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Aster

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A peculiar staleness mixed with the scents of hundreds of different species polluted the recycled, artificially-filtered air. Will's nose twitched on the end of his muzzle, and he let a few of his gritted teeth show as he grimaced in mild disgust. The line of people ahead of him was long, and behind him, it was growing in length. He remembered asking Peterson with astonishment why they were departing the elevator two floors below the club Solar. The answer was simple: Solar occupied floors 74 to 78 of the J. M. Gregg building, but the queue line for the establishment started on floor 72. Peterson had neglected to mention this important point to Will, and though it was only approaching eight o' clock at night, the line was already packed. Thankfully, the queue was moving at a decent pace; as far as Will could tell, this was due to door guards turning people away from the club's entrance. And as he saw face after disappointed face pass him by, his nerves began to overtake any measure of restraint his body could place on them.

Will's face became warm with anxiety, and his tail went from swishing in an anxious back-and-forth pattern to floating stock-still--his fur prickled upward. The line was, indeed, moving steadily, and as Will and Peterson reached the 73rd floor, the bull looked up from his phone and noticed the fox's struggle.

"You've got to be kidding me, Will." Peterson's face showed mild disgust, "You're not gonna' come all this way and let your nerves get the best of you, right?"

"What--what're you talkin' about? I'm fine..." Will's voice was trembling uncontrollably, so he spoke softly.

"No, no you're not 'fine.' I'm a detective, but it doesn't take an expert to tell that any moment you're gonna piss yourself from stress."

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to do in there, huh? What if they turn us away? Hm? What then?" Will was whispering, but his tone gave away his disdain for the environment he would soon encounter.

"They know me; they're not turning us away. As for you...you better think of something, because I'm not staying with you for the whole damn night if you're gonna be like this. Go to the bar and get a drink or something to relax, first thing--but don't get drunk. If you're gonna' get laid, you're gonna' need to be on your A-game, alright?"

"Screwthis."

"Be an alpha already! For fuck's sake, quit this whimpy shit and start acting like a male." Peterson said these words loudly enough that the other people near Will could hear.

"Fuck off; I'll act how I want."

"Look, you're gonna get in there, take a shot or have a beer--whatever, I don't care--and you're gonna have a good time. You're gonna meet a lady, maybe get some if you ever decide to dust off your balls for it, and you're gonna wake up late tomorrow with a few regrets and a helluva lot of good memories, ya' hear? You're whole life you've been workin' hard, time to start livin' hard."

"Alright..." Will gave up early this time and decided his best avenue was compromise, for he could not suffer through another second of Peterson's horrid 'advice.' "Fine. I'm done arguing with you; I'm giving this one chance--you hear me? One. Chance. I'm gonna' go in there, drink a few, try to hit it off with someone, and attempt to salvage this shitty idea for a night. But if this starts sucking, I'm leaving. I'm out of my element, and if shit keeps me from adapting, I'll get my own cab and see you back at the station on Monday."

"Glad I didn't have to waste any more time trying to convince you. Like I said, relax and have a fun time. You can dance, right?"

"Yes, Peterson. I'm not a total shut-in."

"Good; you're golden then."

By the time Will turned away from his conversation, he saw that the door to the 74th floor was only just a few yards away, and he admitted that being so upset with the bull standing next to him had indeed passed the time and redirected his nervous energy, repurposing it for anger and frustration toward Peterson. There were four bouncers and two other employees handling people's paws. Will could not tell what they were doing, but he assumed they were checking ID's and issuing some kind of marker. As Will approached the main entryway, he noticed another entrance on the other side of the 73rd floor. The door on this alternate entrance was made of clear glass and led to a set of stairs going up to the next level. It had no stairs going down.

"Hey, why can't we use _that_entrance?" Will pointed and turned to Peterson who loomed behind him like some shadowy giant, his phone lighting his face.

"It's a business entrance. Partnership liasons are escorted through there to the manager's office, which overlooks the club's main area. You'll see what looks like a giant, rectangular mirror when you get inside to the dance floor. The manager can see us, but we can't see her. Don't ask questions."

"Huh? I'll ask whatever I feel like asking."

Peterson let out a quick snort and approached one of the employees at the entrance. Will approached the other, as he heard the bull say "He's with me." The employee in front of Will sat at a computer which had a strange device connected to it. The object, which looked like a barcode scanner, was attached to the computer via a USB cord and had red and green LED lights on its top.

"I don't need your ID." the employee said sternly, "Paw, please."

"I'm sorry?" Will was confused as the employee quickly grabbed his paw and placed the small scanner device over his wrist, pulling the trigger on its handle. Will felt something small, like a needle, stab him.

"Ow! What the hell?! What was--"

Will was interrupted as the computer's speaker elicited a short series of tones and the scanner's green light lit up.

"Alright, looks like you're good. Have a good time. Next patron, please."

Peterson grabbed Will's arm and pulled the fox into the entryway of the club. The two began walking up the stairs; Will was still rubbing his wrist.

"What the shit was that?" The pain in still was subsiding.

"_That_was your entry pass. Glad to see you're clean. I got them to waive the cover charges for us."

"What do you mean--clean?"

"Oh, well...uh--Solar is a great hook-up joint; ya' feel me?"

"Oh, no...You're not saying--"

"Yep, I'm sayin'. They test people for STD's before they come in. It's a courtesy to any of the club members; so you _know_if you meet someone here, you're not gonna' come away from a night with permanent regrets. I mean, it's an ultra-rapid test, so accuracy is still a small issue, but it's a nice courtesy. If you look old enough and you're clean, you're in. They don't do it at very many clubs, but this place is on the cutting edge. That's why I like it."

"Wait, so you mean all those people that got turned away--"

"They were either too young, too irresponsible, or just plain unlucky."

"Holy_SHIT_. That's a _lot_of people with diseases."

"Yea. That's why I started coming here. When you've got game like me, you ain't got time to slow down and ask questions--if I get some here, I can be fairly certain I'm coming away clean."

"Wow, Peterson, just...wow."

The two reached the top of the stair case to the 74th floor. Before them, instead of the usual, gray metallic doors for an entrance from an emergency stairwell, the two were faced with a set of golden doors with engravings adorning both of them. Across the split of the doorway, there was an engraving of a richly-detailed sun, graced with the stylistically etched text "Solar" across its surface. Will had already been hearing the thumping sounds of club music on the 73rd floor, but now he could easily tell what songs were playing inside. It was mostly dubstep.

Peterson turned to Will and exhaled slowly and audibly, "You ready?"

"I better not see people on psychoactives in here."

"Relax! You're not working, remember? Let the people have their fun; better in here than on the streets. Let's go."

Peterson motioned for Will to follow as he placed one large hand on the left door and began to push. Will caught him by the arm, "Peterson, before we go in--one more thing."

"What's that?"

"Fuck you."

"That's the spirit!" Peterson smirked.

The doors split open with very little pressure, revealing a scene of unimaginable energy. A short hallway opened into a seemingly endless dancefloor, filled with a writhing mass of people pressing themselves into each other and moving in varied unison to the tortured electronic screams of synthesizers and grinding rhythmns. Lights from every angle filled the darkened room with a dull-orangish hue, as if an artificial dusk had emblazened the crowd in fire, and lasers of every color lacerated the empty expanse of air and fog above the dancers, some of whose eyes were wild from the kind of psychologically-enhanced experience that only the combination of flashing lights and certain chemical compounds could deliver.

At one end of the dancefloor, a short stage rose to chest-height and featured pure white lighting with a short DJ staring intently at the small laptop on a table before him. The DJ, a husky, had dyed all of his fur a light-blue and his eyes had unnatural-white contacts so that he appeared as though he were some kind of supernatural sonic entity, rather than 'just another DJ.'

On the opposite end of the room, there were crowded circular lounge areas with expansive artificial leather seating and large cushions big enough for three or four people to lay on. The lighting for this area was dark, moody, and full of subdued purple, pink, and blue hues, and as Will's eyes passed over the lounge, he saw a female fox sitting on the lap of a male. This was a common sight, as couples tended to enjoy relaxing, taking a break from dancing to indulge in a drink or two. But what caught Will's eye was that the female's panties were wrapped around her ankles, and though she had a short skirt on, she spread her legs wide, making no effort to hide the fact that her partner's paw gently massaged her groin as he bit down softly on her shoulder. She arched her back in obvious pleasure.

Will stared in disbelief for a few seconds before blinking and turning to Peterson, who yelled what sounded like Get over it! The sonic atmosphere was so loud and thick, that Will could barely hear himself shout back at Peterson, who was now pointing at him and then at a door right next to the entrance

"What are you sayin'?" The volume of Will's voice was no match for the music, but as Peterson was backing away from Will and toward the dancefloor, the fox noticed that above the door to which the bull had been pointing there was a gold-engraved plaque which simply read: "bar." Will looked back at Peterson who then pointed to the dancefloor and mouthed the words: fif-teen minutes. His face turned more serious as he tapped his watch and pointed back at Will. He then turned and disappeared into the crowded dancefloor, no doubt seeking his "prey."

Will's nerves had calmed as most of his mental faculties had been preoccupied with processing the space in which he now stood. But after only a few more seconds of looking around, his pulse began to heighten, and he nervously pushed his way into the "Bar" room in a desperate attempt to escape his anxiety. Once inside, the door closed behind him, and the music almost instantly became a bearable and distant series of muffled thumps and vibrations. The room must have had excellent sound-proofing within its walls.

Surprisingly, the bar was also not as crowded as he had expected it to be. There were close to thirty gold-colored, pleather bar stools with chromed, metallic posts at the long rectangular counter, but not even half of them were of them were filled. Even the dining booths on the outer rim of the room were only sparsely populated . Soft white lighting emanated from under the bar's bronze top, and gold hues colored drink shelves containing various mid- to high-shelf beverages. Smooth lounge music mixed with the subtle kick drum noises which had managed to bleed through the walls of the bar from the dancefloor outside. One was aware that there was a different mood trying to invade the bar, but the soft music in this room was victorious over the pounding, grinding beats of the dance area.

The people in this room were dressed differently as well. The males, at the least, wore collared dress shirts and business pants, and at best they could be seen in well-tailored suits. The females adorned themselves with stylish, form-fitting dresses and designer heels to match; their fur was as well-kept and groomed as the males' coats. But what pulled Will into the bar area the most was the demeanor of the people. The bartender carefully served mixed drinks to a couple at one end of the bar while a small group of friends at a corner table laughed at a mutually-shared story. The soft conversation of everyone in the bar was not unreasonable; it was like a hint of spice added to a perfect cocktail, an experience to be consumed with no chance of regret.This was a room that Will could get used to, even if he chose not to drink a single drop of alcohol.

But, having a martini could not hurt.

Will slowly walked up to the bar; his nerves were still on high-alert. But as he slid onto one of the well-crafted bar stools, his worry began to dissipate rapidly No one shot him a strange glance because he was alone. No one got up and moved away from him. Everyone just continued to smile and talk to one another as the bartender approached him.

"What can I get for you, boss?" the bartender, a tall, well-built ram in a fitted vest and pin-stripe dress shirt, spoke with a casual tone.

"I--well...I guess, I'll take a martini." Will replied

"How do you like it?"

"Surprise me."

"You got it. One surprising martini coming up for the fine-furred fox."

Will smiled at the cheerful remark. Damn, he thought, I'm going to have to convince Peterson to let me hang out in here for a while.

The fox removed his phone from his pocket and checked to see if he had any text messages. There were none. He also had no e-mails either, and after opening and closing his calendar, he realized that he was only mentally stalling to avoid having to speak to anyone in the room. He was shy, and because he knew this, he let himself become disabled by it. Because he was deeply conscious of his introversion, he let himself construct the walls which would prevent him from striking up conversation with anyone, even just someone to speak with for the sake of passing the time. It only took a few moments for the ram to return with Will's drink.

"Here you go; I really hope you like it--I spent a lot of time on it, ya' know." The bartender had an earnest expression which told Will that he meant every word he had said.

"Seemed like you made it pretty quick to me..." Will took the martini glass in his paws.

"Yea, well, taste it and tell if you think I should have gone slower."

Will lifted the glass to his muzzle and took a slow sip. He let a small amount of the liquid invade his mouth and flow over his tongue; his taste buds tingled as the beverage left his tongue and trickled down his throat. He blinked his eyes several times and gulped; the martini was the best he had ever tasted.

"This...now, this is a martini!" Will nodded his head and took another quick but small sip. He was afraid to finish it too quickly.

"I'm glad you like it. I generally make the drinks pretty quick when I'm serving a couple. Those folks usually just wanna' drink socially; they're not focused on the taste. You--you look like you're not in a hurry, so I figured you could use a little extra TLC in your drink of choice, am I right?"

"You caught me. I'm actually here with a friend, but...uh, he's outside." Will tilted his head toward the entrance to the dancefloor.

"He's waiting for you?"

"Kinda..."

"Oh, not the dancing type, huh?"

"Not at all--not even sure you can call that dancing."

"It's definitely a fast and hard scene; if it's not your speed, make sure you stay away from the back rooms then."

"What back rooms?"

"That's where the hook-ups go to, well, 'hook-up'--if you catch my meaning."

Will just sighed and took another, longer sip from his drink; even in larger amounts, the martini finished smoothly.

"What's the matter?" the ram looked genuinely concerned.

"Nothing. My friend brought me here--I have this weekend off from work, and I just...well, after seeing this bar, I realize that I've got no place out there in that club. It's just so...weird. I mean, I'm a cop, and believe me when I say that there is so much potential for crime out there...I just... I don't want to be a part of it."

"A cop, eh? I think I can relate. My sister used to be a cop; she would tell me about the crap she saw everywhere--made me scared to go out on the town. But, somehow I don't think you're in here talking to me because you're just getting a drink on your free weekend with a buddy."

"Oh, you don't think so?"

"No. I mean, you're friend had to have made you come here for a reason other than company." The ram let out a short laugh. "Probably trying to get you out of your shell, right?"

"Yea, you guessed it."

"Yep. Figured that. When I first started as a bartender, I was super shy too. But, the profession isn't kind to introverts, so I got over it. I started a workout routine,and I became single. Both of which helped motivate me to talk more too--ironically those things came around about the time I became a bartender!" The two enjoyed a short laugh.

"I was the same when I started in the force, but most of my social experience is among fellow coworkers." Will said, trying to relate.

"Oh. Well that explains everything!" the ram laughed at his own sarcastic statement.

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" Will replied, matching the bartender's mood.

"Nothing!" The ram looked down at Will and smirked.

"You know? You're one of the first anthro's to hear that I'm a cop and then proceed to treat me like a person. Is that just cause you're a sociable bartender?"

"Nah, it's cause of my sister. I know that most of the police are only assholes 12 hours a day during their shift because--well, in this city--they've got to be; afterward, they become people again."

Will laughed, "That right there! That's something I can confirm. You've got a square head on your shoulders, you know that?"

"I appreciate it." the bar tender replied.

"No problem. I hope I'm not keeping you from your customers." Will motioned to the now mostly empty room.

"Not at all. Once the dancing gets started, people usually use the bar out there on the floor. Only the dedicated patrons come here; they're the ones dressed so nice. They're also few and far between, but that's why I like it in here. It's a slow pace; plus, I can talk to people like you." The ram smiled.

"I think that's why I like it in here too. The pacing and the people." Will was nearly finished with his drink, and he had enjoyed every ounce of it thus far.

"Yea...yea, tell you what: why don't you let that martini be on the house tonight--consider it payment for keeping the streets safer."

"Wow, uh, you don't have to..."

"No, please; trust me. You don't wanna' see how much that martini costs; I know how much cops make."

"Alright, alright. Thanks; it's the best martini I've had, I think."

"You think?" the ram paused with a curious grin.

"I know." Will smiled, finishing the last sip of the beverage.

"Good; let me get you your receipt."

"Receipt? I thought it was on the house?"

"We still got to ring this stuff up. Don't worry--it'll be zero. The big boss tracks everything...well, she pays people to track everything. Give me a sec'."

"Alright." Will pushed his glass carefully toward the bartender's side of the counter and placed his paws on his legs. He took his phone out and checked the time, only to find that he had been in the bar for nearly 20 minutes--a little longer than Peterson had mentioned. The bull was fairly punctual, so it was odd that he had night come to find Will yet. But, it was at this moment that Will realized he no longer cared what Peterson's timeline for the night looked like. The fox had enjoyed a relaxing conversation and the best martini to ever grace his tongue, and he could not give less concern to the bull's plans. Will let a soft grin form across his face, but as he looked down the bar at the ram which had made his drink, he heard loud music briefly pick up as the door to the dancefloor opened suddenly and violently. Will swung his head around where his eyes locked with Peterson's gargantuan form walking quickly and stiffly toward the fox. His face wore a grim expression.

"Here's your receipt. Ya' know, I was thinkin'--" the bartender was cut off by a nervous Will.

"Sorry! Friend's here. Thanks for the drink!" Will swiped the receipt from the counter and pushed it into his pocket. The smile faded from the ram's face. Will got down from the bar stool and hurried over to Peterson.

"Look, I know I'm late--"

"Shut up." Peterson was furious and tense.

"What?" Will was confused as he was met with a strange demeanor from the bull who wore a face which exuded frustration at something other than his fox partner.

"Shut up, and follow me." The bull did an immediate turn-around.

As the door to the dancefloor neared, Will found himself far more relaxed than when he had first set foot in the club; though, Peterson's mood now worried him slightly. Despite this, he had already enjoyed the night to a degree far beyond what he could have expected, and neither his upset partner nor a crowded, vociferous dancefloor could ruin the time he had spent in the Solar Bar. He even imagined himself coming back to the bar on his own--of his accord--to find out just how much that martini would have cost him. As far as he could tell, he would be paying to relax in the perfect bar with the perfect drink, and maybe he would get to meet someone new during his next visit--and those things, he decided, would be worth paying any price. Yes, he thought, Anything for a place with the right pace and the right people.

The music grew louder and Peterson's walk quickened even more as the two approached the door to the rest of the club. Will had enjoyed the bar, but now, he would have to weather the world outside. However, with a good martini in his system and a refreshing conversation in his past, he suddenly found this night would be well worth enduring.

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©"JazzTiger" 2015