It All Comes Down

Quroth was never one for superstition but he couldn’t help but find the sight of a practitioner of the Cycle of Order standing outside the “Black Lips,” nightclub, white robes turned gray with grime, to be an omen of some kind. One that he needed to indulge in personally.

He was early for the meeting anyways, he figured, so he approached the haggard figure, a scrawny and short Regulian who had shaved his mane away, and greeted him.

“When was your last practice in the Cycle?” the humble Regulian whispered, his hood covering up his eyes.

“Let's be safe and say during mandatory education.”

“A shadow of the real thing,” the fortune teller frowned and pulled out a short deck of octagonal cards. “Recite the Imperial Names.”

“Oh fuck off, you’re not serious about the Imperial Cult are you? I’m not gonna read off every Emperor’s name before playing cards with you,” Quroth lashed his tail.

“Why do you seek an omen but then turn your nose up at it when you willingly approach it?” the cultist tapped his claw on his folding table. “I will not accept your money unless you recite them.”

Quroth sighed, “Have you got a list?”

The cultist reached under the table and placed a long piece of paper onto the table. Quroth placed his paw on it just before a stiff breeze could blow it away.

“I seek the wisdom of the Cycle. I seek the strength of Order. I invoke the name of Hasham, first of his name, his life the mystery from which all begins. I invoke the name of Hasham the Second, though my voice may shatter his fragile bones. I invoke Hasham “Maneless,” whose desire for comfort and submission did not stop him from unifying the Empire. I invoke Hasham-”

By the time the recital of all the many, many Emperors came to an end, Quroth’s throat was as dry as sand.

“And finally I invoke Haresh the Fourth, may his reign and deeds last forever!”

The fortune teller nodded and carefully pulled the paper back.

“Now invoke the Illegitimacies.”

“Fuck you.”

“That was a joke,” the fortune teller chuckled. “Humor is part of the Cycle too, you know?”

“Everything is part of the cycle.”

“You speak the truth, even if clouded by sarcasm,” the deck was pushed toward Quroth. “Shuffle.”

Quroth picked up the deck and flipped the cards around randomly at a snail’s pace, his fingers jittering with each octagonal piece of the future pulled out and shoved back in.

“Ah!”

Quroth’s thumb flicked and a single card was thrown from the deck, landing face down onto the table.

“STOP!”

Quroth pinched the top card and paused.

“That one is your reading, draw no more.”

Sighing, Quroth placed the deck gently onto the table, “Single card rules? So it is just like the dumbed down version in school.”

“If you didn’t want to play it that way, you should have kept a steady hand on the cards. Turn it over.”

Quroth flipped the card over with a claw and an image of a young Regulian standing up straight in a blue, military cadet uniform looked back at him. A book was in his left paw and his right was resting upon the pommel of a sword.

“Oh, hey, I’m about to ruin that guy’s life,” Quroth tapped his claw on the nose of the Cadet and laughed.

“Do not laugh at the card.”

“I thought you said humor was part of this?”

“When it’s due.”

“Anyway, this is a good card, isn’t it? It’s only bad if the image is upside down, right?”

“Yes and no.”

“Spit it out.”

“Are you prescribed any psychiatric drugs?”

“None of your fucking business if I use drugs or not.”

“I know you’re on drugs, I just want to know if they’re prescription or recreational.”

“Did the cards tell you that?”

“No, your quivering fingers, your bloodshot eyes, and the smell…” the fortune teller sniffed and grimaced underneath his hood, “...the less said about the smell, the better.”

“Okay.”

The cultist’s ear twitched, “You have varicose veins on your forearm and wrist, clear as day through your fur. Your gut noises are constricted and slow, implying opioid constipation.”

“Alright, fuck off!” Quroth snarled. “I take a few drugs, yeah, it’s not a crime.”

“I don’t care,” the mystic waved his paw. “This changes the card.”

“How?”

“The Cadet card is telling you what to do. You need to stop, think, and plan. You cannot do any of these in your current condition, not while your brain is soaked in recreational drugs. You must clean yourself first, do not do anything else, make no big decisions until then.”

“Nah,” Quroth shook his head, “I got a big deal going down right in that den of sin there. Say, what are you even doing in such a place?”

“Lust, drink, and drugs are not vices as long as they do not interfere with Order, and there are always those who need to learn healthy indulgence. You are an extreme case, you must stop now, and perhaps get put on mood stabilizers.”

“You are so fucking bad at this!” Quroth laughed and pulled out his datapad. “In fact, I feel so fucking sorry for you that I’m gonna give you ten thousand Crowns, you’re gonna need it, maybe you can invest it and get a real job?”

“This reading is on me,” the fortune teller sighed. “You need it more than me, just listen to it.”

“Listened and ignored, now fuck off!”

Quroth turned to the side and flicked his tail, knocking a few cards off of the deck which elicited nothing more than a shameful shake of the fortune teller’s head.

There was a line-up stretching down the street and around the corner but Quroth’s family connections meant he did not have to queue. With a quick utterance of his name to the brown Ursine bouncer, he was able to break through and push his way through the entrance.

Once again ignoring the staff, this time the coat check counter, Quroth slipped through a beaded curtain and emerged into the main room of the club. The room was dark, the dance floor was batched in flashing neon colors, and the music was ear-piercing.

This was Quroth’s kind of place.

Lupiad pheremones spiced the air. The owners liked to leave their mark on the environment and thankfully for them there was some hormonal compatibility with Regulians. Most of the clientele today were feline or canine while the staff were overwhelmingly Vulpeculan and human, many of whom wore collars with pricetags attached to them.

But there was no time for Quroth to enjoy himself. He had a booth with his name on it. He swept past a human trying to sell him some drugs and stepped up a narrow staircase leading to his own private area overlooking the dancefloor.

Ilayo was sitting there, waiting. The Vulpeculan was wearing a black, mesh shirt that showed off his slim chest. He sipped from a straw sticking out of a thin glass with a yellow cocktail in it, it smelled like some kind of citrus to Quroth.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” Quroth said with a purr, flopping down on the couch and snuggling up to his slave.

“I can’t stay long,” Ilayo’s face flushed as Quroth ran his rough tongue against his muzzle. “It’s too hard for me to see.”

“Our plan coming to fruition?”

“Second-hand embarrassment is a bitch and there will be a lot of that tonight.”

“Whatever you say,” Quroth wrapped his arm around his slave’s shoulder, hugging him close. “I, for one, can’t wait to see Colonel Cunt get what he deserves.”

“As do I. Just don’t wanna be there to see it.”

Quroth leaned over the railing and snapped his fingers at a Vulpeculan below, barking out a drink order the moment he got her attention.

“Just think…” Quroth kicked up his feet against the railing, “...pretty soon the world will be ours.”

Reaching into his coat pocket, Quroth withdrew a slim cigar. Placing it between his lips, he ordered Ilayo to come and light it, which he did without hesitation.

“Once Uloth’s out and the vote panic splits, it’ll be just enough for me to win,” Quroth chuckled and puffed out a cloud of smoke. “Maybe Primo’ll even vote for me out of gratitude for being such a good brother?”

Claws clicked on the staircase and a white-furred Vulpeculan, naked except for a collar with her rental tag on it, appeared holding a steel tray with a bottle of champagne and two flutes.

Quroth sniffed at the Vulpeculan’s rear, taking in the powerful scent of her violet gland at the base of her tail, as she placed the drinks onto the table in the booth.

As the Vulpeculan leaned back up, Quroth pinched the tag on her collar, pulling her close to him.

“Not a bad prince,” Quroth leered up at the terrified Vulpeculan. “You wanna party with us?”

“Party…” she whispered, scanning her eyes over the booth, “...with you?”

“Yeah…” Quroth ran his claw across her chest, pricking the nipples hidden by her fur, “...what, you’re for rent ain’t ya?”

“You are Mr. t’Osgar? The youngest of the litter?”

“Damn right I am.”

“You have been warned before, Mr. t’Osgar. I will report this to the owners if you do not release me.”

“Come on…” Quroth wrapped his paw across the steel collar, tugging on it, “...I got the money, jus-”

Stars burst across Quroth’s eyes as his muzzle was slapped to the side. It took several moments before the sharp pain registered in the Regulian’s brain and by that point the Vulpeculan had fled the VIP lounge.

“On that note…” Ilayo stood up and smoothed out his mini-skirt, “...I’ll see you later, Master.”

“Aww, leaving me alone?”

Ilayo picked up his drink and poked his snout towards the crowd below, “He’s here, good luck.”

In a blink, Ilayo had vanished down the staircase.

Quroth began to pour the bottle of champagne into his flute and by the time he was finished, Uloth showed up wearing his typical military uniform.

“Fucking hell…” Quroth shook his head and poured another glass, “...you got any other set of clothes?”

“It suits all occasions,” Uloth frowned, looking down at the flute. “Do you have a filter pill?”

“Didn’t daddy warn you about taking drugs from me?”

“Do you or don’t you?”

Shaking his head, Quroth pulled out a small cardboard box and slammed it on the table.

“All the filter pills you need.”

“Good.”

Uloth sat down and tenderly picked up the flute by its stem, gazing at the bubbles floating up to the foamy surface.

While his brother was distracted, Quroth pushed himself towards the railing and whistled down, catching the attention of another slave working at the club.

“So…” Uloth continued to stare at the glass, ignorant of anything around him, “...we don’t get a chance to talk much.”

“You don’t like to have fun, so…”

“I like to have fun.”

“Lifting weights while chanting creeds into the mirror doesn’t strike me as fun.”

“I write.”

On Jolt? I know.

Resisting the urge to comment publicly, Quroth changed the subject, “So, Interim CEO?”

Uloth stiffened his back, “I think that I’m the best choice.”

“Do you even have anyone’s support?”

“I don’t know,” Uloth shrugged, “but I honestly believe I’m the best and so I’ll have to vote with my conscience.”

You fucking imbecile, you don’t even realize you’re being primed for the spot.

“People like military officers and I can bring discipline to the company. I don’t like to toot my own horn but I believe that I am the natural choice.”

I hate you.

“Okay…” Quroth took a sip of champagne, “...well, I would disagree. In fact, I would like your vote if-”

Uloth raised his brow, quietly silencing Quroth from going any further.

“You are probably the worst choice possible,” Uloth cleared his throat. “I apologize for being harsh but I must speak honestly.”

“You ever notice that you only ever emphasize honesty when pumping yourself up or knocking others down?”

“What?”

“Nothing, never-”

A hulking shadow was standing by the staircase. An Equuileian with muscles that were comically thick even for his species and a long, flowing mane. His tail was braided and his precum-slicked cock was sticking out like a tree trunk.

“Can I get you anything, sirs?”

Uloth nearly creamed himself upon seeing the slave before them, Quroth didn’t need a Regulian’s nose to smell he was horny.

There was no need for this part of the plan. Things were in motion already.

Quroth’s datapad started to vibrate. It was happening.

“What do you think?” Quroth nudged Uloth. “Should have brought Snow, get them to have a bit of fun.”

“I-” Uloth cleared his throat, “I’m not-”

“MR. T’OSGAR!”

A black-furred Lupiad in a business suit pushed past the slave. His fangs shimmered white as he snarled.

“You have been warned about your behavior!” the Lupiad growled and pointed a claw towards the exit. “OUT!”

“Tolath…” Quroth stood up and held his paws out, trying to soothe the club owner. His datapad continued to buzz more and more, “...come on, what did I really do wrong here?”

“You know what you did. Out. Now.”

“Look, the merchandise is there to be used, you know that!”

“I’m not having this discussion again.”

Quroth looked down at the dance floor. Many of the guests had stopped dancing and drinking, and were now looking at the bright screens of their datapads.

“I am just trying to enjoy the establishment with MY BROTHER,” Quroth shouted as loud as he could, trying to get the crowd’s attention. “YOU CAN’T TREAT THE T’OSGARS THIS WAY!”

Tolath stepped forward, balling up his fists. The Lupiad was half a foot shorter than Quroth but he showed no fear of the larger and heavier alien.

“My boxing days aren’t that far back, you know that, right?” Tolath snorted, flaring his nostrils.

“Think you and I are in different weight classes, cub.”

“I always punched above.”

“Yeah!? Well, come on then, little cub!”

Quroth took one stomp forward and no more. The Lupiad hooked his fist across Quroth’s muzzle, knocking him to the left with enough force that Quroth rolled across the railing, careening down onto the club floor below.

Moaning with pain, Quroth managed to attract most of the club’s attention at first, but then a voice cried out.

“It’s him!”

Datapads were pointed towards the VIP booth where all attendees could clearly see Uloth with a very naked Equuileian sex slave.

“Is he going to take it up the ass right now?” someone whispered.

“Ssh, be nice! It’s no one’s business.”

“It is pretty funny though.”

Quroth rolled to his feet, aching with pain. It felt like he had broken a rib or something similar, but it didn’t slow him down. He rushed towards the exit, the crowd distracted by something far more embarrassing than his fall: one of the few shunned cases of sexual deviancy in the Empire.

Shoving the door open, Quroth clipped the bouncer with his shoulder and took off down the dark streets.

It was over. Uloth’s humiliation was complete.

There was nothing stopping Quroth now.

Almost feel sorry for that fuck…but everyone’ll forget about it in a month. He’ll go right back to trolling Primath, people like him don’t change.

Uloth stood frozen as everyone’s eyes locked onto him. A chorus of laughter, mockery, and worse of all, pity; rattled through the club.

He didn’t need to check the news. There was always a fear that his secret might make it out and now it was. Pictures and video were being taken, no doubt about it. There would be no point to explaining himself.

Whoever leaked the news will be punished, Uloth told himself. They’ll be shunned even worse.

Uloth quietly stepped down the stairs, ignoring the owner and the slave. The music had stopped now. He was the show, the entertainment.

This is not the end.

Uloth kept his sights on the exit, not giving so much as a glance towards the crowd. His chin was tilted up as he marched to the beat of his favorite drill song.

The laughter faded in favor of phony apologies and more pity. Once Uloth was gone, the laughter would begin again. That was how this worked.

This is not the end.

Uloth entered the check-in room and handed his token to the human woman running the coat check. No one else was here, if she had heard the news, she did not make any sign of it.

This is not the end.

Uloth took his coat from the woman and reached into its lining.

He put the coat down.

The woman screamed.

“This is not the end!”

Service pistol to his head, Uloth made one last choice.