'There's something so beautiful, so electrifying about the man going on foot against the beast, and completely dominating his opponent, isn't there,' Henry smiled, sitting on a plush red banquette near the corner of Lord Owenstoft’s drawing room.

At short notice, Robyn Casey had been invited by Henry to attend the Taurine Club's last social before their group trip to Spain. The journalist had readily agreed. Going to this event, they were told, would help Robyn discover the truth – the Club wasn't devoted to cruelty, but artistic appreciation. So far, they were unconvinced, sitting in the dimly lit, oak panelled room with a copy of La Salida in front of them, open at a grisly double page photo spread.

'I find it a great metaphor for man's mastery of nature. It’s no surprise those who wish to outlaw it in Spain are such killjoys regarding the British countryside,' Lord Owenstoft said, enjoying a glass of his 200-year-old whisky.

'Ah, you see, I'm more of a horsy person, I enjoy when the entire performance is done by one person on horseback,' Eloise Skerrett said.

'I'm sorry, by the entire performance, what do you mean,' Robyn said, as the reporter wrote notes for a follow up to their initial unflattering piece.

'I mean - when all the stages are done by one person on a horse, including the finish. I bet you think that's cruel, don't you,' Eloise grinned, a ghoulish look in her eye. Robyn had eaten a big dinner with colleagues from the newsdesk right before they came. The sensations in their stomach told them this had been a serious mistake.

'Well, it depends,' Robyn said.

'Depends on what?' Eloise said, getting too close to them. Robyn could smell the sweat underneath her overpowering perfume.

'On, um, whether they hurt it.'

‘Of course they hurt it. So what? It's just a bull. There’s no difference between enjoying a corrida and eating hamburgers and steaks. I bet you eat those all the time.' Eloise smirked.

'Well, I have some food intolerances and can't eat meat, there's a long list of things I can't eat, if I don’t want to end up in hospital,' Robyn said in a light hearted tone. Eloise's face was shocked and disapproving, as if Robyn had just confessed to a sin.

'None of that stuff's real, you know, it's like Covid, that isn't real either. I'll tell you what is real though. Vaccine poisoning, maybe that's why you think you can't eat meat.' Robyn stared at her with interest, but not exactly surprise. The conversation had certainly taken an unexpected turn. This would have to go in the article too. This was a Cabinet Minister saying this stuff! Did the Prime Minister know her views?

Did he agree?

'Maybe,' Robyn said politely. Henry glanced at them, giving them an odd look.

'You seem a nice guy. Do you have a girlfriend, Robyn?' Eloise said, putting her arm around Robyn's chair.

'I'm not a guy,' Robyn said. The aficionados had misgendered them about 20 times this evening. That didn’t bother Robyn; they’d heard it all before and had a skin like an elephant. They had interviewed neo-Nazis in prison before. This lot were nowhere as threatening – posh weirdos with disturbing hobbies. Nothing Robyn couldn't handle.

'But do you have a girlfriend? Or are you gay?' Eloise insisted as she brushed the back of Robyn's neck, sounding disturbed at the last word. It was hard to believe she was only 30 to Robyn’s 25.

'I do,' Robyn lied, shifting away from her, glad they were up to date with all their boosters.

'Well, whoever she is, is very lucky,' Eloise breathed, pouring yet another glass. 'I'm seeing a man myself at the moment.'

'Oh, yeah?' Now Robyn was interested. Eloise would already have to resign after her statements this evening. No harm in getting a few more clicks for the website.

'Yeah,' Eloise said, smiling blissfully. 'Javier Castella.'

'I haven't heard of him,' Robyn said.

'He's a matador, he's so talented. When he uses his sword, it’s so beautiful, like a painting, or a poem,' Eloise gushed, downing another glass of wine. Wasn't she meant to make a statement about some high speed rail project tomorrow?

'But he can't see me all the time, he's got such a busy schedule, going to Mexico and Peru and exotic places like that. The bulls are so dangerous, and his wife sounds like a bitch. I feel so sorry for him. He says he'll leave her soon and we'll be together,' Eloise said in a miserable tone. Robyn tried to disguise how enthralled they were.

What a scoop.

They couldn't believe the material they had managed to gather. Incredible. This would cause the Tories endless controversy – no bad thing – and drive up sales considerably. They’d have to get a pay rise. Maybe they'd be able to apply for jobs at more prestigious outlets. Overseas maybe, they liked the look of the Netherlands or New Zealand. Get out of Terf Island, although that side of things hadn’t been too bad for them lately.

Robyn excused themselves and got up to go to the bathroom, where they texted the editor of the Daily Mirror with the audio file of Eloise's comments about vaccines. The editor texted back, 'Wow. That is mental. Um, get this written up ASAP. Let's put it online tonight.'

'She's having an affair with a matador, who happens to be married to a Spanish politician, can't make this shit up lmfao.' Robyn sent him the second file. The editor reacted with a shocked emoji. Hopefully the aficionados wouldn't notice how long they were taking. But Robyn knew these people would probably blame it on ‘a gender-confused snowflake who can’t decide on a toilet.’

'Holy shit Robyn you’ve got a gift – she knows you’re a tabloid journo and told you anyway!!!!' was his reply.

'She's fucked off her face, like taking candy from a baby 🤣'

'See if you can find out if they do illegal bullfights in the UK! I bet Dixon organises them, he seems really bloodthirsty haha. Maybe someone’s into something *really* bad, like dog fighting.' Robyn gave him a thumbs up and finished up in the toilet, before going to sit back down next to Eloise, who was on her fourth glass of Spanish wine.

Eloise gave them an embarrassed stare and staggered to the bathroom. Robyn was left talking to Henry Dixon. They smiled at him. 'Thanks for inviting me along. I'm having a very interesting evening.'

'I'm glad you're finding us interesting. It's nice to meet you too, Robyn. I do hope you're not about to write another hit piece, or I will have you stuffed and mounted on my wall.' The two both laughed at the poor-taste joke, Robyn a bit more awkwardly.

'Of course not,' Robyn said.

'Are you going to have any of the beef entrecote?' Henry said. These people probably had beef at every meal, Robyn thought, and explained the issue with the food allergies. Henry regarded the journalist with distaste.

'As long as you're not a vegan,' he said with a sneer. 'I cannot abide vegans.'

'No. Why not?' Robyn said, hoping for another salacious headline.

'They’re so unreasonably, nauseatingly self righteous, when I believe it was Genesis 1:26 which states God gave Man mastery over the beasts.' He spoke wistfully, a faraway look in his eyes. Was he drunk?

'Are you religious?' Robyn asked. The article already had a quote from a Spanish priest at a Catholic Church in Birmingham, condemning cruelty to animals; whatever Henry said would be put to Padre Marcos for a reply.

'Not especially, but regarding vegans, I do believe the Good Book is correct.' Robyn sipped from the water on the table. It tasted funny so they decided not to have any more. It was a strange lesson to take if you didn't believe in the bible as a whole. Robyn pictured a headline saying, 'Lord Dixon: Vegans condemned by bible'.

'What's funny?' Henry said in a genteel but cold tone.

'Veganism,' Robyn said coolly. Henry looked unconvinced.

'After this evening, would you be tempted to go to a corrida yourself?' he asked.

'I actually saw one on holiday in the South of France once, as a child.’ Robyn prepared to make another escape to the bathroom to transfer the latest files. Where was their phone, anyway? They'd put it on the table next to Henry’s port bottle, but couldn't see it now. It couldn’t be in their rucksack, the waiter had taken that when they entered. Oh, they'd find it...

'What did you think, there are some fabulous toreros in the South of France?' Henry said, his face lit up.

'I can't say I enjoyed it, to tell you the truth, I felt a bit sorry for the bull. Sorry, I think I've lost something,' Robyn said, distracted looking for their phone. They peeked under the antique table at the fabulously expensive carpet. It wasn't there.

Robyn went into the toilet, maybe they'd left it there by mistake. They were annoyed, they never lost things, they prided themselves on being organised. They were just getting started on this freak show and losing anything put them off their stride. After checking all the cubicles of the men's and women's toilets they came back into the room where Henry was waiting.

'Were you looking for this?' he said, holding up Robyn's phone.

'Oh, brilliant, thanks.' They hoped to make their bathroom run and head off in a half hour, not longer than that. They didn't want to discuss the merits of differing capework styles much longer. Tonight couldn’t have gone any better. Time to head off, open up the laptop and turn this into something passable.

'One second please, I have to make a phone call to my partner,' Robyn said pointedly. So many of this lot had been thirstily eyeing them up all night.

They headed to the men's bathroom, shut themselves in one of the cubicles and looked for the files to send to the editor. Robyn couldn't find any of them. The recordings had all gone! Had they pressed delete by accident? These files had to be in the memory card; maybe some weird folder in the cloud. There was no signal on the phone either; turning it off and on didn't help. They walked out of the cubicle. What was the matter with them? That feature they'd worked on, about that poor lad with early onset dementia. He was 25 like Robyn. If he could get it that young –

'I should go, it's obviously a bit late for me,' Robyn said, apologetic.

Oh shit. Where were their car keys? Robyn told themselves not to panic. Surely the keys would be in that compartment at the bottom of their bag where they always were.

Surely?

'I'll show you out,' Henry said.

'No, it's-' Robyn started.

'No, it's fine, allow me,' Henry said and followed them out into the night. As he walked close, terror seized Robyn as they realised their keys were gone and heard the sound of their own Volkswagen unlocking.

'I know what you're doing,' Henry hissed, grabbing them from behind, knocking all the air out of them so they gasped for breath. He twisted their hands behind their back and marched them towards the car and its wide open boot.

'No,' Robyn started to yell. But Henry clapped a hand over their mouth as he pushed them towards the boot of the car. They hit their nose on a plastic box they were meant to be taking to the dump and felt blood trickle over the wet tissue he held over their face. They’d seen him! They knew what his name was!

He'll have to kill me, they thought groggily as they slipped into sleep.

AN: what do you all think about Robyn - personally I like them they're such an amoral muckraker 🤣 but doing the Lord's work here- they don't deserve this 😭