At Betty's Boobs, the night is just now getting started. Hell, it's only 9:00. The serious folks aren't even up yet. And yet the place is already active. Two levels of a warehouse. Downstairs for gigs, dancing and drinks. Upstairs for punishment, pleasure and being seen. That's where the Naughty room is. And other private rooms, some of which you have to pay a membership to access. Quite impressive, really.
The city is teaming with my captains, my followers, my sinners, my fans. And I couldn't care less. It means nothing, it means nothing...
Dei sits on a sofa in the more or less private room, cradling the acoustic guitar that he carries around with him. That's what the world sees. A very fine acoustic guitar, held to him as he plays it. A fine musician. More than. He's a very talented musician, particularly when plucking out some old blues tune. He sings in Icelandic. An odd combination with American blues sound. And truly hauntingly lovely...
Drancy had only a very mild quarrel at the door - after all, in an outfit like that, it's not surprising she got carded for legality - to Dot's no doubt immense amusement. But tables turn quickly on such evenings, and being on the guest list makes up for things, when bouncers are capable of expressing even mild embarassment. It's with head held high that she then saunters in with Dot at her heels, with her picnic basket held in both hands in front of her, as sedately as if she were in jeans and t-shirt, climbing the steps up to the Naughty Room, eyes gliding past the various partakers of excess without really seeing them.
She pauses in the doorway, and while Drancy might normally call out, or even make some cordial joke about delivery, well, she's in the business as much because of a love of music as anything else. And so she pauses - and if Dot runs into her, well, the hell with her anyway. After a moment, though, she comes in, stepping to the side to let Dot in, face still half in the shadow of the cowl. Let Dot speak, I don't feel the need to say anything just yet...
No one needs to fear a lack of speaking when Dot's in town and around. Right, my dear kitties? And so after sauntering in at your heels, Little Red Riding Hood trailed by a very naughty school girl -- and getting looks all the way, one might note -- she moves beside you, one moment draping her arm around your shoulder, smelling of rosewater and cigarettes and whispering gossip and fashion reports as you head upstairs, and then as you stop, she moves past you, gliding her way in. "Darlings of Dastardly Northwest London, we bring you curried delights from Madame Pashmina," so theatrical, and they all look up, instantly recognizing her as the Harlot of Hartfordshire and toasting her with a 'hurray' in Icelandic.
And Sieg grins, handcuffed to the table, "Ooh, food for the imprisoned. At last. Hey," he turns toward the sofa in the corner, "...Muddy Waters, the food's here..."
Dei looks up at last, fingers pressed to the frets of the guitar, the strains of the last plucked note still moving over and within him, trembling on the air around them all. He was ignoring it all until then. Lavender hair hanging in face, a look of study, of concentration. Thought. Maybe even brooding. But it begins to peel away and he sits up, setting the guitar in the case. He never uses that on-stage. It must have some significance, the way he handles it.
And he looks for Drancy, seeing only the very short-skirted Dot...
It provokes a roll of her eyes, really. But her own theatricalism is such a different brand - it's there, indulged only occasionally, like now. Sieg and Dot make such a perfect couple, at least in Drancy's own eyes, though she doesn't bother pointing it out -again-. Instead, she loops the handle of the basket over her wrist, the other hand lifting to tug the red hood back, so that her hastily pinned hair tumbles out behind her.
"Sorry if you had to wait terribly long, but we were rather hurried as it was." Drancy says it casually, sauntering forward with the basket held close in both hands, now. "Trust you're all not perishing from starvation just yet, not even you, prisoner at the bar?"
The men begin to clear a space, pulling over a table for food -- you know, that blue-bearded Erik is a bit of a beast. He has to be six-six. Do you notice Jared noticing him? Dot does -- and she hadn't known that little tidbit. Jared and the bass player? Kinky! Dot parks it on Sieg's lap, crosses her legs, which only makes the miniest of mini skirts all the more minute and as Drancy comes in with the food, she looks over her shoulder at him, looking at her, and taps his nose with her index finger. "Behave, else I'll have to cuff your other hand..."
As if you didn't think she would know the way to get at him. They're two peas in a pod, these two. Even Dei sees it. You can see it in the smirk. "Little Red Riding Hood, welcome to the wolves den." Very fitting, Drancy. Icelandic wolves and determined English girls. It is a Grimm Fairy Tale, isn't it. And then he smiles, the first smile of the evening the others will note, and sits forward. He's not six-six, but he's a good six-two. They're all rather skyscraper in their own way. "Ruddy starving, but it hasn't been that long. Thanks," he says, and rubbing hands on his thighs he stands up. "Nice look. Oh, hello Dot," he says off-handedly to the girl on Sieg's lap, making him behave. Promising to feed him if he's good. Dei shakes his head and then peers into the basket. "Plenty of naan?"
"Naan, curry, patak, and a few other things which defy description by man or beast." She smiles with faint sardonism, taking a seat at the table - and it's not that she was holding out on Dot, it just simply didn't occur to her to tell her about Erik and Jared. Her mind just... doesn't work like that, that it's something to be particularly mentioned.
Drancy's probably one of the shorter people in the room, though taller than Dot by a little, but she's only about five-eight or nine or thereabouts. And, of course, ballet slippers are pretty flat, so her height isn't emphasized, particularly, right now - suggestion of daintiness? P'rhaps. She seats herself. "Thank you. I felt it was a little more fitting than trying to look like some sort of leather dominatrix or would-be slave. S'just not me." She opens up the basket and starts pulling out food containers.
"So how've you all been?" She casts a slightly pointed glance to the handcuffs holding Sieg in place - not, of course, that he wants to go anywhere now, what with a semi-nude girl in his lap and food in front of him. "Working round little obstacles, I see."
"I'm resourceful," Sieg laughs, "The son of a pirate..." Now that you can believe. "It's in our blood, ja..." Dot elbows him back -- aha, someone to keep him in line -- as he makes his way for the food. She lifts it and holds it away. "Uh uh... not until I say..."
That gets a round of applause, and the normally very quiet -- to the point of being mousey -- Jared even cackles. "Hello again," he says to Drancy, and Erik, plopping back into his chair, nods to you, half smiles and rummages through the food. "How much do we owe for the goods, ma'am Hood?" he rumbles.
Dei unpacks some food -- selecting one of the to-go styrofoam boxes for himself, a napkin and some plasticware. A bit of extra naan. "We've been good. A bit tired. I think we're going to take a week off next week and just catch upon sleep," Dei pauses as Jared snickers. "Among other things," he dryly adds. "For me," he whispers, "it'll just be sleep..." Taking up the box he heads back over to the sofa, nodding for you to follow.
"Open wide, you naughty little boy," yes, Dot is feeding Sieg. And Sieg is loving every minute of it. That didn't take long. You know. Some things are just meant to be...
It's not that I mind ... I mean, I half-predicted this'd be the outcome, after all. But for some reason, it grates a bit.. ah well. Maybe they'll invite me to the wedding. It's sort of grating on the nerves to watch, though. Wonder why.
"They say for everyone there's a perfect match out there somewhere," Drancy quips dryly, settling a red lamb curry in front of herself. "Don't worry about it, I eat at Pashmina's so often they know it's me calling down by the sound of the ring. I can afford to be generous once in a blue moon." She waves off offers of repayment with her napkin.
"Sleep is good, I need to get more of it myself, or find a way of making it more restful - lately I wake up more tired than when I went. So the music's been flowing right?"
Nice, safe topic, music. Much better than dreams... or, well, the inevitable panoply of sex in this surrounding. It saves her image, somewhat. Jared and Erik get a brief grin, nice self-contained unit that they are. Food. Food good too.
As Dot feeds Sieg and you speak of perfect matches, Dei looks to you. A moment to them. And then to his food. He nods. And you can see something -- whatever it is -- move across his expression. A thought held but not spoken. Something recognized.
And then you so courteously change the subject...
Dei looks up, quietly relieved, and nods again. "It's been going well. We're turning down gigs. It is good news. I think we will stay here until about... what... July. Then head back to Iceland for a bit, depending. Maybe sooner. We're playing it by ear. But mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers are getting worrisome." He smirks. "And it's good to touch the home soil. I think we will be traveling between England and Iceland for the next year. If the gigs keep going our way. Could be a big year for us..."
"Yeah," Sieg mumbles through his dinner, "...we could be signed by August...it's looking that way. We're cutting a CD next week. Dei doesn't like to talk about it, he's superstitious..."
"Really?" Dot chimes in, getting another forkful ready for Sieg and glancing around the room. "London company? Who?"
"Some joint called Tackle Out Inc.," Erik says, sharing a look with Dei. Is that right?
"London based punk label, sure you know them, maybe you can tell us if they're worth the effort. I think they're part of Virgin Records...not sure if that's smoke they're blowing up my ass or not," Dei says.
Drancy is made curious, by that, that expression. She just hasn't got the necessary equipment though to decrypt it, curious and impatient as she may be, and she's not lacking enough in manners to just barge in and ask. She lets it pass, whatever it was, without comment.
"Big families, eh? Must be a regular scrum at holidays, to see what's what - you lot're unusual, most of the people I know in bands just... don't get along too well with their families." Not to mention most reporters I know so well, either...
"Tackle Out? Rings a vague bell - I can call around and doublecheck, but yeah, sounds about right. Virgin hasn't been the same since Geffen unloaded, mind you. Best bet - get in touch with some of the other bands on the label, see how they feel they're being treated." Drancy smiles, faintly. "If they hand you a tube of Preparation-H, well..."
"Iceland's a small place," Erik rolls out. "No place to really run. Come the winter, there is always peace and love. It beats being rained and snowed on." And he laughs. Ironically, they all come from loving families and all of them want to go back to them. They are, as you said, a strange bunch. No drugs around them. They sit in quiet corners. Keep to themselves...
"Good idea," Sieg muffles out in the middle of a bite, and then he's all for looking at Dot. And due to the little that she's wearing, there's a lot to look at. You can hear her whisper, "Open wide." And Sieg's just eating that shit up. Big time.
"I'll have to start ferreting around then. Let me know, you know if you have time, what you find out," Dei murmurs. He's quiet for a moment while he finishes a bite. He has manners that Sieg lacks. "Good point, well taken."
Energy swirls in Dei tonight. It's going to be a stellar show. Fucking knock-dead show. It moves in him. Warmth -- yes, always there. A tickling against the senses. Pleasure. That's what it's like. But then there's darkness, like it's turning on itself. Like he's upset or lonely. It's just intense.
"Dei's not sure he wants to be a signed artist," Erik explains, noting his comrade's expression. "Why don't you tell him it'd be a good idea, Drancy. You know, so he can feel okay about making a living for himself..."
Drancy tugs her chair around a little, white gown peeping out from under the edges of the red cloak. She doesn't make a big deal out of it, but for some reason, she just... doesn't want to have a clear uninterrupted view of feeding time. "I've never been to Iceland. Actually, haven't done any travelling for practically forever now, really." Not that she knows from forever, but hey, it's been at least three, four years.
"S'no problem," she shrugs. "I have to call round periodically to get information anyway - good policy, keep on their good side. Good for their business, and, as a result, good for mine, though the constant arsekissing gets a bit old after a while." And we all know how wonderful Drancy is at kissing up.
A glance moves between Dei and Erik, as the reporter-Riding Hood squints, trying to figure out ... something. "You're wanting me to give you definite advice on how the future's going to turn out? Sorry, mate, this here's Grimm, not Arabian Nights. No crystal balls in my hood. It could be good, or it could be bad - I can't make a decision for him, and besides," a hint of faint mischief, slightly dark in tone, "I don't imagine you lot would welcome me making your life choices for you." Sieg is studiously ignored on that one. "It's not about making a living for yourself - living is something that you'll do anyway. This is about how you go about it, is all. You lot're good enough you won't starve, even if it's not a sky rocket."
Apparently, it is something that is weighing on Dei. Or at least that is how it seems...
Let it seem so. It is easier a thing than that which is truly troubling me. The dilemma for which there is no answer...
Dei's expression turns to wry amusement. "I'm not worried about whether or not we will be signed. I don't want to think about it, talk about it. It's like... spending lottery money. The odds are out of whack, no point in spending what we don't yet have. I think I just need a break."
It has been months since I have held true to my Word, true to my Essence. True to my Fallen Self. More than that. Who knows how many mortal months it has been since that orgy. Since I left my temple in India. Since I left my palazzo in Venice. Since I felt Release and known the fabric of the Universe, the material of which it is made. Me. But if I give into it, there will be no saving me...
"Cool...well," he tears off some naan, "...let us know what you find out. I have us set up in a flat, now. We're sort of around Picadilly. Since it seems we're here for a while. Here," he leans back and a hand shoves into pants' pockets, "...let me give you the address, just so you have it, you know. Here," he hands you a piece of crumpled up paper, "...we're at 7 Chatterly Lane. You know, like those naughty movies..."
The Demon Prince of Lust would chuckle. And in the glimmer of eyes there is some of that. Dei smirks again. "You're welcome to come over...whenever. Just knock. In case it's Erik and Jared's 'special time'..."
Drancy leans forward to accept the paper, peering at it before it disappears into an inner pocket of the cloak. "Oscar Wilde," she comments mildly. "His stuff was mildly amusing, but never did much for me - too much smirking, same as Byron." She's a writer, even if it's for punk 'zines - she's obligated to know this stuff. "Though I admit to a fondness for Browning - his, more than hers. Dark stuff, but has its moments." She leans back in her chair again, sprawling a bit.
"Frankly, you look knackered. I'd say a change of scene might do you a bit of good." A critical eye is applied to Dei - the others? Well, Sieg looks happy as a pig in the trough, and the other two complement each other nicely. It's Dei who has her attention, or at least those're the reasons she believes she's paying attention.
She returns the smirk, though. "I always knock. Or are you forgetting who brought," a jerk of the head towards Dot, "whom?"
"Yeah," Dei makes an exhalation. "I think I need that week off. We've been playing almost every night now. I don't know... I just need something..."
You could not begin to know, little Drancy, the depth of how I am.... knackered, as you say. I am only half hearing any of this. I don't care. None of it matters. If I locked myself in my temples, or if I wandered the world for a thousand years in a thousand guises, what difference would it make...
There is no escape...
"What he needs is a little escape," Sieg speaks up finally. "Hey, girls... why don't you come up with a little... adventure for us, something to cheer up the old wolf over there. Maybe something with sunshine and bikinis involved...ow, hey," the exclamation coming at the end of a Dot pinch. And then she grins, turning about.
"Say, Drance... we can come up with something, can't we...?"
You want adventures? Bloody hell... what do they want me to do, conjure up miracles with one hand while gesturing like a carny barker with the other? Oy.
One hand rises to her cheek, though she hides any dismay. "Well... I can try, but my idea of adventure and Dot's tend to be not mutually compatible. Anything definitely on or off limits, before we try anything like this?" She knows how much she'd hate being dragged through a whorehouse, after all. And how much Dot would probably hate being dragged through a few places...
How did I become den mother, anyway...
"Keep in mind, this is still England. How much sun you expect to get, and how much you actually get, are two different things. Though I suppose we could go across the Channel."
Dei looks to you: I'm sorry. And then he chuckles, and even though his arms are now crossed against his chest, the laughter seems to bring him back to the surface. Back to the evening. Back to the company of the one he asked to come over here in the first place. And he's done nothing but sulk since. "Though, you know, going to Holland might be fun. Erik and Jared can go to all male revues," he offers, "Sieg and Dot can get wasted, legally, and you and I ...maybe we can do a little sailing. Ever been on a boat?"
So the legend of Dei goes. I was born on a boat, my mother went to sea with my father, unable to bear being alone...
"Holland would be great," Dot coos and food now set aside, she becomes something of dessert. Well, you knew that was coming. "You promised to be good," she mock-scolds Sieg, and then promptly handcuffs him to her. "I can see I'm going to have to keep you in line..."
And my Word is being served...
There, in the look they give one another...
There, in the touches that are beginning...
Sieg and Dot may one day become captains in my army...
Who knows...
"Sure, I can do Holland," Erik speaks up, pushing his food away. "Let's talk about it after the show...I need a nap..."
Drancy arches one eyebrow upwards at that look, not entirely comprehending. She's used to moods and sulks and ups and downs - if anything, seems to sort of... push her out of her usual snapping and snarling, to a degree, trying to figure things out, unravel threads.
"There is that. And no, unless you count the Cue Ee two, when I was small enough to sleep in a clothes drawer. I can swim, but I have an irrational fear of sharks, brought on by too-early exposure to Jaws." She says it lightly, with a self-mocking intonation which could be true or could be false.
And Dot handcuffs Sieg, and it's all she can do to keep from rolling her eyes visibly. "Yeah, I think I'm going to get some fresh air, myself. It feels a bit ... stale ... in here." Drancy rises, pushing her own leftovers to the side, fingering the hood of the cloak as if debating whether or not to put it up.
And so the room begins to clear...
As you stand up, Dei does as well. "I need fresh air...and a cigarette," he says, stepping over assorted crap on the floor. "And a drink. That's my problem, too sober..."
And Erik and Jared rise, Erik stretching and exhaling like the bear he is. "I'll be in the van..." And likely Jared too. "Sound check in an hour," Jared reminds, before they all split into different parties...
Dei turns at the door and nods, holding it open for Drancy. "Since you bought the food, I'll buy your drinks. What would you like," Dei murmurs. And when he moves toward a smaller gathering, he already seems better...
Maybe it was just crowded in here...
Drancy seems a bit ... relieved, by the change in atmosphere herself, waving over her shoulder to Erik and Jared, figuring Sieg and Dot will be sufficiently distracted not to notice where the hell she or Dei are headed.
"Vodka, I guess... vanilla Stoli, maybe, if they've got it." Which they probably do, but she takes nothing for granted these days. She searches out the people present in the club proper, 'just in case', eyes alert and somewhat wary.
Absently, she murmurs, "Good food, but... I'm just as glad for a bit of extra elbow room."
"Me too," he says lightly. "I find it all... suffocating." Sieg and Dot. The press of sexuality and sensuality. His being. His everpresent Being. Suffocating. "Sorry I haven't been in a good mood. I started playing melancholy songs and soon, I was adrift on a dark sea." He smiles at himself, a glance to you. "And I'm just not... I don't know... in the mood for flaunting horniness. I needed some less...humid air."
He stops by the bar. It's going to be a good crowd tonight. "Stoli vanil... ah... make that two..." Straight up. And he looks to you. You pure little thing. You are like a bird in the cage that gives the emperor pleasure. "We don't have to go to Holland," he notes. "Though maybe the others will. I think I just need a little time to sort some things out. Maybe," a shrug, "I am just homesick..."
I remember laughter. I remember sitting in my golden citadel, its basilica of colored glass. Upon a multitude of cushions filled with the feathers of my many loved ones. I remember when God was Love. When I was Love. And I knew Him. As I knew Myself. Now, there is nothing. Silence. Emptiness. Filled and distracted by copulations. Innumerable copulations. Every portal filled...
All but the heart...
Drancy is so innocent in her innocence, she's unaware of anything resembling bars, of gold or of lead. "Yeah, I know what you mean," she agrees, leaning forward a bit to put her elbows on the wood of the bar, face propped on her hands. "It's... I don't know. It irks me on a lot of levels. But whenever I say anything about it, people accuse me of jealousy, and that's not it at all."
Jealousy... I save that for the way Erik and Jared look at each other when they think noone's looking...
For moments which one can lose oneself in because time becomes so vast and space so inconsequential that little details like weather are lost in the contraction of the muscles around the heart...
A shrug, then, picking up the glass. "That depends on whether home is a place, a state of mind, or people, I guess. I think what I tend to miss more are memories - moments which seemed perfect, and even if in retrospect I know they weren't - I miss how they shaped up at the time." A slight, sardonic smile. "See, Indian food gets me philosophical - watch out."
He laughs, and there is a genuine warmth that eases out onto his expression then. He pulls up a chair and offers one to you, or would you rather go outside? "I know what you mean." Dei looks to you again as the drinks arrive, and then he pays for them. Brightly colored English pounds. "I get tired of looking at it. Maybe if I knew what love was, or could feel it, maybe I wouldn't care." He winces then takes a swallow of vanil, even as he turns to hand you yours. "Sorry for that. Sounded pathetic."
"As for home," another shrug and Dei takes another swallow. "Who knows. Maybe that's not it at all. I guess it's the connection to the people I left behind," he says. He looks into his drink. "The feeling of separation. I guess I'm not cut out for touring..." And he makes a wry smile.
Drancy jerks a thumb towards the door, taking the glass with her other hand - outside, definitely. "Philosophy goes better with being able to see a skyline, even if not the sky," she suggests lightly, wandering that way with glass held in hand. "I don't know... I think it depends. Everyone seems to have their own definition."
She squeezes out the door, suffering to pause only to have her hand stamped so she can get back in without paying (or worse, getting ID'd all over again). "Thought I was in love once, and at the time, it felt like the end of the world. I wasn't, of course, but it's funny and painful, the things you can talk yourself into. I avoid playing the game, because nobody can agree on the rules."
She tips her glass back, taking a mouthful of vanilla-laced vodka and swallowing without blinking. "Don't get me wrong - I'm happy for Dot, and I pretty much knew they'd hook up, for all her telling me it probably wouldn't work, before we got here. I hope they manage to give each other some of the things they need, besides just fucking, I mean." It's hard enough being strong for just one, especially when I don't know what's going on. "It's not about touring, is it? It's about... getting away, and then finding out you really are away. Live - without a net."
Dei is not stamped and there's also not a disapproving look for him taking the drink outside. And you, by virtue of being with him, are likewise spared some of the attitude. Not all, mind you -- some of it is part of the service afterall -- but some of it. "Sieg's a good guy down deep. If she gets down deep, she'll find that out. But I'm not going to say he won't be fickle. What you see is what you get. She knows what she's walking into," he shrugs. "I hope they hook up and I hope it means something. You can get fucked anywhere..." A pause. "At least Sieg manages..."
He gives the vodka a swirl and then swallows it. "I haven't been in love... in a long time. Not sure I'd know it if I saw it. But," he smirks, "that's why I'm the songwriter. Why I make the big money, ja. Maybe it's not about touring," he murmurs. "Maybe it's just ... eh, fuck it. I don't want to talk about it. So, it's good to see you. It's nice having one friend in England. Gives me a ...way to anchor myself. For Icelanders, that's important." And maybe that's why being homesick is a big deal...
Drancy looks wryly amused, though only for a moment. An anchor. "Funnily enough, my parents would be the last to describe me as being good for anchoring purposes, except in the sense that I appear uncommonly dense and oddly shaped. But hey, if it works for you." A slight shrug, a lift of her glass by way of salute.
"I know people can get fucked anywhere, I just ... don't see why they do. Lot of time, lot of energy, very little return... or maybe that's just the Jew in me, wanting to see some profit off an investment - profit which doesn't belong in diapers, I might add." She smirks, eyes going cynical and heavy-lidded for a moment.
Another brief swallow, and she leans back against a bit of wall, tilting her head back to look up. "For anchoring, I guess... I've got my apartment and job, complete with newly added bloody feline that goes 'mow'. I think he's a Red Chinese... " She keeps it light for a moment, before delivering what by now must almost be a signature push. "So is that why you looked like you did, in the room? Like... you'd come across a picture of someone you used to know, but broke up with under bad conditions and even though you no longer live near each other, you get that twisty feeling?" Do I remind you of an ex-girlfriend? If so, someone shoot me now.
"Because it's fun, I guess. It feels good. Same reason people take drugs. Escape. To forget. To feel good. Sometimes for love." Dei looks into his glass then tips it back. Another swallow. He thinks about what you say, he looks at you, and then he shakes his head. "No, not really. Just... I guess I'm just feeling sorry for myself." He smiles. "Boring stuff. You don't want to hear about it..."
Do you hear me, Archangel of Dreams? My dream is to walk in my old citadel. To light the sconces and candles. The incense. To breath the scents of love. To remember. To feel God. To be there and be with Him. To feel... whole...
"... I just find that I feel empty, you know. I don't know why I'm talking about this..." And the world gives a little shimmy, a little glimmer and he downs the remainder of his vodka. He breaks the glass. He laughs. He puts the heel of his hand to an eye. The air around him, little magician, it holds a heat that is more visceral than tangible. Dei leans against the wall, he sighs. It's not anger. "So... anyway," he digs for a cigarette...
Drancy frowns a little, and carefully bends to put her glass down, with the remains of the vodka still in it. Clearly, she's had enough, or something...
"A lot of things're fun, but, eh, what do I know. I've steered clear of that entire mess so far, and I intend to go on steering clear of it." It's more a reminder to herself than anything, that there are reasons, after all.
Bizarre... on not even one vodka, yet. Wonder what the fuck is up with me...
"Not to sound like a fucking shrink, but sometimes, talking does help. But that's for you to know, not me." Until the world goes topsy-turvy, anyway. Another slight frown, which she smooths out through slight concentration. "Anyway? Feel free to ask me things if you want; turnabout and all that."
"Nah," he drawls out, Icelandic tug prominent at last. "It is not important. I will be a god on stage," he raises his voice a touch, not in anger but in pronouncement. Then it softens again, "And it will go on. Life, that is. And me in it. Thanks for... letting me... unload..."
He didn't really unload, but he's told you more than you can imagine he wanted to...
"Break your glass after you finish your vodka. It will make Thor happy," Dei says, and he looks up. Too cloudy for stars. I am going to have to sin. I'm going to have to sin a lot. I'm going to have to dive into it, drown and suffocate in it. It is the only way.
Damnation is my only freedom...
"Sometimes that's all there is - knowing someone else shares a corner of your burden. Empathy - the beggar's choice." She nods acknowledgement, but doesn't touch the glass, not just yet - it's half filled yet, after all.
She drags a hand through some of the loose locks of the mane of blonde hair that's taken up residence on top of her head like a maze of chinchillas, in mild exasperation. "Dot wanted to cut it," she mutters, shaking her head. "Lot of good that'd do..." Distraction has a lot of little corners tonight, it seems. "So, then, you're a pagan?", she inquires abruptly.
Pagan, atheist, anything's probably better than bloody agnostic, bloody not knowing, having to be skeptical and finding no answers. I can sort of see why people fuck - wanting to find answers in each other, or failing that, lose themselves in each other - but I can't run away... not without a knife or something aimed at my face. Sod it.
"I guess I am," by default. "I used to know the love of the Christian God," he whispers. "But you know... some things change." I used to know the Love of God. I was the Love of God. When the Fall happened, His heart broke. I Fell. Love left the universe and we have struggled to find it ever since. Find it in someone else, find it in a song, a painting, a poem.
"I now have a love for old sagas, I guess heredity won in the end. A friend of mine's a full-on viking. Built a ship and all. Wears armor," he laughs.
"Does it get in the way..." Dei wonders. A nod to your hair. "Your hair, I mean..." He smiles then. He tilts his head. His lavender hair moves from his face, he looks beautiful. "I like it. It's different. Lot of work.... reminds me of one of the valkyrie..."
Drancy bends again, picking up the glass, but doesn't drink. "Christian?" That strikes her as funny, though evidently in a slightly morbid way; a faint, cynical smile on her face, eyes for a moment undefinably weary, backlit by old anger. "That's one place I've never gone... never will, either." She leaves it at that. After all, you said 'used to', and you didn't try converting her yet.
"Old stories are sometimes true, sometimes not. But a lot of them seem to share common elements." About how fucked up the world really is. "I can sort of see why he does - the ship and armour, I mean. It's... a more self-evident shield against the world than the rest of us." She waves a hand back towards the club. "Same thing - different uniform."
Back to hair; she blinks, reaching up to rub her eyes. "Sometimes, yeah. I didn't wear it long until very recently," comes the careful explanation, "and it's taken a lot of getting used to. At first, I kept sitting on it and damn near giving myself whiplash. But I don't think I'd make a very good valkyrie." She watches covertly, from the sidelines as it were, refusing to be affected - or rather, refusing to admit she's affected. Speaking of shields and defenses...
"I think you would," Dei counters quietly. He doesn't explain why but he measures it with his eyes. "I think you can do anything you set in your mind you want to do. Maybe you don't know it yet, but you'll find it out in the end..."
He makes a great exhale and turns, "I need to get fucked up tonight. I hate being dour and moody. Umm... I'll understand if you ...don't want to stick around for that, Drancy. But... if you do, that's okay by me. I'd like it ... if you hung out tonight... after the show. If you want." He's asking you out.
That's exactly what it is...
"I like spending time with you. You make me remember and forget. That's... such a unique quality."
Drancy doesn't snarl, though she looks almost tempted to. Valkyrie. Grumble mutter. Instead, she looks down at her chest significantly. "Well, whichever deity you want to believe in, I -really- don't think they equipped me for the job, if we're going to believe Wagner." She pronounces it with the German pronunciation : Vahg-nehr.
The next statements catch her considerably off guard, and it shows, eyes blinking wide for a moment, as she pauses, physically still as she rewinds what she's heard for replaying.
Wait a mo... is he... nah, but... uhh... um. - The stuttering's silent, at least.
"Well, I don't know how you get fucked up, but I can stick around without participating, yes?" In whatever it is. Here's hoping he just means getting stoned or high or something, not kidnapping people and torturing them to death... he doesn't seem like that kind of fellow, but you never know, do you.
Honesty provokes further answer. "I've enjoyed hanging out with you, too, in an odd sort of way. Not, I mean, that you're so odd, just... I don't usually." Hang out, or enjoy it. "So, sure. But you should get inside for your soundcheck, if you're going onstage." She grins a little, hesitantly. Oh dear. What am I getting myself bloody into this time.
"Oh, nothing weird," he says, and he looks to the ground, and that might even be a blush. But he doesn't blush. What is a blush when one has no shame in sinning? "Weed and vodka. Nothing terribly ...over the top. No spanking," he laughs, "no torture. Unless you call watching the cartoon channel torture..."
As you mention the soundcheck, he nods, half-turning toward the door. A pivot, as if to check on the time -- see if anyone's waving for him. But they're not. "So... good, you're coming with. If you don't want to stay for the show, that's okay. Just meet me backstage, ja?"
A hand rakes through his lavender hair and when it resettles, it does so in a muss of lavender, magenta and blue. "Thanks, Drance..." And he turns back toward the door, to head inside...
Now what was that really all about? I wonder...
Drancy has no clue, and is aware of having no clue, and it serves to annoy her, putting her slightly on edge, now that you've gone inside and left her with no direct diversion from it. She turns to stare up at the night skyline of London, scowling a bit. "Well, don't just atand there," she says aloud, bitterly. "Come up with some answers, if you're going to." As if the all-concealing shadows might not only hold answers, but be willing to share them.
With a sigh, she picks up her vodka, turning to trail belatedly in Dei's wake, muttering under her breath. "Bloody Dot and bloody Sieg getting it on already, no doubt..."
Well, not quite. But there was a great deal of snogging going on. Eventually they were unhandcuffed and the snogging stopped once they picked up guitars. Dei. Quiet Dei. After his word of thanks -- for what, you didn't know and may never -- he seemed...relieved. Relieved of something. A weight, almost physical...
And when the sound check morphed into performance, Dei was possessed...
Literally...
Possessed by something brilliant -- even if just a remnant. Filled with longing that approached inhuman. Moved by something that few could comprehend, and no one in the vicinity. Except, perhaps, for you. You, who until so recently, never thought touching a guy would make tattoos swirl and skin tremble with shock. This, maybe this is not so hard to comprehend for you -- this performance.
The acoustic guitar made an appearance tonight. Blue, violet, old but well cared for, it out-voiced the other instruments. And there was a symbiotic connection between him. No difference at all between man and guitar. It was as intense performance as anticipated.
And at the end of it, the audience, the band, even Dot were wrung out from it. Dei had to sit for a little bit, in fact. Just ...a moment.
Posted by rowan at May 11, 2003 01:57 AM
