at them, was Rain Flower. He face was a picture of mad delight.

Sinister blinked at the Vaporeon. She was smaller than the gun she was holding. “...Where the fuck did y-"

“The drums." Prometheus muttered. “She came in here in one of the drums. She has hid in water tanks before."

“Yep!" Rain Flower shouted, still grinning. Rivulets of water ran down her body, forming a damp patch on the floor around her. It was a well-known fact that Vaporeon had the ability to hide in water, even turn into water completely. It was something, Sinister had heard, that Rain Flower was keen to exploit whenever she could. “Yoooou got it, bigfuck…"

“So what?" Sinister muttered. “She can go sit on the front lines and-"

“Wrong, brotherfucker!" Rain Flower shouted, barrels waving. “I heard about this game! You shoot someone, you get half an hour with them. You can do anything you want!" She leant left and right, futilely trying to sight down both barrels at the same time, before giving up and just looking down the middle. “And so that's why Rain Flower is going rogue!" She gleefully announced, grinning with those wide eyes.

The barrels slewed to the large bulk of Prometheus. Her paw rested gently on the trigger.

“Hey, bigfuck. We're gonna have fun together…"

* * *

Neon gasped, paws clenching, grasping at the floor. She bit her lip hard, eyes closed, body spasming as nerves and neurons fired over and over again, almost completely immobilizing her with the overload of sensations.

The Houndoom certainly wasn't immobilized, however. That was rather the problem. Half curled over, head jammed uncomfortably into the ground, she was forced to stare up through one open eye as the canine hastily, greedily forced that long, wet shaft into her, over and over again.

God dammit! She knew some people were focused when it came to sex, but she'd never met anyone quite so fast when it came to thrusting. Her crotch even felt sore with the pounding of that knot against it, her insides calling for relief with the repeated intrusion that showed little sign of relenting. Over and over and over again, thrustthrustthrust, with drips of pre and juices leaking onto her face as he did so.

She gasped, flecks of pre splattering onto her tongue and nose. She clenched her paws again as the Houndoom shifted positions. He was leaning over her now, jamming her into the floor, taking her roughly from behind in that tried and true canine way. His paws curled around her waist, claws digging into her fur, but never once letting up on that unforgiving pace.

Worst thing was, it wasn't even wholly unpleasant. God… dammit! She needed to keep a damn clear head, and he wasn't helping matters!

She stared, upside-down, at the clock on the nearby bedside table near the window. Almost twenty three minutes past the hour. Just over a minute until the half hour was over. She glanced the other way; a six-shooter nerf gun was just lying there against the nearby bed, completely forgotten….

Neon was distracted again as the Houndoom lurched forward, one hind paw scratching at the green carpet as his thrusting got harder and harder. She could feel her cunt stretching now, each thrust of the cock forcing that knot against her. She let out a yelp of surprise, then stifled a continued moan of exertion and pleasure as the hot flesh pressed against her clit. He was a beast, feral and unrelenting. She had to deal with that…!

Thirty seconds. That's right. Hurry up! Her legs twitched, hanging in the air, as she stared up at those jolting hips and those quivering balls as more strands and drops of pre spattered over her face. But she could feel it! She could feel the shaft throbbing and pulsating, feel it begin to grow just that little bit bigger, and the balls… no, no, not just yet, not on her watch!

“C...c'mon… newbie…" She goaded from between gritted teeth, the words tumbling out quickly. “Bet ya can't fuckin' knot me…!"

There was a harsh growl, and she even felt the heat from a lick of flame. Even his claws heated up too, digging into her, the sensations once again sending her mind into overdrive. He was cumming, she knew, the tightening of his balls could even be seen and strands of cum spurted from the imperfect seal between his cock and her cunt, splattering across her chest and face. She felt electricity sparking from her paws, and she gritted her teeth tighter, her vision blurring as he rammed harder and harder and-

Fuck! The knot slammed into her at long last, but he didn't stop thrusting, hips slamming into her own again and again. She could even feel it swell, the shaft throbbing and pulsating, the orgasm in full force as he sprayed cum deep into her. His hips jolted and jerked, and her ears were filled with feral growls and yowls and grunts as his mind was wiped of rational thought.

Perfect, she smirked, looking through her own haze of pleasure and her still-jolting vision from the thrusting, up at the clock. Gone twenty-four minutes past the hour. Her half hour was up! Now she just-

The door on the other side of the bedroom opened. The thin human, the Houndoom's compatriot or partner or whatever he was, stared through it with those wide and manic eyes.

“Oi, 'Cendie, c'mon! That's half an hour!"

“Fuck!" Swore Neon. Overcoming the vices of her body, she shoved herself to the side. Still thrusting, still lost in pleasure and probably not even having heard either of them, the Houndoom yelped in surprise as he fell to the side, paws leaving her as he scrabbled at the floor from the sudden lack of balance.

Neon kept the momentum, rolling him until she was on top of him, and then lunged to the side. She grabbed the nerf gun in both paws, dragging it towards her.

“Merde-" shouted the man, who fumbled with his own gun, just as Neon pushed off from the floor. In one fluid motion, she rolled back on top of the Houndoom in a reverse-cowgirl position, aimed and fired off a shot, catching the man right on the forehead.

The Houndoom tried to get a word out, but it was lost in a gasp of exertion, which became a growl of surprise and disbelief. Neon bit down on the priming handle, yanked it back until she heard the click of the inner mechanisms, released it and let herself fall backwards. She was slightly smaller than the Houndoom; just enough so that when she landed on his underside, gun clenched to her chest, another pull of the trigger sent a dart slamming into the underside of his muzzle.

She panted as both of them growled and spluttered out a few french expletives at her. She grinned at that, tossing the gun to the side, feeling the cock inside her spurting the last few drips of seed.

The knot wasn't too hard work - what the Houndoom made up for in length he seemed to lack in girth. Just a couple of firm tugs, and she yanked herself free, letting cum drip from her cunt in a thick, continuous stream. She snickered to herself, grabbing the gun from the floor again.

“Thank you both, you've been wonderful customers." She said, smirking, as the man sat on the bed and glared daggers at her. She refilled the gun from the spent darts. “Now both of you just sit right there. Half an hour, remember, and don't let me catch you outta here before then, or I'll have to call in Nikki to give you a nice stern talking to…"

“I'll get you again! I will!" The man said, clutching the bed covers so hard his knuckles were white. “And, and this time, it won't just be him!"

“Sorry," Neon replied happily, fetching a belt from the floor and clipping the gun to it. “No rematch!"

And with both a grin and a last flick of the hips to show off her matted, soaked rear, she disappeared through the door and out into the bedroom block.

The corridor was dark. The lights had been extinguished, and at either end of corridor only the bobbing of lights strapped to nerf guns showed where people were. She pushed herself into a doorway, staring down the corridor, her eyes passing over a number of darkened doorways.

Well, she thought.

Game on.

~ ~ ~ End of Act 2 ~ ~ ~