Author's Notes: Hi, everyone! I know it's been a long while since I last posted something. But recently I've gotten into gardening – container gardening, to be specific, as that prevents deer and rabbits from taking some nightly nibbles. And since the amount of sunlight shining on our deck varies based on the sun's position in the sky, I've spent a lot of time moving pots and containers around. Not to mention watering the plants, getting rid of pests and harvesting vegetables… I've tried writing a little bit every day, but often that was set back by edits, other stories and writer's block.

This chapter is more like a teaser for a larger story idea than a one shot. Though that doesn't mean it's a short teaser. I really wanted to keep this under 5,000 words, but that was not to be. I do hope you'll enjoy it, though.

Warnings: Fem!Allen Walker; PokerPair; Aged-up Character (Ellen's in her twenties, Tyki is still twenty-six); Modern!AU; Discussion of sexual content (No actual sex, however); Implied Past Trauma; Covid-free!AU; Possible OOC-ness

Disclaimer: D. Gray – Man and its characters are owned by Katsura Hoshino. I only own my delusions…


Seven Days of Naughtiness

Teaser: What Have I Gotten Myself Into?

- xXx -

London, England

Ellen Walker had a rather… unconventional side job.

That was the vaguest and most understated way to describe it. If she was talking with someone who wanted more information than that, the young woman would relent and explain that she would review unusual products and post her opinions on a blog. Any further attempt to learn what exactly she reviewed, however, would have been met with unwavering deflection. The products were simply too… personal for her to talk about in public, which is why she wrote her reviews under a penname. In fact, her entire blog was done under a penname due to its overall subject matter.

But despite all of that, the side job did come with some benefits. It was something that Ellen enjoyed doing (not surprising, given certain… requirements), her audience found her reviews helpful and entertaining, and she recently managed to bring in enough money via sponsorships, , affiliate marketing and the occasional direct fee to turn a small but tidy sum.

'With that being said,' the British woman thought as she snuck a quick glance around the small meeting room rented for a private lunch, 'a part of me rather wishes I wasn't stuck in this somewhat absurd scenario.'

A smooth chuckle suddenly echoed through the room, making Ellen focus her sliver-grey eyes on the tall man sitting across from her. His already notable smirk grew wider once his golden-eye gaze met hers. "You had such a distracted look on your face, menina. What exactly were you thinking about?"

"Oh, nothing important," Ellen vaguely deflected as she discreetly dapped the corner of her mouth with a napkin before laying it on the now food-free plate in front of her. She was already familiar with the dark-haired man's flirtatious mannerisms and thus ignored the teasing tone coating his question. Still, a tendril of nervousness tickled her throat as she asked, "So, Tyki Mikk, what do you think of my offer?"

"Hmm, let's see if I get this straight…" Tyki mused to himself, nonchalantly leaning back into his chair. "You're basically asking me to travel with you to America and visit a sex club for seven days so you can write an article for your sex toy blog. Anything else?"

"No, but technically it's a couples-only lifestyle club," Ellen politely corrected the Portuguese man after giving a nod of confirmation. "And depending on how busy the club is and which timeslots are available, there's a possibility that we might have to wait a few days between each visit."

'It's a good thing I not only have the funds for this trip, but also plenty of days off to cover it,' the British woman thought to herself as she discretely smoothed the bottom half of her white blouse. 'Whoever came up with the idea of holiday entitlement, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.'

Before Ellen could mentally express further gratitude to that obscure and likely deceased policymaker, she noticed that Tyki was now lavishing his gaze upon her body. "That doesn't change the fact that we would be spending time committing very… intimate actions, menina," the slightly older man pointed out with a husky undertone as his golden eyes focused on her bosom and hips.

The young woman, however, didn't blush and squirm at his mental undressing of her person. Instead, she stood up, reached out and firmly grasped his chin with her left hand. Then, before he could utter another word, she swiftly redirected his gaze to settle on her face. "Of course not. Which is why there will be rules in place."

"Rules?" the Portuguese man repeated as his grin slowly slipped off his face.

"Yes, rules," Ellen confirmed, lifting a slender eyebrow in a slightly mocking fashion. "Don't tell me you've never heard of them, Mr. Mikk? Perhaps you should add a dictionary to your reading list."

Golden eyes narrowed and a large hand removed and entrapped the slender one previously keeping his chin hostage. "There's no need for you to say things like that, menina," he warned her as he leaned forward, his voice taking on a deeper rumble than before. "Especially when you're asking for something."

Ellen wasn't intimidated, however. The twenty-three-year-old regularly interacted with (in her humble opinion) the most irritable and exasperating people ever to walk the planet – Kanda Yu and Cross Marian, respectively. She could more than handle Tyki Mikk's display of displeasure. "Given that your eyes were previously anywhere but my face, you are in no position to criticize appropriate behavior. And besides, I doubt you were truly offended by what I just said," she tartly stated with unwavering silver-grey eyes focused on his face.

"What gave you that idea?"

The British woman offered up a small grin and gestured to her eyes with her right index finger. "That impish sparkle, Mikk. It's a rather blatant signal that you don't mind a few wry comments flung your way."

A few seconds of silence passed between them before Tyki released a long laugh that signaled his true amused mood rather than the irritated façade.

"Ah," the Portuguese man breathed out once he finally settled down, "you see through me with such effortlessness, menina."

"Not surprising, since you constantly visit my workplace and openly proposition me for dates. I now have enough experience to figure out your quirks," Ellen countered, a light playful tone entering her voice. "Though that changes when you play poker. An MI5 agent would have trouble spotting your bluffs, Mikk."

"Well, the game does require deception and misdirection, menina. As you very well know," Tyki said, smirking as Ellen subtly glanced away at his allusion to her own brand of ruthlessness regarding their shared interest. There was a good reason why local casino managers wept whenever she turned up at a poker table…

Once the twenty-six-year-old saw the young woman refocusing her gaze on him, he caressed the back of her captured hand with his unexpectedly callused thumb and let out a contemplative hum. "I suppose I can be rather blatant when it comes to displaying my interest towards you."

"Still-" the Portuguese man seized the opportunity to lay a kiss upon the back of her hand- "why should I downplay the fact that I want the both of us to indulge in pleasurable activities together?"

This time a pink flush did appear on the young woman's face. The kiss went beyond Tyki's usual teasing and into a realm of intimacy that she had never witnessed before from him. And the fact that it made her feel both self-conscious and flattered didn't bode well for her intention to keep their upcoming trip's dynamic purely sexual.

'I would call it a "friends with benefits" situation, except Tyki is more of an acquaintance than a friend. And a sometimes aggravating one at that.'

"Yes, well-," she coughed into her free hand, trying to regain control of the conversation before it could become completely derailed. "I think I should go on and explain the rules, then."

Ignoring the amused grin on Tyki's face, Ellen took in a silent breath to compose herself. "First," she began, finally removing her hand from his grasp and extending out her thumb for emphasis, "all sexual activities will only happen at the lifestyle club or events sponsored by the establishment."

"But what if we're tempted to test certain things, like just how long an elevator can be stopped for?" the slightly older man mischievously interjected as he propped an elbow against an armrest and rested his head against his fist.

"If such a development happens, then we will resist it. Like the mature, responsible adults we are," the British woman deadpanned as she sent him a no-nonsense look.

"Aw…"

Ellen, half-exasperated and secretly half-amused, rolled her eyes at the playfully disappointed look on Tyki's face. "Do be serious regarding this matter, Mikk. I need to write about the lifestyle club, not whether public sex is worth getting arrested and deported for."

The Portuguese man raised an eyebrow and offered the young woman a crooked grin. "Do you want to hear my opinion, menina?"

The young woman let the corner of her mouth twitch up in amusement. "Something tells me that I already know it, Mikk," she retorted, earning a few chuckles from the man in question. "Now, since we're done with that tangent, let me go back to listing out the rules."

After sitting back down, she raised an index finger to join the thumb and resumed counting out the rules. "Second: I don't like having sex while I'm face down, or my partner is looming over me. Should you agree to accompanying me to the club, then you'd best forget any sex positions that match either one."

"Is that so…" Tyki sighed to himself. Had they been in a smoking room, he would have taken a puff from a cancer stick lit ages ago. Since he was bereft of that option, however, he settled for picking up the wine glass next to his plate and giving its garnet contents a light swirl.

Soon a thoughtful frown made its way onto the dark-haired man's handsome face. Setting the wine glass back down, he sent the British woman an appraising look. "Just how flexible are you, menina?"

Ellen blinked in confusion over the sudden change in topic. "Well, since I started gymnastics in primary school and began yoga at the start of secondary, I would say that I'm quite flexible," the young woman truthfully answered, fighting the impulse to fidget underneath the steady golden gaze directed at her. "Why do you ask?"

The Portuguese man's serious mood almost instantaneously melted away, replaced by the most salacious look that she had ever seen on a human face. "Because I want to know whether we could still try positions like the standing wheelbarrow, bridge or anything involving you doing splits."

Now, Ellen was by no means a prudish virgin. But Tyki's sensual tone, combined with her knowledge on what those positions looked like, the resulting vivid mental images, and her lowered defenses, succeeded in causing her face to erupt in a sea of red and a series of high-pitched squeaks to come tumbling out of her mouth. "Tha-that doesn't need to be discussed right now!" the embarrassed young woman managed to say after racking her brain for a semi-coherent response.

"But didn't you just mention the positions you won't do, menina?" Tyki practically purred, enjoying the sight of a woman who regularly reviewed sex toys losing her composure. "Besides, we're already talking about a trip to a sex club. It's perfectly natural for us – two, 'mature, responsible adults' – to further discuss related topics."

Ellen was torn between slumping down into her seat in embarrassment or delivering a swift kick to Tyki's shin for using her previous words against her. "While that may be true, that specific subject can wait until we're in America," she finally settled on saying, sending a stern look to the slightly older man that was ever so slightly undermined by the blush still on her cheeks. "Not that it changes the fact you haven't even heard the final rule for this trip. Let alone agreed to the venture."

"Then what is the final rule, menina?"

Sobering up from her previous flustered state, the young woman raised the final member of the digit triumvirate – the middle finger – and answered, "Your hands can never touch my groin. For any reason."

That declaration had Tyki raising his head and sitting back in his seat, shock clearly written across his face. "Wait, even for-"

"Yes, even for fingering," Ellen confirmed, sheer will power alone keeping her from dissolving into a puddle of mortification. "That I will take care of myself."

"Are you really sure you want to go through all that trouble every time, menina?"

The young woman closed her eyes as flashes of unpleasant memories flitted through her mind. Of events that happened so long ago, yet still-

'No! Now is not the time to think about that!'

Ellen firmly pushed those memories back into the shadowy recesses of her mind where they belonged. Once she was certain that they wouldn't resurface or be divined by her expression, she opened her eyes and gave Tyki a resolute look. "Trust me, Mikk. This trip will be more pleasant for both of us if that act is left up to me."

The Portuguese man ran a hand through his already slicked back hair as he digested her last statement, then released a sigh. "And all these rules are non-negotiable," he stated rather than asked.

"Correct; though they would only apply once you agree to this trip," the young woman pointed out.

"And if I don't?"

"Then I would have to find someone else who will."

'Though that's easier said than done,' Ellen thought to herself, looking down at her lap. 'Tyki Mikk is the only person I know who fits all of my requirements. If he says no…'

The young woman frowned and momentarily bit her lip as a spark of uncertainty fell upon her. But that uncertainty soon faded and was firmly replaced with her characteristic resolve. She wouldn't let a possible refusal on the Portuguese man's part derail her plan. Even if she had to stoop to finding another willing partner via the Internet, she was going to visit that lifestyle club and write up an article about it.

The winner of the raffle she recently held was depending on her, after all.

With that last fact in mind, Ellen raised her head and asked her silent companion, "Do you need more time to think about your answer, Tyki Mikk? Or have you already decided?"

During the British woman's mental musings, Tyki had taken to studying her with an enigmatic expression upon his face. Once she locked gazes and addressed him, however, his customary smirk returned. He picked up his wine glass to give its garnet contents a brief swirl before partaking in a sip: a move the young woman knew was made just to toy with her.

Finally, sensing that he had prolonged delivering his response far enough, the Portuguese man chuckled and said, "All right, menina. I'll help you out… on one condition."

Ellen, who unconsciously leant forward in anticipation, immediately felt her spine become ramrod straight. "A condition?"

The wine glass was placed back onto the table with a soft clink. "Nothing too outrageous or rule-breaking," Tyki reassured the young woman as he got up from his seat and started walking around the table and towards her. "It will simply make the trip more… interesting."

"More interesting?" the British woman repeated with bemusement as silver-gray orbs tracked the dark-haired man's ambling. "We'll soon have to partake in the sexual services of an American lifestyle club-"

"For business, menina. Not for pleasure."

Ellen merely raised an eyebrow and picked up the conversation thread he had just cut off. "Surely the trip qualifies for the latter category as well, Mikk."

The twenty-six-year-old man shook his head but kept the grin on his face. "More like straddles the line between the two, menina. Not that that would stop me from enjoying the experience…"

Soon he came to a stop beside the young woman's chair and, after placing his hands on the table and her headrest, leaned into her personal space. If it wasn't for her left hand quickly shooting out and firmly bracing itself against his chest, then they would have ended up face-to-face in the most literal sense. However, despite her stalling his downward tilt, the proximity between them was closer than what was strictly needed for a conversation.

'Not that he seems to mind,' Ellen thought to herself with some chagrin as Tyki continued where his last sentence left off.

"But I still want something that isn't strictly linked to the club. You know, to sweeten the deal."

The young woman felt her curiosity grow despite herself. "So, what do you want, then?"

The Portuguese man let a smooth, sensual chuckle leave his lips as he gazed down at her. The heat burning within those golden eyes would send any other woman swooning and practically begging for his touch. Even Ellen herself couldn't stop the fluttering of her heart. "Kisses, menina," he finally revealed in a sinful whisper that echoed throughout the room. "Once we arrive in America until we depart, I want you to kiss me at least once every day."

After taking a swallow to hydrate her now dry mouth, the young woman adopted a serene façade for her face that didn't match what she felt inside at all. "That's a rather sedate thing to ask for given the kind of man you are, Mikk," she teased to complete her outward mood of calmness.

"Oh? And what kind of man am I?"

"One who has indulged in non-committal pleasure enough to be bored with mere kissing."

Instead of being offended, Tyki smirked and sent her a look of pure amusement. "Then you're sadly mistaken, menina. When done right, a kiss is anything but boring."

'Yes,' she mentally grimaced to herself, 'and that's the problem.'

It wasn't as if Ellen disliked kissing. On the contrary, she adored the way kisses – particularly deep French kisses – warmed her insides and made her nerve endings tingle with bliss. The emotional aspect of kissing was also quite addictive. Many of the British woman's previous romantic relationships had lasted far beyond their natural end point due to kissing, much to Lavi and Lenalee's concern… and Kanda's cynicism.

The young woman could handle kissing Tyki Mikk during sex, as she could rationalize it as just being meaningless – nothing more than an extraneous accessory to their activities. But kissing him outside that scenario? That would be like playing with fire right after dousing oneself with gasoline.

"I don't suppose your condition is negotiable, Mikk?" the young woman asked. Her voice rose ever so slightly at the end, a sign that she sincerely hoped to be given the opportunity to change his mind.

Alas, such hope was in vain. While Tyki's grin seemed to grow even wider with mirth – if that was even possible – his golden eyes possessed the ruthless gleam of a predator determined to bring down its prey. "I'm afraid not," he responded, sounding the exact opposite of apologetic. Then, upon noticing her silver-gray eyes narrow into an irritated glare at his smugness, he cajoled, "I'm willing to take on all the hassles related to this trip for your review, menina. Surely you wouldn't begrudge me some kisses in return."

Ellen took in a deep breath and compelled herself to relax. While she didn't want to admit it, Tyki did have a point. In order to go on the trip, he would have to reorder his own schedule and bear whatever costs that she couldn't. Not to mention anything that could arise once they arrive in America. An incentive would certainly help keep him content during their time together.

'With that being said,' she silently promised herself, 'they will have to be the type that I want to give…'

"Very well," Ellen agreed and gave Tyki a nod. "If you want kisses during the trip, then you'll get them."

"Every day, menina," the Portuguese man reminded her. "Promise."

The young woman rolled her eyes at him and let out a soft huff. "I promise you'll receive kisses every day." Then she tapped her index finger against his chest and dryly stated, "now, unless you have any more questions for me, please stop hovering over me like some cliché Gothic villain."

Instead of stepping back, Tyki smirked and jokingly asked, "you're not fond of Gothic fiction, menina?"

"Well, I'm certainly fond of my personal space," the British woman countered, her right hand now joining her left in pressing against the dark-haired man's torso. She wasn't able to use more force, however, due to the firm grip he still had on her chair. A sideways fall was not a consequence she wanted to experience at that moment.

When it was apparent her latest attempt had yielded the same result as before – i.e. nothing – she directed a pointed look at where her hands were stationed, then flicked it up to meet her companion's golden orbs. Combined with the raised eyebrow and quick clearing of the throat, it was very obvious what she wanted him to do.

"What a coincidence. I'm fond of your personal space as well," the slightly older man chuckled, choosing to ignore her hints in favor of additional teasing. His voice, already a smooth melody to Ellen's ears, dipped into a seductive rumble that should most definitely be illegal for causing the quivering sensation in her lower belly. "That's why I can't wait for our trip to America, menina."

"And the first step towards that trip for you would be to step back." Ellen then followed up her retort by nudging the closest of Tyki's shins with her left foot. "Really, the situation is already a bit outlandish without you taking the piss, you plonker."

The Portuguese man sighed in a slightly theatrical manner. "Such cruel and biting words, menina. You truly wound me."

The young woman stifled a disbelieving snort. That protest of hurt feelings was just as unbelievable as his last one. But before she could verbally point that out to him, a metallic yet hauntingly beautiful chord spontaneously came into being and made itself be heard before vanishing just as fast. What instrument could produce such notes, she had no idea. Certainly not a piano or violin. A medieval harp, perhaps? She would say guitar, but it didn't sound like any type she was familiar with…

Tyki's smirk finally disappeared from his face as he recognized the brief tune. The Portuguese man turned his head towards its origin point: a dark coat draped over the back of his chair. Sparing a brief glance to the British woman, he reluctantly released his hold on the table and her chair before journeying back to his own seat.

Ellen silently watched the Portuguese man rummage through his pockets and pull out a smartphone with a checkered case. When he unlocked his phone and groaned, she gave into her curiosity and asked, "is something wrong, Mikk?"

"It's my brother," the twenty-six-year-old sighed as he locked his phone and placed it back into his coat pocket. "He's reminding me not to be late for today's family meeting."

"Oh?" After searching her purse, the British woman checked the time using her own phone and saw it was currently two in the afternoon. That meant they had been talking for about twenty minutes, though it hadn't felt that long to her. "Do you need to leave now?"

The slightly older man scooped up his coat and slipped his arms through the sleeves. "No, but he's already whining about missing me. Which means that unless I want him to continuously text me until then, I better go now." As if to back up his last statement, his phone let out another musical chirp from its hidden nest.

Ellen nodded and gave him a look of sympathy. While she had never met Tyki's older brother, she had heard enough about the man to know he could rival Lenalee's brother in being the world's most overly attached sibling. Whether that fact should leave one wonderstruck or horrified was another matter entirely.

"Let's both go, then," the young woman said, slipping on her own jacket and purse so that they could leave. "Don't worry about the bill and service charge. I've already let the staff know that I'll handle them myself."

As Tyki had no other possessions besides his jacket and phone, he took the opportunity to walk over to the door while his companion was still securing her own. Once he reached his destination, he leaned back against the piece of wood and smirked at her. "Are you sure, menina? Something tells me the total expense will be rather hefty. And given how little the Black Order pays you, there's no shame in backing out…"

Ellen's temper flared in response to his flippant remark. "I might not earn a six-figure salary like some people do, but I can still afford to occasionally treat someone to lunch," the young woman sardonically clipped out, hands planted on her hips as she imperiously stood in front of him. "Do you honestly think I'm the type of person to promise a free meal and later renegade on it?"

Tyki startled at the British woman's offended tone and looked at her with wide eyes. "Easy, menina," the Portuguese man addressed her with hands held up in a placating gesture. "I know you can handle the bill. I was just teasing. I-" He cut himself off with a grimace once he saw her unmoved expression, then covered his face with his right hand. After a moment of silence, the hand fell away as he sighed and said, "I'm sorry, Ellen. I didn't mean to insult you."

The twenty-three-year old's ruffled feathers were finally soothed by that subdued statement coming from a normally cocksure man such as Tyki. Another surprising event was him using her actual name for once. She might have suspected that he only said it to appease her, if not for the look of genuine sincerity on his face.

'And thus, a combination of the three soften me up quicker than wax near a lit flame…'

"Apology accepted," Ellen murmured after her silver eyes briefly flickered downwards in shyness. "Now, shall we finally depart?"

Tyki's golden eyes regained a glint of sly mischief right before he stepped away from the door and opened it. Then, while one hand still grasped the brass doorknob, the dark-haired man bowed to her and announced, "ladies, first."

This somewhat exaggerated display of chivalry provoked a choked back giggle to escape from Ellen's lips. 'He's lucky that others can't stay annoyed at him,' she reflected to herself.

However, as the young woman didn't want the man's ego to inflate even more, she refrained from enlightening him about that fact. Instead, she gracefully inclined her head in his direct and sedately said, "If you insist," as she passed him and left the room.

Tyki soon abandoned his post at the threshold and, thanks to his long legs, quickly caught up to her just before they entered the restaurant's main dining room. The room wasn't absolutely packed with customers, but there were more of them present than during an average lunch hour. The waitstaff were also present, dutifully writing down orders and escorting dishes from the kitchen to their destined tables. Unfortunately, there was nary a manager on the floor for Ellen to settle the bill with. And the other customers kept the waitstaff occupied. Thus, the two were left with no other option but to wait until any employee noticed them and offered aid.

"So, when do we leave, menina?" the dark-haired man asked as he took the opportunity to lean against a nearby free space of wall and take out his phone.

Ellen sighed and went to join him along the wall, though she made sure her purse was tucked securely underneath her arm first. "I would like to go within a week at the earliest, but no later than two weeks." Seeing him raise an eyebrow in question, the young woman began to explain in a quiet voice so as not to be overheard by anyone else. "At the beginning of this month, the lifestyle club started a special promotion called 'Seven Days of Naughtiness'. Basically, a couple is given a trial membership that allows them full access to the club's facilities for a period of seven days. However, both the promotion and trial membership will expire on the last day of the month."

The Portuguese man whistled after he finished sending a text message to someone else. "So, the promotion's lasting for about a month? That sounds quite generous of the owner," he responded in a hushed voice. "Perhaps too generous."

"Well, the promotion does allow prospective members to experience the club for a limited amount of time without spending a large amount of money upfront. And it helps the club to cultivate long-term customers and fine tune their services," the British woman pointed out, her silver-gray eyes looking out for a manager.

"Hmm… but won't the owner lose money because of all the free trial memberships?"

"Actually," Ellen countered with a half-smile, "I never said they were free."

Realization flashed across golden eyes before Tyki inquired for clarification, "You have to pay for them?"

"At a discounted rate, yes. But it's an affordable one for both the club and the customers." The British woman then sent her companion a telling glance and wryly added, "Quite the boon for my pockets, really."

The slightly older man's lips twitched into an amused smirk. "Couldn't let that go, menina?"

The young woman tilted her head as she looked up at him. "Do you really think I'm that petty, Mikk?"

"No, but you're not above a cheeky comment at my expense."

Ellen slowly blinked her wide eyes in a manner quite similar to that of a newborn lamb. Unfortunately, that performance of naïve innocence clashed rather badly with the mischievous smile which subsequently grew on her face. The young woman tried to hide it from view using her left hand, but that wasn't enough to restore her previous façade. "Isn't that a bit like the pot calling the kettle black?" she teasingly quipped.

"Alright, you have me there, menina," the Portuguese man admitted with a pleasant chuckle.

The young woman let out a giggle of her own. Just then, however, she noticed a man wearing nice trousers and a button-up shirt stepping out from a door with the sign 'Staff Only' affixed to it. The man then immediately spotted Tyki and herself and began his journey towards them at a measured pace. "Someone's coming this way," she whispered to her companion. A slightly impish impulse had her adding, "I do hope he's a manager and not a very brazen customer."

As it soon turned out, the man was indeed a manager: the general manager, to be specific. Once Ellen explained the reason why the two of them were standing around, the manager promptly and professionally escorted them to the back of the restaurant so she could pay the bill and service charge. And as soon as everything settled, the two were finally free to leave.

Exiting the restaurant and stepping back onto the pavement, Ellen immediately took note of a black stretch limousine parked in front. The driver's door then opened to release a skinny, pale-faced man dressed in a chauffeur's uniform. The slightly emaciated chauffeur quickly walked around the hood of the limousine and onto pedestrian-trampled concrete while the other two met him halfway.

"Miss Walker, Master Tyki," he greeted them in a wispy voice that sounded as unsubstantial as his appearance. Turning towards the golden eyed man, he bowed and explained, "I'm here to escort you back to the Ark, sir."

The young woman gave the chauffeur a nod of acknowledgement while wondering exactly how the chauffeur knew where to pick Tyki up from. She did briefly consider the text from earlier, but that possibility was disproven once the taller man furrowed his brow and said, "Don't tell me Sheryl was the one to send you, Cell. I already told him I would get back on my own."

Cell, however, shook his head quite nervously. "It was Lord Millennium who ordered me to retrieve you, Master Tyki. He wants you to come straight away, without any of your usual… side trips."

While Tyki muttered a curse underneath his breath, Ellen had to bite her lip to pre-empt any laughter at the thought of the man beside her being treated like an easily distracted schoolboy on his way back home. Clearly, his relatives did not have much confidence in his ability to show up on time.

'Though that still doesn't explain how Cell knew Tyki's exact location,' the young woman thought to herself with a thoughtful frown. She glanced at the pocket which still contained the Portuguese man's phone and speculated, 'perhaps GPS…', but ultimately decided the matter didn't need further thought. So, she turned to her future work partner with a half-smile and stated, "Well, it appears this is where we depart, Mikk."

Tyki's unimpressed frown at the chauffeur melted away as he turned his head towards her and grinned, "That eager to get rid of me, menina?"

Ellen quirked an eyebrow and let out an amused huff. "No, but you still have other obligations today, Mikk," she reminded him. Then, to curtail any further protests, a slim pale hand dipped into her trouser pocket and retrieved a very familiar business card with a cell phone number inscribed on the back.

"Besides," the young woman elaborated, brandishing the card for the slightly stunned man to see, "there isn't anything else to talk about that can't be saved for a phone call."

"Looks like I've been hoisted by my own petard," Tyki sighed with some chagrin.

The British woman teased with a sparkle in her eye, "Well, you should have thought of that before you gave me this in the first place."

"Alas, menina; while I have many talents, clairvoyance isn't one of them."

After sparing a chuckle at the Portuguese man's semi-lament, the young woman noticed the chauffeur's nervous shuffling. "Seriously though, Mikk. You need to go. Your chauffeur is growing skittish," she commented in a soft whisper.

The slightly older man looked at the Earl's slightly twitchy employee with a nonplussed, slightly disinterested gaze. "Who, Cell? He's always like that."

"All the more reason to prevent the poor man's nervous collapse, Mikk. Now quit stalling and. Get. In. the. Limo," Ellen firmly commanded, adding a few hard pokes to his side for emphasis.

"Ow!" Tyki hissed. Rubbing his injured side, he shot her a mildly dirty look and grumbled, "Tass bem, tass bem, tou a ir. (Alright, alright, I'm going)"

Cell, who until now had been watching their interaction with not a small amount of trepidation, snapped to attention once he heard that last remark. The chauffeur then wasted no time opening the passenger door of the vehicle and revealing a glimpse of its luxurious leather seats and fiber optic lighting.

But instead of giving his goodbyes and slipping into the limousine, the twenty-six-year-old turned to his younger friend and asked, "Do you want a lift, menina? I'm pretty sure we'll be passing by your office building."

"Thank you for offering, but I'm going to use the Underground to get back," the white-haired woman gently turned down.

"Are you sure you want to use the Tube, though?" the dark-haired man pressed, ignoring the dismayed look on Cell's face. "Didn't you once end up in Whitechapel when your actual destination was supposed to be Kew Gardens?"

Ellen spluttered for a moment as embarrassment sparked a red-hot blush on her cheeks. "T-That happened right after I moved to London! I've gotten better at navigating the city since then!"

"Hmm, that's not what Kitchen Knife said the last time I visited you~"

"Why that wretch- when I get my hands on him…" the young woman hissed under her breath. If she hadn't been standing in a public space, she would have vehemently cursed Kanda to Hell and back. Still, the anger at her co-worker was palpable enough that the other people on the pavement made sure to give her a wide berth as they walked by.

Tyki, however, wasn't wary. The man actually seemed quite entertained by her fury, given his quiet chuckling at her hands wringing her purse's shoulder strap in lieu of a certain Japanese man's body part – preferably his neck.

"Besides," the Portuguese man resumed in coaxing Ellen to carpool with him, "there is one advantage the limo has over public transportation."

"Oh?" the white-haired woman distractedly asked, still occupied by her anger. "And just what is it?"

"Chocolate."

That simple, one-word statement hit Ellen with such force that it drove all thoughts of throttling Kanda out of her mind. Now the British woman was stunned and left staring at the twenty-six-year-old with very wide eyes. "Did you just say 'chocolate'?"

"Yeah. The Earl likes to stock them in all the limos for Road and Skinn to eat. All luxury brands, too," Tyki just casually revealed with a shrug of his shoulders.

The young woman swallowed a significant amount of saliva as her conscience recognized she was halfway to giving in. 'Don't do it, Ellen,' the inner voice warned. 'You can still get to Oxford Circus, catch the Central Line, get off at Bank, and return to work on time. But only if you make your goodbyes now and leave. Don't let Mikk use your love of chocolate against you!'

But the temptation proved to be too strong. Thus, Ellen Walker uttered the words-

"Which brands?"

Golden eyes gleamed as the Portuguese man delivered the final blow. "Pierre Marcolini, Lindt, Bettys, Fifth Dimension and Prestat."

A desperate whimper pierced the air and was followed up with a sigh of defeat. "You play dirty, Mikk," the British woman muttered just before she trudged up to the limousine and got inside.

The dark-haired man followed her, wisely saying nothing. The smug smirk on his face was pushing his luck as it was.

And Cell, who had nearly hyperventilated from the stress generated by Tyki's latest stunt, closed the door behind them and scampered back to the driver's seat. 'Oh, please let this not take too long,' the anxious man prayed to any deity who deigned to listen to him as he drove away from the restaurant.

-x-

"What, already?" Tyki questioned as he spoke into the passenger handset for the intercom. "I thought traffic in the Square Mile at this time of day was heavy." A few seconds later the Portuguese man sighed and toyed with the lit cigarette in his hand, creating thin ribbons of smoke that undulated as they floated up towards the limousine's roof and eventually slipped through the cracked windows. He was sitting several inches away from his younger friend, though they both occupied the same stretch of seating that faced the limousine's bar – and chocolate drawer.

Ellen, meanwhile, paused in selecting her next chocolate-composed victim to look at her future work partner with inquisitive silver-gray eyes. She waited for him to end the call and place the handset back in its cradle to ask, "What did Cell say?"

The dark-haired man returned his coffin nail to his lips and said, "He said that we'll be arriving at your workplace soon."

The young woman felt herself straighten out at that bit of news. Once a small, thin white carton with black and peach borders and bearing the words 'Madagascar' and 'Pierre Marcolini' joined the others in her lap, she turned around in her seat just enough to look out without disrupting her treasure horde. Despite the vehicle's windows being tinted, several passing buildings could still be identified through the dark glass.

"He's right," the white-haired woman confirmed, turning back to refocus once again on her chocolate. "Barring any accidents, we'll pull up in front of the Black Order headquarters in about three or four minutes."

"Time really does fly," Tyki idly remarked as he puffed on his cigarette. A perfectly formed smoke ring was soon released from his lips, which then formed a smirk as he teased, "And here I thought I would be enjoying the sight of your adorable pout while eating chocolate for a little while longer."

"I am not pouting," the young woman instantly denied, removing the sole dark chocolate tablet from the Pierre Marcolini carton and popping it into her mouth.

'Not anymore, at least…'

The Portuguese man cocked an eyebrow and sent a meaningful look at the pile of empty boxes and chocolate wrappers that served as the boundary line between them. To his mild surprise, the top of it was only level with the British woman's hips. "So… the reason why you haven't been inhaling them like normal is…?"

Ellen's slightly dreamy expression brought on by the chocolate melting on her tongue and releasing hints of fruit immediately fell when she heard that leading question. Her head twisted to face Tyki with so much speed her chin-length hair slapped her cheeks. "That's because they're superb chocolates, Mikk!" the young woman cried out once she hurriedly swallowed the confection. "And no wonder, given all the effort poured into them."

Not content with leaving it at that, she then combed through the chocolate pile in her lap and selected one from each brand. Then, one by one, she presented each representative to a bemused Tyki.

The first was another Pierre Marcolini creation. Unlike the previous one, however, the chocolates were housed in a mostly black box that held two white and gold drawers in check with two black ribbons. Ellen then briefly untied the ribbons to display the contents of each drawer: the top having multicolored chocolate hearts, and the bottom carrying white, milk and dark chocolate truffles. "Pierre Marcolini personally selects his cacao beans from small, independent plantations. And not only is everything sold by his Maison handcrafted, but also constantly refined by nearly 80 artisans."

The second treat was the most famous of the group: a single milk chocolate truffle, comprised of a delicate shell and a smooth liquid center, wrapped in mostly red cellophane and labeled with 'Lindor'. No more words were needed to describe it. "Lindt & Sprüngli survived both world wars and the Slump by switching markets and introducing new bars that didn't use its classic dark chocolate recipe by Rudolphe Lindt. A recipe, mind you, that revolutionized the chocolate industry in the 1800s due to Lindt's invention of the conche."

The third in line was certainly unique. Within the clear bag sealed by a golden ribbon were several colorful white and milk chocolate buttons so twee that Ellen was surprised Road hadn't bought them herself. Affixed to the bag was a small round sticker that read 'Made by hand at our craft bakery - Bettys'. "While primarily a small set of Yorkshire tea rooms, the original Bettys café was started by a Swiss chocolatier in 1919, and to this day the business continues to sell chocolate and baked goods along with beverages as Bettys and Taylors. They even took the time to create different menus for vegans, vegetarians and the gluten intolerant."

The design of the next box was rather striking. Its orange lid nearly consumed the blue bottom and displayed a darker blue label and gold illustrations of flying swallows and trees with wavy branches and pink blossoms. Once the lid was removed, a line of thin, chocolate discs were revealed and perfumed the air with the scent of blood oranges and neroli. "Prestat has been awarded two Royal Warrants as a Purveyor of Chocolates by Queen Elizabeth II and the Queen Mother. Roald Dahl himself was a regular customer, even using their truffles for a plot point. And, after its purchase by Domori, Prestat is one of the few UK chocolatiers to have complete control of their chocolate production."

Last, but not least, was a slim cream carton whose orange font and line art seemed quite underwhelming compared to the others. However, through the carton's clear window, the curious sight of three treats tattooed with golden suns could be seen. And the font did etch out one mysterious word: 'chocwich'. "Fifth Dimension Chocolates constantly experiments with unique flavour combinations. And despite it being the youngest among the group, the chocolatier and caramelier has already won 50 awards from competitions like the International Chocolate Awards."

With the final brand having been praised, Ellen placed all five packages back on her lap. While serious silver-gray eyes never wavered from her companion's face, the young woman concluded, "Perhaps I do normally eat at a… faster pace than others. But not for these chocolates. To not savor them would be an insult to all those involved in their creation – from the plantation workers who harvested the beans to the chocolatiers who combined the ingredients into edible art."

The bewildered man sat in silence for a few seconds to absorb the lengthy lecture administered to him. It then started to dawn on the British woman that perhaps she went a bit overboard regarding the positive qualities of all the brands, and thus began to feel self-conscious. Before she could apologize, however, the golden-eyed man let out a chuckle and drawled, "You really are passionate about this subject, menina. I'm surprised you don't critique chocolate for a living."

Ellen mentally let out a sigh of relief at the good-natured response. "Actually, I did consider becoming a food critic back in school," the white-hair woman then admitted as she looked around for a proper receptacle to put her trash in. When that visual search came up empty, the twenty-three-year-old then remembered the emergency plastic bag she kept inside her purse and pulled it out.

The older man removed the slightly depleted cigarette from his mouth to tap it against the ceramic ashtray on the bar. "So why didn't you?"

The young woman considered how to respond to that while gathering up the used packaging into her plastic bag. A brief glance to her left revealed the divider was still in place, but she nonetheless lowered her voice to reveal, "Food critics approach the dishes they review with a completely different mindset than other people. They can't eat something and just enjoy it. They need to analyze everything about a dish – its ingredients, flavours, appearance, serving size and price. Not only that, but they have to pay attention to how the restaurant is run. That includes details like how the staff treats customers and the general mood of the establishment."

"That sounds similar to what you do for your side job, menina," Tyki observed as he took the opportunity to slide closer towards the twenty-three-year-old once the trash pile had evaporated. Now there was only a space the width of a thin magazine between them.

"True, but I just can't bring myself to apply the same methods to food. I've never met a dish I didn't like, and never will," Ellen explained, tying up the now full plastic bag and setting it down on the floor. When her attention turned to the chocolates sitting in her lap, she sighed and moved to cradle the orange Prestat box in her hands. There wasn't enough time to eat them, let alone the others.

'I'd best return these to the drawer, then,' she decided with a heavy heart, grabbing a few more boxes to start the process.

But the slightly older man halted her actions by saying, "You can take them with you, menina."

The surprised young woman sent the chocolates a quick look of longing, then gave Tyki a look of doubt. "Weren't these bought for your niece and cousin?"

"That didn't stop you from eating them," the cheeky man teased.

'He has you there, Ellen.'

'Oh, do be quiet,' the guilty woman shushed her conscience. "Still," she stubbornly insisted, restraining her reluctance to part with the confections, "I've already eaten a substantial amount today. It would be too greedy to fill my purse with treats for other people."

A slow, exasperated sigh was all the warning Ellen got before the Prestat box was plucked from her hands.

"Huh-"

"Enough with the misplaced scruples, menina," the Portuguese man told her as he opened another drawer on the bar's other side and pulled out a large paper bag bearing the Hobbycraft logo. Before the young woman could even ask why such a bag was in the limousine in the first place, he opened it and slipped the chocolate box inside. "Skinn and Road have access to plenty of chocolate and other sweets – not only at their respective homes, but in any place owned the Noah that comes with some type of storage space," He explained while holding the bag open: a clear invitation for her to take advantage of. "It won't hurt them if they have a reduced inventory." He then looked up in a moment of contemplation. "Honestly, they might not even notice any change at all."

Ellen looked at him skeptically. Based on what she knew about Road and heard about Skinn, that last possibility seemed the least likely. "And what if they do?"

"Eh, then I'll just make something up to tell them. You won't have to worry about them harassing you over it, menina," Tyki assured with a shrug of his shoulders. After seeing how the young woman's face transition from doubt to wonder, he grinned around his cigarette and added, "Of course, if that isn't enough, then just think of the chocolates as compensation for all the money you'll be spending on me in the future."

'What am I, a sugar mama?'

That stray thought immediately triggered a flood of imaginings featuring Tyki Mikk as a sugar baby to fill the white-haired woman's head. Such as the dark-haired man accompanying her to an elegant restaurant. Or him massaging her scalp as she rested her head on his lap. Or her sitting on a table with him kneeling between-

'Right, best not to dwell further on that,' the twenty-three-year-old firmly decided and refocused her attention to the matter at hand. But after a bit of internal debating and waffling, she finally gave in and sighed, "Very well." She slipped her handful of chocolates into the bag, taking care to ensure the sturdier boxes ended at the bottom while the frailer packaging ended up on top, before taking it from the slightly older man and setting it down on her left-hand side. "I suppose it's a nice bonus to go with you fulfilling all of my requirements for the trip."

Tyki blinked and frowned in slight confusion. "Requirements? As in more than one?"

"Of course, more than one, Mikk," the British woman confirmed. Turning her back to the Portuguese man because of the bag's position, she pulled out the chocolates on top and started reorganizing the contents using those on her lap. "I can't bring just any person along, now can I?"

"No, I guess not," she heard the twenty-six-year old chuckle with easygoing mirth. Still, there was a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice as he asked, "So what exactly were they?"

"Basically, I needed someone single, attracted to women, and possessing a flexible-enough work schedule and willingness to have their experiences at the club documented and posted on the internet," Ellen informed her future work partner as she finished packing up the chocolate. Once the young woman turned back to face him, she quirked a slim white eyebrow and dryly said, "Though I have the sneaking suspicion you'll be a bit too willing regarding that last one, Mikk."

"To be fair, the idea of having a public record of our upcoming sexual adventures is very appealing to me, menina," Tyki smirked as he puffed away without an ounce of shame.

Ellen playfully rolled her eyes. "Just remember those adventures will begin and end at the club, Mikk," she told the Portuguese man with a smile.

But instead of immediately throwing out a teasing remark or just smirking, the slightly older man stared at her with a surprisingly neutral facial expression. Well, except for his eyes. Those heated golden orbs settled upon the young woman's body and delved further, as if trying to observe her soul. She then grew very aware of exactly how close they were to each other, belatedly noticing that Tyki's left arm was now resting on top of the leather seating by her head. 'When did that happen?' she wondered.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, the dark-haired man extinguished his cigarette in the ash tray and moved his hand towards her. Perhaps his gaze had cast some sort of spell on her, for the white-haired woman couldn't move or say anything to halt its approach. The only action she was still capable of performing was to quietly gasp as his fingertips finally touched her left cheek.

Those long digits took their time gliding along the pale skin of the twenty-three-year old's cheek and jaw, causing her heart to increase its tempo with every passing second, until the thumb made contact with the left corner of her pink lips. Now having stopped, his thumb – the same one that had petted her hand earlier, she idly noted – started to carefully rub the area in small circles while the other fingers stood sentry. It was an act that perfectly blended intimacy with a hint of sensuality, and the part of her that still craved romance despite all her past failures wished that it would never end.

But it did.

All too soon, the twenty-six-year-old stopped the caresses and withdrew his hand. As that appendage fully re-entered the British woman's field of view, she was mortified to see a brown stain on the pad of his thumb. 'That must be the chocolate from earlier,' she sighed to herself, feeling stupid over letting her emotions and body get carried away. 'He was only removing a stain for me…'

That disappointment only lasted for one more second. For it was quickly replaced by (aroused) shock once Tyki Mikk brought the soiled digit to his lips and licked it in a lascivious manner.

An extremely lascivious manner.

A slow, extremely lascivious manner.

A slow, extremely lascivious manner that belonged in high-class romantic porn.

Once his thumb was cleaned of any trace of chocolate, the Portuguese man finally unleashed the most sensual smirk she had ever seen. Golden eyes also glowed with satisfaction – which may have been related to why her face felt a tea kettle about blow its whistle. "And I hope you don't forget," he purred in a way that made her glad to be sitting down rather than standing up, "that we could still have some fun during our downtime, Ellen."

About thirty minutes earlier in the day, Ellen Walker had been quite confident that she could handle anything Tyki Mikk threw her way.

Now, however…

She could only swallow and think, 'Dear Lord… what have I gotten myself into?'

-xXx-


Cultural Notes:

Sponsorship – Financial support given by a company in exchange for a brief advertisement or endorsement.

Affiliate marketing – An advertising model where the affiliate (the person doing the advertising) is paid by a company based on the traffic they generate via their own weblinks.

Lifestyle club – Otherwise known as a sex club or swingers club. I don't think I have to explain the concept behind the idea, but here are a few facts. Lifestyle clubs can range from informal groups that just hold sex-related activities to establishments where patrons can have sex with one another. Most clubs do cater to swingers (people who switch partners) and offer several rooms for sexual activity. And clubs are either "On-Premises" or "Off-Premises"; the former have rooms for members to have sex in, while the latter don't.

Holiday Entitlement in Britain – Nearly all workers are legally entitled to about five weeks of paid vacation per year. The amount of paid leave varies based on hours worked and if a worker is part-time or full-time.

This social policy started with the Holidays with Pay Act of 1938 which encouraged companies to provide paid holidays for their working-class employees. Before the act, the only people who could afford long holidays, besides the upper classes, were those with senior white-collar jobs; blue-collar workers had to make do with unpaid bank holidays. With the act, workers whose wages were fixed by trade boards could in theory take one week of paid holiday leave (Though some sources say it was one week for all workers).

The Trade Union Congress who had been campaigning on the matter since 1911, were disappointed as they wanted two weeks for all workers. What's more, the government didn't force companies to offer paid holidays at the beginning because many of them did so right before the act was passed – which meant that said companies dragged their feet after it was passed until the government finally came around to enforcement. And the poorest workers still couldn't afford seaside holidays even with paid leave. Still, the Holidays with Pay Act was a step in the right direction for workers.

Finger Counting in Britain – They start with the thumb and move down towards the pinky.

MI5 – The UK's counter-intelligence and security agency which works with MI6 (think James Bond), the Government Communications Headquarters and Defense Intelligence. Its primary objectives are to protect Britain's democracy and economic interests and counter terrorism and espionage within its borders. Though it must be said that MI5 officers are allowed to let agents commit crimes in the UK. And one man did accuse the organization of colluding with Pakistan's Inter-Services Intelligence agency in his torture (but the case was dismissed by the High Court in December 2020). Also known as the Security Service.

Gothic Fiction & Villain – Gothic Fiction is a literary genre started by Horace Walpole's 1764 novel The Castle of Otranto. Similar to Dark Romanticism, a subgenre which took its parent's fascination with intense emotion and focused it primarily on the darker side of humanity as well as the supernatural, Gothic fiction nonetheless differs in being more interested in creating mystery and terror than fretting about the imperfection of man. The genre also loves medieval set pieces, curses, and passionate romances that end in tragedy. The villains of Gothic fiction are often autocratic men in positions of power who have moments of sympathy and are so compellingly complex.

Taking the piss – Mocking someone or something.

Plonker – A fool or idiot.

Tipping in Britain and the service charge – There isn't much of a tipping culture over there like in the US. However, you can still give a tip to taxi drivers and tour guides if you received great service. 10% up to 15% is generally what you tip the latter, while rounding up works for the former. As for restaurants and hotels, they normally add a service charge to the bill. So, make sure to check it before you leave a tip. And if you do tip, make sure it goes to the intended person.

The Underground/Tube – Both informal names for the London Underground.

Whitechapel – A district of East London. Most famous for being one of the locations of Jack the Ripper's five canonical killings (1888-1891). Once the center of London's Jewish community during the 19th and early 20th century, it's now a significant area for Britain's Bangladeshi community.

Kew Gardens – A botanical garden in London which houses very large and diverse collections of plants and fungi. Up to 27,000 taxa are represented by living specimens, and the herbarium (collection of preserved plant specimens and related data) has 8.5 million pieces. Founded in 1840, it's managed by the Royal Botanical Gardens, Kew, has its own police force, and is a World Heritage Site. Other features are the Great Pagoda, the Shirley Sherwood Gallery of Botanical Art, and Kew Palace.

Oxford Circus – One of the Underground's stations. Served by three lines: Central, Bakerloo and Victoria. Located at the road junction of the same name for Oxford Street and Regent Street.

Central Line – A Tube line that goes through central London. Starts at Epping, Essex and ends at Ealing Broadway and West Ruislip (the line forks in two directions).

Bank – Another of the Underground's stations. Served by three lines: Central, Northern and Waterloo & City. Located on Cornhill Street, near the Bank of England and the Royal Exchange. It's been linked with Monument station since 1933. Due to being one of the busiest and worst rated by passengers' station complexes, Bank & Monument is (at current time of writing) being renovated.

The Square Mile – A nickname for the City of London. And by that, I mean the 1.12 square mile (2.90 square kilometer) area derived from the original Roman settlement Londinium. While the settlement did decline during the 3rd and 4th centuries before being virtually abandoned after the Romans left, King Alfred the Great of Wessex and his son-in law Æthelred, Lord of the Mercians recaptured the area in 886 CE and restored it into a functioning city. Its size stayed the same until around the 18th century, when factors like the Industrial Revolution and Great Britain becoming an empire led to rapid expansion beyond its original boundaries. Nowadays, the City of London is a tiny part of the metropolis of London. However, it's still the primary central business district of London.

Limousine intercoms – From what I found on the Internet, there are basically two types of intercom systems for limos. Stretch limos have the traditional telephone system with a handset, while limousine vans have a hands-free system with built-in microphones and speakers. Regarding the former, the handset used to be used by the driver. But since it's now an offense to talk on a phone while driving (for blatantly obvious reasons), the passenger uses the handset while the driver just presses a button.

Pierre Marcolini & his Maison – Pierre Marcolini is a Belgian chocolatier who prioritizes taste and believes in 'bean to bar': a term that he defines by buying the finest ingredients, roasting his own cacao beans and creating his chocolates all in house. Since opening his first atelier (private workshop/studio where the master, assistants, students and apprentices produce works under the master's name) around 1995 in the city of Kraainem, Belgium, Marcolini has opened boutiques in Brussels, Paris, London, Shanghai and Dubai. The Pierre Marcolini Maison (French for 'house') has a charter with the five plantations who source its beans that promises #1: they won't use child labor, which is a huge problem in the chocolate industry; #2: they won't use glyphosphate, which the World Health Organization considers a probable carcinogen; and #3: they won't harvest CCN-51 beans, which are genetically modified. The Maison also has an online store, where they sell ice cream, jams and other sweets along with chocolate.

Lindt & Sprüngli – Also known as Lindt, though its full name is Chocoladefabriken Lindt & Sprüngli AG. A Swiss chocolatier and confectionary company established in 1845 as Sprüngli and Son (the founders were David Sprüngli-Schwarz and his son Rudolf Sprüngli-Ammann), which had the ambition to be the first producer of solid chocolate in Zurich, Switzerland. In 1892, Sprüngli and Son was divided into two parts by Rudolf to give to each of his sons. The eldest, Johann Rudolf, received the factory and renamed it Chocolat Sprüngli AG. The youngest, David Robert, received two confectionary stores that would become Confiserie Sprüngli. The Lindt part of the name came into play in 1899, when Johanna Rudolf bought the Berne chocolate factory of Rudolphe Lindt and renamed the business once again (Note: the name he chose was so long that I'm not going to write it here; it is mentioned on Lindt's website, though). And despite world wars, economic slowdowns, and a twenty-year lawsuit with Lindt because he breached his contract by opening a new factory after leaving, the company is still world renowned and profitable. They also have a farming program to allow them to verify where their cacao beans come from and help farmers with increasing yields sustainably.

Conche – According to Wikipedia, it's a surface scraping mixer and agitator that evenly distributes cocoa butter through the chocolate and removes undesirable compounds like acetic, propionic and butyric acids. Invented in 1879 by you-know-who, it gave the world the chocolate we know today: smooth, mild yet rich tasting, and melts in your mouth.

The Slump – A British nickname for the Great Depression.

Bettys – Also known as Bettys and Taylors. As mentioned earlier, the original café was started in 1919 by Fritz Bützer (later known as Frederick Belmont) in Harrogate. The café soon earned a reputation for good service, beautiful décor and delicious cakes. During the 1920s and 1930s it gained a bakery, cafés in Bradford and Leeds, and even a location in York. It even survived a bombing during World War II! The Taylors part in the name comes from the purchase of Yorkshire café chain C.E. Taylors & Co in 1962. Today, Bettys and Taylors maintains six tea rooms in Harrogate, York, Harlow Carr, Stonegate, Northallerton and Ilkley.

Fifth Dimension – A British chocolatier/caramelier (professional who handmakes caramel) founded in 2013 by Russell Pullan and Albery Chau. Despite not having formal training, the two men found success by using their self-taught skills, a willingness to experiment with new flavors, and high-quality ingredients to make delicious luxury chocolate and caramel sauces.

International Chocolate Awards – An independent competition that judges fine chocolate products and gives recognition for excellent fine chocolate producers.

Prestat – One of the oldest chocolate shops in London since it was established in 1902. Its first shop was opened on South Moulton Street by Antoine Dufour, a man who allegedly created the first chocolate truffle in Chambery, France, 1895. While two other stores were opened shortly afterward, the company would change hands several times: from Antoine to his son Tony (who sold the two new stores before ultimately selling the), to Maxwell Croft, to Maxwell's brother Neville and sister-in-law Elisabeth. In the hands of Neville, who had a theater background and used a red curtain as his office door, the shop truly began to shine with him coming out to thank customers, developing a mint chocolate line, and the design decision to use red and gold caskets and high and brown packaging. In 1979, however, Neville decided it was time to sell for a number of reasons (poor health, the South Moulton Street location's lease coming to an end, and the company needing fresh ideas). The next few owners were Stanley B. Cohen (an entrepreneur who moved Prestat to Piccadilly), Nick Crean and Bill Keeling (brothers who modernized the shop and enlisted artist Kitty Arden to redesign the boxes) and finally Domori (an Italian company which is the world leader in producing and processing of Criollo cocoa beans).

Neroli – An essential oil that comes from the bitter orange (or Seville orange) tree blossom.

Hobbycraft – A UK arts and crafts retail chain.

Sugar mama and sugar baby – A sugar mama is (stereotypically) an older woman who gives money/other gifts to a younger person for companionship. That younger person, consequentially, is called a sugar baby.

-x-

For those of you who are curious, I used Erika Lynae as partial inspiration for Ellen's side job. Erika is a YouTuber/blogger who not only reviews sex toys, but also covers topics like sexuality, safe sex, debunking sex-related myths and where to buy your toys. She hasn't made any new videos for a few months now, but I would still recommend it for those of you over the age of eighteen who are interested in that topic.

Yes, there are a few sex-related blogs on . One is "Love, Beastly", run by Alexander Cheves who focuses on queer sex, and another is "The Sex Kitten", which is somewhat similar to Erika's blog in that it talks about sex and relationships as well as reviews. It also has a podcast.

I can't exactly decide what Ellen and Tyki's jobs would be should this ever lead to a multi-chapter story. For Ellen, either a banker or fiduciary. For Tyki… anything that allows him to travel, really. Regardless, Ellen would be employed by the Black Order, and Tyki by the Noah.

Tyki's messaging tone comes from the Portuguese guitar, or guitarra portuguesa. It's a twelve-stringed instrument (though the steel strings are coursed, or spaced, in pairs of two) that comes in two models, the Lisbon guitar and Coimbra guitar, and actually descends from the cittern. They're practically synonymous with fado; I recommend looking it up on Youtube.

I got some of the Portuguese from The Language Sloth server on Discord. If you're interested in learning a new language, they have classes every day. From Spanish to Japanese to Urdu to Python (a programming language).

Sorry if the chocolate discussion came out of left field. It kinda did for me, as well. As a side note, I found out while researching that a lot of chocolate companies buy cacao beans from plantations with child labor. And while some children are sent by their parents, more are kidnapped and forced to work as slaves. If you want to be an ethical shopper, then here are three sources that I used: The Good Shopping Guide, Ethical Consumer, and Slave Free Chocolate. The first two websites list/rank which well-known chocolate brands are ethical or shady, while the last lists chocolate brands which are child labor/slavery free. And for those of you who want to be more active, there are organizations like the Stop Child Labor Coalition, the General Agricultural Workers Union in Ghana and the Afrique Secours et Assistance in Côte d'Ivoire you can contact and ask how to help.

Oh, you can find all chocolate products on their respective company's website. I hope my descriptions will help if you want to find them.

Yep, this chapter ends on a cliff-hanger. I thought about extending it more but decided against it because I wanted to post this as soon as possible so that I could get an early start on my prospective PokerPair Week 2021 stories. If I ever do write a story based on this, however, I'll most likely write a longer version of this sequence of events.

If you enjoyed this story, please leave a review. If you found something wrong with it, also please leave a review. I hope you guys have a nice day. Stay safe. Goodbye!