Copyright disclaimer: We're here. Again. Link's a pole dancer, Gear's a terrorist, and I don't own the Legend of Zelda. Sigh.

CHAPTER 12: Papaver somniferum I

I woke up early Wednesday morning, feeling as if I'd been awake for the the past few days even though I'd slept from Sunday night until then. I felt more tired than I did when I first went to sleep, but I knew the energy would come to me later in the day. In a hypnagogic state, I stumbled around my apartment, pulling myself together. When I felt more awake, it was 6:30, so I took the early bus to Outset Avenue.

The sun had finally risen when I arrived at HONEY DROP. Using the key that Tott had given me, I unlocked the heavy metal back door and closed it behind me.

"Morning, kid," Tott said when I walked into the studio. He and Dovos were stretching on the ground, though Peater was nowhere to be found.

"He had to drive his daughter to her job. He'll be here soon," Tott said. I wondered about the ages of my co-workers and sat down with them to stretch.

After we'd finished warming up, Dovos dragged a chair to the middle of the floor and gestured for me to sit.

"This is a very serious matter," Tott said, with a grave expression on his face. Anxiety washed over me. Did they notice that I went through their things back at the boarding house? Impossible. I left everything as I'd found it.

"A lot of people are vying for you, they want you for private shows." I relaxed when I heard the words, but tried not to show it. "You're fresh, pure, and the like, and you've just debuted. You'd have twelve shows in two days, plus floor time." My eyes widened. Is that humanly possible? I thought to myself.

"So, I'll tell you two things, then we can get started. You're going to have to narrow down your customers. This is where we play detective. You'll do research on the people that want you, and using your own judgement, pick the people you'll feel safest around and that will pay the highest. It can get difficult."

I nodded my head, trying to keep from becoming paranoid from his use of the phrase "playing detective."

"Secondly... I don't know how to say this well. You don't seem to have had much exposure to the nit and grit of the city, but indecent things do occur in private shows."

"More indecent than our skit on friday?" I asked, alarmed.

"Yes."

"How?" Tott and Dovos exchanged a look.

"You're a bottom dancer, and we're both tops." They turned their backs to me and whispered to each other. I watched them play rock-paper-scissors to decide, and Tott lost. He turned to me.

"Well, I'll be teaching you." He had me stand and Dovos took my place. "Bottom dancers do a lot of this." Tott performed an array of body rolls and hip movements, all in Dovos' lap. Tott continued, and Dovos spoke in in his place.

"Usually, people touch here, here, here..." He said as he put his hands on Tott's waist, slid them to his back, then his shoulders.

"That's it?" I asked. Tott stopped dancing.

"No," they answered in unison. They explained that I'll have to kiss people if they ask me to, it is mandatory for me to remove at least my shirt, and all of the people in the party are entitled to touch me.

"The women are usually mild mannered," Dovos said. "I've noticed that if they're with their friends, they either act embarrassed or become a little daring, which is like pulling your pants down. There are the occasional dauntless girls, but based on trend they stay pretty reserved."

"But the men can get demanding." Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it. "They will touch you all over, they can get rough, and it's dangerous because sometimes—well, most times—they're drunk." I thought about the man that had cleaved to me on Friday and frowned.

"Don't worry. Batreaux stands outside the door for all of them." I didn't know if I found that reassuring or not. I'd called Batreaux on one of my days off when I was awake for a short amount of time. We had a great conversation, and he was very kind. From what I'd gathered, he was a bit of a pacifist. That wasn't really an attribute of a bouncer, though.

They continued to teach me for the rest of the week. When I wasn't learning how to move, I was doing background on the people that requested me for a party. Twelve was a lot, so Dovos split the work with me. He held up a printed email and read it aloud:

"Kani is the cutest thing I've ever seen. OMG! I just want to eat him up. I'd love to reserve a show with him, one-on-one. I'd like him to cross dress in a school uniform, if you can't find one by next week I can bring you one, nothing skimpy, just a normal uniform. Is it okay if I bring my camera?" He read the reservation date and time, which was for next week, but when he got to his name, he stopped.

"You have to accept this one. This guy has a lot of money."

"Who is it?" I asked.

"His name's Gear—he's a regular here." I froze. "I don't know where he works, but he's a very well off man. I see him leaving with different women every week." Maybe it's not the same person. "He always wears flashy clothes, though."

Okay, it's definitely him. I tried to weasel my way out of it, saying I'd found people already, but it didn't work. Dovos wrote up a very excited reply to his email, saying that I'd love to have him and that I'd personally get back to him on whether I could find a uniform or not. It all went by very quickly and the only thoughts I could muster were about how much I didn't want to do it.

My first shows all went by fine. The patrons were kind, cheered me on, and all the inebriated men (three, two of which were together) had great manners. I was exhausted by Saturday morning, where my last show ended at 3:00. I'd had four shows on Saturday and two on Friday, plus floor time. I collapsed into the bed at the boarding house but sleep would not greet me, so I strained my eyes in the dark and texted Fi.

I've gained their trust undoubtedly, I wrote.

I can't find anything on Gilmore Kiffen. It might be a pseudonym.

I'll inquire about it later. We agreed to talk again soon, and I deleted the conversation.

Feeling restless, I did as was my norm: took a walk. I felt that I needed to tiptoe around the house to leave, so I snuck out of the back door and hid the key under the mat, then embraced Skyloft City's night air.

I don't know how long I walked, but being at a mental place where I didn't have to act felt revitalizing. When I wasn't incognito, I'd have to be acting at work, talking much more than I'd like to, working with others though I found things to be more efficient if I did them alone. I preferred to stay withdrawn, but in the past months I'd become a much more social person; I couldn't tell if it was because I was singularly developing or because out outlying forces, but I wondered what kind of person I'd be in the coming years.

I fantasized about being a revered hero. My thoughts were so vivid that it felt like they were memories. The most prominent of my fantasies was a feeling of wind blowing through my hair as I soared through the sky. I then had a great sensation of falling, but with an innate assurance that I'd land on my own two feet.

My ears began to ring, the torment eerily familiar. I leaned against a streetlight and remembered that the same thing had happened to me at the Earth Museum when I went near the ancient woodcarving exhibit. Resting my head on the cool metal of the streetlamp, I closed my eyes and tried to steady myself. After the feeling had passed I trudged home. What was similar between just then and at the museum? I couldn't think of anything, save for the fact that I'd spoken to Fi just before it happened. There was no rationality in that, however, so I resolved to see a doctor if it happened again.

Next week came all too quickly. I had two shows before Gear's but his was my last one for the weekend and I was sure that something would go wrong. Now that summer was coming to an end—it was the middle of September—less people were able to make it to the club since school was just starting up again for the college kids. I was glad there was a lack of patrons this particular week because it meant less people to see after having to dance for Gear.

"Hello, Kani," he said to me as I entered the dim private room. Each room was assigned a color, and this one was magenta; the pinkish lights painted everything in a strange, dark color. He was sitting comfortably on the large couch that lined the wall, legs crossed and arms spread against the back.

"Hello, Mr. Gear," I responded politely. I couldn't find a school uniform, sadly, so he brought one. Handing it to me, he inquired as to whether or not I needed assistance with dressing myself. I declined, but he said that he wanted to help. I ground my teeth and smiled. If I argued with him, there was the possibility that he'd complain to Tott and I could lose the job.

He stood much too close to me and removed the tight t-shirt I was wearing with his thumb and forefinger, taking extra care to drag his free fingers up my skin. I managed to conceal the disgusted shudder that overtook me, though only barely. While he dressed me, he touched me too much. When buttoning the shirt, he pressed himself into me from behind and reached around my waist to complete the task. While doing so, he breathed lightly into my ear, and even if his breath smelled of peppermint, I still shuddered inwardly with disdain.

Then came the underwear, of course. He pulled a pair of lacy pink panties from what looked like a camera bag.

"Isn't this going to far?" I said through clenched teeth.

"It's all for the sake of good fun," Gear responded slyly. I squeezed my eyes shut and snatched the underwear from his hands, then asked for the skirt. He held it open and and I had to lean against him to step into it without tripping. I pulled it up, tucked in the shirt, and turned around so he wouldn't have to see me take off my underwear. I slid them off, face burning, and quickly pulled on his pink panties. I turned and he flipped up my collar, tying a floppy bow around my neck that matched the green plaid of the skirt. I thought I was done, but he told me to do something girly with my hair and to put the pair of white mid calve socks that he handed me. I clipped back my hair and he looked me up and down. Dovos had helped with my makeup earlier so it looked even more feminine than it already was.

"This will suffice," he said blandly, and sat gracefully on the couch. It was 11:00 on the dot, and I was to dance for an hour and a half. Usually sessions were only 30 minutes, but he'd said that he wanted to pay for three. The word "overkill" came to mind.

Thirty minutes into the dance, I realized that Gear was not reacting in any way. His face was expressionless, but he was staring at me intently. While sliding down the pole, he rolled his eyes and gestured for me to go to him. I turned the music down and walked over.

"You should not do this for a living," he said flatly. "This is the most bored I've been in months."

"What would you like, sir?" I was entitled to ask, according to Tott and Dovos.

"Stand there." He pointed to an empty space between the couch and the pole. I did so. "Lift up your skirt," he said as he rummaged around in his camera bag and removed a large camera with a long lens.

Fiddling with it, he turned to me. I had not pulled it up.

"Well?" I looked away. "Should I do it?" He walked to me and yanked up my skirt. I yanked it back down, and he backed away, adjusting the zoom on his camera.

"If I can't do it, then you need to." I swallowed my pride and pulled it up slowly, becoming red. I turned my head away and, of course, he told me to look at him. I turned my head but averted my eyes.

"That's the look," he said.

The flash on his camera went off three or four times.

"Okay, drop it before you have an aneurysm." I did so and exhaled. "Now I will quiz you," Gear said, returning to the couch. "You will address me as your teacher. Stand here."

I stood in front of him.

"Conjugate these verbs in all forms: sein, kommen, haben und gehen."

"What language is th—"

"Incorrect. Failed. Next task. Recite fifty digits of pi."

"3.14150—"

"Incorrect. Failed. Next task. Spell 'arbitrary.'"

"What is the point of this?"

"Incorrect. Failed. Next task. Do thirty push-ups."

"I refuse."

"Incorrect. Failed. Next task. How many bones does a newborn possess?"

"I don't know," I said angrily.

"Incorrect. Failed. Next task. What year was Skyloft City founded?"

I sighed.

"Incorrect. You have failed all of your tests, you imbecile."

"I apologize, teacher."

"You will receive due punishment," he said. "Come." I rolled my eyes and stood closer to him. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me onto the couch. "Lay across my knees," he said.

"What—"

"Considering that I am paying three times as a regular customer, I expect some semblance of compliance."

Hylia, protect me, I said to myself.

I did as I was instructed, putting my stomach over his knees. I didn't know what to do with my hands, but if he did anything like he'd done to me previously, I swore that the first thing I'd do would be to punch his nose in.

Gear lifted up the skirt where it was covering my behind, revealing the frilly pink underwear. He slid them down until my bottom was exposed.

"That's against protoc—" I began, but he pulled my head back by my hair and then slammed my face into the couch. He held fast to my head, I couldn't move it at all nor could I breathe very well. I tried to scream, but I didn't have enough air in my lungs and the music concealed whatever strains of sound there were.

He spanked me once, hard, and it stung. I flinched. He spanked me again, a little harder.

"As your teacher," slap, "you brainless student," slap, "I should bring to attention how thoughtless actions will affect your well being," slap. He spoke calmly but each time he spanked me the pain intensified.

"You idiotic mongrel, do not ever be led to believe that you can hit me and I will not fuck up your menial little play-pretend-kiss-ass life. I will teach you how to behave around someone as superior as myself." He began to hit so hard that each one pushed me forward. By then, he'd spanked me enough that the stinging pain felt numb and delayed.

"When I tell you to beg, you will beg. When I tell you to cry, you will cry. When I tell you to scream, you will scream—and I swear on your useless life that I will make you do all three in the same second. You will not defy me until I tell you to defy me, and even then, it is rebellion at my direction." He moved from spanking my behind to the back of my thighs, and the pain was renewed. When he did this, he pushed my face further into the couch and I really did begin to suffocate, so I reached up to move his hand and dig my nails into it. He tried to slap my hand away and in the short moment I was able to turn my head to the side and breathe before he shoved my head, now ear first, back into the cushion.

From my peripheral vision, I could see a crazed look in his eyes and a certain manic disarray in his posture.

"Do not meddle in my affairs," he started.

"What does that make you!?" I shouted. He stopped and looked me in the eye, but still held me down. "All you ever do is meddle in my affairs. If you want to consider yourself superior over me, the least you need to do is keep your word! You can't possibly tell me not to 'meddle', which I don't do in the first place, when all you do is mess with my life!"

He took me by the hair again and slammed it into the couch cushion a few times, but on the last one I grabbed his hand and pulled it off of me, then rolled off of him.

"Fight me," I said, but my knees wobbled when I tried to stand because of the now throbbing pain on my backside.

Gear smirked. "Are you sure you're ready?" He asked, cracking his fingers as he stood.

"I've been ready since day one," I said, which was a lie, but my butt hurt and I wanted to go home.

"Have you?" he asked as we began to circle each other. "When I beat you beyond death, make sure to haunt me so I can have you feel the pain of exorcism as well." Okay, that was just plain weird.

He made the first move this time. Running to me, he tried to punch me in the stomach but I dodged it. I whipped around and tried to kick him, but he caught my ankle and wouldn't let go.

"My, I can see some interesting things in this position," he said, looking to where the skirt had been held up with my extended leg. I jerked my leg away.

"Teacher, you're going to get in trouble," I said sarcastically, ducking from a heavy kick he sent swinging my way. "Don't you know that you shouldn't touch your students? And anyway, I don't like boys, teacher. I like girls." When I jabbed at him and missed, he took a hold of my wrist. I snatched it back and he grabbed one side of my collar.

"Oh, student, you seem to be confused. I am only punishing you for being such a piece of shit." I pushed him back but he didn't let go of my collar, so the buttons of the shirt popped off and it flopped open, still tucked into the skirt. We'd backed up so much that I was on the other side of the room, my back almost on the pole.

"I can't believe you're a pole dancer, student," he said in his teacher voice. "What if I told everyone what you really were?" That stopped me dead in my tracks.

"You wouldn't." With a smug look, he stepped closer to me, and I backed further from him until my back was pressed uncomfortably into the pole.

"Well, to be honest, I would." He stepped closer.

"I'd have you arrested." I clenched my fists.

"I would break out of jail. It is not difficult. I would find you, chain you to a table, kill everyone you've ever laid eyes on, then cut you apart and feed you the pieces."

I aimed to hit his face, but he merely tilted his head. He caught my hand and wrapped my arm around his neck, then he clasped his arm around my waist to pull us closer.

"What are you—"

"Tell him that it's fine," Gear whispered into my ear.

"Kani? Are you okay?" Batreaux was standing in the doorway, the light from the hallway filtering in.

"Tell him, or I'll shoot him in the head," Gear whispered.

"I'm fine," I said without hesitation. "It's a part of the routine."

"Okay," he replied. "I'll be outside." He shut the door and Gear didn't let go.

"Release me," I demanded.

"I have decided that it is in my best interests to keep you alive for now," he said suddenly. "But I feel as though you have not suffered enough tonight." In one quick motion, he pushed the open shirt from my shoulders and dug his teeth through my skin.

"G-get off...!" I said through gasps. His teeth went very deep, and blood trickled from the abrasion. He let go and scratched at his teeth marks, trying yo make the cuts bigger.

"I hope you've learned to reform yourself," he said, packing up his things. "You can keep the uniform." He walked out, and I heard Batreaux tell him to have a nice night.

Bleeding out onto the dumb uniform, I turned on the regular lights and picked up the clothes I'd worn earlier, then slowly made my way to the studio to pick up my bag.

Inside were my coworkers, lounging around. When I opened the door, their jaws dropped in unison.

"What happened?" exclaimed Dovos.

"Come on, let's take you back to the boarding house," said Peater.

I went to pick up my bag. "It's, it's okay," I said, delirious from the lack of sleep and overwork finally catching up to me. "I think I'll just go back to my apartment."

"Do you need a ride?"

"No, thanks," I said, almost slurring my speech. "I'll call you guys, um, tomorrow."

Somehow, though the memory is blurry, I made my way home. I think Horwell was there because I do remember his concerned, disbelieving face, his jacket over my shoulders, and his voice urging to let him walk me all the way home. I know that if he really did ask, I would have said no.

I was half convinced that Gear had injected venom into my bloodstream when I got to my apartment and spent the rest of the energy I had disinfecting his bite. I fell asleep with an apple in my mouth until 5:00 PM the next day. The spanking had left hand shaped welts on the back of my legs.

"I'm sorry for leaving so abruptly," I said into the phone. Tott, Dovos and Peater were all on the other line.

"What the heck happened!?" Peater asked. "Did he hurt you?"

"He got really out of hand. Even though you guys do, I'm not supposed to undress completely when I do shows because it's part of my image or whatever. When I emailed him, I said as much, and he said that he understood."

"Did he..." Tott said, and Dovos shushed him.

"He made me take off all of my clothes and he wanted to dress me. He told me to take off my underwear and I had to put on frilly pink panties. He made me pull up my skirt and took pictures of me like that. After I started dancing, he said he was bored, so he quizzed me. He said I failed every question thought so he spanked me for almost an hour as punishment for being stupid, and he was insulting me the whole time. He tried to suffocate me too."

"Oh my goddess!" Dovos gasped, and Tott told him to be quiet.

"I pushed him off and he said he wanted to fight me, so I tried, but my legs were numb from the pain and I can't fight anyway. He held me against the pole and then Batreaux came in..."

"No way."

"Did he see you?"

"...and then he told me that he'd attack Batreaux if I didn't tell him that I was okay. So I lied and Batreaux left. Gear ripped my shirt open and bit me hard enough that I started bleeding, then he left. I was so tired, sorry it didn't come to the boarding house. I was going to show you guys my favorite documentary."

"We should call the police," Dovos said.

"Make sure he can't come back to the club!" shouted Tott.

"I didn't want to see the documentary anyway," added Peater.

"Don't call the police," I asked, "because I'd rather just be done with it. I don't want to go through all the questioning and stuff, I promise I'm okay now."

"We don't believe you," they said.

"I won't be convinced that you're okay until you come and cook for us again," said Peater.

I laughed. "How about Monday night?"

We agreed, and two months passed, free of Gear. On November 14th, I received a request for a private show from my prime suspect in the opium trade of Skyloft City. At that Monday's dinner, I made steak and potatoes, and the men had each drank at least one glass of wine. I took the opportunity to ask about Mr. Kiffen.

"Yeah, he's the owner," Tott said. "I've only seen him once. He owns a lot of big stuff in the city. He's super rich."

"He doesn't come to the club?"

"No. He left it under my protection." The conversation ended there, and I filed Mr. Kiffen away. I thought about the months ahead. I would not be prepared for that November, where I made one of the biggest mistakes in my life which was a catalyst for all later mistakes, which became the worst of my life one after another.

A/N: I'd like to think of this chapter as the end of the first part of Aphelion. There shall be many more parts!

Who do you think Gilmore Kiffen is? I promise he isn't an OC. Don't answer the question just yet, but rack your brain for awhile and in due time, I'll ask you for the answer. Whoever answers correctly first (when the time comes) will be allowed to suggest a sex scene between Link and Gear and I pinky promise I'll put it in the fanfic. Think mischievously, my friends.

Opinions on Gear's bashing of Link? I felt mean just typing it. I think a great way to get out all your internal angst is to write a fanfiction with Ghirahim portrayed as a narcissistic sociopath that may or may not be insane.

Alright, happy camping, kids! Happy Father's Day.