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Morathor
Supernova
- Joined
- Feb 19, 2012
- Location
- Midwestern USA
As the sun set over Stellarosa, the towering factories cast long shadows across the crumbling tenements of the South Side, and smoothed over the pockmarked streets in shadow. A faint, multi-hued haze that seeped out of their spires painted the orange and purple sky with an iridescent sheen. It was a beautiful sight, really, and not all that dangerous. Living in the South Side only shaved a couple of years off your life expectancy, and it was hard to say how much of that was even tied to the aetherial discharge.
As lovely as the sunset was, though, many preferred the view from the Riverfront Lounge. Built on its own little pier overhanging the Teccoli, with expansive picture windows along the north of building gave a view of the river, and on the other side of it, the twinkling skyline of the Twilight District. Granted, the cultural center of the city had seen better days as well, with most of the grand theatres shuttering their doors or being converted into casinos. But the cabaret clubs had held up fairly well, and diVoci Tower still stood proud above the whole city, broadcasting day and night--music, comedy and drama for the whole city and a hundred miles of farmland.
And the view from the Lounge, combined with its tasteful decor and live music, could almost help a weary laborer feel like they were part of that glamour. For an hour or two, at a fairly reasonable price, if you compared it to a night on the town north of the river. Quite a few patrons thought it was worth drinking with the mobsters that could inevitably be found hanging around the establishment.
The lower levels of the Lounge were not so glamorous, but they were certainly cozy. Lumps of cloudy quartz, embedded in the walls and enshrined in coils of silver metal, painted narrow halls of red brick and polished limestone in a warm orange light. The basement had been expanded beyond the natural caverns the establishment had originally been built over, but not so drastically as to eliminate all the twists and bends and unexpected openings. That meant there was plenty of room for privacy, if you kept your voice down, and for every singer to get her own little nook. Not anything that could be called a dressing room, but enough space for a vanity and chair, and maybe to stash a change of clothes.
A clicking noise echoed through the underground, talons drumming against stone floors as the stage manager of the Lounge strode through the halls. Sometimes she moved more quietly, eager to catch the girls drinking on the job or fooling around with the customers, but she couldn't be bothered with stealth this close to showtime. Each time she passed one of the private little nooks, she would offer a reminder of the time, accompanied by some bit of advice or reproach, and move on to the next.
Finally she reached the last girl she was looking for. She whipped her head around the corner, her hawk-like stare only accentuated by the tufts of feathers framing her cheekbones. "You're on in ten, are you ready? You remember you got the solo tonight, you been practicing?"
As lovely as the sunset was, though, many preferred the view from the Riverfront Lounge. Built on its own little pier overhanging the Teccoli, with expansive picture windows along the north of building gave a view of the river, and on the other side of it, the twinkling skyline of the Twilight District. Granted, the cultural center of the city had seen better days as well, with most of the grand theatres shuttering their doors or being converted into casinos. But the cabaret clubs had held up fairly well, and diVoci Tower still stood proud above the whole city, broadcasting day and night--music, comedy and drama for the whole city and a hundred miles of farmland.
And the view from the Lounge, combined with its tasteful decor and live music, could almost help a weary laborer feel like they were part of that glamour. For an hour or two, at a fairly reasonable price, if you compared it to a night on the town north of the river. Quite a few patrons thought it was worth drinking with the mobsters that could inevitably be found hanging around the establishment.
The lower levels of the Lounge were not so glamorous, but they were certainly cozy. Lumps of cloudy quartz, embedded in the walls and enshrined in coils of silver metal, painted narrow halls of red brick and polished limestone in a warm orange light. The basement had been expanded beyond the natural caverns the establishment had originally been built over, but not so drastically as to eliminate all the twists and bends and unexpected openings. That meant there was plenty of room for privacy, if you kept your voice down, and for every singer to get her own little nook. Not anything that could be called a dressing room, but enough space for a vanity and chair, and maybe to stash a change of clothes.
A clicking noise echoed through the underground, talons drumming against stone floors as the stage manager of the Lounge strode through the halls. Sometimes she moved more quietly, eager to catch the girls drinking on the job or fooling around with the customers, but she couldn't be bothered with stealth this close to showtime. Each time she passed one of the private little nooks, she would offer a reminder of the time, accompanied by some bit of advice or reproach, and move on to the next.
Finally she reached the last girl she was looking for. She whipped her head around the corner, her hawk-like stare only accentuated by the tufts of feathers framing her cheekbones. "You're on in ten, are you ready? You remember you got the solo tonight, you been practicing?"