Logs:Rainbows and Ruminations
Rainbows and Ruminations
|Characters:||Muse, Prism and Seth|
|Summary:||Prism is made welcome aboard the Regas.|
The luxurious opulence of the Regas is, frankly, a delightful venue for the Accorded of New Orleans to congregate for reasons beyond the monotony of business, meetings, court... and tonight in particular, there's a distinct shift from the 'norm' for those fortunate enough to have heard, via invitation or word of mouth. The live music stage is tonight occupied by Amaranthe - or so proclaim the glossy flyers innocuously placed on the tables of every restaurant and cabin room aboard the vessel. The well-known band already had a gig in the city at House of Blues as part of their current tour.. it didn't take an enormous amount of effort on Seth's part, at his coterie-mate's request, to procure their entertainment for one night more. Or so she blithely assumes.
The thumping bass of the Swedish heavy metal band quite literally reverberates through the walls and floor of the aptly-named Dome of Sin, a packed crowd occupying the cleared floor directly before the main stage, while those more inclined to comfort can find tables and booths to the rear of the vast chamber, along with the usual efficient table service for drinks. (Amaranthe)
Muse herself is drifting contentedly between both worlds, as is her habit; she's occasionaly visible on the periphery of the crowd, dancing when the whim strikes, wandering a short distance away now and then to engage in fleeting conversation with the other Accorded present. A Harpy's work is either never done.. or never begins, depending on one's perspective. Fortunately, her trademark clothing style of eclectic-chic is suitable enough within the audience.. the combat boots lend a punk rock attitude to a simple slip dress of gauzy midnight blue, and her dark mane is left carelessly beheaded about her slender shoulders.
Anyone venturing aboard tonight, though, shouldn't expect calm and quiet smalltalk. Handing off her drink to a passing waitress, the Mekhet merges back into the beautiful mass of jumping, stamping bodies as the next song begins to raucous cheering.
Prism wasn't really here to see the band, she just was feeling energetic and needing to burn off some energy. Her hair was partily pinned up as she was wearing a lovely gown that would shift in color as she moved ( https://imgur.com/qRuOP1w ). Her desired destination in the movement seems to be the dance floor, gracefully weaving around others to get to a more centeralized location.
At a table overlooking the music venue, relaxing from the night-to-night exertions of managing an operation like the Regas, is a man with a sleek black tablet reclining back against an elegant-looking French-styled armchair. He seems only partially distracted with the digitized work that he's currently fiddling with, instead looking up to skim the floor of the Dome of Sins periodically. Under the pleasantly dimmed lights of the Dome of Sins, Seth is wearing a cleanly white dress shirt with faint silver accenting and buttons, black jeans with a looped brown belt, and black leather wingtips. His legs are crossed, the tablet propped up against the uppermost one. The apparent lack of quiet from a Swedish metal band banging its way through the interior of the Regas doesn't seem to bother him, however: he's content simply to bask in the aura of not having to make any further arrangements for the evening.
Although he is distracted, Seth does pay close attention to the venue: after all, this is one of the first live bookings that they've done of a band that wasn't local or small-time, so he's curious about the situation on the whole. His fingers drum lightly against one of his knees, and eventually he spots Muse milling about in the chaos of the dance floor. Getting up to his feet in a smooth movement, he wanders over to the bar and sets his tablet down behind it, idly straightening the cuffs of his shirt as he turns to overlook the dance floor and consider a descent.
A seemingly idle upward glance, little more than a flit of dark lashes, from the dark-clad brunette in the crowd 'catches' sight of Seth up above, overseeing his domain. As if she hadn't known he was there, come along now. Regardless, there's a glimpse of white teeth in a fleeting grin as she notes him rising from his chair.. and then her attention is back upon her immediate surroundings.
Despite her undeniable understated glamour, Muse moves without hinderance, the eyes of those nearest to the vampire seeming to simply slide away, rather than fixate upon the slender beauty as she drifts by. Something does ensnare her the focus of her green-gold eyes, however.. how can it not? Espying Prism in all her faceted glory, the Shadow alters course smoothly to head in that direction, unabashedly admiring the flow and cut of the younger woman's gown as she approaches; tilting her head ever so slightly to one side and quirking her lips in polite greeting. Recognition? Of a sort. She's heard, of course, about her Primogen's new toy.. and now her curiosity is piqued.
If the fae creature wishes to burn off some energy in dance, that's all well and good.. who is she to argue. But there's a pointed invitation in the way Muse seeks and holds her gaze in passing, lingering just long enough to be noteworthy as she strolls past the acrobat and on to another space in the milling crowd.
Prism was gracefully moving to the music, her movements a bit more acrobatic then that of a dancer though. It can be noticed by those with a keen eye, how some of her movements might be more muscle memory of her circus days when she does leap up to spin in the air to the music. Her mismatched eyes soon falling upon Muse and offering a polite nod of hello, while all may know of Prism, Pan has been a bit secretive about who their friends are, in name at least. Curiosity beginnng to grow as her gaze follows along where Muse moves to just before she is spinning once more but upon the ground this time.
Dancing, mosh pits, metal bands... Seth has nothing against them conceptually. Or aesthetically. But he's really not a 'wild dancing' kind of guy on most evenings, and he's content to overlook the place from the comforts of a well-placed perch. For the moment he's content to watch the dancing below with a relaxed posture, occasionally flicking out his phone. There's not exactly much room for conversation here: the whole idea of metal, of course, is that everything is drowned out in the tidal wave of the music. And that's fine with Seth: he's been doing too much talking, this evening, to arrange all of this.
It's a pity, really, that the Regas is neutral ground.. it'd be so easy for the Shadow to hunt in amongst this anonymous crowd of revelers. As it is, she seems to be in a constant state of flux; one moment there, the next somewhere else.. if one were keeping a close enough eye, of course. And that, in itself, is something of a challenge.
Regardless, a mere few moments later, by estimation, the brunette appears behind the dancer in the rainbow dress. Remaining perfectly still, arms folded across her slender midsection, the vampire makes her best attempt at being.. well. Not spooky. It takes considerable effort. Curving her lips in the ghost of a smile, she waits for a moment of relative quiet between songs.. and this is announced as the last of the night, alas.. before she ventures to speak aloud.
"What a beautiful dress ..you must be Miss Tacit." Her voice is pure Southern charm, honeyed and sweet and much too innocent. "Welcome to the Regas." Honestly, Seth or Niko ordinarily handle introductions. But Muse can't help her feline curiosity, in this instance.
Prism isn't really dancing like the metalheads here, she is being more like an odd ballerina and carefully avoiding any possibly unpleasant shoves or pushes. Soon she begins to make her way out of the crowd, mosh pit isn't really her sort of style really. Just as she turns to take the path she thought was there, there is Muse, causing for the acrobat to sharply inhale in surprise. Her mismatched eyes briefly widen before a pleasantly surprised smile lights up her features as she responds with a heavy Russian accent, "It seems you know of me but I not of you. Thank you for the welcome, it is lovely. Just not um. Howyousay. Type of music I am use to but it is nice, dancing ah. Would prefer not so um somewhat fighty." She looks around briefly before she focuses back on Muse, "Might I learn of what to call you please?" Her fingertips absent-mindedly tracing along the side of her neck.
After leaning against the railing for a bit, Seth finally decides to wander over to the side-stairs that coil down to the 'ground floor' of the boat and down towards the music venue, particularly the dance floor. Dark and brooding only goes so far, after all. The vampire with curly brown hair hooks his thumbs over the pockets of his jeans in a very much less solemn gesture as he walks towards the gathered crowd at an idle stroll, dark green eyes sweeping over the assembled venue with a habitual look that devours the details of the place in the wake of their sweep. He's not quite over to the pair chatting on the dance floor, yet, but his languid approach weaves its way through the many bodies and distracting ambiance of the area.
The crowd voice their disappointment as the final song is announced for the night, but are soon mollified as the trio of vocalists strike up one of their biggest hits to date, apparently determined to end on a high. Muse? Has apparently forgotten the band entirely, for the moment. An absent-minded glance over the surroundings to the rear of the dome finds a couple of vacant tables; those not of a mind to party the night away must have headed home or to their rest already. Fair enough. The brunette starts toward one of these.. and there's a brief flurry of activity as waitstaff hasten their efforts to clear the rich tablecloth of empty glasses before she arrives. In true ladylike style, the belle of this particular ball offers the employees a hint of an approving smile rather than addressing them directly. Then her gaze wanders aside to her new companion, inviting her forward with a graceful gesture, her stride unhurried.
"Muse." Her name is given in simple response to the blonde's enquiry. "And the music tonight is rather different from the usual.. night to night, it's more jazz. Barely notice it over the sound of the casino, to be honest."
There's a faint stirring of her Beast, metaphorical hairs rising upon its nape as Seth approaches, a response that settles to one of languid, affectionate recognition when his own is identified a splitsecond later. Glancing his way, serenely observing his approach, the Shadow pauses for a moment. Still speaking to Prism, the words are nonetheless plainly intended for both. "Tonight was one of my better ideas." The table is suitably cleared and awaiting them, though Muse remains standing for now, allowing the guest first choice of seat. "Can I get you anythin', darlin'?" She doesn't mean personally, one assumes.. but a mere subtle gesture from her would no doubt bring a server across to take any order the young woman may have.
Prism easily follows along with Muse, matching her pace towards the table, even pausing when she does. That friendly smile still curling her lips as she slips into one of the seats as she responds, "Perhaps some wine?" Her hands resting in her lap for a brief moment before they lift up to ensure no fly-aways are in her face as her fingertips just lightly trace from the top of her forehead and along her hairline down to her neck. "The music is indeed interesting, I am just more use to circus than much else. But finding more I like. And it is lovely to make acquaintance Muse." Her mismatched eyes curiously looking towards Seth as he approaches, offering a friendly wiggling of her fingers in hello as she briefly holds up her hand.
The diversion to a side-table doesn't require much of a rerouting from Seth as he moves up alongside the pair, casually sliding into a seat. A brief moment of eye-contact in response to Muse is accompanied by Seth's easy smile, though it's less practiced around the edges as he approaches. His own Beast is nearly silent this evening, aside from the gradual acknowledgement of presence in Muse's direction, it's practically coiled into slumber.
"Seth," the cleanly dressed Vampire introduces himself in Prism's direction with a courteous nod of the head to accompany his name. Apparently the Savages are fond of mononyms. His elbows lightly lean upon the table as he observes the place, a brief smirk aside to Muse. "I'm happy to get more music in the place..." he agrees with her assessment of the evening's success, "I just don't have the energy to scout and book them all myself. You're welcome to oversee the music venue, if you want," he notes. It's an off-hand offer, not assigned much importance in Seth's priorities of nightly events. More a passing thought that he gripped in one pale claw and tossed out into the balmy New Orleans evening. "Once this whole 'head-thief' incident settles down, maybe I'll have more spare time for concerts," he contemplates idly, mostly in Muse's direction, but he's speaking generally towards the table as he reclines back in his chair.
The slender brunette lingers a moment or two more, as Prism finds herself a seat, awaiting properly the arrival of her coterie-mate. One hand rises, idly picking an invisible speck of dust from the pristine fabric of his shirt at the shoulder, smirking faintly, before he, too, eases into a chair. Only then does she follow suit, smoothing the short skirt of her dress beneath herself and crossing her long legs elegantly at the knee, just in time for a waiter to unobtrusively approach with a wine list. A murmured exchange presumably arranges for a bottle of something delicious to be delivered, tout de suite, for their guest's pleasure. "Yes, yes.. I know, darlin'. You've been runnin' all over hell's half acre." The sardonic tone lacing her response to Seth is mild only, accompanied by a momentary grin as she settles, clasping her hands upon the rich tablecloth and eyeing him. "I'd be more than happy to help out.. til we find someone else, anyway." Muse-speak for 'I'll get bored of that very quickly, hire a minion'. "I just figured, amongst all the doom and gloom and yes, murderous rampagin', it'd be charitable to give folks a night of debauchery." Something in which she's an expert, admittedly.
Over at the stage, the band depart, beaming, to the sound of applause and cheering; prompting the gradual dissipating of the crowd. A few, those staying on board probably, head to the bar for a last drink. Others simply head for the exits without further preamble. The clean-up begins, quietly and professionally, as soon as the dancefloor clears. This place is truly a well-oiled machine.
Returning her attention to Prism in turn, the brunette regards her with open interest. "So. You're the one who's got our Primogen all starry-eyed. How delightful to meet you in person, at last. How did you two meet? On that Tinder thing? Or.. what was the other one Pan mentioned.." She ponders this for a few beats, before dismissing it, failing to pluck the name from her memory. "And the circus, you say..?" There's a touch of the dubious in this last enquiry, as though Muse is uncertain whether this is a mischievous fallacy. She's not totally abreast of the modern vernacular, after all.
Prism's smile remains as she responds, "Nice to make acquaintance Seth." She just silently listens to the conversation about the music between Seth and Muse or the time being. The that word makes her loke a mixture of confused and worried as she softly inquries, "Head-thief? What is this um thing?" As the wine list is approached, Prism just sort of randomly points to something and says, "That one?" She really has no idea and English is something she is still learning how to read. She looks curious then with slightly widened eyes as she responds, "Oh I do? And who is um, your primogen?" She says the last word slowly, as if trying to make sure she pronounced it correctly. "What is tinder?" Then as Pan is mention, she lights up like a school girl about to gush about her crush, "Oh Pan! Oh they are so wonderful. And no we met at a club I just. I was so drawn to them and well... it is a bit of private history." She giggles a bit as she cheeks darkly flush before she inquires, "And what have they said of me? And yes I was once in circus back in Europe but such times have been gone a while. Much to dismay."
There's a brief moment of amusement at Muse's figurative dancing around the names of dating apps, but Seth just lets the conversation flow on regardless, leaning his elbows onto the table in a casual movement forwards as he settles in. "Hell's half-acre," the man echoes thoughtfully, a smirk briefly crossing his lips at the new turn of phrase, "Yeah, I like that," he affirms, though that would be obvious from the lengthening of the smirk anyhow.
Seth looks aside to Prism as the expression lapses, his tone still casual and remarkably deadpan as he says, "Oh, someone's going around stealing people's heads off their necks and making a mess. Lotta my time is going to cleaning that up," he says, a remarkably calm confession as he glances side-eye over the dispersing dance floor. He tracks the rest of the room thoughtfully, an almost habitual tick rather than an actively motivated concern. Noting where everyone is, what they're doing... others might call it people-watching, but Seth is a vampire, so it's more like prey-watching. Maybe with the added benefit of spotting other, hidden predators.
"The circus, huh? An old and classy tradition," the curly-haired man notes in Prism's direction with a slight nod and a half-smile hanging from one corner of his mouth. "Not too much of that in this neck of the woods, but it's New Orleans, so I'm sure there's still a few performing venues for it."
"Actually, I have no real idea what Tinder is.." Muse admits this with a light rise and fall of her shoulders in a shrug, unperturbed. "..they won't let me have it. As I understand, some way to.. order company?" An uncertain glance is cast sidelong toward Seth for confirmation. "Though, in my day, letters were the way to a woman's heart. Seduce her with your words long before your hands. And even then, such things would be chaperoned." How quaintly old-fashioned. But then, the brunette does bear the traces of colonial elegance, beneath the facade of designer indie rock. It's in the way she moves, even the way she's seated. In the way she speaks, or the subtle nuances in her mannerisms. A lady masquerading as something else entirely, in order to fit within this vivid new world. Fortunately, the mood lighting in the dome is kept suitably low that she hasn't need to wear her sunglasses indoors for once.
Though when she does, should someone question it, she simply blames an atrocious hangover. So, some things are simple enough, even in these modern nights.
There's a nod of calm assent in the wake of Seth's explanation, the Shadow leaning forward slightly to delicately balance her jaw on the knuckles of one fist, elbow propped. Elaborating a little further, perhaps sensing Prism's vague uncertainty with the language and playing on words, she adds, "..it's been kept largely out of the media so far, of course. But my advice would be to take care on Ursulines. Or avoid it entirely, if you can." Would this kindness be extended were the blonde not a favourite of the absent Pan? Absolutely not. She'd probably be dangling on a hook for bait. But Muse is nothing if not obliging, when it comes to the wishes of those she considers friends. After a contemplative pause, she shifts her heavy-lidded gaze back to her coterie-mate, otherwise unmoving. "..perhaps one of the bars or restaurants..?" The subtle flash of that gaze to the upper levels of the boat, where a multitude of other establishments reside, implies she doesn't mean ashore.
Apparently she's the sort with great appetite for new and unusual forms of entertainment. Why not an angelic little acrobat?
Prism takes a moment to process what Seth says about the heads being stolen off of peoples necks, her hands moving to wrap around her own protectively with a nervous swallow. "I not even know such things happen. But I not really look at news anyway, even in not in um. Papers." She offers a gentle shrug of her shoulders before she responds, "I perform on street sometimes but not same as on trapeze. That is what I miss most. Flying through air and feeling so very free." As Muse admits she has no idea what tinder is, Prism just giggles a bit before she responds, "I not often need to order company. And I not familiar with such traditions. What country such hail from?" Given Prism was illegally raised in the circus, one can naturally assume when it comes to geography and many other school subjects, she is lacking knowledge upon it. "What are Ursulines? And I not made change of. Scenery." The last word spoken slowly to ensure she spoke it correctly once more.
In response to the 'what are Ursulines' question from Prism, Seth glances aside towards her. "It's a street in the French Quarter. Just don't go downtown for a bit, there's a killer about picking off mortals." With a hint of amusement, the Mekhet glances across at his coterie-mate. "Tinder is for sexual appetites, which coincide nicely with a way to feed for us. Knowing the trouble you'd get up to, though.." He gives a brief smirk of amusement in Muse's direction before leaning back in his chair again. "Letters, huh? Should I write you a nice long blog post, perhaps? Some steamy text messages to make you more at home in this era?"
Seth's sarcasm largely remains below the tranquil surface of his deadpan approach to the conversation, though there is a flicker of amusement in his eyes when Muse mentions romantic letters as a relic of the past. And chaperoning. Well, he's not imposing himself on her nightly habits enough to be her chaperone... but whoever was, in the past, definitely began greying early from the stress of it, no doubt. At least for handling this little hellion.
"Yeah, I'm sure there's places. We have a few performing stages as well, scattered around. Wouldn't be difficult to adapt one to a traveling troupe's act, plus it's New Orleans, so I'm sure there's plenty of them passing by and looking for work."
At the mention of the trapeze, Muse's dark eyes drift up the full, triple-level height of the dome, then back downward to meet Prism's gaze with that same idle curve lingering upon her lips. That'd be enough height, surely? The notion of the little artist swinging high overhead with the greatest of ease is undeniably intriguing.. and would certainly lend a delightful sense of whimsy to the casino. The Shadow is a great advocate of blurring reality with fantasy.. but isn't everyone, to some extent, a fan of such things? Mortals seek to emulate the aspects they cannot feasibly attain, such as flight, and there's a certain beauty in that conviction that she admires.
"Ursulines is a street, near the French-.." she begins to clarify, soft-spoken now that the band has departed, only to politely halt herself as Seth beats her to it, offering him an appreciative glance aside. That catches his amusement, though, as he both explains the foundation of modern 'romance' and teases her in the same breath. "Trouble? Me?" The fingertips of one hand flutter to her decollete in feigned astonishment. She manages to keep it up for a whole three seconds before lapsing to a slight grin. "Oh darlin', you're clearly much too busy to compose a text, let alone anythin' with even a hint of saucy." She turns his own idle belly-aching back on him, without missing a beat. "But should you find, oh, a whole ten seconds of leisure, you can email me a sonnet."
It's at this moment that the waiter returns with a bottle of wine and some glasses for the party. The bar won't be closing for some time yet for the evening's patrons.. and not at all for anyone in the company of Seth and Muse. The latter calmly shifts her weight to ease the passage of the server, allowing them to pour, as the conversation continues. "Oh, I think there's some value, still, in some places, placed on tradition. They still have cotillion here in the South, after all." A hand rises, fingertips idly raking her dark hair back. Whether she herself sees any worth in such things remains unsaid. But it's probably safe to assume 'emphatically not'.
At the words 'feed us' that is when it can be visibly seen Prism is /finally/ connecting the dots and her cheeks flush even more as she bites on her bottom lip. Vampires! That means that wonderful kiss! Her movements growing a touch bashful then as she shifts in her seat. A smile curls her slips as she responds, "I am sure troupes do come but I now want to travel and wish for to remain here. Not want to leave Pan." The idea of it seems to bother her immensely as her brow lightly furrows. She offers a nod before she responds, "I am often careful but may not perform on street until is safe again. As the wine arrives, her hand extends to take the glass with a softly spoken 'thank you' to the staff. Another new word she is unfamiliar with and inquires, "What is this cotillion?" She might butcher the pronounciation of that word a touch.
"A type of dancing, most in fashion with the French," Seth responds to the question about cotillion. He would know, after all, having spent quite a bit of time around the French over the years. "Well. The French of yesteryear, anyway. Still done in some ballrooms and formal parties..." A flicker of amusement is shifted across the table, gleaming in his green eyes. "Maybe I could host a party here in one of our dance halls for it. Surely there's a reeanactment society that would love to have a cotillion ball." His lips don't quite curve into their familiar smirk, but Seth does relish the subtle needling. It's got a sort of momentum, rolling on from the comment about free time and sonnets.
And then he's slowly rising to his feet. "But, yes, speaking of my free time being horribly strangled and dumped into the trash," the Mekhet observes with a casual grin, "I really ought to get back to my professional diversions. It's been a pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle," Seth's accent is abruptly more French as he nods his head to Prism, but it fades back into a more familiar American verbiage.
Then he lightly reaches over to catch a strand of Muse's errant hair and tuck it behind her ear, wordlessly communicating his departure as he gets up to his feet. His green eyes flick back to Prism. "So long as you don't drink the house under the table, I'll have the refreshments put on my tab," he offers by way of hospitality. "Least I can do, really." And then he's preparing to depart, fading into the bustle of the ship's silhouettes moving in the pleasantly dim lighting of this part of the Regas, and vanishing into the landscape of the Dome of Sins.
And then Seth is rising, the brush of fingertips as he rights a stray wisp of her dark hair prompting her attention as she looks up at him from her seated position. "No rest for the wicked." And no sympathy from them either, apparently. "I'll keep our guest company a little longer.." In the background, the standard gentle lull of soft jazz plays across the speakers for those remaining in the comfortable, expensive surroundings. Otherwise unmoving, the Shadow watches her fellow Mekhet depart, before settling in to pass some time with Prism. With as much wine as she desires.
"Nowadays, it's more for younger folk to show off the table manners, etiquette and yes, dancin' ability they've learned." The brunette agrees with her coterie-mate's explanation.. to a certain degree. "I Googled it." Oh, well. Advantage Muse, then, obviously. Even if she did so only to ensure the tradition was still upheld today, least she earn some odd looks in mentioning it. "But the real fun is in a debutante ball." Serenely ignoring the notion of reenactment, she settles her attention on Prism as she explains; leaning comfortably back in her chair and folding her hands in her lap. "Time was, it was considered a family's announcement that their daughter was of good breedin' and of a marriageable age. A marvellous opportunity to see and be seen." Was that a hint of a wistful lacing to her tone? "Obviously it's less about that now.. more a casual, community affair. But that's where it came from. And if you wanted to host some parody of that.." She now looks aside to her coterie-mate once more, arching a brow. "I, for one, would be all for gettin' dressed up and choosin' myself a handsome escort or two for the evenin'. What about you, Miss Tacit?" There's an encouraging curve of lips directed to the blonde.