The Lotus House was a living, breathing entity, a place where time seemed to have paused somewhere between the 1970s and the brink of collapse. The carved wooden sign hung just above the door, untended for decades and battling against the harsh Bangkok humidity and car fumes. The weathered plank of wood had eroded in a beautifully artistic way, creating well-worn grooves of sins and secrets, preparing those that entered for a space that was equal parts dazzling and dilapidated.

  As Snoopy stepped inside, the air hit her like a wall—thick with cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and the unmistakable scent of mischief. It was a heady cocktail that could only mean trouble, the kind of trouble that came with sequins and a wink. The floor beneath her kitten heels was a patchwork of worn tile and threadbare carpet, each square telling a story of spilled drinks, stomping heels, and the occasional dramatic collapse.

  The walls were a shrine to the club’s storied past, covered in faded, framed photographs that seemed to stretch back decades. Each frame held a snapshot of ladyboys: katoy in bikinis and high heels, their smiles frozen in time. Some photos were yellowed with age, their edges curling like forgotten love letters. Others were more recent, capturing moments of triumph and chaos—a queen mid-lip-sync, her face a mask of determination; another caught in a fit of laughter, her rhinestones catching the flash of the camera.

  Interspersed among the photos were shelves crammed with relics and curiosities, each one a loving gift from the club’s regular guests. There were porcelain figurines of geishas with chipped noses, their delicate hands forever frozen in graceful poses. A dusty trophy from a long-forgotten pageant sat next to a jar of glitter that had long since solidified into a solid, sparkly mass. A framed menu from a US Veterans reunion crookedly on the wall, a testament to the soldiers that came to Asia for a war, and never left.

  The low ceiling seemed to press down on the room, its surface stained with years of smoke and humidity. A single, slowly spinning disco ball hung from the center, its fractured light casting shimmering rainbows across the walls. The ball was missing a few mirrors, but no one seemed to mind—it added to the charm, like a scar on a war hero’s face.

  In the corner, the stage—a plank of raised wood that had seen better days—stood empty for now. The remnants of past performances lay scattered across the floor: a lone feather boa, its once-vibrant colors now muted with age; a smattering of glitter that clung stubbornly to the cracks in the floorboards; and a single rhinestone that winked at Snoopy like a naughty secret. A tinsel curtain hung limply behind the stage, its strands tangled and frayed, as if it had survived one too many dramatic exits.

  The bar itself was a masterpiece of chaos, its surface sticky with spilled drinks and etched with the initials of patrons who had left their mark—literally. Bottles of liquor lined the shelves, their labels faded and peeling, while a collection of mismatched glasses sat ready for the next round of revelry. Snoopy ran her fingers along the edge of the bar, feeling the grooves and scratches etched into the wood. Each mark told a story—a toast, a confession, a secret shared in the dim light of the club.

  The seating was a haphazard mix of secondhand lounge chairs and old barstools, each one telling a story of the people who had found refuge here. There were even a couple of tables and chairs that were simply just hammered together plywood, with barely any aesthetic to them at all, but they were strong enough to bare the scratches and scuffs of countless nights of laughter, tears, and the occasional spat.

  Dark corners beckoned with the promise of secrets, their shadows hiding whispered conversations and clandestine deals. A jukebox in one corner hummed softly, its neon lights flickering as it played a mournful Thai ballad. The song’s melody wove through the haze of cigarette smoke, adding to the club’s surreal, dreamlike atmosphere.

  Everywhere Snoopy looked, there was something to catch her eye: a mannequin head wearing a wig that had seen better days, its synthetic curls that had once defied gravity, now drooping from the Bangkok humidity. A collection of vintage fans mounted on the wall, their blades still and silent; a framed poster for the club’s featured ladyboys from sometime in the 1980s, its colors faded, and who knew where those girls were now.

  The Lotus House was more than just a club—it was a living museum, a testament to the resilience and creativity of the ladyboy community. It was a place where broken wings were stitched back together with glitter and love, where the lost and the fem-boys could find a home.

  As Snoopy took it all in, her heart swelled with a mix of awe and trepidation. This was a world unlike anything she had ever known, but still surprisingly familiar. This was a place where the rules were different and the stakes were high. But beneath the chaos and the glitter, she sensed something deeper—a sense of belonging, of family. Something very much like her own Club Salvation.

  Snoopy Taylor, perched stiffly on a velvet-clad chair that had seen better decades, clutched her little pink suitcase like a lifeline. Her wide eyes darted around the room, taking in the chaos: a ladyboy in the corner applying lipstick with the precision of a sniper, another balancing on impossibly high heels while juggling a tray of drinks, and a third sat in a dark corner with a customer, whispering something into his ear.

  The beaded curtain parted with a dramatic swish, and there she stood—Madame Noi, a figure so ancient she seemed to predate the club itself. Her entrance was nothing short of theatrical, as if the universe itself had paused to acknowledge her arrival. Her makeup was a masterpiece of defiance—heavily applied, yet flawless, as if painted by the hands of a Renaissance artist with a penchant for drama. Her wig was an intricate sculpture of tight curls and gold ornamentation. The folds of her silk robe shimmered in the low lighting, catching the glow of the neon like an iridescent carp wrapped in mystery. She folded her hands in front of her with the gravitas of a queen addressing her court.

  "You do not know me, but I know you," she said, her voice a raspy purr that carried the weight of a thousand smoky nights and a few too many whiskey sours.

  Snoopy blinked, her Southern manners kicking in despite her confusion. "That's... concerning."

  Madame Noi let out a husky laugh, the sound like gravel rolling down a velvet hill. "You are Snoopy Taylor—the legend, the unseen sister of the sisterhood! Big Mama has spoken of your selfless generosity. No one has seen your face, but your name? Oh, darling, your name is etched in the annals of our history!"

  Snoopy shifted uncomfortably, her kitten heels tapping nervously against the floor. "Ma'am, with all due respect, I think you might be confusing me with someone else. I’m just a small-town queen from Alabama. I don’t even have a Wikipedia page."

  Madame Noi’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she took a long drag from her cigarette holder, exhaling a plume of smoke that curled around her like a shroud. "Oh, sweetheart, you sell yourself short. Big Mama spoke of you often. She said you had the heart of a lion and the soul of a poet. But tell me, darling—do you have the stomach for what comes next?"

  Snoopy’s eyes widened. "What comes next? Ma’am, I’m just here to pick up whatever Big Mama left for me. I didn’t sign up for any... adventures."

  Madame Noi chuckled, her jade rings glinting as she gestured to a nearby table. "Sit, darling. Let me pour you a drink. You’ll need it."

  Snoopy hesitated but obeyed, perching on the edge of a velvet-clad chair that had seen better decades. Madame Noi snapped her fingers, and a young ladyboy appeared with a tray bearing two glasses of whiskey. Snoopy took hers cautiously, her Southern manners warring with her growing unease.

  "Now," Madame Noi began, her tone softening, "let me tell you a story. A story about love, loss, and a pair of rubber breasts that could topple empires."

  Snoopy choked on her whiskey. "I’m sorry—what?"

  Madame Noi ignored her, her gaze distant as she began to speak. "Many, many years ago, before this club was even a twinkle in the neon sky, I was the star of Bangkok’s underground cabaret scene. I was young, beautiful, and unstoppable. And then, one night, I met her—Big Mama. She was just a wide-eyed Southern girl back then, fresh off the bus and looking for a place to belong."

  Snoopy’s eyes widened. "Wait—Big Mama? Our Big Mama?"

  Madame Noi nodded, a wistful smile playing on her lips. "Oh, yes. She was something else. She had this... light about her. A fire that couldn’t be extinguished. We were inseparable. She was my muse, my partner, my everything. Together, we ruled this city. But time, as it always does, had other plans."

  Snoopy leaned forward, her curiosity outweighing her caution. "What happened?"

  Madame Noi sighed; her voice tinged with regret. "Life happened, darling. Big Mama had dreams that stretched beyond Bangkok. She wanted to build something—a sanctuary for people like us. And so, she left. But before she did, she entrusted me with something precious. A treasure she said would one day find its way to the right person."

  Snoopy’s heart skipped a beat. "And that treasure is...?"

  Madame Noi’s eyes gleamed as she leaned in closer. "You, my dear, are about to find out."

  Before Snoopy could protest—or even process the fact that she apparently had a legacy she knew nothing about—Madame Noi waved a hand, summoning three young ladyboys who glided toward the table like a trio of glittering Valkyries. They were dressed in simple schoolgirl uniforms, but their impossibly high heels and razor-sharp eyeliner screamed danger. Each carried an air of self-confidence and toughness, as if they’d been forged in the fires of back-alley pageants and late-night karaoke battles.

  "Ladies," Madame Noi announced with the gravitas of a royal proclamation, "behold! Snoopy Taylor."

  The trio’s reactions were instantaneous and utterly over-the-top. Their hands flew to their mouths in unison, gasps of disbelief filling the air like a chorus of scandalized opera singers. One of them clutched her pearls—actual pearls, because of course she did—while another began fanning herself with a menu, her eyes rolling back as if on the verge of fainting.

  "Oh my god. The Snoopy Taylor?" the first ladyboy squealed, her voice hitting a pitch only dogs could hear. She was petite, with delicate features and a cascade of jet-black hair that shimmered like oil under the neon lights. Her name, as Snoopy would later learn, was Ploy, and she had a habit of punctuating every sentence with a dramatic hand gesture.

  "The shadow saint?" the second whispered, her tone reverent, as if Snoopy had just descended from Mount Olympus. This was Nok, tall and statuesque, with a voice as smooth as honey and a gaze that could cut glass. She adjusted her glasses—a pair of cat-eye frames with rhinestones—and leaned in closer, studying Snoopy like she was a rare artifact in a museum.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Ploy leaning in conspiratorially, "Is it true you once lip-synced to Tammy Wynette in the middle of a tornado? Big Mama said you didn’t miss a single note."

  Snoopy blushed a bit and defended herself. "Well, kinda. But yes. I had enough stones on my dress that it would have taken a Category 5 to lift me off the floor. I felt pretty safe and I wanted to finish that song!

  “See? A legend. You’ve got the grit, the grace, and the glamour. You’re everything we aspire to be. I can’t believe I’m breathing the same air as her!" the Nok declared, clutching her chest like a Victorian heroine in the throes of a swoon. This was Fah, the youngest of the trio, with a baby face and a penchant for theatrics. She fanned herself with a menu, her eyes fluttering as if she might collapse at any moment.

  Snoopy shifted uncomfortably, her kitten heels tapping nervously against the floor. "I think you might be confusing me with someone el—"

  But it was too late. Madame Noi had already grabbed Snoopy’s wrist with a grip that could crush diamonds and pulled her through the beaded curtain at the back of the club. The tiny hallway they entered smelled like a chaotic blend of incense, old perfume, and possibly a hint of expired fish sauce. The walls were lined with faded velvet wallpaper, its once-vibrant pattern now muted by decades of smoke and neglect. A single flickering bulb cast long, wavering shadows, making the space feel both intimate and claustrophobic.

  They arrived at a room that seemed untouched by time, a dusty shrine to the ladyboys of the past. The air was thick with the weight of history, as if the walls themselves were whispering stories of glamour, heartbreak, and survival. Relics of performances past lay scattered about: a cracked mirror framed by lightbulbs, its surface reflecting fragments of the room like a shattered dream; a sequined gown draped over a mannequin, its sparkle dulled by age but still hinting at its former glory; and an unsettling number of mannequin body parts that served as bookends and doorstops. One mannequin torso, covered in signatures, poems, and graffiti, stood in the corner like a chronicle of decades of drama. Its surface was a patchwork of names, dates, and messages—some heartfelt, others bawdy—all testaments to the lives that had passed through this room.

  With a dramatic flourish, Madame Noi bent down—her wig tilting precariously but holding firm—and heaved a massive, dust-covered box onto the table. The box was ancient, its wood warped and splintered, its corners reinforced with tarnished brass. She took a deep breath, puffing out her cheeks like a bellows, and blew a cloud of dust off the lid, sending particles swirling into the air and making everyone cough violently.

  Then, with the gravitas of a priest unveiling a holy relic, she slowly lifted the lid to reveal—a pair of massive rubber breasts.

  Not just any rubber breasts. These were legendary, colossal, borderline hazardous. They looked like they had once belonged to a goddess of excess, a queen of the night whose legacy could only be measured in cup size. The sheer audacity of their size was enough to make Snoopy’s jaw drop. They were a deep, unnatural shade of peach, their surface slightly cracked with age but still gleaming faintly under the dim light. The straps attached to them were frayed, as if they had been worn through countless performances, each one more outrageous than the last.

  Madame Noi placed a reverent hand on them, her jade rings glinting in the dim light. "A treasure... she kept near her heart."

  The moment hung in the air, thick with anticipation. Even the ladyboys seemed to hold their breath, their eyes wide with awe. Ploy clutched her pearls, again, Nok adjusted her glasses with trembling hands, and Fah let out a soft, reverent gasp.

  Snoopy stared at the breasts, her mind reeling. "I don’t understand. Why would Big Mama leave me... these?"

  Madame Noi’s gaze softened, her voice taking on a rare note of tenderness. "Because, my dear, these are more than just rubber. They’re a symbol. A reminder that sometimes, the most extraordinary things come in the most unexpected packages. Big Mama believed in you, Snoopy. She believed you had the strength, the courage, and the heart to carry on her legacy. And now, it’s your turn to prove her right."

  Snoopy swallowed hard, her Southern manners warring with her growing sense of dread. "Ma’am, I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not sure I’m cut out for this. I’m just a small-town queen with a suitcase full of dollar-store wigs. I don’t know the first thing about being a legend."

  Madame Noi reached out, her bony fingers gently tilting Snoopy’s chin up. "Oh, sweetheart, you already are. You just don’t know it yet."

  Snoopy’s eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape that didn’t exist. "But why me? Why now? Big Mama never even mentioned this place—or you—to me. I didn’t even know she had a life before Club Salvation."

  Madame Noi gestured to the rubber breasts, her voice softening. "These belonged to the greatest ladyboy to ever grace this stage. Her name was Lotus, and she was a force of nature. She could stop traffic with these babies—and not just because they were a hazard to pedestrians. She was fearless, unapologetic, and utterly unforgettable. When she passed, Big Mama took these as a keepsake. She said they were a reminder of where she came from, and where she was going."

  Snoopy blinked, her mind struggling to process everything. "But why give them to me? I’m not Lotus. I’m not even close."

  Madame Noi’s gaze was steady, her voice firm. "Because, my dear, you’re not meant to be Lotus. You’re meant to carry on her spirit. Big Mama saw something in you—a spark, a fire. She believed you could take what she started and make it your own. And now, it’s your turn to step into the spotlight."

  Snoopy shook her head, her voice trembling. "I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not brave like Big Mama. I’m not fearless like Lotus. I’m just... me."

  Madame Noi’s expression softened, and for a moment, she looked almost maternal. "Oh, darling, you’re braver than you think. You’ve already survived more than most people could imagine. You’ve faced rejection, heartbreak, and loss, and you’ve come out the other side with your head held high. That’s what makes you a legend. Not the wigs, not the makeup, not even these." She tapped the rubber breasts with a manicured finger. "It’s your heart. And Big Mama knew that better than anyone."

  Finally, Snoopy, rubbing her temples as if trying to ward off an impending headache, muttered, "I have so many questions."

  Madame Noi chuckled, her laughter like the crackle of a vinyl record. "Of course you do, darling. And you’ll get your answers. But first, you need to try these on."

  Snoopy’s eyes widened in panic. "Try them on? Ma’am, I can barely walk in these heels. How am I supposed to carry around... those?"

  Madame Noi smirked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll start slow. But trust me—once you feel the power of these babies, you’ll understand why Big Mama wanted you to have them."

  The ladyboys erupted into laughter, their voices filling the room with warmth and camaraderie. Snoopy couldn’t help but smile, despite her nerves. Maybe, just maybe, she could do this. After all, if Big Mama believed in her, who was she to argue?

  Before Snoopy could ask any more questions, the ladyboys descended upon her, their hands moving with the precision and enthusiasm of a Formula 1 pit crew. Ploy tightened a strap with the focus of a surgeon, her tongue poking out in concentration as she adjusted the fit. Nok hovered nearby, muttering something about “optimal weight distribution” as if she were engineering a skyscraper rather than strapping a pair of rubber breasts onto a bewildered drag queen. Fah, ever the enthusiast, stood back to admire their handiwork, nodding approvingly before snapping a quick selfie with Snoopy in the background.

  “There we go!” Ploy announced, grinning from ear to ear. “Snug as a bug in a rug. How’s it feel, darling?”

  Snoopy winced, her shoulders already sagging under the weight of the colossal prosthetics. “Like I’m wearin’ two watermelons and a bowling ball,” she muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “Are y’all sure these are safe? One little fart is gonna completely destroy my equilibrium.”

  Nok rolled her eyes, adjusting a strap with a practiced flick of her wrist. “Oh, stop now. These babies are perfectly balanced. Just... try not to lean too far forward. Or backward. Or sideways.”

  Fah clapped her hands, her eyes sparkling with delight. “You look insane! In a good way. Like a glamazon warrior goddess. All you need now is a cape and a theme song.”

  Snoopy shot her a withering look, though her Southern manners kept it from being too sharp. “What I need is a chiropractor and a stiff drink. Preferably in that order.”

  The moment the final clasp clicked into place, Snoopy took a cautious step forward—only to immediately lose all sense of balance. The sheer weight of the enormous chest threw her off-kilter, and she wobbled like a newborn giraffe in six-inch heels. Her arms flailed wildly as she tried to steady herself, but it was no use. The ladyboys reached out, their manicured hands flailing, but it was too late. With a dramatic WHUMP and a CRASH, Snoopy went barreling backward—out of the storage room, across the hallway, and straight through a paper-thin wall.

  The flimsy barrier exploded in a confetti of splintered wood and faded wallpaper, revealing a very unfortunate scene: a short-time room—currently occupied. The shocked couple—half-undressed and halfway through their, uh, business transaction—froze in horror, their expressions a mix of confusion, embarrassment, and sheer disbelief. The man, mid-buttoning his shirt, stared at Snoopy like she’d just materialized from another dimension. The ladyboy, clutching a pillow to her chest, let out a startled squeak.

  The man froze mid-button, his jaw hanging open as if he’d just witnessed a UFO landing in his living room. “What the—? Who the—? What the—?!” he stammered, his voice rising an octave with each word.

  Snoopy lay sprawled in the wreckage, blinking up at the ceiling like a disoriented cartoon character. The enormous rubber breasts were now grotesquely askew—one tilted at a 45-degree angle, the other perched precariously on her shoulder like a bizarre epaulet. She groaned, her Southern manners kicking in despite the absurdity of the situation.

  “Uh... bless your hearts,” she said weakly, her voice trembling with a mix of embarrassment and amusement. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your, uh... business.”

  The stunned silence that followed was broken by a single, deadpan whisper from Ploy, who stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. “Well, that’s one way to make an entrance.”

  Nok, ever the opportunist, snapped a quick photo with her phone, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. “And that’s going straight to the group chat. Hashtag: Legendary.”

  Fah, meanwhile, clutched her chest dramatically, fanning herself with her free hand. “I think I’m going to faint again. Someone catch me!”

  Madame Noi sighed, her expression a mix of exasperation and reluctant admiration. She fished a cigarette from the folds of her robe, lit it with a flick of her lighter, and took a long, deliberate drag. Exhaling a plume of smoke, she looked down at Snoopy with a raised eyebrow. “Sweetheart,” she said, her voice dripping with world-weary wisdom, “if you’re gonna be a legend, you better own it.”

  Snoopy groaned, struggling to sit up amidst the debris. “Own it? Ma’am, I can’t even stand it. These things are a health hazard.”

  The man, still staring at her with wide-eyed disbelief, finally found his voice. “Are those... real?”

  Snoopy shot him a glare that could curdle milk. “Do they look real?!”

  The ladyboy in the bed burst into laughter, clutching her pillow to her chest. “Well, they’re certainly... impressive.”

  Madame Noi stepped through the hole in the wall, her heels crunching on the splintered wood and faded wallpaper. She extended a hand to Snoopy, her jade rings glinting in the dim light. “Come on, darling. Let’s get you back on your feet. You’ve got a legacy to uphold.”

  Snoopy took her hand, wobbling precariously as she stood. The rubber breasts swayed ominously, threatening to send her toppling again. Ploy and Nok rushed to her side, each grabbing an arm to steady her.

  “Careful, darling,” Ploy said, her tone teasing but kind. “You’re carrying a national treasure.”

  “And possibly a lawsuit if you take out another wall,” Nok added, her lips twitching with suppressed laughter.

  As they helped Snoopy back into the main room, Fah lingered behind, staring at the couple with wide-eyed curiosity. “So... how do you charge for a thing like this?” she asked innocently. “Asking for a friend.”

  The ladyboy in the bed laughed, while the man buried his face in his hands. Madame Noi rolled her eyes and ushered Fah out of the room, muttering under her breath about “professionalism.”

  Back in the main room, Snoopy collapsed into a chair, the rubber breasts now resting on the table to take some of the weight off her back. She sighed, running a hand through her hair as she tried to process the chaos of the last few minutes.

  “Alright,” she said, her voice tinged with both exhaustion and amusement. “I’ll admit it. This is officially the weirdest night of my life.”

  Madame Noi smirked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, darling, this is just the beginning. We’ve got to teach you how to walk in those things.”

  Snoopy groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Can I at least get a drink first? I feel like I’ve earned it.”

  Madame Noi snapped her fingers, and a ladyboy appeared with a glass of whiskey. Snoopy took it gratefully, downing it in one gulp before setting the glass down with a decisive clink.

  “Alright, Madame Noi,” she said, her tone equal parts resignation and determination. “What’s next? A pair of inflatable hips? A jetpack? A pet tiger?”

  Madame Noi chuckled, her laughter like the crackle of a vinyl record. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re not ready for the tiger. But don’t worry—we’ll start small. First, we need to teach you how to walk in those.”

  She gestured to the rubber breasts, which were now holding Snoopy’s empty glass quite securely. Snoopy groaned, burying her face in her hands again and laughing at the absurdity. “I’m startin’ to think Big Mama had a very twisted sense of humor.”

  And with that, the ladyboys erupted into laughter, their voices filling the room with warmth and camaraderie. Snoopy couldn’t help but smile, despite her nerves. Maybe, just maybe, she could do this. After all, if Big Mama believed in her, who was she to argue?

  As the laughter died down, Madame Noi leaned in close, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Remember, darling: legends aren’t born—they’re made. And you, my dear, are going to be one hell of a legend.”