Holy shit, it's Friday night. Around midnight. All the bars, from the main bar with the main stars outfitted in various fetish gear behind it, to the lesser bars pocketed throughout. Waitresses zig-zag through an ever-shifting throng, enthralled into motion by the ambiance of Mark McFidden, aka DJ Special K, London's top DJ (not the self-promotion king of all DJs, James Cassius -- this guy can actually spin and rip). The crowd consists of "industry types" and Industrial thrashers, party crashers, models, aristocrats, sychophants and fancy pants. Gay, Straight, bi, fetish, school girls and most importantly... cage dancers.
     The A-list is on tonight. Dot, alias Pink Princess (don't ask), with pink hair, pink latex nipples, fuzzy pink boots and seemingly nothing else. Who knew Sir Henry William Walters' daughter could move like that. She's in cage position one, having worked her way up over the past year from the crowd, to the podiums, to the perimeter cages all the way to the spotlight. Impressive. There's Belinda, former Miss #1, but as she's part-time manager now, she doesn't really care about cage position. You've gotten to know a few of them by now for sure.
     And there's this... guy. The guy who never seems to leave. The permanent fixture. He gets his drinks for free. He must be Someone. He's certainly Something Else. But then... you know that too. It's You Know Who. It's summer and he's dressed in gold again. Gold vinyl pants, gold glitter bronzed on golden hued skin, further dusted with honey and the girls have adorned him as they are wont to do (and told to do). He has crystals strategically placed against his skin and golden Cupid curls have been oiled and dusted with honey and gold, his mouth painted too, with the resin of saffron and cinnamon.
     Pharzuph, the Genius (what a stretch!) of Fornication...
     And there's a fornicating lot of fornicating going on. In booths, under tables, in the store room, mock copulations in the cages, in pockets here and there throughout the clubs and bathrooms.
     And look at you, stuck behind the bar again...
     But your nights are seldom dull at Phantasmagorgeous Phantasmagoria. And to make matters worse, Pharzuph is heading straight for you...
     Well, forward anyway...

     Trust Alexander to have learned everyone's favourite drink the first time they ask for it. He has learned all the 'secrets' of the trade: how to get drinks to slide on bartops, and how to spin bottles in the air when mixing drinks. In a strange way, he is flashy. A flashy bartender, doing all the tricks, only to succeed in pulling attention away from /him/ and onto the spinning bottles and elaborate drinks.
     So he has been doing since his first night. He's part of the Game, or so the rumor goes. Azmodeus' crew won't cop to it, but all fingers point in their direction. No surprise why he is here, then.
     He enjoys it here, for how could he not? Even if the clothing is too tight and revealing for his tastes, and he occupies a role where people are constantly talking to him. But his quick eyes watch the scene. His ears listen to the gossip. His mouth speaks pleasantries that befriend, and illicit confessions in the drunkest hours.
     And all this is saved and stored in his vast memory. Saved for later, and then sent Below when called for. Alexander is exceptionally loyal, for a demon of Secrets. Which isn't actually saying much.
     Before Pharzuph has approached far at all, Alexander quick hands have bottles spinning and a glass prepared. Ready just as the Genius comes within reach of it. On the chance the Genius wants it, and if not, someone else will.

     The drink is called The Icarus...
     Clever, no?
     It is a mixture of cinnamon liqueur, honey liqueur, butterscotch schnapps, and most importantly brandy. It is then set on fire and capped off with a dusting of cinnamon, with sugar brandied along the rim of the glass. It would be impossible to drink it and not crash and burn.
     But the one the dancers lovingly call Icarus has already crashed and burned. He has nothing to fear. It's no secret to some why you're here. Regardless, it's a secret to Pharzuph. If he ever figured it out, he'd simply forget it as soon as someone else said something. And that's supposed to be a blessing. Pharzuph is not used to being available for public consumption. Andrealphus' Captain, one of His Most Treasured (and Pleasured) was rarely seen out of The Pleasure Zone of Hell's great playground, Shali-mar. But that all changed about six earth months ago. No, a year ago. No... maybe it's been two now. With whatever Julian's into, Pharzuph's now into it, too. Two cocks deep. Something special is happening here...
     But... what?
     Pharzuph appears at the bar to a great rise of smiles, laughter and lust. He's quite popular. There are at least two reasons for that. "Is that for me?" he smiles, his painted mouth flirting. Icarus! someone yells. He turns his head and his mouth is claimed by a tall woman, one of the models. There's a rumor that someone tried to get him to sign a contract tonight. In any case, his makeup is ruined when he looks at you again, the saffron and cinnamon sucked from his lips. Pharzuph leans on the bar. "Oh! Say! I know you," he says, recognizing you. He's not totally devoid of mind and memory. Just really, really forgetful. "You're the one who started using the cinnamon on my drink. Two extra shakes!" Pharzuph makes a request.
     The next moment finds him sitting ass on the bar, with hangers-on embracing his legs.

     He complies to the request with a flourish, the cinnamon dusting over the drink like lace. Offering the drink up, like some petitioner, Alexander plays the game that Pharzuph wants. "Of course it is for you, Oh Icarus. Who else could it have been for?"
     Alexander, an Impudite, is caught across his nature by the crowd around Pharzuph. By his band, the crowd calls to him. He feels it like no other band could, and yet his Word pulls him away. Faceless in the crowd is his perfect state, and with Pharzuph seated right there, he might as well be invisible.
     It is a nice balance really.
     "I'm surprised you recognize me." Alexander doesn't bother raising his voice above the crowd. It is more an observation for himself. "Given all these others to occupy your attentions."

     "My memory is long for those who are kind and give me things," he notes, taking the drink. He looks to those around him, he smiles, and he blows out the flame in his drink for them. There is applause and if his hands weren't full he'd applaud, too. "I like to be adored," he croons out, and laughing leans back, giving the girls his legs. And everything else within reach. His head just about rests on your arm, the scent of cinnamon possibly even overpowering. "When I am adored, I remember these things. So... you wish to adore me?" He laughs, sitting up, sipping the potent drink. "Thank you for the cinnamon... I'll dance with you later!" he shouts out to the women. "Come get me... in a little bit. I want to finish my drinkie-poos..."
     The models oblige. Who are they to say 'No'. And not just to him.
     "That is why this is my favorite place to be," it must be. He lives here now, so it goes. There are apartments for 'special guests'. "Everyone is so good to me... it pleases me and Pharzuph likes to be pleased." And then some.

     "To have your adoring legions, yes, I can see the appeal perhaps." Not his thing. Very much not, and it is apparent in his features for a fraction of a moment. Drinks slide across the bar, as Alexander responds to the whims of the crowd that Pharzuph has brought with him.
     A slight frown develops, as Alexander works. How do you start a conversation with someone so completely single minded? What is there to learn? There has to be something -- or else Alexander wouldn't be here at all and he knows that.
     "We haven't had a chance to talk in a while" Well, not since that first night when Alexander showed up here and informed Julian that Alex would be working a bar. "Have things been well?"

     Pharzuph turns his head and looks to you with vapid amazement. You're still talking! Oh! He sips at the concoction -- a drink that might kill a mortal man due to sugar overdose -- rolling it along his tongue and down his throat, the tiniest chiming of a tiny bell -- tongue piercing -- sounding as he does so.
     Oh! You asked a question! "I am good. Some nights I don't like to share. Sometimes Julian is off entertaining other people. I'm greedy. But I have a whole crowd of people. The girls take care of me. They are really nice. And I have a lovely room with sofas and pillows. So as long as I have a few boys and girls with me, things are good. I like it here. It is home to me. What about you?"

     Alexander is having a train-wreck moment: That moment when you can't look away, no matter how hard you try, regardless of the horror of what you are looking at. I've met rocks with more personality than this guy. "Oh, things have been slow." On the conversation front, anyways. So much noise and crowd makes it difficult to engage people. But, then, there is always the post-shift craziness.
     "But I'm sure it will all pick up fairly soon." Another wave of drinks shuttle across to the waiting hands of the crowd. "As to Julian, he'll return soon enough. He always does." His schedules, or what amounts to them, have already been memorized. Everyone's comings and goings are being memorized.

     And to think this was once one of the finest minds in Heaven...
     He was once one of its brightest stars...
     But the demon is not the angel That Was, in many more ways than one. "Julian is a brilliant star," Pharzuph croons, sipping at his drink. "Say, can I have a straw? I like to have something to do, I have to have something to do."
     Preferably young men and women...
     "Do you like to work here? Do you like the girls? Or do you like the boys? I like them both, mostly," Pharzuph laughs, "I just like them plentiful."
     He swings around on the bar, legs on the backside, giving you a frontal view. "You like slinging drinks?" He puckers his lips, roseate, gorgeous, "I like distracting you." A barefoot comes up to nudge you. There are gold and diamonds around his toes, his toenails painted gold.

     "I am sure we see very different things when we look upon this crowd." Alexander is very sure of that, as he brings a straw up for the goldne boy. "You wouldn't believe even if I did tell you what I preferred."
     Another glass of glittering alcohol transforms itself in his hands. "I enjoy anything that requires skill, and anything that draws people." Lie. "Which is, of course, why I am here." Another lie. "And, so, I guess the answer would be, that I enjoy working here and slinging drinks as I do." The jury is out on that one.
     Alexander weathers the nudging, the distraction. He is remarkably good at keeping focused, though, talking while working, even with the beautiful Icarus right there. Perhaps he is just a machine? Eventually he will grow too boring for the mercurial Pharzuph, and the genius will move off. Eventually.

Posted by rowan at September 20, 2003 04:16 PM