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Be Careful What You Wish For

By Dark Violet

When it came to the weather, late spring in Oklahoma was almost the perfect time of the year. The cold and harsh winds of the winter had given way to gentle breezes that caressed the cheek, and the sun, each day creeping ever higher into the sky, warmed the morning dews without baking the grass and soil beneath. Trees whispered in their own delicate tongue, while around the wooded slopes of the low hills bordering the great plains, the calls of Chatot, Pidgey and other such Pokémon was proving to be one of the most peaceful sounds in nature.

All in all, it was a shame that absolutely none of this blissful serenity was doing anything to improve Firenze's current mood. It wasn't even due to being stuck inside his bedroom on such delightful a morning. Instead, his lack of peacefulness and general ease with the world around him rather stemmed from his current situation. He was suffering through another encounter with Rain Flower.

"Well, the way I_see it..." The Vaporeon waved her front paws by way of meaningless demonstration, "You got, like, a scale, yeah? Like, from the best cocks, to the even _bester_cocks. Like, right down here at one end, you get Spritzer. Like, he ain't_small, but he's got that weird wiggly thing going on, and so soft all the time! That's what I've seen anyway. And then there's Ravage, I mean, he's got the knot thing going on and I think those piercings will feel amazing, know what I mean? But then you get the big boys - like Nature! And then, and then, after him, you get the grand prize." She stretched out her arms now, sliding her paws around in some imaginary circle. "_Prometheuuuus..."_She went silent at that, lifting up her paws as if she was weighing the cock in her imagination. After a few seconds, she shook her head, frowning as she drew her paws back in. "So, like, that's my list... what do you think? Which is the bestest?"

Firenze closed his eyes in a silent prayer for relief. Many people considered that the problem with Rain Flower was in what she said. They weren't exactly wrong; sometimes, the complete inanity of what she came out with (a sort of verbal attention-deficit-disorder combined with gossip so puerile that even the basest Reality TV programme would consider itself too highbrow to broadcast it) was so incredibly asinine it was almost fascinating. _Almost_fascinating... at least, in an academic, earplugs-recommended sort of way.

However, Firenze considered that the real problem was not in _what_she said, but more that she didn't really know when _not_to say it.

In all, it made it very difficult to perform.

Firenze pressed his paw against her back, shoving her deeper into the mattress to gain a better angle, before ramming his hips against that thick rear of hers. The nubs of his knot were shoved right past her lips, stretching them as he hilted her once again. He closed his eyes as he slowly drew back, very aware that she'd just asked a question and was awaiting an answer. However, he figured that right now, it was probably best to say nothing and to just try and concentrate on what he was doing, in the hopes that maybe she'd get the hint.

She didn't.

"So like, Ravage should be easy - I just gotta wait, right? 'Cause I've been _told_he's fucked a girl. So, he's probably just waiting for the best time to ask me, right? Maybe he's planning something good! Just for me! You heard anything?"

Firenze let just the tips of his claws press into that soft, malleable hide that he honestly quite enjoyed. With such a small form and so wonderful to hold, the body of this particular Vaporeon was nothing short of enticing - and this wasn't even considering how those wet, water-type insides shifted and rubbed and massaged quite incredibly. So, despite these quite definitely not being the best of times, he tried at least to focus on those good points.

"Oh fuck, I forgot Glimmer! Like, I think he's going to be really good, and you see him everywhere. I don't know why he hasn't asked me yet! It's really very_rude_."

Thrust in, pull back, thrust in, pull back. Keep those tails nice and extended, use them as a counterbalance, let his hips roll with each thrust to press the underside against the client's most sensitive bits, and above all stay in the moment...!

"But, like, how could I resist _Prometheus_most of all? Bitch is holdin' out on Rain Flower, that's what he's doin'!" She stretched her body out (which admittedly did feel a little bit good), gesturing once more with her paws. "With a cock_this_wide... and his knot, like, his knot is _thiiiiis_big..."

Firenze couldn't help but stare as each gesture became more and more fantastical and outright wrong. And while Prometheus himself might indeed appreciate her misguided faith in his bodily proportions, this was not exactly the topic Firenze wanted to hear, especially right now.

"And oooooh, it's, like, _thiiiiiiiiiiis_long!" Her body flopped onto the mattress as her paws stretched towards opposite ends of the bed.

Firenze gritted his teeth, lifting his hips as he tried to focus once more on the carnal delights at hand. Come on, it feels good, honest, just keep going and maybe you can finally get this whole ordeal over with...!

"And his balls, are, like, as big as both his balls!" Her voice was almost one of reverence - or at least of an obsessed fangirl.

Yes, she _does_feel amazing, spread her that little bit wider, maybe you'll be able to get that rhythm back....

"And, and, I bet he'd feel _soooo_good when he fucks! Like, definitely better than you, because-"

"Goodness me, is that the time!?" Firenze announced quite a bit louder than he was expecting, jolting upwards. Rain Flower was briefly pulled up with him, insides tightening in response to the sudden jerk of Firenze's hips, before his paws holding her down yanked her off and let her fall back to the covers with a surprised squeal.

Firenze's cock popped free, sending a brief shower of pre and juices over the shocked Rain Flower. "I think I have another client to see...!" He pivoted on one paw and clambering down and off the bed in one less-than-smooth motion, that black length bobbing up and down, leaving a vague wet trail in its wake.

"Wha? H-hey!" Beneath him, the ball of confusion changed to anger. "Hey! You stop right now, Mister!"

Firenze backed slowly away from the bed. "Rain Flower, I do apologise, but I believe I've overrun and I'm quite late, so I really must be off..."

"But I paid!" She scrabbled to her feet, kicking away errant folds in the duvet. "Like, for once I paid! All night!"

"Indeed you did, and I sincerely apologise for not providing entertainment to your satisfaction, and as such I will of course be refunding a significant proportion of your final bill."

"But if I want cock, not money!"

"With money, you can get any- ..._most_cocks that you want."

"But I want yours!" With her tail still hoisted high into the air, she waddled over to the edge of the bed. She dipped her chest to the covers, pressing that rear up into the air as her tail curved back right over her body. Her angry pout had seemed to suddenly disappear, and a smile now flowed across her face in much the same manner as old tar. "Come on, Firenze... don't you wanna stick that delicious black length so deep in me I'll be hanging from those biiiig golden balls for an hour...?"

Firenze, despite himself, paused in mid-step.

Rain Flower swayed her hips back and forth, laying her head against her paws. Her lidded, dark eyes stared unblinkingly up at him. "It'll be so fun... I'll give you the ride you want. Come on, Firenze. Rain Flower's your girl. Just your cock, and my cunt, and all the pleasure we can make..."

Several seconds passed. Firenze counted them in his head.

"And hey!" Rain Flower shoved herself up, grinning broadly. "Maybe I'll let you tell me about all _your_favourite gay waiter's cocks too!"

Firenze was at his door immediately, pulling it open with a tail and letting the warm corridor's light flow into the room.

"Hey!" came the jilted cry from behind him, followed quickly by a brief moment of scrabbling and a light _whumph,_in what he assumed was his distinguished client elegantly tripping over the edge of the bed and falling to the floor. He considered this to be something he somehow didn't hear and hotfooted it out of the room, modestly sliding his tails around his waist.

From the corner of his eye, he glanced Rain Flower slipping out through the quickly shrinking gap - though while he noticed the sliver of tailfin still in the way of the frame and the door a moment before it closed completely, it was clear she didn't.

Well. That'd make sure that his next-door neighbour Jack was up for his shift, at least. His ears still ringing from the banshee-esque screech of pain, he recovered from his terribly physical wince and continued on to the stairs down towards Plaisir's main lobby.

"I do apologise, Rain Flower" he said over his shoulder as he arrived at the bottom, the Vaporeon spitting a cornucopia of expletives as she chased after him. At times, her vocabulary really could be quite astounding. "But, as it is, it's almost-" Firenze faltered, glancing surreptitiously at a clock thankfully mounted on a wall nearby. "-eleven o'clock in the morning, and I have an agreement to a prior appointment that I really must uphold."

"But_I_want to hold up your point!"

As they rounded the next corner, the Café's main lobby opened out around them. The front doors had been left open to let in the lush spring breeze and warm sunshine, which was now illuminating the twin front desks with their typical outdated computer monitors and piles of paperwork. Behind the far desk was Minka, a Gardevoir who so often worked here as helper and security. However, more pertinent and currently turning to face Firenze with a shocked expression was the Lopunny at the closer desk.

"Miss Cheryl-" Firenze began, only to be cut off.

"Mister Firenze! Did you hear that? I think we have another Ghost problem again, oh, it's just like the ides of March again with its-"

"Don't worry, Cheryl, it was just a minor altercation with a doorway." Firenze so hated to interrupt people under normal circumstances, but many that had met her would attest that Cheryl was not normal. And yet, she was still quite a welcome sight after a night with Rain Flower.

"It got my fin!" Rain Flower's voice popped up from somewhere behind Firenze. He lowered his tails to the ground just before she managed to slip underneath them, leaving her headbutting a wall of fluff. "Hey...!"

"Anyway..." Firenze continued, before anything else could be said. "I believe I have a client to attend to, but I must admit that I've forgotten who it was..."

Cheryl's brow furrowed like a well-tractored field. "That's odd. I thought you were off today..."

Firenze tilted his head, remaining nonchalant. "Oh, I decided to indulge in a little overtime. Perhaps if you find me a list of our current customers, it would jog my memory..."

Cheryl turned back to her computer, muttering to herself in a confused waterfall of non-sequiturs. From behind the second desk, Minka eyed him silently with a single raised eyebrow.

Firenze merely gestured down to the ground with his head, where he was already repositioning his tails to fend off another explorative skirmish by Rain Flower.

Minka looked down at the grumbling Vaporeon, back up at Firenze, nodded once and returned to her own work.

"Well, I've got a list right heeeere..." Cheryl muttered, opening up a document on the computer. "Can you remember where it was, at least?"

Firenze shook his head slowly, peering over her shoulder. "Afraid not... are any particular rooms in use right now...?"

"Not many! It's very quiet today, just like Omen said it was, I told her I thought it would be busy but of course she was right, she really is quite good at these things and honestly I don't know why I don't just listen to her!"

"Indeed." Firenze whipped a tail around just as an intrepid paw threatened to break through his furry defenses.

"Um, but you probably want to know, well... um, the Special Lounge has been booked up for that bachelor party, but they're probably still asleep, they were partying so late after all... nothing in Captivate, and Dark Pulse is being cleaned again...oh, someone called Lady... Paz-zo-cap-ell-i-ahhh-o... booked into Function Room C about an hour ago, it's an open scene, so-"

"Aha, that's the one!" Firenze said, putting on a broad smile and what he hoped was sufficient enough recognition. "Yes, thank you very much, Cheryl. I'll get right along to that one then, shall I?"

Before Cheryl could say anything else, Firenze swept himself around to head down towards the rest of the Café.

What he hadn't counted on was an extra weight on one tail as Rain Flower scrabbled along the floor for purchase. He stopped, turning to glare at her.

She raised an eyebrow and glared at him with pouting lips. "...What?"

It was at that moment he realised he had a guardian angel. A slender shadow passed over the diminutive blue figure, causing her to look up into the glaring red eyes of Minka.

Rain Flower paused. She looked back at Firenze. She looked at Minka. Eventually, she let go of the tail she'd grabbed.

"Okay, okay..." she grumbled, casting her eyes around as if physically searching for an excuse. "I'll go..."

Firenze nodded to Minka, who gave him a ghost of a smile before floating back to the desk. It was a wordless agreement, but he knew and gratefully accepted that he owed her one.

As Rain Flower slunk back off towards the stairs, Firenze almost felt a little sorry for whoever he'd inevitably pawned her off on, indirect or otherwise. Still, worst case scenario, she'd waste some poor waiter's time - and best case, she'd find a customer and get a little extra revenue for the Café. He really should get around to having a word with her about when her hours were. At this point, he wondered if she even knew she had them.

Still, that was a problem for some other day. As it was, the immediate future was looking a lot brighter. A Lady, really? Nobility at Plaisir? Someone of high standing, anyway. And in Function Room C of all places...

Either way, after a night with Rain Flower, all that he wanted was someone with which he could properly converse - a like-minded individual with whom to share an afternoon. He was even finding himself quite curious as to who this 'Lady Pazzocapellaio' was.

All in all, he had quite high hopes for the rest of day.

***

Café Plaisir may have started as a rest stop-turned-brothel, but there had never been a reason why they should stick to such simplistic roots. Over the years, the complex had grown outwards, transforming the original red-brick setup into the small hotel of debauchery found today.

But it wasn't just the outside that had been embellished - the services offered had, too, become more varied and elaborate. While it was easily still possible to order a waiter for an hour of uncomplicated pleasure, the additions of rooms like the strip-club-esque Captivate and the sexually liberated nightclub Dark Pulse meant that the Café could start to cater to a much wider range of fantasies and tastes.

Yet such is the nature of sexuality that for every theme one could design, there are a thousand different fancies that are missed out on. To maintain the Café's growing popularity (or, perhaps, notoriety), Plaisir knew they had to continue providing new delights and desires for their customers.

Thus, four rooms were set aside and called 'Function Rooms' - large, easily-modifiable, and filled with a range of inexpensive props to serve all manner of carnal whims. Why, even over the past few months, they'd had a wide variety of ideas: a temple scene, a cinema, a classroom, an office.... Hell, at one point, they'd even shipped in some sand for a mock indoor beach. In all, the system had been a success, proving very popular for both customers and waiters alike - even if the cleaning staff were less than enthused.

The recent theme for Function Room C was one of Firenze's personal favourites.

He quietly slipped through the double doors into a small antechamber. Even this entrance room was adorned with red livery, with gold tassels waving from blankets and gauze that stretched from one corner to the other. One wall was made up entirely of a thick red curtain, suspended from a hidden rail with the base trailing across the floor. Only a sliver of light from what lay beyond played across the floor, and he could just hear muffled talking. It sounded feminine.

Next to the curtain was a small brown bench, where a Kirlia was sitting with his legs crossed, idly reading a small dog-eared book. He looked up when Firenze entered, and quickly stashed his book.

"Mister Supervisor Firenze, Sir!" The Kirlia nodded brusquely, his body stiffening.

"At ease, Sparrow." Firenze kept his words hushed, glancing towards the curtain. "I'm just here to make sure everything's going smoothly with our Lady in there."

"Yes sir. Well, everything seems to be going well! She's playing a queen, and Demure and Delilah are acting as bodyguards."

Firenze raised an eyebrow. "Demure and Delilah? Is the Laundry running ahead of schedule today...?"

"Mister Pouncer told them to do it. Oh, they told me to tell you that the Morning Shift is, uh, 'woefully understaffed', and if you didn't do anything about it, they'd 'show you how scratchy sheets can really get'." He paused, his small face creasing into a frown, before a vague tinge of guilt began to creep across his features. "...that last one might have been off the record. Sir."

The edge of Firenze's lips quirked into a slight smile. "Don't worry. I'm feeling in a rather good mood. Anyway - you're acting as the runner?"

Sparrow beamed with pride. "She made me a herald."

Firenze gave a light chuckle. "My my. On our way to being a knight already...." He glanced back at the curtain again. "I heard it was an open scene - might I be able to go inside?"

Sparrow shrugged. "She said I could let anyone in on my discretion. So, sure."

"Well then - if you would do the honours, Sir Sparrow?"

Sparrow gave a small smile, before slipping from the bench. "Yes, Sir. And you will be...?"

Firenze pondered this for a moment. "Would 'Gentleman of the Bedchamber' be too on the nose?"

Sparrow quirked an eyebrow, and Firenze mentally commended him for holding in an eye-roll. "Haven't heard that one before...." he muttered dryly, and under the amused gaze of Firenze, he slipped through the curtains. At once, the talking on the other side ceased.

"If your ladyship is willing, there is a visitor here that wishes to see you..."

Firenze took the brief few seconds to straighten himself up, placing one paw directly in front of the other. He ran a tailtip through his mane, straightening out any of the larger divergent locks, and let it tumble across the back of his neck. He'd already taken a fair amount of time at a bathroom mirror - a night with Rain Flower would make such a thing necessary - so none of this was quite vital, but he found it paid to be sure. He had a reputation, after all.

"In that case, might I introduce..."

It was more than just his reputation though, he thought as the curtains began to twitch. While customer enjoyment was a top priority in any of the Café's facilities, one of the enduring rules of the Function Rooms was quite clear. Unless absolutely necessary, one must stay in-character at _all_times.

"Prospective Consort to the Royal Seat - the esteemed Sir Firenze of Plaisir_."_

The curtains drew aside in much the same way a dancer might slip off a silk dress. Livery and tapestries dripped from every wall, while white marble pillars between them were adorned with stark, shining crests. Smoky tendrils of frankincense drifted across the room, wafting from two flames of faux fire fluttering in wrought iron braziers by opposing walls. The light they produced was secondary only to the bright, long window at the far end or the room, casting brilliant illumination across the luxurious scene. This glinted quite particularly off the shining helmets of two Unfezant, standing almost symmetrically to attention, a spear cupped in each wing and an expression of rigid professionalism on each beak.

All this was a mere accompaniment, however. The smooth satin curves of the room's adornments swept the eye towards the centre where, flanked by the Unfezant guards and rising like a great monument in the centre of a shining city, a great bronze and crimson throne stood atop a seemingly carefully carved stone dais, with red velvet pooling around it like liquid luxury.

And atop that throne, feet planted quite firmly on the seat and paws on rather sizable hips, stood a Quilava. She lifted her head, the teal fur on her snub-nosed muzzle criss-crossed with dark markings, and illuminated from quite a real flickering fire on her head. Even as Firenze watched, a lick of flame split from the main body, dancing away before dissipating just a moment before it touched the ceiling. Her eyes were wide, irises dark to almost be black, and she stared at him with an intensity that he found nothing short of intriguing.

Firenze took three measured steps forwards, keeping his head aloft, and letting his gaze drop to the Quilava's feet respectfully as he came to a stop. Then, he dipped one paw beneath his chest, and let front half dip towards the floor while he flicked his head in such a way to let his mane swim through the air behind him. In all, he was rather proud of his ability to bow with such glamour.

"My Royal Highness, Queen Pazzocapellaio. An honour to meet you."

"Sir Firenze!" Her voice was sudden and loud, and she gestured wildly with a paw. "Welcome to my kingdom of Albar! Enjoy the fine dining and experiences of my castle where you will find exotic luxuries from a thousand regions just waiting for your tastes! Or head outside and walk around my impregnable keep to take in the views of this summer day and enjoy the forests of Fulmer as they stretch to the distant horizon! But be careful - dark beasts roam the woods and yet not even they are a match for the spies that glare enviously at this cup running over and dream to know the secret of our economic glory and progressive social structures that make us a power of blade and culture combined. Firenze! ...I welcome you."

Firenze said nothing. His mind was reeling.

And, slowly, his smile grew broad and genuine.

Thank_goodness_. Finally, someone who knew how to get into the spirit of things.

"Your Majesty, I would be delighted to enjoy your hospitality-"

"Oh but you're not here for a tour of the lower town Sir Firenze! You want to sit in the lap of government and council me on my decisions. Sir Firenze I have heard little of your province of Plaisir but I am certainly intrigued to know what you have learnt there that may be advantageous to my seat of power over these lands."

Again, Firenze could not help but hesitate. Her voice was taking him by surprise. It wasn't just her accent - from the name, he'd been expecting (with something of a hope, admittedly) for something Italian, and yet what came out was in a perfect British Received Pronunciation - but it was also the fact that she seemed to be able to talk without using commas. Her mouth blurred with her speech like a carbos-high Rattata gnawing on corn.

Still, you had to adapt quickly if you were to survive at Plaisir, and soon enough Firenze was back on his mental footing. "In whatever I can offer, I will certainly provide - be it matters of court, state, culture or philosophy."

"Philosophy?" Her ears perked. "Tell me Firenze but for a kingdom like yours run on the idealistic models of Weinburg-esque tenets and with parallels to the teachings of Dubois on the mind as champion of the bodily self how do you maintain stable order in what's so clearly a Kanz-like state of uncertainty?"

Firenze could feel two sets of avian eyes quickly swivel towards him. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the gentle whispering of Lady Pazzocapellaio's headflame. He stared straight ahead as visions of foreign lands, towering bookcases and firelit studies danced through his mind....

"I think..." he started, speaking far slower than her but making sure to enunciate each syllable as clearly as possible, "that to understand our system, one must first understand the nature of the ideal behind it, and from there one can cater to individual minds until the whole forms out of the parts."

"But what of the sayings of Tchaimanov that teach us that wholes cannot form from parts without significant rifts in their makeup which only serve to divide and alienate individuals in a way so very detrimental to a system formed from a base desire for companionship?"

Part of Firenze was starting to wonder if those fire vents also acted like gills. She never seemed to pause for the slightest breath.

He drew himself up, quirking an eyebrow at her, deciding perhaps to parry rather than defend. "Tchaimanov must have been a man poor in lifestyle and experience. Furthermore, not only can the different planes we stand on sometimes be the most curious thing about a person, but tearing down rifts between two beings is the very point of our work."

"And you don't think that we merely crawl towards each other in a fruitless search for meaning in an uncaring Gabriellen Universe that holds no higher regard for our beings than it does a mote of dust?"

"If we are but motes of dust that can experience pleasure, then we are fortunate."

At that, she fell silent. He eyes still bored into his, gleaming in firelight both fake and real. Firenze hid a smile at his quick thinking, and stoically held that gaze, despite a growing urge to wither beneath it. A tentative thought wondered if she'd even blinked once since he walked in...?

And then, she grinned, clapping her hands together. The sound almost made him jump as the silence was sliced away. "Sir Firenze, a learnèd mind like yourself will be very welcome at my court!"

Relief washed over Firenze like a warm current. As a matter of fact, he hadn't studied much philosophy - those towering bookcases that loomed in his old school-based memories were of old tomes of plays and fiction more than deep treatises on the mortal condition. Indeed, while a few rang some bells, he sheepishly admitted to himself that he didn't properly recognise _any_of the names she'd mentioned.

But yet, just because something was a challenge did not mean it wasn't enjoyable. In fact, right now, the right word would be invigorated.

"Tales of your intelligence and your mercy have not been exaggerated, my queen."

"Indeed they have not! And now I request a smile."

Firenze stood up just that little bit straighter as his face broke into a warm grin. "I shall endeavour to furnish your Majesty with one whenever I can."

He pointedly ignored the quiet groan from the Unfezant to his right.

"Is there anything else that you would like, Ma'am...?"

She frowned, turning her head away as she ran a paw across her head thoughtfully, flames dancing around her fingers. She brought it down again to look at it questioningly, while a few tendrils of flame flickered from it.

"If I am a queen, then where is my crown?"

Firenze raised his eyebrows. Fair point. He turned around to face the curtain. "Herald, would you fetch the Crown Jewels for your Majesty?"

Sparrow, still standing by the curtain, nodded his head with an eager smile. "Yes, Sir!"

As the curtain wafted back into place, Firenze returned his attention to Lady Pazzocapellaio - only to blink at a searing white glare as fire flared briefly across her head. When he refocused his vision, she was smiling at him, her face seeming suddenly much more innocent.

She sat down, one foot propping up on the throne's seat and one foreleg supporting her chin. It was an exceedingly casual pose for sure, punctuated especially by the sight of parts no traditional queen would usually show off.

Usually, Firenze tried to remain professional and modest first and foremost, ahead of the burning desires of his body; even so, he was surprised at how easily he did not stare; in truth, those eyes still drew his gaze far more powerfully. How curious....

"So tell me Sir Firenze;" She started, but the voice had already made Firenze pause. Her accent was no longer British - instead, a musical lilt had crept into her words that was almost... Spanish? Whatever it was, she didn't seem to be faltering in sincerity. She gave an amused smile at him. "You want to entertain me?"

The Unfezant 'guard' to his right - Demure - shuffled her feet, and the sharp sound of a beak's click resounded in his sensitive vulpine ears.

Firenze ignored this, and nodded in response. "If that is what I can do. As a consort, I would be an advisor for matters of the kingdom and the court. However, I would also function as a voice for your own needs, in the case that you dedicate yourself too much to your people and not enough to yourself."

"I think I know what my desires tell me."

Firenze let the smile roll across his muzzle, making only a token attempt to quell the smoldering fires inside him. "Then I will listen to my lady."

She lifted a single eyebrow. "How chivalrous! Maybe I will fall for your charms." Her voice flowed elegantly from one word to another, as if she'd had the accent her entire life. The melody the words played was almost mesmerising. "Then again I must be careful.... as a princess of the realm too many suitors come before me with selfish gazes."

His mouth twitched open, but he stopped himself before he went any further. A princess? A change of premise? He had to admit, her being a queen was fine enough - why she just referred to herself as a princess instead was perplexing. And she was doing so well....

But he shouldn't hold that against her. Even if every customer had the dedication to performance that he admired, it was ultimately their fantasy - if they wanted something, Plaisir had to jump to accommodate. If she wanted to be a Spanish princess now instead of an British queen...?

The idea of providing this princess with a prince wandered idly through Firenze's mind. His mouth slid shut before he knew what was happening, and he had to force his thoughts to cool. Mental discipline could indeed be hard in this environment...

And so, Firenze merely let himself smile broadly and nod. "I hope to prove I am different."

"Then show me. Walk me around the palace."

"My pleasure, Ma'am."

"Though I do ask..." She stood quickly, that long body curling as she turned side-on to him. She glanced across at the rest of those room with those large, exciting eyes.

"It is a vast world here..." She muttered, almost dreamily, before returning to her usual authoritative tone. "Allow yourself to act as my steed."

Firenze could not help but take in the fire- and window-outlined form of that supple, smooth body and large hips.

The idea of refusing on grounds of decency did indeed cross his mind. It was surreptitiously muffled and bundled off to a quiet brain cell for reassignment.

"But of course, Ma'am."

He slipped closer, crouching slightly to come level with the throne. She stepped across, and settled sidesaddle on his back - and oh, how wonderful it was to feel her fur against his own! As warm as some Pokémon could be, they really couldn't beat a fellow fire type. The warmth spread across his back, and a twitch of her hips as she got herself comfortable forced him to do mental gymnastics to not unintentionally dwell on ungallant matters.

And so he set off, slowly padding around the room, circling around the shining pseudo-marble pillars. Behind them, the two Unfezant guards fell in step, talons rustling as they sunk into the carpet.

As Firenze walked, he turned his eyes to the surroundings, and smiled; in his mind, patterns on the floor morphed themselves into cracked street paving, elegant fleurs-de-lis on the walls were supports for nearby roofs, and a tapestry showing a bustling market scene passed by a parade of Rapidash was no longer a mere collection of threads but a living and breathing event happening before their eyes. He passed the braziers, and while their fake flames were merely fluttering silk blown upwards by a fan and illuminated by bright, warm lights, it was easy to represent them as glowing furnaces that lined a medieval courtyard.

Ninetales were creatures of latent psychic ability. Hardly on par with any true psychic-type Pokémon, it must be said, but it was enough for a few useful tricks. Though these images were barely more than passing threads of consciousness, as he let those images swim from his mind towards Lady Pazzocapellaio, he found himself revelling in the teasing addition to the scene.

She seemed to be enjoying it thoroughly. Short giggles and gasps of laughter trickled around his ears, and with each new sight she leaned back and forward, craning her neck towards each new fancied visage.

Each motion of those hips was beginning to _really_strain Firenze's gentlemonly exterior.

"You see how lovely the Palace is sir knight?"

Firenze nodded. "A place worthy of a princess like yourself."

"Worthy of a queen. A queen like I will be." A short turn of the head, her voice low and matter-of-fact. "Soon it will be mine. I have wanted nothing more ever since I was a little girl."

Firenze took the next few steps in quick thought. Another difficulty of any scenario was trying to predict the fantasy of a customer through supposition and implication; after all, the wrong word could ruin the mood entirely. Right now, the correct words were hardly obvious. Lady Pazzocapellaio wanted to be a princess, but the princess wanted to be a queen... was this important? Perhaps he was to play a king from another land to make her queen there? But it wouldn't be here, unfortunately. Maybe he should just be her prince, but that wouldn't make her queen....

"Could you offer me a solution, sir knight...?"

Firenze swallowed, pushing his mind to work faster, feeling the weight of expectation on his shoulders as she kept rocking back and forth in a way that was making it increasingly hard to keep his thoughts reigned in....

The curtain was slipped aside just before his own personal tension reached a breaking point, and the small form of Sparrow appeared. Firenze breathed a sigh of relief, and turned slightly to the side to present him to the Lady.

Sparrow bowed, and wordlessly, he held up the object in his hands.

Whoever had organised the props for this room required a commendation for sure. The crown gleamed, reflecting every flicker of light around the room in its golden sheen. Faux-rubies were set regularly around the brim, and glass cut to look like diamonds studded two arches that reached from one side to the other. Red velvet nestled between these struts, and on top of it was a small cross with what looked to be another diamond on top of it. Had this crown been real, someone could have used it to buy not just the services of every waiter at Plaisir, but probably the building itself.

Firenze felt every bit of her reaction through her stance - how she leaned back, how her fire seemed to suddenly flicker, and how a paw went to her mouth.

"A crown fit for a queen...!" She gasped reverently.

Sparrow, unaware of the change in premise but fortunately of few words right now, merely nodded and beamed as he presented it to her.

Lady Pazzocapellaio pushed herself off, dropping to the floor with a gentle thump. Firenze stood back as she walked to Sparrow, who knelt as he proffered the crown to her.

When she grasped it, she did so slowly; her short fingers closed around the arches of diamond-studded gold, and she held it close to her chest. Firenze watched, and as he did he found his eyes narrowing of their own accord. Something about how she was handling it seemed a little... off.

Then the fire on her head blazed, fluttering quite loudly. The vents on her lower back even gave a few sputtering licks, with curls of dull smoke rising from her fur. She turned her head to look back at her small entourage with a confident, knowing grin, and yet again those eyes gazed at them...

The ill-at-ease sensation began to retreat as Firenze noticed her gaze fixated on him. It was a familiar gaze, one he'd seen many times before. It was a gaze he'd even given quite a few other customers, and even waiters, himself. He couldn't help but smile... and lower his tails a bit, in case they were needed for modesty.

One of the Unfezant - Demure again - moved behind Firenze, the handle of a spear hitting the soft ground with a thunk."Sir Firenze-"

"Do not speak out of turn now..." Lady Pazzocapellaio said, not once dragging her gaze from Firenze. "In fact I might require some private time with our visitor."

It was the other Unfezant, Delilah, who decided to speak this time. Out of the corner of his eyes, Firenze could see her gaze flicking between Lady Pazzocapellaio and Firenze with worrying speed. "My Lady, I-"

"You heard our princess." Firenze said, not yet feeling like he wanted to break such a delightful look, especially one held for so long. "I commend you for your diligence in protecting her Majesty though, and I hope to be seeing you later."

Another click of a beak. Inwardly, Firenze frowned at it, but it was merely a minor break in the scene. Something that could certainly be forgiven - it didn't seem to be harming the current mood anyway.

Slowly, Demure and Delilah shouldered their spears, and swept past Firenze in almost perfect sync. He pretended not to notice the glances between the two of them as they fell in behind Sparrow, who with only a hopeful, beaming smile at Firenze, pushed open the curtains to let all three of them out of the room.

Lady Pazzocapellaio watched them go, before turning to Firenze. "One... moment."

Firenze adjusted his stance as she disappeared behind the curtain, the fabric swaying back and forth. There was a muttered line that sounded distinctly like a command; it might even have been an order to leave them be for a fair while... but maybe that was Firenze's subconscious injecting a little carnal hope. Then the door shut, and the _click_of a lock settled delightfully in Firenze's ears.

Several seconds passed... and then Lady Pazzocapellaio stuck her head through the curtain. Her eyes met Firenze's, and for an instant their grins combined. It was almost enough to make him squirm, by goodness...

Quickly, she swept the curtain aside and marched briskly to the throne, still holding the crown in her paws. She pushed herself up before Firenze could offer any support, and clambered onto the cushion just as the muffled sound of a door closed behind the curtain.

Firenze walked slowly back before the throne. Placing his front paws together, he sat down and curled his tails around him, watching his client with an expectant smile.

Oh, this was the fun bit. These were the last few moments of roleplay before the scene turned towards its inevitable main event, where each line dripped with implication and the air was thick with enticing aromas and unspoken lusts...

Lady Pazzocapellaio lifted her large eyes to him, eyelids hardly visible at all as she stared right into his.

"Sir Firenze, I have a confession I must make..."

Her accent was slipping... but it wasn't back into British, or even American. It seemed like something more lyrical, almost sharper. Not that it was much of a distraction from the scene. He slipped his tails a little tighter around himself; modesty was indeed becoming trickier to maintain. "Pray, continue, Ma'am."

"I'm afraid I am more that just meets the eye. I am not some innocent princess sitting upon a throne while waiting for her turn to rule."

A slight shame. That sounded rather fun. Yet, Firenze perked an ear marginally higher, tilting his head a fraction of a degree in a performed, calculated gesture as he awaited the rest of the tantalising exposition. "Oh...?"

"I must ask..."

His tongue quivered in his mouth. His front paws pressed into the carpet as he leaned forwards. "Yes...?"

"Have you heard of the order of the assassins?"

Firenze's mind galloped headlong into the brick wall she'd so easily thrown up. He fought to keep a frown off his face, but he couldn't help but feel his brow begin to furrow. Did he hear her correctly? Assassins...?

"I can't say that I'm fully aware...." Firenze replied eventually, leaning back. The air seemed still, and that gaze wasn't quite as enticing as it had first been.

Lady Pazzocapellaio glanced down to the throne, as if in thought. "Good. We don't attract much attention. We leave no footprints where we step and no sound when we move..." She stroked a paw across one arm of the throne. That accent, he recognised it now from long-dredged familial memories - was it really Italian? "This room seems... empty of traps, Sir Firenze, it's almost as if you weren't expecting me...?"

Firenze stared blankly back at her. He still felt he was floundering at the end of a rope, struggling to stay stable while unable to see the other end. "Perhaps you're just that good of an... assassin?"

An eyebrow quirked on the Quilava's brow. "I know I am. Few are better than me..." Yes... definitely a true, native Italian accent. Her voice slipped into a casual tone, and she let the crown dangle from one paw. "Tell me... have you heard of the Code...?"

Firenze leaned back. He could still work this. "No, but I imagine you'll tell me."

"Si. You see, Sir Firenze, there is only one rule in the Code:" lowering the crown, she lifted her head, staring down her snout at him. "Make right what is wrong."

He raised an eyebrow. "I see...."

Lady Pazzocapellaio let her gaze drift. It lasted for a while, slipping lazily across the room, while the uninvited guest of silence began to settle across the two of them.

Firenze struggled for something else to say. "Well, since our business is pleasure... perhaps our goals could align."

She gave no indication that she'd heard; instead, she seemed to fixate on something to the side of the room. She dropped the crown lazily to the cushion, jumped from the throne and walked slowly over to one of the braziers.

"For example, look at this." She reached up, grabbing the length of the brazier, and tilting the entire thing down towards her. The fabric of the faux-fire fluttered audibly as she did so, the bowl pulled towards her face. "Have you noticed that this is not real?"

Firenze's stare was blank. He'd been struggling so far, but that line had gotten him well and truly stumped.

This wasn't fair. She was breaking the fourth wall, which put him quite spectacularly in a difficult situation. Should he agree with her? If he did, he would put the entire scene in jeopardy. If he disagreed, that it may not fit with her wishes...

His mouth hung half-open. He had to think of something fast, or-

"Well it is not." She said, answering the question quite neatly for him. Her gaze never slipped from the glowing, illuminated silk before her, those wide eyes shimmering with a perfect reflection of every lick and dance. "And therefore you agree that it is wrong."

It was odd; in the reflection in her eyes, the fire didn't seem quite so fake.

Firenze actually did manage a frown this time, grasping blindly at whatever words he could find. "I don't think-"

"So I should make it right."

With a quick, sharp intake of breath, she blew a jet of flame at the silk.

Firenze jumped to his feet as the silk caught immediately, burning rapidly in the sudden conflagration. The bars surrounding the bowl, though looking very much like blackened iron, immediately began to bubble and melt like the plastic they really were. A few struts fell in long, waxy drips to the floor, sizzling as they met the carpet. Before he could react further, a sharp _CRACK_showered Lady Pazzocapellaio in a flurry of sparks from one of the bulbs that had failed under the sudden and intense heat.

As for the Quilava herself, she merely stared, transfixed by the billowing inferno.

Firenze leapt forwards, shoving the brazier aside out of her hands and letting it crash to the floor. He reached up with a tail, grabbing a length of drapery from one of the nearby pillars. A single yank pulled it from where it had been carefully tied, and with little care for the elegant patterning and designs it held, he threw it onto the brazier.

The flames fluttered once, before the light faded beneath the smothering fabric. The acrid smell of burnt plastic was all that remained wafting from beneath charred tassels.

Firenze panted in shock, his heart thumping as he whirled his head around to Lady Pazzocapellaio-

-who seemed to be sitting quite happily back on the throne, staring at the crown with a expression of vague intrigue.

Firenze coughed, stepping around to in front of her. "Why did-"

"This crown is very interesting..." she muttered, turning it around in her paws. "Whoever wears it will be queen, yes...?"

Firenze stared at her with pure disbelief.

"Will that include me...?" she said, holding it up to the light. Red ruby reflections played over her snout.

"No." Firenze said, finally. "I must protest. I'm afraid I must call for a reprieve."

Lady Pazzocapellaio paused, glancing one dark eye towards him. "Mmmm...? Assassins do not reprieve...."

Firenze shook his head. "No assassins. I'm calling this scene to a stop. You've damaged Plaisir property, and I must let you know that it is not acceptable." A flurry of memories of past bedframes flew past his consciousness. "...Not like this."

Once again, those eyes stared back at him. Wide, inviting... and now, something else. Something that grasped Firenze's chest. Something... unsettling.

"Oh, I see..." she muttered, pushing herself to her feet as her voice became light, almost amused. "You think you have _power_over me...!"

Firenze stared in disbelief. "As General Supervisor-"

She burst out laughing. "You cannot have power over an assassin!"

Firenze shook his head, letting out a long, tired sigh. "No, no assassin. I'm calling a... a timeout."

"Timeout...?" she said, working over the words as if they were some foreign concept.

Firenze's words were terse. "Yes. Please."

Lady Pazzocapellaio fell silent. She stared at the crown in her paws, and then she looked at her fingers - and then, with the slow inevitability of a glacier, she turned her eyes towards him.

"Ah...! You still think this is an act?" Her gaze lanced towards him like an icicle.

If Firenze had been concerned before...

He swallowed, ignoring the warning bells ringing in his chest. "If you will not allow this, you'll be in violation of your agreement with Plaisir, and I will be forced to fetch security."

"Ah, but you cannot. A shame, because I would love to see them try!" She planted her feet firmly on the throne's cushion as she beamed across at him.

Firenze shook his head. Goodness, he'd met some petulant customers in his time, but _this_one...! "Then I will fetch them now. I apologise that this had to be necessary."

He turned, throwing the curtains behind him open with a tail as he marched towards the door. He grabbed the handle in another tail, and-

It didn't budge.

He jumped back before he almost faceplanted into the door, and stared at the handle. He tried again - the handle just refused to move, as if it was a solid part of the door itself. Not only that, but just on the edge of hearing...

He twitched his ears. Yes, something was there. Some sort of... hissing?

Lowering his head, he levelled an ear at the lock. Not hissing - sizzling! He tried the handle again, with no more luck than before.

How the hell...?

Firenze backed away, turning on the spot and heading to the other door, also behind the curtain. He tried the handle-

Once more, it didn't budge. And once more, a sizzling from behind the lock.

He already knew why. It was a problem that he'd had to deal with before after a particularly troublesome new waiter decided that anything that couldn't be fixed with paws could easily be solved with fire.

The locks had melted and sealed shut.

Aghast, feeling the fury only a Supervisor could hold when his pretty creation was tampered with, he wrenched more of the curtain aside and strode back to the throne.

Lady Pazzocapellaio had not moved aside from sitting down, and she now lay with the crown on her chest and arms behind her head.

"That was you, wasn't it?" Firenze demanded.

There was a pause, Lady Pazzocapellaio merely staring straight up at the ceiling. Then she moved a paw around to before her face, and inspected it as if she'd never seen one before. An innocent, childlike grin passed across her face. "You like fire, yes, Sir Firenze...?"

Firenze glowered. "So it wa-"

A flame burst across her claws, roaring suddenly in a sharp blue inferno. She opened her digits out, holding it flat as the blade of flame sliced through the air.

"I like fire..." She brought her paw back, the flame breaking against her snout and cascading across her face. "It's... useful."

Annoyance was bubbling inside Firenze. "Stop this now. You will accompany me to security, and-"

"So you still haven't gotten it into your thick skull, have you?" Lady Pazzocapellaio snapped her paw shut, the flame dying immediately to a thin, white wisp of smoke. She turned and, supporting her chin in one paw, looked at him with an expression of mild irritation. "You cannot make me go."

"Listen, Lady Pazzocapellaio, you will-"

"Who?"

He stared. He was about to reply, but her expression made him stop. Her brow furrowed, her gaze was sharp; not a flicker of comprehension passed across her eyes. How...?

He shook his head. Move on, just get this over with. "You will fix the doors and-"

"Why?"

Firenze stopped.

"No, no, continue!" She gestured towards him. "Why...?"

He almost growled. "Because you have violated our trust in you as a customer, and-"

She shook her head. "No, no. Not _tell_me why. _Ask_me why."

Firenze glared at her. She grinned back. It was like trying to win a staring contest with a wall.

"Okay then..." he said, as those twin irises bored into his mind. "Why did you do that...?"

She shrugged. "Because I do not want anyone to interrupt!" She pushed herself up, dropping down to the floor, and wandering slowly towards one of the fake pillars that flanked the room.

"Interrupt the sex...?" he replied. Firenze figured that some part of his mind must still be playing the optimist.

She turned towards him, away from the pillar. "Oh, no." she muttered by way of reply - and then, leaning back, she span around and struck her foot against the base of the pillar with a firm THUNK and crunch of wood.

Firenze jumped backwards as the entire pillar began to collapse on top of her, and was about to rush forwards to stop her when a glare of light from one of her paws made him stop in his tracks. There was a sudden flash and screech that made his ears ring with pain-

And then, when the disorientation faded, he looked up to see Lady Pazzocapellaio standing between the two pieces of the neatly sliced fallen pillar. His mouth had barely fallen open in shock when she reached over to the base, yanked a sizable shard of wood from it in a paw still glowing with ethereal, blade-like claws, and turned to face him with burning eyes.

"I do not want anyone to interrupt while I kill you."

Her grin filled the room.

To call Firenze surprised would be to comment on how damp a tsunami is. Not only was it a woeful understatement, but it didn't engender the same feeling of unfathomable shock and abject terror.

"You're not acting... are you?" he said slowly, not once taking his eyes off her.

She brandished the shard like an oversized dagger. "Now_you are getting it. Now go on. Ask me why _again. I like it when you do that."

Firenze took a minute step back. His mind was already whirling, performing a quick mental checklist of possible escape routes. The window wasn't that strong... "Why...?"

"Because! If I kill you, then there will be a power vacuum left at the head of Plaisir. A vacuum that I can fill..." She took the crown from the throne and held it aloft in one paw, grinning at it. "And then... then I will be the queen of this land, and everyone will bow to me...!" She gasped as if a gift had just been laid out for her. "It will be so fun!"

Firenze looked from her broad grin with sharp gleaming teeth, to her grasping fingers around the crown still glowing with residual aura, to the flames dancing in her wild eyes.

All of a sudden, the explanation fell into place.

She wasn't hoity and aloof. She wasn't self-centred. She wasn't bad at keeping a premise or good at acting. And while she was clearly exceedingly strong, she most certainly wasn't an assassin.

She was mad.

Not 'quirky' mad, like a few of the stranger waiters or customers one could find here. Not even Rain Flower's own special 'Ignorance of social conventions in the pursuit of sex' brand of mad. No - she was all-round, stark-raving, padded walls and hide-the-sharp-objects_insane_.

Sharp objects, just like the one she was currently holding as if it were some holy grail.

He began to take another step back, not taking his eyes off her.

"Now, my La- ...my que-"

Her sudden gaze froze him like ice.

"Who said you could go?" She asked with razor-edged quietness. "I am not done yet..."

Firenze tried to ignore the spike of regret for not taking more of those fighting classes when he was younger. A civilised Pokémon was all well and good, but literary analysis made poor armour. He cleared his throat. "Do... you really think it would be that simple? Just... kill me to get Plaisir...?"

"Of course it is...!" She twirled the makeshift dagger around her paw.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting. He tried again, taking another step back. "Perhaps some arrangement can be made..."

"The only arrangement I want is your seat of power! It will be mine!"

She stepped close again, the that shard looking especially sharp, not to mention the claws she held in those paws. She lifted it -

And a smile slipped over her snout. "Ohhh..."

Firenze stared at the sharp point. It was like the rest of the world was draining away. "Oh...?"

"I see what you mean..." She said, raising an eyebrow in thought.

The point swayed back and forth in the air. "You do?"

She held the shard higher - Firenze's breath caught in his throat as it neared his face, but she merely stroked it gently across his cheek; it left a trail of uneven fur. "You want to share in my power... yes...?"

It was barely a piece of driftwood in the uncaring, rolling ocean, but Firenze clung to it with all the relief of a drowning sailor.

"Ah... yes! Let's go with that, yes...!"

"Oh, I see...!" She grinned, beginning to nod slowly. "You want to help me rule...!"

Firenze nodded in time with her. He didn't drag his eyes from that quivering point. "Yes!"

"You want... to be King alongside me!"

Firenze surprised himself by the lack of hesitation. "Yes... why not, indeed...!" he replied, with all the certainty of that sailor having just found out his driftwood is a sleeping shark.

The shard was withdrawn, and Lady Pazzocapellaio - something he was sincerely doubting was her actual name - tapped it against her chin thoughtfully.

Several seconds dragged agonisingly past.

"Okay." She said, shrugging - and then Firenze's world blurred as a paw grabbed his neck, hauling his head down to hers. Those huge, fire-consumed eyes stared gleefully into his. "But you have to prove it to me, yes?"

Firenze nodded, swallowing past that firm paw. "Surely, I will endeavour t-"

His world blurred a second time, his feet lifting off the ground, tails flailing as he span helplessly through the air. Before he could try to wrest control, his back slammed the ground, sparks flashing in his mind as the wind was smashed out of him - a length of the broken pillar splintered under the impact, the uneven edges digging harshly into his side. When his vision stopped spiralling with fuzzy explosions, he was left staring upside-down at her.

"I want you to fuck me." She leered, bending over him with a wide, open-mouthed smile. "And it's gotta be a good one... because if it is not... I will know you're not serious..."

Ah.

Firenze suddenly had the distinct feeling like his entire life up until this point had merely been a test for this moment. It seemed that this manic incarnation of lunacy had decided to, at once, confront him with his greatest weaknesses and most honed strengths. It was like a walk by a cliff edge - easy and enjoyable, provided one had the right footing.

Indeed, never in Firenze's life had he been simultaneously so relieved and so terrified to be offered sex.

Then again, 'offered' wasn't exactly the right term here. 'Taken' was slightly more suitable. 'Seized' was even better.

Above him, Lady Pazzocapellaio lifted the dagger of wood to her mouth, and slid her tongue right up the jagged and splintered length. Drops of blood, glinting in the light of the window, trickled down the uneven grains. Never once did she break eye contact.

"But... you do not even have an erection..." she muttered, annoyance tinging her voice. It was true - unsurprisingly, Firenze's sheath wasn't even swelling right now. He opened his mouth to try and reply, not that he'd quite know what to say.

His snout was suddenly grabbed in one paw, and there was a flash of pale fur before his eyes - and the next moment, that wet, supple flesh of her cunt was shoved against his nose. "This should do it!"

_Fuck...!_His mind rolled with the sudden intrusion of scents. The nasal capabilities so kindly gifted by his Ninetales lineage offered no resistance as the pheromones and fragrances began to rampage wildly through his conscious and subconscious - and pheromones they were. Scents that had been hidden in the frankincense and burnt plastic of the room smashed into him like a sledgehammer, sending sparks of delightful tingling sensations rolling through him. He stared with wide eyes at pale hips and thighs as she tried to use his upper jaw as some sort of makeshift dildo.

His paws twitched in the air, tails thrumming against the floor and what remained of the pillar. He tried to pull his upper lip over his teeth, and clamoured to catch a breath as she moved; the sudden taste of her blatant arousal swirled around his mouth and down his throat.

Though, as much as he was opposed to the method, he could hardly argue with the results; his sheath bulged, filled by the shaft that was already swelling and pressing uncomfortably against the fur and flesh that contained it. The room's comparatively cool air rolled around the tip of his shaft as it slid from warm fur. He didn't know whether to curse or thank his hormones for their quick action.

"Ah, better." she said, and then a paw clamped around his muzzle, holding it closed. Firenze barely managed a strained grunt before she shoved herself further down, muffling a yelp of surprised as that dark spade of flesh stretched around his muzzle. The outer ring of her cunt pressing down so firmly around his muzzle as his entire snout began to slide inside her, keeping his mouth tightly closed as she worked herself further and further down.

"What, are you not using your tongue?" she asked from somewhere past the cunt that was now taking up his entire attention. "Why not?"

He grunted, and gave a cursory, failed attempt to open his muzzle by way of demonstration.

Lady Pazzocapellaio gasped, leaning back and sinking that little bit further down as his muzzle. "Si, like that! You do want it, right?"

Firenze paused, closing his eyes. Well, if it worked...

He twitched his muzzle again, and again, letting her rock back and forth eagerly with each motion. The customer's pleasure was always the most important at Plaisir, and the irony was not lost on Firenze; and so he had decided to give her the pleasure she desired. It was just as well that what he was mouthing was completely and totally muffled. Some of the words he was using would make most of the waiters blush.

And yet, the results kept speaking for themselves. No amount of vagina-muffled expletives could stop his body from responding to age-old instincts and honed vices. He felt his shaft pressing against his belly, firm and thick - he even felt a cool patch dripping down his side where near-boiling pre was quickly evaporating. Goodness, it was indeed effective - incredibly so!

"You're enjoying this!" She gasped, her hips wriggling around his snout.

Another expletive passed by unheard. He half-choked, vision beginning to spiral with the lack of air.

"Good!" She said, giving a sudden bounce, lifting her hind legs - Firenze's head was pressed uncomfortably back against the floor as her entire body weight was centered around his muzzle. "You will be doing it a lot in the future...!"

Firenze swallowed, and then quickly regretted doing so as the taste her juices swam down his throat - even if his vices positively savoured every last hint of spice. His hind paws kicked at the air, clawing wildly at nothing.

"Anyway! I see that you are hard, and I am _definitely_ready." She grinned, and then pulled herself up as quickly as she'd sat down. Firenze gulped a hungry breath, yanking his head to his side and gasping down air as juices splashed across his face and blotches of colour flashed across his vision.

She was manhandling his waist and hips, small paws roaming down his underside. By the time he'd lifted his head to watch, Lady Pazzocapellaio was moving towards his hips. She slipped a leg over him, straddling him hurriedly while staring with fierce intensity at his crotch. Shouldering the shard of wood, she reached down and grasped Firenze's dark shaft tightly in one paw.

Firenze's entire body jerked at the touch on already fully-grown sensitive flesh. Damn... it had worked indeed...! Why had it worked so well...?

Lady Pazzocapellaio just beamed, staring up at him as she dragged the tip to just below her hot, dripping cunt. "Are you going to prove it?"

Firenze swallowed. He could try and stop this - that thought had never faded from his head. He would have every right to send her flying through the window on a blast of flame.

But it might not work. She was strong, she'd proven that with just a few simple motions. Even without the wooden shard, a well-placed slice with those claws could send him flying, bleeding, into the nearest wall...

And yet, as he stared at her excited, trembling body poised over his shaft, he realised that his own safety wasn't at the forefront of his mind.

He was worried about Plaisir.

It was almost cliché, but after so many years of service to something that had become his ultimate passion, it was hardly a surprise. A pang of almost fatherly pride had shot through him with each little destruction of this room, and what was worse, he knew that it would only be the beginning if this Quilava was left unsated. The door locks would be nothing - how many other rooms would she get through before Security could apprehend her? How many scenes could she ruin, customers or waiters could she harm...?

Sitting astride his body was an explosion waiting to happen, and right now it was trying to have sex with him.

He narrowed his eyes. There was really one way out of this.

"For the sake of the one I care about the most..." He forced a smile across his muzzle, and lidded his eyes in that well-practiced, sultry gaze. "I will prove it."

She lowered her gaze, teeth glinting with blood. "Good...!"

She sat down heavily, shoving several inches of Firenze's swollen, bulging shaft into her. His entire hindquarters trembled and bucked, tails twitching wildly as she sunk immediately half-way down the shaft. That dark spade was so incredibly, enticingly tight! It stretched over his length, her juices just coaxing it lower and lower, those walls rippling as they were shoved aside by his tip... and not just that, the entire thing was so _hot...!_He wanted to slide his head back, to grab her hips, enjoy it - and he would, oh he would, if he wasn't so fixated on her - her and that grin.

She yanked herself back up before she got to the hilt, feet digging into his thighs as she pulled the shaft back out. Long drips of her juices connected that shining black length to the dark flesh of her spade, before falling to the golden fur his retreating sheath. Through clenched teeth, she let out a long, trembling gasp that oozed with pleasure and delight...

The spectacle before him was almost dreamlike, a perfect presentation of his most delightful lusts. Strangely, despite the reality of the situation, his body was responding as much as it ever would - that shaft twitched against her cunt, and he almost had to stop himself from bucking back up into her. He let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding - it was shaky, and carried a moan of need....

"I think I am going to love being queen!" She said, letting herself slide back again - it was quicker this time, even though that cunt still tightened harshly around the shaft. Firenze failed to hold back a gasp as more forced pleasure exploded in his mind, his body quivering from the ripples. How was she able to ride him so easily? He'd taken Quilava's in the past, and each one had been a struggle to get half-way down... Had this barely three-foot-long girl done this before?

"This room is going to be mine!" She continued, unaware of his turmoil as she sat back up. "But... I'm gonna have a _real_throne, with _real_gold, and _real_fire...!"

Firenze dug his claws into the carpet, mouth agape with lolling tongue as she sunk down again - a slow, wet slide down his length...

"That barroom can be mine too! With another throne, and people will bring me gifts!"

...and her spade slid sensuously over the wet, growing orbs of his knot, and sank onto his sheath.

For a moment, his senses dulled as pleasure overtook his entire mind; he saw little more than colourful blurs, his body thrown into a fresh wave of quivers and spasms. It was a while before he could understand what she was saying again.

"...and we can build the town around the walls too, and the people will love me and praise me...! Albar will be remade here, and it will be mine!Isn't that fantastic...!?"

She leaned back, wrapping her free paw around one of Firenze's hind legs, rolling her hips back and forth across his sheath. He could barely gasp for breath, raking the air with his claws in desperation. "Yes, it is...!"

Her accent... it was beginning to falter. The intense Italian was mixing with the Spanish from before, even with British. Twangs of Southern American, too, began to pervade her words.

"And the waiters will be mine, won't they?" She stared off into space with a wild grin plastered across her face. "Haha! I can order them around! I can make them show off and bring me food and fuck for me!"

Another round of nodding didn't seem good enough. He was still eying that shard. "Yes...! And you can... have sex with them too, of course...."

She stopped immediately - not at the apex of any thrust, but half-way down, her paws firmly planted against his belly as she glared at him. "...What!?"

He flinched as the shard was brandished once more.

"How can I fuck them? I'm going to be married...!"

Firenze mentally staggered back. He wanted to strategize; there was a right thing to say right now, something that could get him out of this situation; yet every time he tried to think, his mind was scrambled with an overwhelming assault of pleasure. Already, his balls tingled, his body twitching and jerking. It was screaming at him, begging him to continue and give it the orgasm it craved. How was it like this? Was he _really_controlled by his vices so much? How was his body _this_receptive to her...?"Ah, yes, of course-"

"You're not serious, are you...?"

"I... assure you... I am very serious about convincing you," he said, sprinkling a lie with a tactful dusting of the truth. He was trying, and failing, not to notice how her claws were glowing dangerously once more.

She paused. She'd been glaring at him, but now her gaze was softening. "You mean... you'll do it...?" Firenze bit his lip as he watched the time bomb lean closer. Those eyes almost shaking themselves as she stared unblinkingly down at him; tears even touched the corners. "You'll _marry_me...?"

Firenze swallowed hard.

There comes a time in life where one's morals are tested to the extreme. One can choose to stick with their ethical code, and fall - perhaps with no job, no money or no friends, but with their integrity intact. Alternatively, they can break, retaining all that they once had and more while hoping that it can cover the tattered remains of their core beliefs.

Firenze had always hoped that, when the time came, he'd be the former; the moral citizen, the strong will. Unfortunately, the oft-cited ideal "Speak Softly" is so usually followed by a rather significant qualifier, something that right now only his captor possessed.

Well... it wasn't like anything they could do would be official. It would just be some intense deception, and especially against someone so mentally unhinged? It sat poorly on his conscience. However, though inner strength was all well and good, right now it was the strength of his hide that was concerning him more.

There really was only one choice. For Plaisir.

"I will..."

"Really!?"_she squealed, and dropped down to the hilt of his shaft again. Firenze found himself bucking up out of pure need, giving a loud, sudden gasp. "You'll be the best King...!" she said, leaning down, her face nearing his as she kept bouncing her hips. "You'll be sooo good - let's do it _now..."

Firenze's body felt like saying "We're already doing it", but reluctantly admitted to himself that he _knew_that was not what she meant.

She cocked her head to one side, still working her hips back and forth, before reaching out to the side - her fingers just managed to grasp the crown where it had fallen before, and she dragged it back over the shattered pillar into her hands.

Bounce, bounce, bounce.... Firenze didn't really want to buck his hips up with each one, rippling his tails against the splinter-covered floor to help, but doing otherwise felt like it would be a _very_bad idea right now. He bounced his already bulging and swelling knot against her spade, gritting his teeth as her felt more pre spill inside her. Anyway - his body was _needing_it...

"Firenze..." she sang playfully, leaning back again with a coy smile on her face. "I take you to be my king..."

Oh, fuck...

She stared at him with an expression of coquettish innocence that would be perfect, if she didn't have eyes more suited to an ancient warlord.

"Do you...?"

She hadn't stopped that bouncing, that grinding, and even now Firenze could already feel his knot swell once more against her stretched cunt. He bit his lip, taking a slow and shaky breath.

In the end, he decided, he could live with it.

Well, he worried that he might not live _without_it. And that was the next best thing.

"I take you..." Firenze stuttered, letting her grind against his knot. "...to be my queen."

She slammed her hips down with a shout of glee, making Firenze jerk in surprise. "Yesssss!" She tossed the shard of wood over her shoulder, grabbing the crown in both paws. In one smooth motion, she shoved it onto her head - it was a little too big, and sunk down over her ears, but stayed firm. She stared back down at Firenze underneath the gleaming brim, beaming like a child on their birthday. "Firenze... you make me so happy..."

Firenze nodded. "I know..." And hope.

"I love you, Firenze...!"

Fuuuuuck...

"You make me so... horny..."

He swallowed., trying to ignore her words. He focused instead on how his shaft twitched, jerked, and he could feel the pleasure swelling towards breaking point inside of him. How could it be so easy like this when it was so difficult with Rain Flower earlier...? Had that experience teased him so much?

"Come on..." she said, slamming her hips down again. That hot, tight entrance strained at his knot. "Come on, my darling Firenze! Show me how much you love me...!"

Firenze reached out, his pawpads and claws sinking into the fur of her waist. Mentally, he searched for any opposition for what he was about to do.

There was none.

Curse my vices. He bucked harder.

Oh, he had to admit, she did feel wonderful... how she clamped down around his shaft, how she felt so wet and ready! That heat was incredible even for him, even for a fellow fire type...! He thrusted again and again, bouncing her up and down, each of her cries a fountain of pure delight and one more step closer to satisfying her and making his escape...!

"Go on...!" she squealed, squirming her hips around his shaft, grinding him against the floor. "Knot me...!"

He dug his claws in, acting without thinking, and shoved her down as he thrust again and again. She needn't have ordered; his body was not about to leave her unsatisfied there, and his mind reluctantly agreed...

Tremble... squeeze... squeeeeeeeze...

His knot, almost fully swollen in readiness inevitable, slammed in with a wet thlrk. She jolted back, yelping as her spade tightened around the sensitive flesh just behind it, while her warm and firm rear pressed down on his balls. Firenze's paws shook as the pleasure began to uncontrollably mount, his knot tightly grasped and squeezed by those walls as it inflated...

"Yes...!" She gasped, staring off into the distance in bliss. The crown was beginning to smoke from her headflame. "Yes...! We're gonna make the most beautiful new princess...!"

Oh_FUCK_.

All at once, in the midst of that inexorably building pleasure, while he teetered on the edge of orgasm, he realised _why_it had been so easy to do this - why, even with all that had happened, his shaft had remained as hard as ever and his body had been so insistent in complying with her demands.

The smell of frankincense must had been strong enough to hide it; that, and the burning plastic. When he would have smelled it, his mind was a little more focused on topics like breathing and survival, too....

But still! With how hot and tight and wet she was, with the smell that seemed to obvious now, with his own body's reaction... how the hell had he not realised she was in heat?

Time slowed, flowing like treacle as Lady Pazzocapellaio turned her head towards him. Flames licked from her gradually warping crown as she grinned wolfishly, euphorically... and with blind delight, she pressed her hips back against his crotch. That hot, tight spade wrapped tightly against the most delightfully sensitive part of his shaft, the warm, firm weight of her rear rested on his balls, and her cunt squeezed the utterly immovable bulge of his knot....

Firenze slid over the edge.

He could do nothing to stop it now. He was in the throes of those instincts, built up over millennia to keep his species alive and thriving, all pouring into one ecstatic moment of delight. His balls pulled up against her rear, her inner walls seeming to tighten as his shaft swelled inside her, his knot inflating to its final size as it did its job of keeping her in place beautifully....

His shaft gaze a single, powerful pulse as the first rope of seed splashed deep inside her.

The turmoil inside him couldn't have been greater. Mixed thoughts and emotions threw themselves around his mind like a river rapids; guilt at his deception, relief at his orgasm, horror at impregnating her... and _exhilaration_for the exact same reason...!

It all just fueled the fire on both sides: every throb inside her; every one of her delighted squirms; every gasp of her own pleasure and tightening of her cunt and every spurt of his seed... they all poured into the tempest that was his mind in hated, fantastic orgasm.

When his vision stopped being a maelstrom of vague sparks, he saw her still sitting there, trapped around his shaft, head tilted back and so very, very still... and then, starting gradually but quickly picking up speed, she fell backwards. Firenze gasped, hips jolting for one last time as she landed onto a bed of his tails. The charred and deformed crown bounced off his fur and clattered to the carpet.

He finally refound his motor functions, and planted one paw on the floor. His claws sank into the shard of wood she'd been brandishing. He didn't care. Instead, he just pushed himself up, staring down at the lunatic between his legs.

Her chest was rising and falling, limbs twitching in what must be the pure bliss only an insane mind can experience. What was curious, however, was that those wide, insane eyes had finally half-closed, and now stared off into space....

He twitched, having to drive his claws harder into the wood to stay stable. His shaft still gave the odd, weak pulse, spurting every last bit of his seed deep into her with primal eagerness. His body was being sure about it; even though at this point, it probably didn't have to.

His heart hammered in his chest. The afterglow of orgasm had lasted all of half a second before terror had set in again. What did he do now...?

She was sated - he hoped, anyway. Right now she seemed to be perfectly fine just laying there, but for how long? It could be hours before anyone else could reach the doors, figure out what was wrong and break through. Plaisir's telepaths, so useful for ordering guests around, had to contact him first before he could talk to them - his psychic abilities weren't strong enough to make the connection himself. How long before he was needed? He was off today, so it could be hours before anyone looked for him. Damn it all, he could just get through the doors himself, but how could he do it with this Quilava not noticing-

He stopped. A realisation crossed his mind.

Of course - it made so much sense now! He just hadn't had all the pieces before. He knew exactly how to get out of here. In fact, he cursed himself for not thinking of it earlier.

Still, he had to make the best of the situation he was in - and quickly. He leaned over, lifting a paw to Lady Pazzocapellaio's face. Dexterous digits traced along the side of her snout, turning her gaze towards him.

Slowly, her eyelids fluttered, and a wider smile graced her lips.

"Mmmm, I love you... my darling King Firenze..."

He hesitated as his Ninetales ego surged. He stoically repressed it - his subconscious mind had landed him in _quite_enough trouble today. Firenze closed his eyes.

A grand palace hall grew around them. Soaring archways, stained-glass windows making dappled, rainbow light play over intricate friezes across the walls. A sea of purple cloaks adorning the assembled, reverent crowd parted as two figures began to walk down the aisle....

He breathed in, and, focusing his mind, opened his eyes again. His fur on his muzzle was cast in a sudden red light as he stared at her, and let the images he'd conjured slide into her mind.

For a moment, her eyes widened - and then they softened, the smile returning to her face as she sank back into his tails. Even her cunt stopped grasping his shaft so tightly, her paws flopping beside her as her entire body relaxed.

During the brief, misguided courting beforehand, while he'd let her ride on his back around the throne, her strange reaction to the images he shared had been perplexing. Usually, he was only able to produce an empathic response in those he touched - enhance their desires, elevate their positive emotions. At best, he could incept an idea in the most receptive of minds - yet, they always knew it was all evoked by him. There was always a touch of unreality to anything he could give someone. He couldn't give an unwanted emotion, and he certainly couldn't make them believe or think anything new.

However, he'd never done anything to someone so totally and completely unhinged as the Quilava currently trapped around his cock.

Firenze watched her carefully, gaze twitching to every movement she made. Her hindpaws waved in the air, as she walked through the dream he'd given her.

It seemed to be working. He let slip the next aspect of the vision.

"Ladies and Gentlemen" the voice echoed around the great hall, rippling through a crowd that could barely contain their excitement. "We are gathered here today for the coronation of our new king and queen..."

Lady Pazzocapellaio rolled from side to side, the smile plastered across her snout not showing any sign of slipping away. Firenze winced at the surge of sensation from how her body writhed. Still, no time to enjoy this...

He was on his feet in moments, supporting his deceived captor on a bed of three tails. Carefully avoiding the fan of splinters and shards, he turned around, and headed quickly back through the fire-scarred curtain towards the doorway.

"They will rule of the kingdom of Plaisir with joy and... reverence, and... more reverence."

Lady Pazzocapellaio shifted beneath him. Firenze coughed, embarrassed. He had other things on his mind than speech writing.

The melted door lock had sealed the bolt to the doorframe. Without a saw, he couldn't cut around it, and he doubted he could gain enough momentum to break the entire door open with such a hinderance beneath him...

Well, there was nothing for it. Time to fight fire...

"They shall be great leaders, and kind to their followers, as they hope their followers will be kind to them..."

He drew his head back, summoned his inner aura, let it build... and then released it. An intense jet of flame spewed from his mouth across the lock, forcing him to squint as superheated air rushed past his head.

"Our Queen, especially, will be quite significant in receiving the most special of gifts..."

Firenze let the flamethrower die off. The handle glowed and steamed, the white-hot metal dripping to the floor where the carpet flared in brief gouts of flame.

That should be enough. He took an unsteady step back.

"While our King will open new doors for our kingdom..."

He threw his shoulder against the wood. The lock resisted for a fraction of a second before the running metal split and gave way, the door bursting open into the corridor beyond.

"We need a water-type for Function Room C!" he shouted, beginning to stagger jankily down the corridor.

"Wuh...?" came a confused mumble beneath him as there was a clatter of noise from the rooms around them. He cursed.

"And... our Queen will be doted on every day, but no more so than by her King..."

"Mmmm..."

That should do it.

As Firenze made his ungainly way down the corridors of Plaisir, customers and waiters turning their heads to watch the passing of a mussed-up Ninetales with tails cocooning his underside. Strangely, it didn't exactly hurt his pride; though, that was only because his pride was a black-and-blue heap on the floor right now. It would be like stealing water from a desert.

Eventually, after much firm ignoring of passers by and a thoroughly uncomfortable march through the Main Bar at the tail-end of the lunchtime crowd, Firenze lurched his way into the Lobby. At their desks, both Cheryl and Minka both turned.

"Firenze!" Cheryl said, bouncing to her feet. "What are you-"

Firenze ignored the Lopunny, and instead walked straight towards Minka, staring at her with large and imploring eyes.

"Minka, if you would be so kind as to accompany me to the Security Room?"

The Gardevoir nodded once.

"And once we're there, if you could get a particularly _large_sedative, that would be most helpful."

The was a hint of a question in Minka's gaze.

Firenze returned it with a sheepish look. "Make sure it's one that would be safe for expectant mothers, if you will...."

***

The great hall was a powderkeg, a potential thunderstorm of celebration just waiting for the first bolt of lightning. It was like every bit of fur, every hair, was stood on end in silent expectation of the words that would seal everything into place for eternity.

"And so..."the baritone of the echoing voice trembled. "By the power vested in me... it is my great honour to crown you... as King... and..."

And the vision became a dream.

***

The afternoon sun played across the bookcase next to the bed, caressing the spines of his books in its own lazy, unhurried way. Firenze let out a long sigh and leaned back in his chair, rubbing an eye with the back of one fore-ankle, before letting his tired gaze wander disinterestedly over the reports and forms that cluttered the table in front of him. Alas, despite its rejection of conventions and its uniqueness in the world, not even Café Plaisir could avoid the Giratinan horror that was paperwork.

The events of the past couple of days had generated a lot of it.

Police inquiries, security reports, authorisation requests from the sick room for sedatives - despite it all, it was still curious as to how they mounted so quickly. There was surely some unsolved scientific question as to why you always had to sign three times as many documents as you expected to, regardless of what you were signing them about. It was made worse with the knowledge that what was before him wasn't even the end of it.

First, their little troublemaker had managed to get past the front desk without putting down a card, deposit, or anything, and yet still gotten herself booked into a room. It was true that Cheryl wasn't the most professional of door staff, but usually it didn't create a problem - anyway, you needed an informal face at the front door. It pained him that he may have to request an inquiry into her methods.

Then there were the police reports, some of which were still arriving. Plaisir was a respectable establishment that tried to remain as discreet as possible for the customers; unfortunately, on the few occasions one of those customers got too rowdy for Plaisir's token security force to handle, it became something of an inevitability to bring in the authorities. This Quilava had hardly incited a bar fight with a hydro pump or caused an armed stand-off in the car park (he tried not to remember the paperwork _those_caused), but with what she'd been capable of? He hadn't wanted to take risks.

It had turned out he'd been right in doing so. He flicked his eyes to the freshest report on his desk - it was still turned towards him, 'Direwood Rehabilitation Center for Battling Pokémon' in a neat little header across the top of the sheet.

It was a short, terse report, that had been handed over when a van from Direwood had been sent round later that fateful day to pick her up. Small font filled most of the page, followed by an unintelligible signature. It referred to the Quilava only as 'V', and stated in very vague terms how she'd once been a prized battle companion who had 'suffered an unfortunate battling accident', and was currently 'trying her hardest to integrate with normal life' and how thankful they were for apprehending her after 'a highly uncommon situation'.

Reading between the terse wording wasn't difficult. 'V' must have escaped the center (not surprising, knowing what she could do), managed to catch a bus or ride, and found her way to Plaisir on promises of pleasure. All that was left after that was a personality good enough to talk her way in.

Firenze frowned in thought as he let his gaze wander down the page. Direwood, hm? Rehabilitation centers were not uncommon; with the world becoming more and more friendly to Pokémon rights, those that had spent lives as pets or battlers sometimes needed help adjusting to the new possibilities that lay before them. Some of them were nothing more than revamped Pokécentres or old converted office buildings, helping old Pokémon start a new life, sign up as citizens, all the usual bureaucracy. But then there came centres for the fringe cases, the Pokémon that needed a little more than a short meeting and a couple of certificates; they could be more like detention centres, or even psychiatric hospitals - like Direwood.

Firenze sighed sadly as he reread the short sentence about 'V's past. Front-line fighters always racked up the most experience on the field, which would explain the power she wielded. He suspected that 'V' had perhaps encountered a few more blows to the head than normal battling Pokémon, hence the need for Direwood's intervention.

Well... if she was going to receive help anywhere, it would be there. Direwood's mission statement seemed idealistic enough to satisfy Firenze (for one, they didn't even believe in Pokéballs for containment), and in the few areas they seemed heavy-handed, it was wise to remember that they had a far tougher job than most. 'V' would definitely benefit from their work - even if it was a sad question as to whether she would ever have anything of a normal life.

Especially now.

He gave a slow, thoughtful sigh. His eyes drifted across the desk once more, until they settled on another form, sticking out from under the report from Direwood. He paused at it, staring...

Firenze was no stranger to having to provide a little financial support to some of his more... 'special' clients who'd paid for something a lot longer lasting than a single night of pleasure; it was a matter of personal pride that he did, in fact. Even though this 'V' could hardly be considered a client, and even with what had happened, it didn't change the facts.

Well,_that_part didn't, anyway. Mixed feelings knotted in his chest; for once, this form wouldn't be needed. The Pokémon equivalent of the morning-after pill was in bountiful supply at Plaisir, but Direwood had made a quite strong request not to administer it - apparently, it conflicted with some standard medication that they administered, or something to that effect. They had reassured Firenze that they would provide their own specialist medication, once she returned to the centre, that would do the same job.

And yet, the sense of obligation weighed heavily in his chest all the same. For a while, Firenze stared through the desk, trying to find peace with the rolling dissonance inside him.

A thump from the door made him start, and reflexively he swept the sheaf of paperwork together before turning around.

The door took a while to open, wobbling on its hinges for a few seconds as whoever it was on the other side seemed to wrestle with the task. Eventually, the diminutive shape of Rain Flower managed to tumble through the gap, almost tripping over her own feet. The door swung shut behind her, and she turned dark, wary eyes up at him.

"I didn't do it."

Firenze quirked an eyebrow. "One of these days, I'll teach you how to knock."

"Why?"

A wry smile threatened to play over his muzzle. It was easier to just move on with Rain Flower. She'd probably forget the previous line of conversation in a few seconds anyway.

"I called you here to apologise for sending you away so quickly a few days ago. Recent events have certainly made me a bit more... appreciative of differences in personalities."

"Good!" Rain Flower shouted, sitting down heavily, her tail giving heavy_whap_s against the carpet. "You know who I had to go to for my dick? You know who!?"

Firenze shrugged with two of his tails.

"Oh..." she muttered. "That sucks. I forgot what his name was. He was a human though. A human. Didn't have a knot! Aquarius _still_isn't here, and..."

Firenze neatly tidied the paperwork with a couple of tails as Rain Flower continued. He straightened the pile, and slipped it to the side of his desk. He could finish up anything that he hadn't done later.

He returned his focus to Rain Flower when he noticed her glaring at him. "So?" she demanded with petulance tinging every word. "What're you gonna do to apologise?"

Firenze slipped down from the chair, standing up straight before her. "If you like, I'll let you spend the next couple of hours with me, and-"

"Yaaaaaaay!" She jumped up, her tail flapping against the doorframe as she beamed at him. "I knew it! I knew you'd need more of Rain Flower! You always do!"

She danced her way across the floor and leapt ineptly onto his bed, scrabbling to pull herself up. Her hide shone with reflected sunlight. "I'm gonna have _so_much fun with you. I've been _sooooo_ready for this..."

He managed to hold in a sigh. It was almost enough to make him regret offering it.

Almost.

Keeping his gaze fixed on that gleaming hide, and those large, supple hips swinging back and forth in the air so invitingly, Firenze padded softly across the room.

"Prometheus is gonna be _soooo_jealous when I tell him about this!" Rain Flower smirked, staring off into the distance.

Firenze paused for a moment... and then continued. To the side, his tail slipped around a small hand cloth on a nearby table.

"He always is, I can tell, because he always does this thing where he-"

"Rain Flower?" said Firenze, climbing onto the bed behind her. As she turned her head, he brought his tail around and stuffed the hand cloth in her mouth. She tried to pull back, but he was already on top of her - one paw on her back, the other gently guiding her tail aside.

"Shut up." he said, with a broad smile of relief.

***

A couple of days ago, and several miles away...

The van rattled down the interstate, the dark paint gleaming in the sunlight. Trails of mud kicked up by the front wheels dirtied the vehicle, but weren't enough to obscure the bronze, serif lettering of 'Direwood Rehabilitation Center' that covered the panelling on both sides.

The drivers, a human and a Feraligatr, were having a great time. They seemed to be good friends - joking, swapping stories, and generally making their own entertainment as they thundered down the long, empty Oklahoman roads. It was almost necessary around here; with the Great Plains so devoid of intrigue, you had to come up with your own ways of distracting yourself from the blandness of the surroundings.

They were clearly succeeding. After all, they were so wrapped up in their own anecdotes of road trips and past triumphs that they hadn't noticed the sizzling from the back compartment of the van. The sudden bang and jolt a couple of miles back had even been written off as some rock lying in the road they mustn't have noticed.

An empty beer can was tossed out of a window and caught the rushing wind. As it was sucked into their wake and clattered off the tarmac, it narrowly missed one of the van's rear doors, swinging free in the wind.

Occasionally, light streamed through the open gap, revealing only a pair of melted handcuffs on the blackened floor.

Fin

Credits:

Demure and Delilah belong to October Flixard

All other characters belong to Dark Violet

Pokémon (c) Game Freak and Nintendo

Café Plaisir created by Pali Bakufun

Big thanks to October, Wrincewind, Yuri and Coldstone for their invaluable help with editing!