Well, we're all in the mood for a melody...

[sapphira-ststep.livejournal.com]

[The Tavern of Hell]
[It's nine o'clock on a Saturday, February 6 (day 251)]

...and the regular crowd rushes in. And I know the faces you see at the bar, making love to their tonic and gin.

Humming along with the jukebox, and the room's not too crowded, but it's full enough that I can step back and around the people crossing to their table or the bar and if it isn't what they would call dancing it's a movement that makes me smile. The Market was good to me today, and I am wearing my brown mask, but I have pinned a quartet of small bronze ribbons to one side, and brushed them back. They are a little darker than my hair, and it pleases me to have them there, reminds me of places and parties where people took delight in the subtleties of a mask.

I imagine this is how other women feel when they paint their faces, and I smile.

"Do you have cider, cher?" I say to the man behind the bar, slipping onto one of the stools and drawing myself up, appraising him. Audience and player at once, what a delight. "Something that tastes like there could be spring again, something to match the air today."

[Open]

Comments

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

I can't really believe I am going out to the Tavern on a Saturday night, alone, in my condition. But I promised Damien that I would be here and that I would sing with him, and I do like to keep my word.

I already wore the black dress here, so I go though the few things my husband was good enough to have his quar-- kwar--- his whatever find, and I settle on a snazzy pinstripe (http://sierramaternity.com/Olian+Maternity+Dresses+%3A+Scoop+Neck+Dress+%3A+Black+Pinstripe/) maternity dress. The pinstripes help, they always made me feel more in control, somehow.

I throw on my shoes and trench coat and head over, before I change my mind. Hidden within it's pockets and lining are a few choice surprises, just in case Lucien was right and anyone gets any funny ideas about my pregnancy.

Walk in and manage to smile at the warmth and the comforting prescence of the stage and piano. Also that there isn;t anyone I immediately recognize, either. I seemed to have beaten (hahaha)Damien here, so I head to the bar and hop up on a stool. I do keep my coat on though, it may not close, but for now,it conceals.

I would dearly love some absinthe or whiskey, and I have been assured that drinking will not harm my daughter. Still... appearances. I order a glass of meade, and sip it as I wait for Damien to arrive.

[damien-dw.livejournal.com]

I'm really looking forward to this, to performing with Wanda. Makes me smile as I walk in and see her at the bar. I unzip my leather jacket and adjust the strap for the case with my guitar before wandering up to her. I give her a grin. "Ready to give these people a real show?"

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

I people watch until Damien joins me. He joins me with a big smile.

"Ready to give these people a real show?"

His enthusiasm is almost infectious. "Let me finish my drink, it's been a while since I've performed seriously, need a bit of Irish courage." I tease, holding up my glass, but my jest about Irish courage triggers a memory. From a lifetime ago, it seems, of another man with a guitar and dark eyes, coaxing me to sing...

It is so painfully acute in my memory I have to shut my eyes to will it away.

After a moment, I manage to swallow down the grief, and I give Damien a apologetic smile. "Sorry, give me a sec." Then I yell for Thomas and a shot of whiskey. To hell... hahaha... with apperances.

[damien-dw.livejournal.com]

Let me finish my drink, it's been a while since I've performed seriously, need a bit of Irish courage. Wanda teases holding up her glass. I'm about to say something like 'no rush' but then a look of pain appears in her eyes and she squeezes them shut for a long moment. Then she gives me an apologetic smile asking me to give her a sec. I nod. She can take as much time as she needs. I didn't mean to cause her pain. She yells to get the bartender's attention and then order a shot of whiskey. I'm not quite sure that's a good idea, but I don't want to start an argument. Instead I take a seat next to her. Maybe I'll order something myself. Part of me wants to suggest we go hide in the performers break room away from all these people. At least til we're ready to give them that show.

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

Poor Damien, he is looking at me like I grew another head. I take a sip of my whiskey instead of knocking it back like I normally would, and smile as the liquid fire seeps down my throat.

"The last person that asked me to sing with him... he died this past Autumn." I explain softly. "I just... missed him for a moment."

I take a deep breath, and manage to smile again. "So, m'dear... tell me what type of music you had in mind. Any particular songs you want to play? I am open to just about anything... and chances are I'll know it." He gets it in his head, I'll be able to hear it instantly.

[damien-dw.livejournal.com]

Wanda sips her whiskey still looking a bit sad and explains in a soft voice,The last person that asked me to sing with him... he died this past Autumn.I just... missed him for a moment. Oh. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Then she takes a deep breath visibly putting the pain away somewhere. Then she smiles, So, m'dear... tell me what type of music you had in mind. Any particular songs you want to play? I am open to just about anything... and chances are I'll know it. and I nod, "How d'ypu feel about Jazz?"

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

"I'm sorry for your loss." I nod in response, and sip my whiskey. So am I Damien... more than anyone on this planet.

"How d'you feel about Jazz?" I smile around my glass, but dammit, his eyes are still in my head. "Like Jazz just fine. Or a little country, a little blues, a little rock... whatever."

"Tell you what, lets each rattle off a quick list of different songs we like, and we'll go from there, but... do you know Under the Milky Way?" I have the suddenly and melancholy urgeto sing that one for Lúgh's memory.

[damien-dw.livejournal.com]

She nods and sips her drink. She smiles around the glass when I ask how she feels about Jazz. Says she likes it just fine. Same seems to go for Country, blues and Rock. Tell you what, lets each rattle off a quick list of different songs we like, and we'll go from there, but... do you know Under the Milky Way?

"Sounds good to me." I say but I have to admit, "I'm not sure I know that one". In fact I'm pretty sure I've never heard that name before. There's a lot of songs out there, no musician can be expected to know them all. "If you give me the tune I'm sure I can improvise something to go with it, if you have your heart set on singing it." I offer.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

I slip back into this teenage body and arrive at the tavern with a cigarette jutting from the corner of my mouth, hair dishevelled, an outfit thrown together (http://i25.tinypic.com/2dcbn1k.jpg). This body is probably too young to be served in this bar, but I do not think anyone is overly concerned with that, and the barman gives me a drink. He does have a soft spot for pretty boys; I remember that from Brant.

I see that Wanda is here, and it makes me smile a little to myself that we will be in the same room but she will not recognise me. What a marriage we have.

I sit down at the bar, spinning slowly round on the barstool as I take in the room.

[melania-lowell.livejournal.com]

The last week has been a slow moving blur of anger, fear and sometimes forgetfulness with laughter and fun Goggles and hugs and the scent of ink and dye and the clean scent of brightly colored hair. Forgetfulness, like it never happened at all, none of it. Its then when I could sleep. Nothing happened and its time to get up, its time for work. Then I move and my heel reminds me why that's not such a good idea even if its getting better and covered up. It wasn't a bad dream, it did happen, all of it. I almost killed him, I could have, but I didn't. I wish I did. That's what bothers me the most. I think I'd kill him if I saw him now. I don't think I'd be sorry I did. He's a threat. Best to stay inside.

Its not so much the pain in my heel, but how much slower I move, the weakness and sharp scent of injured flesh. Staying inside where no one could see me was best. I didn't even really want to see Iago when he came over the first time,once he saw I was alive, he didn't stay long. He came back today with his usual grin and wink, giving me a flask. “Part of our health benefits, little sis.” I don't know what the fuck he meant or what it has to do with the flask of water he brought me.

He wanted me to prove I was okay by coming to the tavern tonight. That or he would have to stay and bellow me to sleep every night until I was better. ...or deaf. I felt better after emptying the flask, I swear it made me feel better and thirsty at the same time. Going out didn't sound like a bad idea at all. He promised Verdi wouldn't be there. I think Iago gave me some strong stuff cos my heel doesn't hurt at all as I walk down Silk, I don't even notice the scent.

Walking in, my stomach growls for the first time in a week. I catch the sound of music, shoes on the floorboards voices singing and the clink of glass against glass as Cookie hums along in the kitchen next to the sink with the never ending drip. People, food and booze. home. A low soft whine tickles up my throat. Part of me is comforted while the other wants to curl up, fight, or run away. Walking all the way in, I pause, I can't tell if she's here or not. This place is all her. Fuck it. Its ours too. Smiling, I hug Thomas and wave to Cookie and take a seat at the bar. “Whatever Cookie has ready to eat now and anything to drink,” I say when Thomas asks what I want, “No wait. Violet Charm, I'll have that.” Violet Charm is never a bad choice.

[verite-belrose.livejournal.com]

Spend the afternoon doing business and waffling back and forth as to whether to go out tonight or not. But Lannie's already gone to the Tavern so I might as well. Besides what if Tarquin goes off with Conley because I'm not there?

I dig through my clothes and put an outfit together. A shirt that's mostly fishnet with a thick cotton middle that hides my boobs an shows my tats. Celtic swirls on my arms and the tribals on my belly and back. The skirt is short so I add purple stockings and fishnet over 'em. Add steel-toed boots and leather jacket and I'm almost done. The hair is up in a big shiny clip with the short bits at the front spiked up a little.

I push the door of the tavern open and walk in determined not to look for anyone in particular just yet.

[sapphira-ststep.livejournal.com]

Brown leather and bronze ribbons and red-gold cider, how autumnal, all told. I take my drink and stand and move to the end of the bar nearer the door. I pass a would-be couple as I do, the youth yearning after the woman's attention and her indulging... him? perhaps... and herself. Whiskey and a child on a woman whose skin is too pretty, even at her age, to be a souse... No, I do not think she is much for indulging others, despite the thin restraint in her hand as she sips. I think of asking for a song, but I prefer rags and opera. The one would give her no chance to sing, and I think the other would be rather overlong for the Tavern, and so I pass them by.

There is a boy who is nearly a perfect setpiece of young and tousled confidence, and one of the bartenders whose shoulders bespeak an assertion of self that is still finding its place... Lannie, I think I've heard the others call her. A thin knot of young women, standing at the bar a little too close to each other to be as comfortable here as they are trying to be, but

I come to a clearer spot by the end of the bar and stand there a moment, and the opening of the door directly as the jukebox pauses before bubbling into another song catches my attention. You say I waste my life away, but I live it to the full... Black and purple, and not what I often see but certainly carefully designed.

"I do like your inkwork," I say conversationally to her as she passes. "Do you often add to it?"

[verite-belrose.livejournal.com]

I do like your inkwork,Do you often add to it? Someone, a woman, says to me as I walk into the Tavern. I give her a smile. The brown leather mask is sort of familiar, think I've seen her before in the market. "Thanks. Not often but that's because I'm a little picky. Got to be the right thing before it goes on permanently." And then I stick out my hand hoping she'll take it. "I'm Verite. And I like your mask."

[sapphira-ststep.livejournal.com]

"Thanks," she says, and I think rather pleased. "Not often but that's because I'm a little picky. Got to be the right thing before it goes on permanently."

I smile in agreement and take her hand as she introduces herself. "That's very true, I think. I'm Sapphira St-Stephens," and she says that she likes my mask and I smile.

"Thank you," I say. "I thought I'd dress it up a little, tonight," I add, brushing one hand across the ribbons, and then I look thoughtfully at her. "You said it has to be the right thing... do you design your own?" I ask, stepping back a little so that she can get to the bar while we talk.

[verite-belrose.livejournal.com]

Oh good she does take my hand and introduces herself. I'm Sapphira St-Stephens, I get a smile for my compliment of her mask. Thank you,I thought I'd dress it up a little, tonight, She adds, one hand gently brushing at the ribbons fastened to the side.

You said it has to be the right thing... do you design your own? She asks with a thoughtful look at me. Lannie brushes my arm as she goes past and I give her a smile. She seems to be heading for a table nearby. I'll catch up with her in a bit. Sapphira is stepping back a bit which lets me get closer to the bar, and I take the next empty seat. Wave to catch Thomas' attention. And answer my new friend, "Yes, I do. As well as design them for others. Part of my business. Is that mask your own work?" It probably is.

[sapphira-ststep.livejournal.com]

The bartending woman goes by, touching Verite lightly on one arm; friends, I think, and probably quite familiar ones for the quick I'll see you later to be so casual.

Her next line confirms my suspicion; "Yes, I do. As well as design them for others," she adds. "Part of my business. Is that mask your own work?"

"All mine are," I say, smiling. "And all the ones I sell or trade, too. That's my work and my business both. What's yours-- wait," I say, interrupting myself and looking at her curiously. Her hair is really remarkable, the kind of thing that could overwhelm a smaller or quieter person, but as deliberately assembled as the whole look is... "Do you work at Dyed for Beauty?"

[verite-belrose.livejournal.com]

A smile,All mine are, And all the ones I sell or trade, too. That's my work and my business both. What's yours--wait, and she stops briefly to look at me again and then as she asks if confirming something, Do you work at Dyed for Beauty?

I grin at her, "Own it actually." not sure if I ought to correct her on the name. It's a very minor thing to leave off the I. And some people take it badly if you correct them on things. "Your stuff's beautiful. Haven't seen much of it since Halloween. At the party." A memory of the large room full of people dressed fantastically comes to me.

[sapphira-ststep.livejournal.com]

"Own it actually," she says with a grin, and I raise my eyebrows (and tilt my head, since eyebrows won't show through the mask), impressed and a little surprised.

"Congratulations, then, chere," I say, smiling. I don't think it's such an important thing here as it is in the cities down south to take your own shop, move out of journeyman, but she's clearly quite pleased and has a right to be.

"Your stuff's beautiful," and I believe she means it and I smile. "Haven't seen much of it since Halloween. At the party."

"That was lovely, the whole night," I say in agreement. "And no, people don't often wear masks without an excuse, I find, not in most places I've been. Still, I make them, and sometimes they find homes." I shrug and smile. "So we both use needles and ink to decorate hide, and have run into each other by chance. Would you like a cider to celebrate?"

[mike-inkheart.livejournal.com]

I said I'd visit the tavern and here I am. Now that I'm here, I'm not sure where I should sit and I look around, hoping to see Melania. Maybe she's not working tonight. I forgot to ask her earlier but if I don't see here, maybe I can find out when she'll be in next.

It's pretty damn cheerful in here and I grab a seat at the bar, signaling to the bartender. I order a stout and smile as I look around. There are lots of people, none of which I know. Hmm, I'll have to change that and I try to look approachable as I enjoy my beer.

[melania-lowell.livejournal.com]

Ri comes in, not noticing me and nervous enough to where I forget my food and stand up, about to go see what's wrong. She's all smiles when she stops to talk to a woman at the bar though. I hope everything is okay and why's she wearing a mask?

Grabbing my drink, I slowly walk past them, smiling and touching Ri's arm as I pass. Nope, nothing smells off (because its been so reliable for me in the past) and they're talking about tats. Its okay for now but I settle myself into another seat so I can keep an eye on her. Wait... my heel didn't hurt at all when I did that. Pushing the bandages aside, I swear under my breath. Its gone? It was there when I woke up and before I took a shower and came out.

What the fuck?

Downing my drink, I ask Thomas for another one and look around, almost falling off my stool when a pair of pretty green eyes meet mine. Fuck! How long has he been there? Has he been there this whole time? I cover my shock with long sip of my drink. "Hey Newspaper guy, find any good stories this week?" That was lame. I may as well have asked him 'what's your sign.' Doesn't matter, its not like I'm flirting with him. He's probably some new psycho that noone's heard of yet.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

I see Verite come in. She plays the adolescent game of speaking to someone else before approaching the person to whom she wants to speak, and I smile. I shall speak to her later. For now, however, I have seen the newspaper man come in; the barman helpfully points out who he is as we make idle conversation. It is useful to be charming. I hop off my stool and saunter down the bar.

"Hey, are you the bloke who owns the newspaper?" I say. "Don't think I've ever been in a town that had a real paper. One place had a church newsletter, but that's not really the same. I'm Conley, by the way," I offer cheerfully. Then I smile at Melania, who I remember from my time as Uri. I wonder if she tried my gift. She has been hurt quite badly. I think she has been part of someone's games. More than one someone, in fact. My smile widens as I took at her appreciatively.

[mike-inkheart.livejournal.com]

I wonder if there's a show tonight, they have a stage, and then I wonder if that's the kind of thing they do around here. I have no idea but I can't wait to find out. There's quite a few people in tonight and again, I'm marveling at how good-looking everyone is.

Honestly, I'm just looking for one person, for her but maybe she lied to me about working here. Nah, she works here and I ignore my wayward thought as I catch a glimpse of a redhead, three young people and a woman in a mask. Not an ugly one in the bunch and I laugh to myself as I sip my beer.

The purple-haired girl is very cute but she looks too young for me. Would she be in a tavern if she wasn't old enough? I shrug, not concerned. Who am I to judge and as I look past her, I see the person I was hoping to see. Melania, and she sees me too. Okay, be cool, Mike. She's just an extremely girl, beautiful even. Be cool.

She sees me too and gives me the best smile before saying, "Hey Newspaper guy, find any good stories this week?" I laugh, nodding as I reply, "I met this mysterious girl, two actually, but one ran off before I could get her story, or her last name." This girl's seriously hot and take another sip of my beer before smiling wide and saying, "So here I am."

I'm just about to ask about her something, anything when a good-looking young guy sidles over to me and asks, "Hey, are you the bloke who owns the newspaper?... I'm Conley, by the way."

"Yes, the paper's mine," and I smile as I continue, "I'm Michael, good to meet you," I laugh lightly, agreeing, "You're right. A church paper isn't the same. I'm always on the lookout for good stories so if you trip over any, let me know."

[melania-lowell.livejournal.com]

"I met this mysterious girl, two actually, but one ran off before I could get her story, or her last name."

Did I tell him I worked here? I remember wishing I did, but I might have. With a smile, I shrug, "Not so good a reporter then, but I'll give you points for research." You don't wanna know my story and my last name is fake so what's the point. He seems okay, but so did everyone else. And if he is actually a nice guy, I'm not dragging him into this mess.

Another guy joins us, about my age, I guess. He doesn't say anything to me so I sip my drink and look around, smiling and waving at Wanda. When did she get here? When I look back at the guys I see the new one, Conley, smiling at me... like I would smile at a steak. Are you kidding me? Don't tell me there's a family of those people eating freaks! My spine straightens and I cover it with a languid stretch and I smile back. None of the same scents are coming off him and its probably me, but see if I go out alone for a walk with just anyone. Fuck that.

I'm always on the lookout for good stories so if you trip over any, let me know."

"Don't have to trip over them around here," I murmur quietly into my glass. I'm sorta glad he didn't hear about what happened last week. I'm tired of everyone asking if I'm all right. Just give me five minutes in that cage with him and I'll be fine. "So what's your story," I ask, undecided as to who I asked. I wave at Thomas, asking for another round of drinks. They better drink faster if they're gonna catch..... Pausing, I look at Conley, "Wait... are you even old enough to drink?" Its not like Verdi cares, or I that I care if she does, but I wanna see what he says.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"Michael, good to meet you," I say, nodding. The girl Melania gives me a wary look. Yes, someone has been playing with her. "What's your name, darling?" I grin at her.

"You're right. A church paper isn't the same. I'm always on the lookout for good stories so if you trip over any, let me know."

"I've just come back to town after a while away," I say, "but I have a good nose for gossip." I smile widely. "You pay for tips, Mike?"

"Wait... are you even old enough to drink?"

I laugh.

"That depends, doesn't it, on where you're drinking." I sip my beer. "One town I went to, no one under thirty was allowed to drink booze. Encourages licentious behaviour." I wink. "And in another place there were kids of ten or twelve drinking small beer and no one batted an eye."

[mike-inkheart.livejournal.com]

Her smile's perfect and I can't help smiling back as she teases me, "Not so good a reporter then, but I'll give you points for research."

I laugh, "You said you were delivering a package from the Tavern so I decided to check that lead first. Looks like I was right because here you are." I wonder if she's dating anyone and when she waves to someone behind me, I turn around to see who it is. It's a gorgeous redhead but I don't get the vibe that Melania's interested in her.

The young guy introduces himself as Conley and immediately starts checking out Melania, asking her name. Who could blame him, and for all I know, he could be her boyfriend. I return his smile as I agree about the church paper and he says, "I've just come back to town after a while away but I have a good nose for gossip." He smiles and it brings to mind something wild. Must be a trick of the light and he asks, "You pay for tips, Mike?"

Melania mutters, "Don't have to trip over them around here," and I wonder exactly what she means. Maybe later I can ask her and I turn to Conley and reply, "Occasionally but it's not something I normally do. Depends on the information," and I give him a curious look. What does he know?

"So what's your story," I smile at her as I finish my beer. Proudly, I say, "I'm the youngest person in my family to have their own newspaper. Does that count as a good story for you?" She looks at Conley, asking, "Wait... are you even old enough to drink?" I chuckle and he talks about different booze laws. He's right though and as Melania orders another round, I add, "Thanks and I'll get the next one, Melania, unless you want to even up another way." I smile at her, adding, "Maybe a game of pool or darts to decide who gets the tab?"