Martin Pullham looked at the email again. Spam, perhaps? A scam of some kind? He ought to just hit delete, but it was tempting enough that he thought about it anyway. It was, well, it was tempting. He hadn't had much of an opportunity for a social life since moving to the city, and setting up his new school had taken all his time and effort. Drumming his fingers on his desk as he re-read the email once more.<br/><br/><em>Fuck it</em>, he said to himself, and hit 'reply' and began to compose his RSVP.<em>What's the worst that can happen?</em><br/><br/>His life had been a blur, and Martin figured he had earned some fun – if the universe was cooperating, so much the better. He had only just opened his multi-discipline school for the martial arts, after devoting more than a decade to learning as much of the way of combat as he could, and the stress was telling on him. No friends to share his success with, either, not for a couple of hundred miles – but he hadn't had much choice, he had to set up his school where the demand was, and that meant well away from the schools he had learnt at.<br/><br/>So perhaps another time he would have turned down the offer. But not today, not when he was full of the joy of having succeeded in opening his own hall, and the loneliness of having no one to share that with. Today he would take the chance that there was a scam involved, and see the fun of the event.<br/><br/>Rising, he went to dress for the occasion. The theme was not one he went for often, but he wasn't going to go without making an effort, so he searched his wardrobe for something suitable. It would not be stunning, but black leather pants and a loose black shirt did suit his tall, muscular body and he had been told he looked good in them. He smiled at himself in the mirror, both amused that he was doing this and looking forward to it.<br/><br/>It was just after six when he arrived, walking up the bouncers and feeling their gaze as he approached. Serious security, he realised, adding up the subtle clues in their posture and seeing that they were both trained and confident in violence – yet calm enough that he wasn't worried about them being violent without cause. “I have come,” he informed them, trying to keep a straight face as he spoke the pass-phrase, “to sin under the light of a red star.”<br/><br/>An odd response – the guards had been alert, wary, since they had seen him. But those words made them blink and freeze, before their leader handed Martin a platinum card and spoke. “You are following a dark path, Mr Pullham. Please step inside.”<br/><br/>One of the guards opened the door for him, and he stepped through, impressed. No scam, he thought now, would pay for such expensive security as a prop. Well, nothing that would target someone like him – maybe scamming European royalty or something. He was simply not worth the expense.<br/><br/>His speculation cut short at the sight of the heavily armed woman in perfect Victorian dress who welcomed him, and directed him through the heavily locked doors that his new passcard opened easily. He was greeted again by a young lady in a decidedly improper Victorian outfit, smiling impishly up at him as she took his coat.<br/><br/>“Welcome, Sir,” she whispered as she took it from him, leaning up on tip-toes to let him hear over the music. “What is your pleasure? Tell me of the girl of your dreams, and I will find her to escort you for the evening.”<br/><br/>He blinked at that, taken aback for a moment. The email had mentioned such a thing, but he had given it no thought... a moment, then he grinned and nodded.<br/><br/>“Very well; the girl I dream of is perhaps 5'2” tall, with long raven-dark hair and fine, pale skin, grey eyes like storm-clouds,” he paused, visibly considering. “Wearing a corset-dress, I think, with a short skirt to show her beautiful legs, and 4” heels.”<br/><br/>His grin broadened as it was the girl's turn to look slightly taken aback, and he loved her pretty blush as she curtseyed. She didn't pause though, smiling as she straightened, apparently pleased that he had chosen to describe her.<br/><br/>“A good choice, Sir!” Her smile turned into a delightful grin for a moment, laughing at the joke. “My name is Layla; please follow me to your table.”<br/><br/>He did, though he let her get enough ahead that he could watch the delicious sway of her hips as she led him to a booth. She wasn't quite enough to distract him from the strange décor, tables and chairs at odd angles and in odd places making the room seem a strange and impossible place. Not really Martin's scene, but the company, he thought, did make up for a lot.