Demons Are Only Skin Deep - Chapter 2

 After about twenty-three minutes on the road Scythia forgot she was even wearing a suit – if only for a moment. Highway driving always made her zone out, especially late at night when no-one else was around. Sometimes even driving felt automatic. When her phone suddenly announced her exit (just two miles away), the reality of what she was about to do hit her again.

“Turn around” she mumbled to herself “just turn around and drive home. Don’t do everything now, just save this for when you’re more comfortable.”

Still, she kept going. Deep down she knew what she was hoping to find at Club Tartarus, but she wasn’t ready to admit it to herself yet. ‘Besides’ she thought to herself ‘if it gets uncomfortable, I can just stop myself.”

Only five more minutes to go.

A pickup truck rushed past her, zooming into the distance well above the speed limit. She was amazed by how in-focus it stayed even as it rounded the far away bend. Normally she needed glasses while driving at night, at least when she needed to read signs, but the suit gave her perfect 20/20 vision – maybe even better. She glanced down at her hands gripping the wheel at ten and two. As each streetlamp swept overhead, their light spilled down through the windshield, illuminating her red skin. She bounced her fingers in a wave, so they’d catch the light just a little bit more, and smiled.

Suddenly, a different light hit them. Red and blue, flashing. Scythia’s heart dropped. There was no siren. What was the point? There was no mistaking it. A glance in the rear-view mirror confirmed her fears: a police car tailing right behind her, keeping speed. A brief panic seized her, an instinct to floor it and flee. She could even see the sign for her exit just ahead.

Luckily sense took hold before she did something really stupid. She put on her turn signal, carefully pulled onto the shoulder, slowed, then stopped. Sure enough, the police car slid in behind and stopped about twenty feet back.

At first, she sat there, frozen, then slammed her hands on the edge of the wheel. “Of course, this has to happen” she growled through gritted teeth “of COURSE this has to fucking happen!” She leaned forward, resting her arms on the wheel while she collected herself, then reached sideways, pulled the latch on her glove box, and fished her trembling hand in, feeling around for her registration. She’d have to show whoever this was her driver’s license. Her other face, her other name, all of it. And not just to anyone either, a fucking cop. Would they even believe they were the same person? Even if they did who knows how the cop felt about synthetiskins, especially a male in a female skin. The thought of being exposed seemed more repulsive than just about anything and made her feel physically ill. If she thought she could get away with it, she would have booked it right in that moment, but she knew there was nothing she could do.

All she could do was wait for it to happen...

...and for a while it didn’t.

Every few seconds Scythia dared a quick glance at her driver side mirror, and for the first four times saw nothing. Then, between looks, the sound of a car door opening, and slamming shut. She rolled down her window, letting in even more sounds: the whoosh of distant cars, the rustle of trees lining the highway, but above all, the sound of footsteps slowly and steadily approaching, until they finally came to a stop right next to the door.

“Evening, I’m Officer Young” the voice of a young man said, projecting over the din.

“Evening, officer” Scythia replied, affecting a deep, manly voice. She wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like her clothes were hiding her shape.

The officer paused, obviously taking stock of the unusual circumstances.

“License and registration please?” he finally said.

Scythia, who already held both documents, handed them out the window without looking. It was only then that she realized her bare, red hand were now fully on display. To late to take it back now. To make it worse, Officer Young seemed to take his eternal sweet time before taking them from her, but eventually did.

Another pause.

“You all right?” the officer said.

“Yeah, I’m fine—great, I’m great.” she said, maybe a bit to hostile.

She heard the officer turn and walk back to his car. Scythia braved a glance at the side mirror again. The man was tall, a bit over six feet, muscular, with a crew cut, sandy blonde shock of hair which tapered before reaching his neck. Before long he disappeared into his car, probably to run her...his records. Scythia could only guess what would happen. Every possibility seemed more unpleasant than the last. A minute she waited, then two, then three. Something was wrong. Was he about to ask her to strip off her suit? Even if she wanted to the suit’s bio-lock wouldn’t let her for another few hours. Maybe he’d take her to the station, make her wait among all those people looking like she did before finally being forced to tear her skin off and reveal poor old, perverted James underneath.

Her anxiety flared, pulsating in her chest and into her face with unbearable heat. That heat crashed like a wave when, after what seemed like endless waiting, she heard the cop’s door open again. She closed her eyes, took a few solid, deep breaths, then another, until finally Officer Young arrived back besides her, looming over her window.

“So, this is a warning.” he said, his voice softer “Your taillight’s out. You should get that fixed as soon as you can.”

“I will” Scythia said on instinct.

She didn’t understand. There must be something else. Was he holding something back or leaving something unsaid. Who was this person? What was he waiting for? She thought about this for a full ten seconds before realizing Officer Young was holding her documents out to her, which she then snatched immediately.

“All right, have a good night, ma’am” he said as he turned and walked away.

“You too” she said, again, instinctively.

Scythia couldn’t believe it. Was she really getting out of this. Was she free to go? She didn’t want to risk it, not when Officer Young could still pull her over again if he wanted.

While mulling over this the car behind her rumbled to life, and before she could muster the will to look, it had already peeled smoothly into the non-existent flow of traffic, and within seconds passed her exit and disappeared around the bend.

Scythia, her mental faculties emerging from panic mode, slowly and deliberately placed her registration back inside her glove box, then closed it with a click. Then, fumbling, she slid her license back into her wallet. Before closing it, she looked at the card’s portrait peeking above the pocket it sat in. The man in the picture was five years younger than her, barely smiling, his hair scraggly and unwashed. As she studied his features, she wondered again why Officer Young let her go. She didn’t know him; he didn’t know her. What was the angle?

Eventually, after going in mental circles, she settled on a simple, likely possibility: maybe there was no angle. Maybe he was just kind.

She smiled weakly, turning the ignition and putting the car into drive. She glanced in the side-view one more time, saw no one, and returned to the road, cruising alone until a minute later when she finally reached her exit. It was only when she felt the centripetal pull of the exit loop’s hard turn that she realized she was sweating. She didn’t know the suit could sweat.

Scythia looked up Club Tartarus on her phone trying to find a picture. She’d passed where Google Maps said it was five times now, but there was nothing that looked like a nightclub, or at least how Scythia imagined a nightclub looked. Not even a sign. Her search didn’t turn up any images either, inside or out, probably due to the strict no phones policy inside the club, which meant no pics. “What happens in the club stays in the club.”

Finally, she just googled “how do I get into Club Tartarus” and a thread on the Demonhead Forums came up as the fifth result. Apparently on April 25^th, 2017, someone else had the exact same question, and twelve minutes later someone answered. She wasn’t sure how anyone was supposed to find this out any way other than this, which of course was probably the point.

Putting her car back into drive, Scythia cruised from the parking lot she’d pulled into in and back out towards the main road. This wasn’t the heart of the city by any means, just strip malls and nondescript office buildings. Basically, an industrial park. Odd place for any destination unless your goal was to be as out of the way and inconspicuous as possible.

Again, she came to where Google Maps had directed her, and again Scythia pulled into the parking lot where a four-story office building sat dead center. It’s then she noticed a table set up on the sidewalk draped with signage reading “Church of Christ Anti-Demon League.” No-one manned the table, too late at night, and no-one would have been around to hear them anyways.

Rolling around to the back she spotted exactly what the thread described: a ramp leading down beneath the building. “How the fuck did I miss it” she muttered.

Carefully aligning her front wheels, she eased herself in and down, descending lower and lower until she reached a boom barrier and driver’s side booth just inside enough to be out of view. Scythia rolled her window down and craned her head to look inside the booth. She could just make out the shape of someone milling about behind the foggy, tinted glass.

“Card please” an androgynous voice suddenly said through an unseen intercom.

Scythia panicked. “What card?” she said.

Just as the intercom came back on, Scythia thought she heard the end of a long sigh.

“Your wearer identity card?” the voice said patiently “Should have come with your skin in your manual.”

Of course. The manual. The manual she didn’t read. That manual.

“I don’t think I have one” she said not entirely lying “Sorry, I’ve never been here.”

There was a long pause. Scythia figured the faceless person was about to send her away. Maybe that was for the best.

“That’s fine” the voice said, “are you currently wearing your skin now?”

Scythia wasn’t getting away that easily.

“Yes” she said.

Another pause. There may have been somebody else in the booth as well. Scythia wondered if the tinting was both ways and that the one manning it couldn’t see her either. Made sense. If someone came not in their suit, they wouldn’t want some rando to see their human self.

“Do you consent to visual identification?” the voice said, like they weren’t sure it was allowed.

“Uh, yeah” Scythia said “sure.”

“Please look directly into the camera for about 30 seconds. We can’t see you, so we’ve got to do a basic bio-metric scan to make sure your skin isn’t fake.”

Scythia glanced down below the window and quickly found an inch-wide lens situated against the side.

“Do people really try and wear fakes?” she asked.

“Every once in a while” the booth employee replied, “they’re pretty easy to spot.” Another few seconds pass. “You’re lucky, most folks don’t come already wearing their suits”

Scythia tried to think of a reply, but before she could the pole blocking her way lifted with a mechanical whir.

“All right, all set. Enjoy your evening, ma’am?” the voice said.

“Thank you” she replied.

Letting her foot off the breaks Scythia’s car slid deeper into the garage until the light from the outside fully receded, replaced entirely by the sickly glow of overhead fluorescents. As her eyes scanned for a spot that would be easy to pull into, she tried guessing the number of cars parked: 40-something, at least on the first floor. Rounding a corner, she came to another ramp which descended to a second floor. This one only had around 20 or so. She had no idea how many parking levels there were and wouldn’t find out since she spied a nice batch of empty spaces out of the way in a corner. The perfect out of the way place to nestle her car.

She pulled in, put the car in park, applied the emergency break, grabbed the key, and after a moment’s hesitation, turned off the engine. Then she just sat there. This wasn’t some abstraction anymore. It wasn’t a fantasy. This was real. She took a deep breath, patting herself down to make sure she had everything, then opened the door and stepped out.

Some distant rumble echoed across the cavernous concrete. Every step Scythia took away from her car reverberated and was no doubt audible to anyone else around. Even though she knew no-one would be surprised by her appearance, she still kept her hood up and her hands in her pockets until she reached the far end where a bank of elevators took up the entire length of the wall. Above each were two signals: red or green. Most were the latter, a few the former. Scythia made her way to one of the green ones and pressed the button next to it. It took about twenty seconds, but eventually she heard the hum of the elevator rising into place, followed by a clear, high pitched “ding.” The double doors slid open, revealing an unoccupied interior waiting just for her.

Scythia felt a tingle run through her body, which she thought was hesitation until her body moved forward seemingly on its own. She turned to face out only to see the doors immediately close behind her, followed quickly by the lurch of the elevator dropping. There were only two buttons: one with two arrows pointing up and down, and a red one with the word “emergency” on it in thin, white letters. The walls and floor were made with varnished wood paneling, the floor darker than the walls, with brass accents and a horizontal brass bar at waist height for holding onto.

Scythia looked up and saw her demon visage looking back down at her from the mirrored ceiling, but barely had a moment to admire herself before another “ding” stole her attention. A part of her worried the elevator was broken, since it didn’t open immediately. Once it finally did, she wondered if the suspenseful pause was deliberate.

The room was smaller than she expected, barely thirteen feet long and a bit less wide. She stepped out, her flip flops clopping on the square-patterned linoleum tile of what appeared to be a dressing room. To the right: a mirror which, took up the whole wall, with a table of the same width flush against. To the left: a shower and toilet nestled in their own little nooks, along with a personal locker that went from floor to ceiling. On the far end, a dark wooden door with a brass handle fashioned like a gnarled tree branch. Above and to the left of the door: an LED panel with a big red “x” in it, with a wire leading down to a knob, which was turned to “OCCUPIED.”

Scythia heard a rumble behind her and spun around, only to just catch a glimpse of the elevator door shutting behind her. It didn’t sound like it was going back up, and when she looked up, she noticed another red “x” like the one over the other door. She imagined a matching red light awaited anyone approaching her elevator. All these signals to assure the occupant that no-one would disturb them during their...process.

The silence in the room felt eerie. Scythia figured the room was soundproof, which meant that every flop of her flip-flops, every rustle of her clothes, and every breath seemed magnified. Even the occasional drip from the nearby shower sounded crystalline clear. How much this was due to the room vs. the suit’s enhancements was unclear. Either way, too unnerving to stick around long.

She looked at the mirror, finally having an uninterrupted chance to look at herself again in full. Pulling back her hood she let her hair spill out. At home her get up seemed acceptable, even a bit cute in an unkempt way, but now she felt positively shlubby, even with her face and body. The muss her hair was in certainly didn’t help. Whatever. Nothing for it now. Not like there was anything else around for her to wear.

She nodded at herself, took a deep breath, raising her shoulders as high as she could, then dropping them as she exhaled.

“Ok then,” she said, “let’s do this.”

She made a beeline for the door, only to stop when she saw the sign on it.

“Remember to place your valuables in your locker. No phones inside the club. NO EXCEPTIONS!”

Scythia walked over to the locker, fishing her phone, wallet, and car keys from her sweatshirt pockets. The locker was full body height and not at all cheap looking. She imagined it was meant for folks who brought a change of clothes so they could store their “human” outfits. It had no handle, just a pale, yellow, rectangular mechanism with a small, flat, black oval in an indent. It took a moment for Scythia to realize it was a finger scanner. She pressed her thumb into it, and an affirmative beep immediately greeted her, followed by the click of a lock being unlatched. The door even opened on its own.

She placed her items on the one high shelf above the bar of hangers, then immediately closed the door. Immediately, the latch clicked tight. Just to test, she tried using her pointer finger to open it again, and after nothing happened immediately tried her thumb again, which worked like a charm.

“Cool beans” she muttered.

With no more distractions, she made for the door again. Grabbing the handle, she took another deep breath, then pulled. It didn’t budge. Immediately she noticed another indent, just like the locker, and realized this was to make it so no-one other than her could open the door. This was HER dressing room. She pressed her thumb in, and a heavy click followed. This time, the handle gave without an ounce of resistance.

Immediately the rooms soundproofing gave way, and the muted, pulsating rhythm of distant techno music slipped into Scythia’s ears. She stepped out into a long hallway, which at first glance seemed a hundred feet long either way. Doors just like hers lined its entire length, each one with its own LED panel above it. About two thirds of them had green circles above them, the rest X’s. Unlike the dressing rooms the floor here was carpeted with what seemed to be occult patterns, ranging from intertwining snakes to astrological symbols. One end of the hall had a door with a sign reading “employees only.” The other had yet another elevator, which Scythia walked towards.

The further she got down the hall, the louder and clearer the music became. It’s beat seemed to accelerate with the pace of her heartbeat.

Suddenly, about halfway to the elevator, one of the doors opened right in front of her, and before she could process or think to move, a female demon about Scythia’s height stepped out and closed the door behind her.

The first thing Scythia noticed were her arms. Her emerald-green skin positively rippled with Amazonian musculature, far more than Scythia’s. She couldn’t see her abs from behind, but from her midriff she imagined they were just as impressive. Her ass seemed barely contained within her tight, black leather shorts, and a shock of platinum blonde hair sat parted to one side on her head, with the side of her head buzzed short. Two curved, bone-colored horns, about an inch longer than Scythia’s, protruded from just in front of her temples.

The mystery demon looked back at Scythia, her yellow eyes under her heavy brow giving her a once over. She smirked, twisting her monstrous, feminine face and revealing two rows of sharp teeth.

“Hey there” she said in a deep, husky alto.

Scythia could barely concentrate. The stranger’s breasts, held in by a black leather top, seemed even more barely contained than her ass.

“Umm...hey” Scythia replied, giving a little wave.

After giving Scythia another once over, the demon turned and walked down the hallway the same way Scythia was going. Scythia followed after about ten feet behind. With each step the stranger’s leather, thigh-high, buckle-covered boots thumped with a hypnotic, assertive beat, completely overpowering the distant music.

As the stranger reached the elevator, she reached out and tapped the button to the side then stood there, waiting. Scythia kept her distance. She’d only ever seen another demon this close once before, and never in this context.

The stranger glanced over their shoulder and smirked again.

“First time?” she said.

Scythia smiled back bashfully, looking away.

“That obvious?”

The stranger tilted her head, looked down at Scythia’s body, then back up and into her eyes.

“Most folks don’t come in their sweats” she said.

Before Scythia could respond, the old-fashioned “ding” of the elevator pulled the stranger’s attention back forward. The door opened with no-one inside, and the stranger entered without a moment's hesitation. Scythia, on the other hand, did hesitate, but once she realized she’d miss her window if she waited more, she hurried in after her, turning around and facing out just as the door began to close.

As they descended, the music grew even louder with each passing second, and with it, the warmth that seemed to radiate from Scythia’s racing heart.

She stole sidelong glances at the stranger who, as far as she knew, didn’t look back. Both stood at around the same height, though the stranger’s bulk, boots, and horns made her seem larger. The heat became unbearable, and just as the elevator began to slow to a stop that Scythia suddenly became aware of a growing wetness in her loins.

Before she could think of what to do, another ding rang out and the door opened, flooding the lift with light and music at full volume. The stranger didn’t wait, walking immediately out and onto the floor and rounding the corner...but not before taking one last glance back at Scythia.

“See you around” she said.

Before Scythia could reply, she was gone.

Finally, Scythia emerged into the club. At first, she looked left in an effort to find her mystery woman, but her attention quickly drifted, drawn to the vast, debaucherous display laid out before her. Beneath a sky of artificial stars, the whole space was arranged in a series of nine concentric, circular terraces ten feet wide, the outside of each terrace being ringed with booths. Small, six step staircases led down from each level to the next at regular intervals around the circumference, eventually leading down, down, down, into the final circle of hell: a dance floor that at first glance looked like ice but was actually fogged glass etched with an array of fractal patterns.

On that glass a host of monstrosities shifted and waved to the undulating beat, which rippled from unseen speakers. Scythia’s eyes pierced the dim light, and from the mass of hell-spawn came distinct figures in more shapes and colors than she knew were possible. Some were beautiful, some grotesque, others both. There were men, women, and everything in-between, both muscle-bound and emaciated. Two horns, one horn, no horn, tails, no tails, their bodies clad with everything from loin clothes and bikinis to elaborate couture, and of course raiment of a more fetishistic nature. Latex, PVC, and leather seemed to be the material du jour.

As Scythia’s eyes wandered from the pit and to the terraces, she saw more denizens of the night walking along, slipping into booths stuffed with even more beings of sin. These were her people, but despite this she couldn’t feel more out of place.

For a moment she thought she saw her green skinned Amazon when...

“Oh! Excuse us.”

A pair of demons bumped into Scythia, not stopping. One a lithe, purple skinned succubus in a black, PVC unitard who looked much like Scythia save for her hair being longer and tied up in a ponytail. The other, a burly, brown skinned demon covered in tribal tattoos, had tusks and a tuft of black hair on his head.

“Sorry” Scythia quickly replied, stepping to the edge of the inner edge of the outer terrace to continue her gawking.

The succubus looked back a moment at Scythia, noticed her outfit, and raised her eyebrows before turning her attention back forward. Scythia watched the two as they made a quarter loop around the circle from the elevator and turned into a doorway on the outside wall, vanishing.

Once gone, Scythia’s gaze drifted left along the outer wall until it landed on the bar, which took up about a quarter of the room's circumference.

‘Seems as good a place as any,’ she thought.

She walked around the outer ring. Her steps subconsciously taking on the beat of the music, to which the “flop” of her flip-flops answered in syncopation. Approaching the bar, she eyed the smokey glass of the bar itself, barren of any drinks, and the row of stools which stretched from one end to the other, each one made with a silver-metallic frame and topped with a blood-red cushion. Scythia found one around the middle and carefully sat down.

The bartender seemed to emerge from nowhere, making Scythia almost jump. His yellow skin, massive, pointed ears, and hooked nose gave him a rough, goblin-like look, which contrasted greatly with his formal dress. Minus the face and hands, he was a dead ringer for the bartender from The Shining.

“Can I get ya somethin'?” he said.

“Uh...sorry, I don’t have a lot of money” Scythia replied.

The bartender smirked, like he found the answer quaint.

“No worries, first drinks on me.”

Scythia smiled. How nice. She shifted her butt from side to side in the cushion, adjusting so she faced forward, then sat up straight.

“Surprise me, then” she said with an edge of haughtiness.

With that the bartender spun in place and reached for the back wall. Scythia followed him with her eyes, studying the array of crystal and glass bottles, decanters, and glasses arranged on thin white shelves. Chandeliers placed strategically in the ceiling fed enough light to the display to make the whole thing glint and glisten like starlight.

The bartender fingered through a few of them before grabbing two. He spun around again, placing the bottles down, then reached below the bar and pulled out a glass. With the kind of precision that only comes with having done something a million times, the imp pulled each bottle’s stopper out at the same time, grabbed the bottles, then poured both liquids in at exactly the right angle that the falling streams crossed. In a flash, he placed the bottles down, grabbed a cover, and shook the glass feverishly. Finally, he gently placed the finished drink down on the coaster in front of her, adjusting it slightly after the fact to make sure the glass sat dead center.

“Voila!” he said, holding his arms out, palms upwards, towards the drink.

Scythia reached out and grabbed the drink. Despite there being no ice, it felt chill to the touch.

“Thank you” she said.

She brought the glass to her lips and sipped. It was sweet, peach flavored.

“Anything else?” the bartender said.

It was in that exact moment that Scythia realized the bartender fancied her. She stopped sipping and waved her hand side to side.

“No, I’m good, thanks.”

The bartender waited a few seconds, like he expected – or hoped – for her to say something else, then walked away without another word to the far end of the bar, where he disappeared into a door cleverly hidden by a piece of horror-tinged wall art.

Scythia, alone with her drink, sipped the fruity liquid in silence, pulling her knees up and resting her feet on the stool’s support beam. She suddenly regretted sending the bartender away, if for no other reason than because she wanted someone to talk to. Why else was she here if not to socialize. These were “her kind” after all.

“Her kind” the idea still felt thrilling, if a bit strange. These people were like her, or at least she liked to think so. She wondered what they felt, what their thoughts were, what their lives outside of their suits were like. She had brief, imaginative flashes of the demons on the dance floor pulling on their suits like she did, what that was like for them. Every one of them becoming someone different. She knew because of the taboo she wasn’t likely to get all the details, but maybe at least some. All she had to do was get in there and find out.

As if to answer her thoughts, she heard the sound of leather creak next to her, turned, and saw another demon sitting right there on the stool next to her. He looked a lot like the bartender, only his skin was navy blue, and a pair of two-inch-long horns protruding from his temple. He was looking forward but clearly itched to look at her.

“Hey” he said, his baritone voice rolling with over-practiced suaveness.

“Hey” Scythia replied, giving another little wave.

The man, dropping the pretense of disinterest, looked up and down her body with hunger. She tried her best not to look, but the feeling of his gaze was hard to ignore. She wanted to meet people, but something about the way he looked at her made her feel exposed – in an unpleasant way, not a sexy one.

“Desmond” he said when her eyes finally drifted back to his.

“Scythia” she replied curtly. That was the first time she said her new name out loud.

She looked away again hoping he would be gone by the time she looked back, but there was only so long she could look at the back wall display before it stopped looking convincing.

“Wanna fuck?” Desmond said.

Every single muscle in Scythia’s body tensed.

“What?” she said, glancing sidelong

Desmond smirked like the bartender, clearly finding Scythia’s bafflement amusing “You heard me” he shuffled closer and leaned in ever so slightly “your beautiful and I want you.”

Was this really that shocking, she thought. She was practically gift wrapped in raw sex-appeal, and of course young folks at a club would be looking to...engage. It’s just Scythia had literally never been straight up asked out on a date much less asked to fuck. The idea of someone she didn’t know sixty seconds ago propositioning her...that was going to take some getting used to. No effort, no pursuing, no hang-ups. All she had to do was say yes. The feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

However...

“No, sorry I...”

“I promise I’ll make it worth your while” he said, pouncing on her unassertiveness. He then groaned in a quiet but highly exaggerated manner “my dick is so massive it’ll make your pussy quake.”

Scythia had to stifle a laugh. If she wasn’t already red her cheeks would have flushed.

“Look, I...I mean I’m flattered but...I’m not really...I guess looking for...”

“Des, lay off her” a familiar voice said approaching from behind her “it’s her first night, you’re gonna scare her away.”

Desmond broke off his sexy act and sat up, staring past Scythia, his expression indignant.

“Hey, she’s at the bar. Fair game.”

Scythia looked behind her. It was the green-skinned Amazon from before. She leaned on the bar with one arm.

“Like I said, it’s her first night. You think she actually knows the rules?”

“Yeah, anyone with a brain could tell it’s her first night” Desmond said, a hint of a New Jersey accent slipping through “Sue me for wanting to make it special.”

“Well clearly you’re not what she had in mind.”

Desmond smiled, stood up, and stepped around Scythia so he could truly face his adversary.

“You know what I think...” he whispered, “I think you just want her for yourself.”

The Amazon’s lack of denial made Scythia’s heart flutter.

“Like I said” the Amazon said, making a ‘shoo’ gesture “buzz off.”

Desmond stood his ground a moment. He looked down at Scythia, who again, avoided his gaze, then back at the green-skinned interloper. He scoffed.

“Well, no accounting for taste I guess” he said.

With that, he left, stepping quickly down the nearby steps and vanishing into the pit.

“Sorry about him” Nadia said. “He’s fine he just...gets a bit carried away sometimes.” She inched in closer but didn’t sit. “He’s only had that skin for a few months, so he hasn’t quite gotten out of his ‘I’m a sex god’ phase yet.”

“Yeah...” Scythia said, chuckling slightly “real romantic.” She half expected the Amazon to leave again, but she lingered. She wasn’t looking at Scythia. Instead, her eyes scanned the room lazily. Scythia didn’t want her to leave. “Uh” she swiveled in the stool and held out her arm for a handshake “Scythia.”

The Amazon looked at Scythia’s hand and smirked. This one wasn’t like the other smirks. There was a warmth to it. She still seemed amused, but also...charmed?

“I heard, yeah” she said. “Sorry, I was just sitting over there and couldn’t help but overhear. Figured you needed a rescue.”

“Oh...” Scythia said, dropping her arm, unsure how else to respond.

Just as Scythia was about to say ‘thanks,’ the Amazon reached out her hand, holding it out in front of Scythia.

“Nadia” she said.

Scythia grabbed her hand, and Nadia initiated two exaggerated shakes, which made Scythia laugh. She could tell how strong Nadia’s grip was but could also tell she was holding back. The two broke off the handshake before it got too weird.

Scythia adjusted herself in her seat. “Sorry, when you were talking to uh...Des. You mentioned rules?”

“Oh yeah, probably should have mentioned earlier” Nadia bounced her eyebrows, bracing for an awkward explanation. “It’s not really a hard and fast rule or anything, but if you’re at the bar generally that means you’re looking to bang.”

“Oh!” Scythia said, laughing. Everything suddenly made sense.

“Ha! Yeah. I mean, don’t sweat it. It’s not that big a deal” Nadia scratched her temple. “People can be a bit forward, but no-one is going to actually do anything to you” she leaned in slightly “you know, unless you want them to.”

“Oh” Scythia said, flustered, “good to know.”

The two continued to loiter, both seemingly aware that there was something there. Scythia ventured a glance at her rescuer and saw that, for all her physical attributes, there was a stiffness to her pose and affect that made her seem just as nervous as her...well, maybe not quite as nervous. Still, there was something cute about it.

“Well, uh...” Nadia started, bringing Scythia to attention “there’s some folks in a booth back there I’ve been hanging out with lately. Wanna join?”

Scythia looked to the other side of the circle towards a line of booths seemingly carved into the wall. She couldn’t tell which one Nadia referred to. All of them seemed stuffed with bodies.

“Sure, yeah” she said.

Nadia stood up from her lean and waited patiently for Scythia to get off her stool. Once she was, Nadia turned and walked around the outside of the circle, and Scythia followed. Scythia couldn’t help but notice how the folks who passed them moved for Nadia, not the other way around.

As the two approached one of the booths, a lavender demon leaned out, looking in their direction. At first, he looked curious, then in an instant his expression shifted to a Cheshire smile of incalculable mischief.

“Well, if it isn’t the incomparable Amazonian beauty, Nadia” he said with a tenor lilt “come to grace us again with her presence.”

Scythia came around and saw he wore a pair of tight leather shorts. His frame was lean, on the border between masculine and feminine. His face, impish as it was, bordered on boyish. A twink if Scythia ever saw one.

“Fuck off, Puck” Nadia said, nudging him further into the booth with her hips. “Make room.”

Puck looked indignant, like he was about to retort, but stopped when he spotted Scythia. He eyed her up and down, eyebrows raised, his smile widening.

“And who is this lovely little piece of cherry pie on your arm?” he said.

Nadia gestured towards Scythia. “Everyone, Scythia, Scythia, everyone” she said, sliding into the booth. “Be gentle, it’s her first night.”

Puck put his hand over his mouth, as if the new was some scandalous secret. “Is this true? Do we really have a virgin on our hands?”

Scythia shifted nervously, not wanting to let on that the answer to both the literal and metaphorical versions of that question was yes.

“I just got the suit a few hours ago” she said.

“Well, you’re safe with me” Puck said tilting his head and holding his hands up “Don’t get me wrong, you’re beautiful, but pussy isn’t exactly my cup of tea if you know what I mean.”

Scythia just stood there a moment, not sure what do or what to say to that.

Puck pounced on this. “I mean I like dicks up my ass” he held his hands a foot apart. “Like, big ones.”

Scythia couldn’t help but laugh a bit. “No, I got that.”

“Puck, come on.” the pale, yellow skinned succubus across from them said. Her outburst may have been for Scythia’s sake, but something about the woman’s tone made it clear that she’d been barely tolerating Puck’s juvenile japes all night.

“All right” Puck said holding his hands up defensively “just making sure.”

“Come on” Nadia said, squeezing in further and patting the seat next to her “have a seat. Take a load off.”

Scythia did just that, shimmying her shoulders once she was in nice and snug. She looked to Nadia and smiled, and Nadia smiled back. A rush of happy chemicals surged through Scythia and her limbs began to tingle.

“Well,” Puck groaned, stretching “you arrived right in the middle of an absolutely riveting philosophical debate between Titus here and dear Athena.”

“It’s not a debate” the navy-blue-skinned Titus said gruffly “it’s a discussion.”

This demon was even more muscular than Nadia, his skin covered in raised, swirling patterns like Nightcrawler from the X-Men movies. He wore a simple, black tee-shirt, which almost looked like it was painted on. A pair of six-inch horns protruded from his forehead above a face that wasn’t unlike a Chad meme. Almost a parody of masculinity.

Puck rolled his eyes. “Fine, discussion.”

“Actually, I’m glad you’re here” Titus said gesturing towards Scythia “we could use a little fresh perspective on this.”

“Yes, please, keep going” the yellow skinned Athena said with barely concealed sarcasm.

Athena was lithe, thinner than Scythia, but with a distinct musculature still visible. She wore a long black, armless dress (showing off generous side-boob and cleavage), which matched her black, shoulder length waves of hair. Her sharp cheekbones, full crimson lips, and piercing, golden eyes with red flecks all came together to contribute to her almost supernaturally regal air.

Titus waited a moment, not wanting to seem overeager, but eventually couldn’t hold back anymore. “All right, yeah, so like I was saying, to me this...” Titus said, leaning forward and gesturing to all of himself “...is just an externalization of some inner, repressed self, created by some childhood shit or whatever. I’m not saying there’s not something profoundly psychological about this but at this point there’s no boundary between who I am in this suit and who I am outside it. I just feel that when I’m wearing it, I’m able to be my truest self.” He slumps backwards against the back of the seat “At this point I’m suited pretty much full time unless I’m working. I mean what’s the point of being anything less than your truest self?”

“Like you work, rich boy” Puck said before downing a swig of his drink.

“You’re one to talk” Titus shot back.

Puck just shrugged, though Scythia figured he’d probably have said something if not for the liquid pouring down his throat.

Titus turned his attention back to the group. “But yeah, basically it’s not any deeper than that for me.”

The words sat there for a moment, nobody responding, until:

“God that’s...such a limited view, though” Athena said. “We’re demons, Titus.”

“We’re wearing machines” Titus replied, like he’d said it a million times before.

“And maybe that’s all it is to you but...” Athena looked sheepish “I don’t know, there’s something...magical and spiritual that happens when the human wearing me puts me on.”

“The human wearing you?” Scythia said.

Athena’s eyes flashed, latching on to the fact that someone finally wants her to elaborate.

“What I’m saying is that me, Athena” she pointed to herself with both hands “is a completely different being from the human inside me” she grabs her martini glass and brings it close to her lips. “Believe me, if she did half the stuff I’ve done to this hunk she’d be having panic attacks day and night. But that’s why she can’t help but put me on. Because I can be the slut she can’t.” She takes a sip from the glass. “If there were no consequences, nearly everyone would jump at the chance to do all the fucked-up shit they jerk off too, even if they deny it – ESPECIALLY if they deny it. It’s always there deep down. It’s just now she can outsource it to me, and she’s just along for the ride. That way she can keep being her and I can be me.” She closes her eyes and downs the rest of her drink.

“You’re fucking crazy” Titus said.

“And that’s why you love me” Athena said, not opening her eyes.

Titus smiled and leaned over to her and gently grabbed her face “What can I say, I’m a glutton for punishment.” He pulled her face in and kissed her mouth gently. Athena kept her eyes closed but smiled back. Scythia can’t help but stare.

“So how ‘bout you?” Nadia said. “You’re fresh on your first transformation. What do you think.”

It took a second for Scythia to realize she was talking about her. “Oh, I uh...”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want” Nadia quickly interjected.

“No, it’s fine, I mean...I don’t know.” Everyone stared at her now, which Scythia didn’t like. “Honestly this has all been a bit overwhelming for me.” She took a moment to find the right words. “When I first put me on...I mean it really did feel like I was becoming this new thing. I’d imagined it so long and I’m like...like I figured I’d just slip into the role but the longer I wear it the more I just feel like...me with a different skin.”

Titus glanced over, eyebrow raised, at Athena, who was conspicuously avoiding his gaze.

“Don’t get me wrong, I want to BE Scythia. I mean why would I want to be...” Scythia realized she was getting deeper than she was comfortable with. “Whatever, maybe it just takes time.”

Nadia nudged Scythia affectionately. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, Scythia. Whoever you are.”

Nadia’s warm smile sent Scythia’s heart in a whirl. “Thanks.”

The conversation continued naturally from there. Topics ranging from what movies everyone had watched recently, good restaurants they’d eaten at (all of which were well out of Scythia’s price range), and places they’d gone on vacation. It was around the third mention of the south of France that Scythia realized just how out of her depth she was class-wise. Made sense, the suits were expensive. She’d barely been able to afford one herself.

If it hadn’t been for…

...

In any case, none of the others seemed all that perturbed by how different Scythia’s answers were. Despite her provincial demeanor and work-from-home outfit, it seemed that simply by wearing her demon skin she’d been allowed into the club and boy did that feel good.

What felt even better was Nadia’s constant presence next to her. It was the little things, like the rapt attention she gave her when Scythia talked about the one time her parents took her to Disney World, or the touch on her arm while Athena talked way too long about how mad she was at her parents for cutting a trip to Bermuda short because her father had some kind of business emergency. Scythia quickly realized that when Nadia spoke about her 16^th birthday party, where her dad had forbidden her from inviting a boy she had a crush on, that she wasn’t really talking to the group, she was talking to her.

Puck didn’t seem to be the least bit interested in any of this, and after a while began to squirm.

“Ugh! Enough of this normie bullshit” Puck eventually groaned. “Let’s fucking dance already.”

It was like a switch had been flipped. Titus immediately slid out of the booth, standing at his full height, with Athena following quickly after. Scythia didn’t move until a gentle nudge from Nadia goaded her out. Once everyone was out the five of them walked to the nearest steps and climbed down, down, down into the bowels of the room.

The stimulation from all the strange, strange creatures shifting and mobbing their way between each other sent Scythia’s brain haywire. With every level the crowd grew thicker. A few eyes glanced at Scythia, likely puzzled by her attire. Her head darted from side to side, barely able to comprehend what was going on.

Then Scythia saw something she almost wished she hadn’t. In one of the booths a maroon-skinned demon with foot long horns sat on one of the tables. Mounted on top of him was a periwinkle colored one, rhythmically grinding their hips against his. It took only a moment for her to realize neither was wearing pants. No one around them seemed to care.

‘This is too much’ Scythia thought. ‘Holy shit. Holy shit. I’m way, WAY over my head.’

Scythia would have kept watching if Nadia hadn’t placed her hand on the small of her back and guided her even deeper until at last they made it to the glass dance floor.

The stimulation reached its fever pitch. The writhing mass of bodies surrounding them only seemed to amplify the music further, like tuning rods vibrating at a mutual frequency. From every direction came the thunder of feet stomping, bodies crashing, and voices wailing.

“Wooooo!” someone, somewhere screamed.

From somewhere else, a spasming gasp of laughter rocketed towards the ceiling.

Nadia spun around, facing Scythia, and began to bob up and down to the beat, eyes closed, and arms raised in communion. Scythia didn’t know how to dance, so she just mimicked what Nadia did. In no time she felt the fire well up insider, the communal fever, and soon she was doing moves all on her own in a way that felt impossibly natural. She felt possessed, utterly at home in her new body. Only the chaffing and ill fit of her clothes got in the way of total submission.

Scythia looked back at Nadia’s face and saw that her eyes were now open, staring with sudden intent into Scythia’s. Scythia felt trapped. Their bodies continued moving, but their gazes remained fixed on the other’s. In Nadia’s expression Scythia saw the wonder she felt reflected back at her.

Nadia released one hand from her ritual undulations and brought it up, cupping Scythia’s face lightly under her left ear. Scythia’s eyes began to dart, knowing what was about to happen, wanting it, but some instinct still resisted, rushing to cover her now vulnerable heart. There was a question in Nadia’s look, a search for permission. All Scythia had to say was yes.

Scythia’s resistance collapsed. She took a quarter step forward, and before she had the chance to grab her lover’s face in return, Nadia had already swooped in, bringing her other hand and cupping Scythia’s other cheek. Scythia’s eyes closed, her mind sinking into the moment. Unable to bring her hands to Nadia’s face, she settled for her hips, her sculpted abdomen very apparent under her touch.

And then they kissed.

The music seemed to dim. It wasn’t even the wetness of the kiss that turned her on, it was the pressing, the feeling of Nadia asserting herself again and again against her face. Scythia tried to press back but couldn’t match Nadia’s fervency. In every twist and every micro-movement, the unspeakable, wordless specifics of Nadia’s emotions poured from her lips and into Scythia’s. It was all Scythia could do to do the same, and even then, it felt inadequate.

Then, as quickly as it started, Nadia broke it off. Inches apart, the two faces, clad in demon countenance, starred into each other's eyes, their shuddering breaths rolling across each other's mouths, vestiges of their recent oral embrace. Scythia giggled first, then Nadia. Their arms grazed until their hands met, and on instinct the two of meshed their fingers together, not wanting the contact to end.

“So, Scythia” Nadia yelled, competing with the noise “what do you think so far!?"

“I think it’s a bit loud!” Scythia said.

“Huh!?”

“It’s a bit loud!”

“We could get a room if you want!”

Scythia tensed, the implication more than clear.

“What?” she said, feigning ignorance.

“They’ve got private rooms you can use in the back” Nadia said, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Usually, you gotta sign up ahead of time, but it’s kind of slow tonight so we might get lucky.”

Get lucky was right. This was happening. This was actually happening. Nadia wanted her. She wanted her wanted her and holy shit did Scythia want her. Was this how it worked? Was this all that needed to happen? Again, all she had to yes. Just yes.

“Or we can just keep dancing.” Nadia said, sensing Scythia’s hesitancy.

She tried to say ‘no, I want to be alone with you,’ but all she could manage was a head-shake, which seemed to get the point across. Nadia smile broadened, her fingers releasing one hand and tightening around the other. She pulled Scythia lightly through the crowd to the edge of the inner circle, dodging bodies indifferent to their intentions. After a few ducks and weaves Nadia looked back and smiled again with the same confident warmth that had charmed Scythia all night.

“Come on” Nadia hollered as they finally emerged “follow me.”