“Well, it’s been nice catching up,” John told Marie, after looking at the clock. It was the early evening, around 18:00, and he had somewhere else to be.

“Indeed,” the Illuminati’s ambassador agreed with a graceful nod. “Your story continues to be highly interesting. Even if I do not get the whole truth.”

The Gamer shrugged. “State secrets, what can I say?”

“Not everything, but zhat is fine.” Her French accent reverberated attractively in the renaissance-styled room. “I will get to write my personal and historical accounts of you. It will be a splendid addition to my life’s work. My visit here will have been personally enlightening as well.”

“Glad to be a pleasant acquaintance.” John smiled and rose from the round table. Since they made their resolution to remain platonic, Marie had made slow but steady advances to being more sociable. Honestly speaking, they were good enough that John knew they could work as a couple now. Despite that, neither of them tried to flirt again. Along with her personal improvements, Marie seemed to have also consolidated her view that she did not want to be part of a harem. The Gamer was happy to back off and Marie was content with keeping things on a purely friendly basis. “Have a good night, Marie.”

“I will,” the ambassador responded. “There are many people in your empire to meet.”

“It is not an empire,” John retorted.

“Not in name, zhat you make sure of,” Marie responded mockingly and stood up herself. “We will see where your path takes you, Mister President.”

“To a whisky bar, tonight,” John hummed and walked through the door Marie helped open for him. They waved at each other for a final goodbye and the Gamer walked a couple doors over. Then he knocked. “Yo, Max, get off your lazy ass, we have our livers to destroy!” John wasn’t quite sure why he felt like shouting that, but he just did it. ‘It’s really interesting how different I behave depending on the person I talk to.’

The door opened a moment later and Maximillian stepped out. Like John, he was wearing a custom-tailored suit. Whereas the Gamer wore black with dark red underneath, Maximillian had gone for a combination of midnight and ocean blue for his jacket and shirt. He also wore a tie, on this occasion, made of silk and of the same blue as his shirt.

“I’d rather feast my eyes on beautiful women,” the impeccably dressed gravity mage answered, pulling at the collar of his suit. It was all in place, he just did it for impact.

“Are you seriously still salty that we aren’t going to the Little Whirl?” John asked, gesturing with his head towards the nearest staircase. Maximillian stepped out of his apartment, which locked magically behind him.

“Why would I ever not be salty about that?” the self-exiled king wanted to know. The two of them continued to banter back and forth while they made their way to the teleporters. From there, it was two jumps and a short walk to Magnus’ house. They rang the door on the relatively humble house, close to the university’s research facilities, and waited.

Nina opened the door for them. The tall woman was wearing a stunning silver dress. Sparkling, the colour contrasted harmoniously with her golden, voluminous locks. “There you are,” she said, shouldering her pouch. “I was thinking I would run late.”

“I told you, you could leave ahead of me,” Magnus shouted from within the house. The Fateweaver stepped into the corridor a moment later. He had made his appearance extra orderly for the occasion. His long, dark brown hair was combed thoroughly, the straight strands bound together above the neck. His suit was a plain black, the shirt underneath white, and the bowtie the same green as Nina’s eyes.

“I’d rather leave the girls waiting a couple of minutes than you alone, Magnus,” Nina responded in a husky voice, grabbing her boyfriend’s bowtie and nudging it into the perfect place.

“Sweet of you,” the short-worded man answered with an honest smile on his lips. The tall couple exchanged a quick peck on the lips. Before Magnus bowed towards her ear and whispered, loud enough that John could hear it, “Don’t forget our agreement.”

“How could I?” she whispered back and the two separated. “Have fun, boys.”

“Please, Nina, we are visiting a whisky bar,” Maximillian responded, while the blonde walked away. “We are men.”

“Sure thing, Max,” Nina laughed and turned right when she hit the street.

“What’s that agreement about?” John asked. They had said it loud enough that he could have heard it superhuman hearing or not, so he thought it adequate to ask. “Something lewd, I guess?”

“You know how the girls’ parties turn lesbian usually?”

John nodded. Of course, he knew. Aside from the time they had drunkenly stumbled into the end of one after they had gone from a poker evening to another visit to the strip club, he did have the honesty of his harem to rely on. The agreement they all had was that he and his girls were allowed to fuck other females, as long as they were all truthful about it and listened to the complaints someone might have to such a relationship. For example, if John somehow got the opportunity to hook up with Liz, Rave’s sister, it would be against their agreement, because Rave objected to it. However, Rave was allowed to sleep with Nina, because John saw absolutely no harm in that.

She wasn’t allowed to sleep with Magnus (not that she ever would) because John was possessive and didn’t want any other males in lewd contact with his women.

The vast majority of sexual interactions of anyone, including himself, in the harem was with other members of the harem. If he did spot a girl he wanted to spend a sweaty half-hour with, he could do so on a clear conscience. Rare as that was in the grand scheme of things, it happened vastly more often than one of his women seeking out an outsider. As a matter of fact, John knew it only occurred when the harem was throwing a party with close friends. Even during those, the groups that came together for the party mostly stuck to themselves when it came to sex.

“They’re probably going to have a drunk orgy, what about it?” he asked.

“She isn’t allowed to orgasm until she gets back to me.”

“Oh, that’s just mean,” John grinned and slapped his fellow dominant on the back, “I love it.”

“Great, fantastic,” Maximillian grumbled. “Our women are having an ecstatic time feeling each other up and I have to drink whisky in a room filled with rich guys and cigar smoke.”

“It’s called having class, Max,” the Gamer told him. “I know that’s a new term for you.”

The gravity mage threatened his friend with his cane. “I am the product of a bloodline that spans back millennia, Newman,” he bellowed in his best ‘angry monarch’ voice. Given his acting career, it was quite convincing. “I have been born and bred for the most eloquent behaviour, to be a ruler of mankind and see my people prosper economically and culturally. I know 37 ways to place the fork on the table, 12 different openings to a royal ball and a definitive path towards the happiness of men.”

“Is it called the Little Whirl?” Magnus asked.

“YES!” Maximillian shouted and sighed. “Class, I am not in self-imposed exile for class.”

“How many of your girls were even invited?” John wondered. “Not to sound like a dick…”

“You do that whether or not you try,” Maximillian sneaked the quip in there.

“…but your harem hasn’t exactly been stable as of late. Something new here?” In the first place, John knew all he did about that situation from previous conversations with Maximillian.

“Not really. I keep just falling out of contact with ‘my’ women,” the gravity king shrugged, “can’t say I’m bothered about it. Not like I ever got with them out of emotional attachment.”

Magnus dodged around a street sign. “It was all about the tits.”

“Precisely.” Maximillian snapped his fingers. “Big old MILF breasts. A splendid way to spend debauched nights and days.” He rolled his neck and sighed. “Since I have responsibilities again and I am spending effort on learning water magic, I don’t have the time to see all of them as much as they would want to. Therefore, the social group is breaking apart. Predictable and ultimately inconsequential.”

“How are things going with Laralia?” John followed that line of reasoning. The double-bodied slime girl was both Maximillian’s instructor and his candidate for a contract. “She would keep you busy.”

“Personally, things are going absolutely fantastic.” A smile grew on the gravity mage’s face. “She’s really cute and delightfully simple in all the right ways. Not stupid by any means, just clear in her desires. Magically, things are going well. I’m making progress, but not enough to contract her yet.” He amusedly blew air out of his nose. “Not that she could join the party even if she did. Some of us have to obey the regular range at which the contract is stable.”

“Sucks to be you,” John responded, making Maximillian roll his eyes in an overexaggerated manner. “With the end of your temporary harem, perhaps you should search for a proper girlfriend?”

“We’ll see what comes or does not come about.” The brown-haired man shrugged. “I’m not in any hurry to get hitched. I just want some female partnership in my life and Laralia seems like she will do nicely there.”

“That’s a nice way to say fuckbuddy,” John pointed out.

“I only say things in nice ways,” Maximillian stated.

Their conversation stayed focused on their women while they walked. It was a topic they all liked to discuss. Not only were women generally pleasing to talk about, their individual opinions on what shapes and characters they preferred provided ample opportunity for quips. Sometimes, they slid into complaints about their current or past partners, but that was generally rare. The three of them were exceedingly happy with their lot in life. John thought they deserved that. They had all worked hard to get where they were.

Eventually, they reached the whisky club. It was in a more artsy, upper class area of Fusion. The building their target establishment was located in was a large, highly decorated cube of white marble. It looked as if someone had taken the White House and pressed it into the shape of a cube, retaining all of the windows and roman-esque pillars.

There were other things inside there. A spa, a restaurant, a badminton field, a minigolf club, to name only a few of the offerings. Basically, it was a concentrated block to satisfy all of the needs of high society.

“Posh,” Magnus pointed out.

“I like it,” Maximillian added.

“Oh, now you’re happy with my choice?” John wanted to know.

“Anything that annoys Magnus.”

“I’m not annoyed. I like it simpler.”

“Well, let’s see how simple it is on the inside,” John said and headed for one of the many entrances. There were no lines waiting around, yet each door was overseen by a gatekeeper. The Gamer spared himself his introduction, only stopped in front of the red cloth that dangled between two golden posts.

The gatekeeper mustered him, then reached out to unhook the cloth and wave them inside. “Welcome to the Ambrosia, Mister President.”

“Thank you, we will be on our best behaviour,” John promised as the three of them headed inside.

Marble white walls decorated with silver-framed paintings encapsulated the cigar smoke that quickly enveloped them. The floor was covered by a purple carpet. Soft music played from hidden speakers. Along the walls were numerous coves, couches and chairs arranged around dark brown tables, all of them meant for small groups and lending relative privacy. A bar tastefully stretched through the middle of the rectangular room, surrounding a pillar covered with shelves that held a myriad of different whisky bottles.

The narrow, entrance-facing end was manned by a cute woman with short brown hair and grey eyes. Her uniform was that of a bartender, the white shirt stretching tremendously over her ample bosom. When she bowed, they jiggled and enraptured Maximillian’s attention. John stared only for a moment, impressed that there was someone around with breasts the size of Salamander’s.

“Welcome to the Ambrosia,” she greeted them in a friendly, adorable voice. “Do you have a specific whisky in mind or do you require a recommendation? Do you wish to see our cigar menu?”

Magnus was the first to answer, “I’ll take a Tuljermur. Please give me the menu.”

“Just give me something that’s a soft start,” John said. “I don’t want to be adventurous tonight.”

“I’m open for a recommendation,” Maximillian said with a charming smile.

Given her attractiveness, the bartender doubtlessly got flirts on the regular, yet she smiled back honestly. Maximillian was still a charming man with power, influence and good looks. “How about… an Amber Drop?”

“That sounds splendid, dear…?” Maximillian let the question hang in the air.

“Hera,” she introduced herself.

“Like the goddess?” John asked, with a raised eyebrow.

“A coincidence, I assure you,” she sighed. “I know it sounds strange, given the name of this establishment. I am not and have not been married to a lightning wielding god who… seduces maidens for a pastime.”

John used Observe to verify that fact. ‘Damn paranoia,’ he thought when it turned out she was telling the truth. It really was just an odd happenstance. “Anyway, just bring whatever you pick for me to our table. Just make it on the rocks, please.”

“As you wish.” Hera bowed her head and the three of them went off to their table.

“You know, coming here was a glorious idea,” Maximillian said, enthused due to two very obvious reasons.

“Just remember that the best you will get is her number,” John told him discreetly. “If you try to nail her in the bathroom, I’ll throw you out myself. This isn’t that kind of place.”

“I do have some class, you know,” Maximillian playfully scoffed while they sat down.

“Doubtful,” Magnus added to the conversation.