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“The room they had reached served as an impromptu drug-lounge in which a hundred naked addicts engaged in communal sex. One of them drew nearer and spontaneously relieved himself all over Aurora’s shoes. ‘You’re welcome,’ the addict said proudly, buttoning up his soiled jeans and walking away like a champ. A nearby woman saw the whole thing and smirked. ‘You’re one lucky lady, you know that?’ she smiled toothlessly. The remnants of today’s orgy were still visible in her mouth. ‘I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

“And right now, some affiliates of the promiscuous persuasion were beckoning, urging the women to join their huge orgy. ‘Come have a go, ladyships!’ said one of the strumpets. Stella mustered a look so disapproving it made steel feel guilty for being hard. Unabated, the prostitute lit herself a cigarette and winked suggestively. ‘Will make it worth your while and no trouble.’ ‘Er.’ The strumpet sucked on her cigarette with gusto and hastily turned to Aurora. Under the heavy theatrical greasepaint, she saw a hint of black stubble. ‘What about you, hon? Ever swallowed a sword with its sheath?’ ‘Once,’ said Aurora through a wooden expression. ‘It didn’t end too well for the sword.’ ‘Oh leave ‘em be, Kevin,’ another strumpet butted in, as she adjusted the apples in her corset. She had a tall voice, coarse, rugged and edged; the sort of edge you cut protons on. ‘Doncha see they ‘av a lil’un with ‘em?’ ‘And I’ve a wife. What’s your point, Steve?’ the drag queen retorted. ‘Yer wife’s a corpse, mate.’ ‘Guess that makes me a necromancer.”

“Get this: how many Weavers does it take to screw in a light bulb?' Kate folded her arms, her expression aloof. Acciper pensively scratched his beard, withholding his ignorance. 'One?' ventured Vivian. Lucian's boyish face split into a grin. His body filled up with the imminent rumble of laughter. 'Two Weavers. One holds the light bulb and the other one spins reality around it.”

“Sorano returned a half-hearted nod and mumbled on, dreamily. She seemed completely fascinated by a man in a rabbit costume who kept falling flat on his face whilst endlessly repeating the phrase “How dare they speak the word “motherboard” when the Neon God has no mother?” in a very affronted tone. He was accompanied by swarthy-faced dame, who aimlessly dragged a red piece of string after her. ‘Why are you dragging that string, hey?’ the rabbit-man asked the woman right before taking a spectacular nosedive, face-first into asphalt. ‘But I must drag it, I must!’ the woman replied panicky, ‘for if I try to push it, it bends.”

“They traversed the lounge, side-stepping the occasional onanist and paying no heed to the slack-jawed, giggling addicts. A few feet away, a young woman had put her tattooed posterior on display. Aurora noticed her tattoos were dynamic, changing like a slideshow each time her bottom was slapped.”