Deirdre leans against the side of the bar, chewing an unlit cigarette.  Her elbows are up on the counter, her lower arms draped down and hands dangling.  She watches the stage as her band for the night sets up the equipment.  She probably should have prepared better.  Not that it matters too much, she'll mostly be playing covers tonight.  Songs she knows by heart.  That's what you get when you haven't written something new in six months.  You fall into a lull of comfortability.  But with comfort there's no change, and with no change, no progress.  No success.

She looks about the place at the sparse crowd.  She spots a few of the regulars who always show up -- not just for her, but for just about everything.  Maybe after the show she'll pull one of them in.  It's time to mix things up a bit.  Her little gaggle of self-styled groupies have been boring her as of late.  That's the problem when you get to know people long enough, they start getting on your nerves.

Its easiest to stnad out in a place like this. A conformist amongst non-conforming conformers. Brian Caplin reels at the thought. His rich prick club wear wont win him any friends here... but then again, why would a scourge need friends.

Brian Caplin is rather famous amongst his peers for a bloodhound ability tied to thinbloods... he wears his expensive sunglasses even in the club, and keeps glancing at a pocketwatch every few minutes.

He makes no attempt to contact Dierdre.. but he does note her milling about. He knows this is effectively her club.. but he seems much more intent watching an obviously young, and obviously pregnant girl hanging with a small group of friends...

Deirdre finally pushes off from the bar and makes her way to the stage.  The other part-time band members are already in place.  She grabs her electric guitar by the neck and swings it up, throwing the strap over her shoulder.

"Evenin' ladies 'n' gents," she says as she leans into the microphone.  "Let's start with an oldie but goodie."  Short, sweet introduction. She's never much liked talking on stage, all the banter that some artists indulge in.  As far as she's concerned, its just masturbation.  The audience doesn't care about it.

The drummer starts up with a rippling beat that pounds back and forth across the walls.  Deirdre begins in a fast riff on her guitar.  She leans closer to the microphone, singing in a voice something between a growl and a hissing whisper.

"I'm lying on my back now
The stars look all too near
flowers on the razor wire
I know you're here
We are few
and far between
I was thinking about her skin
Love is a many splintered thing
Don't be afraid now
just walk on in!"

"Flowers on the razor wire...walk on in," she whispers into the mic.  The tight chords of the guitar seem electric in the air of the club, like a sliver of lightning scratching the very fabric of oxygen and carbon dioxide.

"Her eyes were cobalt red
her voice was cobalt blue
I see no purple light
crashing out of you
so just walk on in"  

Her eyes narrow and she hisses "Flowers on the razor wire...just walk on in"

Now she's starting to really get into the music.  She stomps her foot with the backbeat of the drums.  It's more than just adrenaline, it's the spiritual power of the music, more powerful than any drug.  The electric light that zags up her bloodstream.  And its this feeling which keeps bringing her back to this life, which draws her back every time she turns away.

"Her lovers queued up in the hallway
I heard them scratching at the door
I tried to to tell her
of Marx and Engels
God and angels
I don't really know what for
But she looked good in ribbons..."

She tosses her head back, black hair flying wild around her.  "So just walk on in!" she screams with all the pain, anger, and grief of a dying animal on the side of the road.  "She looked good in ribbons," she whispers sultrily into the microphone, casting languid green bedroom eyes about the audience.  "So just walk on in!" she shrieks again.  "Tie a red, red, red, red ribbon..." she hisses.  She locks eyes with a woman in the crowd...she doesn't know who she is, but for a brief moment connects.  "She looked good in ribbons" she whispers, as if slipping seductive sweet nothings into this girl's ear.  "So just walk...on...in..." and the song ends with a ripping chord of the guitar.  She straightens up and lets the shouts and applause wash over her.

I sit in back of bar listing to her band playing. I think to myself, “The voice of a siren taking the souls of the mindless fans. A little on the dark side but  at least it fosters emotion and emotion is a never bad thing in hearts of the living.” It takes a while before it occurs to me that I may have seen her at court. I stand by the bar, my back against wall just in case shit hits the fan in this joint, I won’t be surprised from the behind in the time of war.

I pound down a Guinness. I drink it sloppy, causing droplets to run on to my chest, so the Bar Man dose not get to suspicious of a man who drank eight pints. I signal him over to me. “Pull me a Guinness kind sir.” He sticks up four fingers to show me the cost of the stout beer. I hand him ten bucks, “hey what’s the singer’s name?” he says “Dierdre” I tell him “keep the change” I can tell the Bar Man shows me a little respect only because Punks and Goths are not known for their tipping habits and I’ve been feeding his greed all night. I know it’s the only way I can get fast service and never be cut off.

I finish half of my beer and head to the bathroom. I go into a heavily gratified room, band names written all over the walls. I just wait patiently till the next available stall opens.  I read some of the names on the wall aloud, “Stiff Little Fingers, The Stooges, Black Flag, Social Distortion.” Not really familiar with many of these bands as I know more of the Irish punk movement. A small teenager with a green eight-inch mohawk was snorting hard from the toilet seat in the next stall. I can still see coke particles hanging off of his peach fuzz. He avoids me because of my size. I go into a stall and purge the beer from my stomach. I can only keep it down for so long. Some guy in the bathroom yells “Woooo vomit Woooo”. I just wipe my mouth and head back to my spot and continue pretending to drink till I have the opportunity to meet this Siren who calls to me from my safe path.  

Tonight she's traded in the trashy, outdated black spandex for tight, stylish leather pants and matching bustier-like top...gifts from one of her "groupies."  She's feeling enlivened, energetic now.  Damn, the music is better than anything she's ever snorted, shot up, or smoked.  She walks towards the back of the stage, swinging her hips as the drummer taps on the cymbals.

Deirdre turns on her heels and is back at the microphone as an eerie back-tune begins playing on the keyboard.  A slow steady beat starts up on the drums, like footsteps following you down a dark alley way:thud...thud thud...thud...thud thud

Deirdre grins, a sly predatory grin that makes her eyes flash.  It's like she knows a secret joke, a joke she's about to play on the entire crowd of spectators.  She sings in a whisper, steady, methodical like the beat, each word perfectly enunciated.

"A last fire will rise
Behind those eyes
Black house will rock
blind boys don't lieeeee!
Immortal fear, that voice so clear
Through broken walls that scream I heeearrr

"Cry little sister..."

In the back, the female keyboardist sings into her own mic "Though shalt not fall..."

"Come to your brother (thou shalt not die)
Unchain me, sister (thou shalt not fear)
Love is with your brother (thou shalt not kill)"  

--Last edited by Tara532 on 2008-05-04 21:45:59 --

She continues singing, her voice sultry, soft, and yet strangely dangerous.  Like the promise of untold eroticism at the edge of a knife

"Blue masquerade
strangers look on
When will they learn
this lonelinesssss!

Temptation heat
beats like a drum
deep in your veins
I will not lie!

"CLittle sister (though shall not fall)
Come, come to your brother (though shall not die)
Unchain me sister (thou shalt not fear)
Love is in your brother (though shalt not kill)"

Suddenly the keyboard's sound becomes an echoing pipe organ, rising...rising...rising...erupting in a crescendo of sound.  Deirdre throws back her head and spreads her arms out wide as if to embrace the crowd

"My shangri-la
I can't forget
why you were mine
I need you nowwwwwwww!

Cry little sister (thou shalt not fall)
Come to your brother (thou shalt not die)
Unchain me sister (thou shalt not fear)
Love is in your brother (thou shalt not kill)

"Chain me...unchain me...chain me sister..." her words echoing softer and softer as the song sinks lower.  "Chain me sister...thou shalt not die."

Again the cheers and applause sweep up.  She smiles...actually smiles.  She's been singing songs these people have probably heard a hundred times, but they seem to love it.  "We'll take a short break, an' I'll be right back," she says, giving them a wink.  "Now don' be goin' nowhere."  With that she hops off the stage and walks towards the bar, shaking hands with people, showing appreciation for their compliments, gracefully declining offers to buy her a drink.

As she walks past the bar, I use my size to push the groupies aside to get next to her. I ask “Would you like a light” pointing to her gnawed on cig. “If I’m not mistaken, I think I’ve seen you with Mr. Arturo around town. Anyways I’m Sebastion and you put on a great show tonight.” I extend my hand out to greet her formally, if she accepts I will lightly kiss it out of courtly honor. “Really not the best place for courtly manners, but my mother would be ashamed otherwise and I can’t have that.” I wait few second to give her time to join this conversation.  

(*OOCRepost for my descrïption
I am 6’5’’ 260 pound, all muscle. I’m wearing dirty black slacks and a black wife beater with a green scully cap and a pair of combat boots. I have brown eyes and chestnut hair with a slight tinge of rust. When you talk to me you will notice a thick Gaelic or Irish accent)

((She doesn't have the cigarette anymore))

Sebastion:  “If I’m not mistaken, I think I’ve seen you with Mr. Arturo around town."

"Aye, ye'd be mistakin'.  I don' think I've ever set foot in that damn casino...not quite my kinda place." She shakes his hand and laughs when he kisses her hand.  "Now that's somethin' ye don't see 'round here much.  I'm Deirdre, nice to meet ye."

I step in close to try and exclude any random listeners from eavesdropping. “All right with proper introduction out of the way lets get down to business. First the joy kill part; I just wanted to help let our presence be known to our allies in the city.” I hand you a card with my number on it and the address to The Chantry. “We are now in the time of war and things lurk all around us so we need to start connecting dots and start to work together. We can not expect all these problems to be solved by a few elder bourgeois with there older ideas” He takes a sip from the pint. “I just have been thinking, without the whole part of our organization acting together to defend the city, what chance do we have? That's just an opinion of one drunken Irish man, though. I was wondering if we can try to pull some of our friends to have a little chat, there is a lot of shit going down and if your not playing the game you can go ahead start buying a dust pan.” I look like have a lot to say but I’m stopping to hear your opinion. "Might there be a place that is a bit quieter, where we could discuss this?"

She lets out a sharp, sarcastic laugh and pushes the card back against your chest.  "So you're one of them.  Listen, if I'd had any sort of interest in your politics and paranoia I would've jumped in by now.  You tell me nothing now that I hadn't heard a hundred times from my sire...and it's all just the same business of keeping us in line through fear."

From behind the bar, the tender eyes the big burly man from the corner of his dark reflective shades.  He grabs a tequila bottle and flips it into the air, doing a little acrobatics as he pours a round of shots for a group of patrons.  He wonders what the bruiser wants with Deirdre.

Ever since she came into the place, that sassy little Irish lass has boosted attendance by close to fifty percent.  Harry had been close to regrettably seriously considering closing down the bar.  But she seemed to be its savior.  And it wasn't just that she was a financial windfall for the hard-on-his-luck barkeep.  He'd seen plenty of his share of bands come through those doors; some he got on well with, some he couldn't wait to leave.  But this gal was special.  She was sweet beneath that sour milk core, she was just too damn stubborn to see it herself.  For once he found himself honestly and sincerely careing about the wellbeing of one of the "acts."

“Yeah, so how does forming a group of young ones keep us in line? If anything I’m doing this to stop the politics and get shit done.” He looks at Deirdre as he put one arm on the bar to lean on. He looking little emotional, “O.K. if you just want to take it easy and let the shit hit the fan. I really don’t care but I was just trying to pass on some info to you and anyone else who wanted to hear it.  You see, if you want to be a little slave to the system and let info get to you through Mr.Arturo go for it. If you just want to blow off the situation completely that’s fine too, but as stupid as is sound I'd rather take a stand. I'd rather actually know what the fucks going on. I'd rather have a chance to be on my own god damn terms.  That what this is about Deirdre. With all these people falling, people in fear, people killing and me just trying not to die. Fucking A thats what I get for trying to help. Yeah, I was just giving you a card so if ever needed a extra hand but I guess you got it covered, just like your dead Primogen.” You see Sebastion pause for a second and take a deep breath. “Sorry about that, sometime I let my emotion get the best of me. I guess you just want to keep being chained. Thats just your choice. On another note before I take my leave, You did good tonight on your stage presence. I could feel the emotion and so could the crowd. You are really talented, I hope it does not go to waste. Good Luck."  

"And how exactly am I chained?  Seems to me you're just falling into their ploy too...getting involved in their personal war."  She lowers her voice.  "Camarilla...Sabbat...I don't give a shit.  I'm not part of either of 'em and I d'nae wanna be.  Let them burn each other out, its pointless bullshit."

“You are chained by your lack of involvement. You have rejected a system that your forced into and that means your being forced without any voice.” I have a concerned look on my face and stop immediately. I speak in a different language, (*Gaelic*) “Do you speak the tongue of our forefathers because then we can continued with much more ease.” (*Gaelic*) “This may be more appropriated before I continue on.”

"Aye, I'm full-blooded Dubliner," she says in smooth perfect Gaelic.  "I choose to avoid politics, because in my experience those who get involved with 'em get taken down by 'em.  I wouldn't say I enjoy life but I'm not eager to end it either.  I know enough of the way we work to know that as soon as you set foot in the door, you're dragged in and you'll never get out.  I just want to make do with what I have...that's little enough withou' it being taken away by some elder's plot or whackjob fanatics."

She laughs to herself secretly inside.  Well listen to me, Cayd would be laughin' like a lunatic if he could hear me.  She remember the last time she had seen him.  He had used words almost exactly like that to get her to come with him.

His mood goes from somewhat frustrated to a big smile once Deirdre speaks in his native tongue*Gaelic* “Well just keep this in mind, the Sabbat does not let people stay neutral and you have more of a chance for survival not going with them, but that enough ideology.” I pull out a necklace with a silver tree on it. “It is good to meet some one from home. I hail from Cork got shipped over after the occupation from the black and tan. They killed too many of our people and our faith. I was part of the Collins boys and that was my first war. Now I have been busy just  trying to keep my friends alive. If you can do acoustic you should check out the Muadhnait Fiachra Pub some time. There is usually just a fiddle and concertina but it does make you feel a bit closer to home. I have been away too long. Ever get through Cork? ”  

"Aye...I've been all up 'n' down Eire.  I haven't been there since the early late 90s though.  Kind of got...driven out, ye could say.  Me sire d'nae want me 'round anymore, decided to make life tough for me."