[Sodium_noir] Killing Time at Harlequins

[Spikey]

Elizabeth, Giger
Tremere
Club Harlequin

>The waitress nods, but does not write anything down. 
>The mark of a very well trained and experienced
>waitress.  Giger watches her as she moves.  Graceful
>as a dancer, and perhaps she more than likely was.  

>Giger searches the room, looking to catch some glimpse
>of the legendary Harlequin.  

The room begins to applaud the singer, a ripple of encore's and even a few thrown flowers. 

At that moment the doors beside the stage, marked as leading tot he Casino, fly open and a figure in a bright red zoot suit comes skidding through them. He slides to a graceful stop along the polished floor, clapping loudly as he does so. Long black hair, so dark it was almost blue, settles around a handsome face with the colour of gun metal. Dark, once dusky flesh given the pallid gleam of undeath. The Mortals probably didn't notice, or they thought it exotic, but Giger could tell a Dead man when he saw one no matter how dark they had been in life.

The harlequin, for he could be no other, looks around the room with a broad and infectious smile. He encourages the crowd to clap louder and to cheer, stamping his foot (complete with spats) several times and whistling like the proverbial wolf. As the singer takes her bow, the red decked host leaps tot he stage with all the power and grace of a panther. Nothing a mortal gymnasts couldn't do, but still a dead giveaway to those who were in the know. He takes a hold of the microphone stand, wrapping slender fingers around the old fashioned basket microphone with the letters BBC in metallic relief.

"The delightful and exquisite Tawny; ladies and Gentlemen" he announces in a tone that reminds the Tremere of a Circus ringmaster. "Wanted by many, adored by all, but matched by none. What's that I hear you cry?" He lifts his hand to his ear in an exaggerated gesture. "Encore? ENCORE? Perhaps if we ask nicely. If we beg and plead?"

The host falls to his knees and clutches his heart, the mic still in his hand and its stand stretched out behind him. 

"Please Tawny, we are soo unworthy and yet we cannot let you go. One more song for us, just one?" he looks tot he crowd with a sly grin, encouraging more cheers and calls. The Songstress looks daggers at him, a world of hurt in her expression, but he carries on regardless. "Is there anything we can do to convince you?"

Despite her pain, she plays along. A consummate performer. One hand on her hip she lips a finger to her lips and taps them, pretending to think. 

"Kell the Bosh!" She replies in her sultry voice. He bows and leaps up, making his way to the Bands pit with one more smooth slide across the stage. The band leader is already holding up a Violin and a bow, and those in the crowd who have seen this act before erupt in applause. 

The Harlequin lifts the Fiddle to his throat and the band begin to play. He joins them with his own playing, a sad lamentation with a painful melody. As she begins to sing, her voice is equally tinged with the sadness of the song.

What you wear is bright silk satin
That no needle can pierce.
My beloved cannot sleep without me.

She raises her hands above her head and begins to dance from the hips. Her head sways and her fingers click.

Oh, bottles, bottles
I drank my raki
and you don't like me.
I fell into the mud and you laughed at me.

The Harlequin steps from the stage once again and begins to wander the crowd. Playing the Violin like a tortured soul, stopping before a table here or there for a moment to serenade a young lady or a rich bankers wife.


You wear a white dress,
The nights are chilly.
Come near me for a little while.

Michael Gaunt, Tess Martin, John Black, The Urmen
Mage, Mortal, Mr Mystery, Vamp, Garou and Mummy
a Booth

>He turned his attention to Kiss, "This is a choice you've made? And been
>outcast by your family of the blood for it, only to be gathered up again by
>your sisters in spirit?" It was a quiet question, barely audible save to
>those with senses beyond the mundane. The tone was sad, but not accusing at
>all - and had the hints of Overtones that bespoke of a spirit or the like
>Speaking through or with him.


Oh, bottles, bottles
I drank my raki
and you don't like me.
I fell into the mud and you laughed at me.

"I knew ... cough ... Knowledge ... snort ... comes with a price" She growled out from a sore throat. "But ... snort ... there are still ... cough ... spirits who predate the ... Pharaohs ... Snort ... who remember the eldest method ... Cough snigger ... of Mourning the dead!"! She takes a sip of her drink. "If I am to have no ... Bwa ha ha ... Pack and no ... snort ...tribe," She pauses while a fit of giggles overtakes her " ...this Kumpanya is ... cough ...where I was destined .... to be!"


You wear yellow,
The nights are short.
Whose lover are you?

As Kiss struggles to get her words out, those at the Table slowly begin to notice that Columbine's attention has left them as she watches her Undead Husband play tot he crowd. Her expression is hungry and dangerous, full of passion and malice.


Oh, bottles, bottles
I drank my raki
and you don't like me.
I fell into the mud and you laughed at me.

As the song comes to an end, the Harlequin stops before Giger and Elizabeth. The final mournful notes played as he looks directly into the English Tremere's eyes, full of amused arrogance. 

[Tag] 







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Chaos.....Panic.....Disorder! My work here is finished!!!
Spikey
 
Mashkar le gadjende leski shib si le Romeski zor
 
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