Justin got up the courage to talk to Lance eventually. He had to have a couple of beers at a club in New York to do it, but eventually, he went up to Lance and said, "Okay, Lance. Fanny. Number."

Lance raised an eyebrow. "I don't work like that, baby. You have to at least buy me a drink."

Justin stumbled into the booth, leaning heavily on the table. "I mean, Fanny's phone number. Can I have it?"

Lance's face immediately became guarded. "Why?"

"Because he -- she? D'you say he or she?" Justin blinked, rubbing his face. Something was wrong with him; even though he'd only had a couple of beers, the room was, dripping. And there were black spiders crawling over the walls. "Fanny's hot. And there are like, bugs on the walls."

Lance kept staring right at Justin, ignored the bugs. "Fanny's a busy gal Justin, and a little out of your league."

"There's..." Justin meant to ask what fucking league was beyond him, but a giant spider crawled over the ceiling right above his head, and he craned his neck up. Spiders, but they were metallic blue and making webs out of hair, weaving people's hair into their webs and reeling the people in. Justin put his hands on the top of his head self-consciously, and mumbled, "Glad I shaved my head."

"What?" Lance took another sip of his cool blue drink, only now it was changing color every few seconds.

Justin blinked. "Someone spiked my drink. Better get Tiny."

"No," Lance said, but his voice was very far away. "Not spiked."

"Laced then. Laced like a corset." Justin rubbed his face, trying to clear away the spiders. They were reeling in a little blonde girl, about five foot two with big tits and a fake smile. When they finally had her, they wrapped her in fine silk, her own hair, and bit her neck to paralyze her. "Jesus," Justin mumbled."What are they doing to that girl?"

"Nothing," Lance replied, soothingly. He downed his drink. "Nothing. She's gone, no brain left for them to eat. They'll keep her wrapped up for a while and then release her. No one will probably notice." He left a twenty on the table, and hauled Justin up to his feet. Justin swayed, and Lance had to hold him up. "Come on, baby boy," Lance said. "Let's get out of here."

"It's a good thing you have short hair too," Justin said, lurching on his feet. Lance hauled him to the door, which Tiny held open. "Nothing to grab."

"Nothing to grab," Lance echoed, and pulled Justin out of the club. "There, we're okay for now."

Justin looked around, and then knew for a fact that his drink had been fucking laced with something, and probably something really heavy. There were airships, and big trees, and, and. Nothing in new york glowed that color; the signs were in letters that had four dimensions, no windows on the buildings, and Justin could read it all.

Justin held his stomach, wrapped his jacket around himself and said, "Where the fuck are we?"