Stepping into the nightclub, I quickly assess the situation.  The bouncer was right, this place isn't terribly busy.

To my left, in the middle of this capacious room stretches a bar, effectively dividing the space into two.  Since it takes the barkeeps a good two minutes to walk from one end to the other, it seems impractical.  

Definitely the owners own design.  No competent architect would approve something like this.  Especially considering that there are only three barkeeps tending to the thirty-odd customers seated there.

The entrance I used leads onto what must be the "dance floor".  Except for a single drunk old lady, it is completely deserted.  Although they exposed us to plenty of music during the trial, I am not very familiar with musical genres.  Nonetheless, I can tell that the music here is not very danceable. 

Otherwise, it's not that bad.  The magenta lighting is neither too bright nor too dim, and they installed plenty of fancy ceiling light decor.  Looks like the owner invested a nice sum.

I head left and make my way to the other part of the room: the lounge.  It's filled with men and women sitting, smoking, drinking, or lying passed out on purple sofas.  Are they part of the owner's lackies?  Thus far, it looks like this trip will be another disappointment. 

Then again, disappointment generally precedes surprise.  Unlike the dance floor, this part of the room connects to many other rooms.  Aside from the door labeled "♀" and "♂", I spy a few private lounges.  They are only separated from the public lounge by wine-red courtains and human bodies.  One looks especially attractive: there are not one or two but four men stationed outside of it.  Not fellas, men.

What's the difference?  A fella is the brainless version of a fellow.  There's a reason fellow rhymes with mellow.  The four men guarding the most impressive curtain are incomparable to the fellas I encountered earlier.  They don't rob, they don't scam, they torture and dispose.  From right to left, I name them Colossus, Rod, Bullneck and Shaggy. 

As I saunter up to them, colossus and bullneck keep on staring straight ahead while Rod starts throwing me nervous glances and Shaggy frowns at me disdainfully. 

When I am about ten steps away from them, Shaggy heaves an exasperated sigh and briskly strides forward to intercept me.

For a brief moment, I consider feigning drunkenness, but I quickly discard the idea.  A dull pounding in the back of my head is telling me that the respite granted to me by the human pine and balloon bomb earlier is already coming to an end.  Unfortunately, I will need to keep that count alive to meet his "king".  Hence, I decide to take some preventative measures. 

In the meantime, I missed Shaggy speaking to me.

"... kindly advice you to piss off."

My brain sometimes disregards utterly boring information.

"I won't.  But if you take your own advice, you might live... maybe."

"So you are not a drunkard, after all."

I don't dislike talking, but this kind of pointless banter always tires me out.  Without hesitation, I help Shaggy become what he clearly wants to be: a dog.  Focusing on his hair, I let the is slowly shift through various ifs.  

Unlike what you might think, the key is not to get from the is to your desired if with as few go-betweens as possible; it's leap distance.  Many small leaps are usually easier than one big one.  Of course, nothing is actually leaping, but the imagery will get you where you need to be. 

Shaggy's hair starts expanding.  Soon his entire face is covered.  Growing down his neck, he is soon covered from head to toe.  Colossus is still staring off into nothingness but the spot to his right is empty.  Rod padded out of here the moment Shaggy grew a beard.  Smart man.

I swiftly kick Shaggy in his crown jewels.  He's too stunned to avoid it and tumbles to the ground in agony.  It is always helpful if you can bring the is closer to your vision without expending mental effort.  Obviously, a shaggy-furred being yapping on the ground is much closer to doghood than one standing upright.  I finish the remaining changes in one last shift.  

Bullneck stares at the shaggy black dog for precisely three seconds before turning around and slipping through the curtains.  That leaves Colossus whose gaze is as vacuous as ever.

There's not much too change.  In the blink of an eye, human flesh turns into stone.  His gaze will be vacant forever...

... Or until someone shifts him back.  Though not very likely it is possible. 

Moving on, parting the heavy curtains, I finally see the count!

He is currently in the process of berating Bullneck.

"Milord, I swear..." 

"You say that you are sober, but sober people don't..." 

He looks at me and frowns.  I give him a wink as well as my best smile.  He winces.

"I need you to introduce me to your king," I ask cheerfully.

... Or at least I try my best to sound cheerful.  It is not very effective: the count's expression turns gloomy in response. 

"Who on earth are you?!  I dare you to say that again."

"If I do, will you introduce me to your king?" 

"You are insane."

"No I am merely crazy."

"..."

His expression is similar to Pablo's favorite expression.  He looks extraordinarily constipated.

Seeing as how he thinks his underling is high, I suppose a demonstration is in order.

Aside from the count who is easily identifiable by the heavy golden ruby (?) necklace around his neck and the two chicks in his arms, there are

• two more chicks lying passed out on the ground, 
• one man who might as well have been Colossus brother hugging a busty lady to the counts rights, 
• and one scholarly fellow to the counts left.

The chick in the count's right arm is too young, twelve or thirteen maybe.  I don't mind killing kids, but I think this kind of behavior is disgusting. 

True, there are plenty of disgusting things in this world, not to mention the countless ifs I've seen.  Regardless, just because roaches are common, I don't need to like them.

The chick in his left arm looks like she could be of age.  The only thing remarkable about her is her choice of candy-corn colored lipstick.  No thanks, mate. 

For now, I decide to go with the busty lady in Colossus the Second's arms.  Her skin is shallow and dry.  My vision clear, I zone in on a fitting if.

The first few seconds, only Colossus the Second notices the change.  The while the count continues his fruitless attempts at... 

Interrogation?  Intimidation?  I cannot tell. 

When her skin turns to paper and her flesh is exposed to the air unprotected, the pain finally kicks in.  The lady howls and all eyes fall on her.

There's a reason our ancestors used skinning to torture their enemies.  The skin is a vital, oft overlooked organ.  

Fortunately for her, after less than half a minute, the heavy blood loss completes my vision.  She is dead.

"Let me ask again, where is this so-called king of yours?"