By the time the scheduled date comes around, Thorns is more than ready for its re-opening.  DJs have been lined up for the night, and several local bands are slated to play.  The catering has set up a buffet table with wings, pizza, cocktail wieners, and other appetizers, and the liquor is fully stocked.

The place opens promptly at ten, and there is already a small cadre of the devout who are waiting around for the doors to open, standing about in their torn fishnets and leather jackets.  Most of the early-comers were those who had a stake in teh club's renovation and put their sweat and work into the task of bringing the club back from the blow that sent it reeling.  By the time they enter the club the music is already pumping loudly and throbbing.

Throughout the night a succession of DJs and live bands play, switching off and on and throwing in an eclectic mix of all things dark, aggressive, and melancholy.  The displaced former patrons of the club come wandering in, like the lost tribe of Israel finding its way back home after millenia of exile.  The club isn't made to hold a giant crowd, but already within the first hour of the party the crowd has grown to an appreciable size.  

--Last edited by Tara532 on 2008-12-21 01:01:00 --

It's good to be back behind the counter, tending to his own bar again.  Harry's always been one of those types that can never sit around on his ass.  He always has to be doing something somewhere, and the weeks he was away from his bar were like agony to him.  The repairs and reconstruction organization kept him busy enough, but there seemed to be something lacking in it.  Maybe it was just because he always saw that work as merely being a break in his usual routine -- it wasn't his "real" work, just a necessary step so he could get back to it.

Now Harry works behind the bar with a quick, upbeat pace, flipping bottles and sliding glasses around like some flashy twenty-something tender at one of the upscale clubs.  He pauses now and again to exchange words with the patrons who come up to congratulate him and comment on the club's new decor.  He's back in his milieu, and it feels damn good.

The first of the bands hits the stage, a raucous little ensemble of twenty-something college dropouts with hair dyed in such radiant hues that it would make a neon Vegas casino sign envious.  They're loud and aggressive and lacking in any real musical panache but they're just what the crowd needs to get going early in the night.  The younger kids jump out onto the dance floor and begin flailing about in a small, yet endearingly intimate, little mosh pit, while the old-schoolers hang back out of the way of the scrawny kids and tap their feet while nursing beers.

Deirdre is at her usual spot at the corner of the bar, in a fold of shadows between two of the new rose lamps.  Arms folded across her chest, she watches the crowd with bright green eyes that seem to see everything.  Tonight is the culmination of many, many weeks of hard work.  She should feel proud about this.  She should feel invigorated.  It's not many that get a second chance, especially after already having gotten a second chance.  So why does this somehow feel hollow and empty?  Why does this feel meaningless to her?

Slater come trough the band entrance of thorn with a fender half stack, fender acoustic, Gibson F-hole electric, and multiple effect peddles. Yea he know that he not the best musician but he can write some mean lyrics to get people thinking. he dose not care about what they are thinking about as long as they are using critical mass to do so. He puts his shit down with all the gear and head over to the real star of the show. "Hey Deirdre so what my slot tonight? He shake her hand and give her a truly mischievous smile.  

Deirdre isn't quite hiding her less-than-chipper mood tonight.  She gives Slater a cool shake of her hand and shrugs.  "Talk t' Harry, he's responsible fer most o' the organizin'."

Her eyes continue scanning the place, drifting over the crowds of kids and veterans alike.  The place is filling up respectably.  So far, with Slater's exception, none of the other Kindred have shown up.  She doesn't know if that's a good or a bad thing.  Quite frankly, she can do without the mingling of her bloodthirsty kind, where even a friendly event is an opportunity to cut someone's throat.  She's fairly sure some of them will show up -- she knows Arturo still has his eyes on her, and for more than just friendly reasons.  

 I slip in the door paying cover, not that I wouldn't give to such a great cause, but mostly because I'm always broke. Things were a bit hectic at the stable and I managed to slip away unseen. I rarely ever leave my room and when I do its just to take a breath of fresh air.

I decided on a pair of old chucks and some baggy jeans, an extra large Ramones shirt and a huge jacket. They might just think I'm a bit heavy, but somehow I doubt it. I threw on a bit of makeup for old times sake. It seems I've been pregnant ever since I became whatever it is I am. I am so looking forward to not being like this. I had been thinking about giving her up for adoption lately and its really made me depressed. I need a night like this to liven my spirit, wake up the old me.

As I enter I take in everyone, the music, the friends. It was me just a few years ago. It seems like another life ago. I spot a few people I know and nod in their direction. Dom says I need to lose my old life, but what the fuck does he know about that? I mean he runs a vampirello bordello and eats off what his girls bring in. Not exactly my idea of living it up for eternity. Him and Kim are great and all, but it seems I need my space.

I start moving through the crowd, the small of alcohol, sweat, and an old building reminding me of the good ol' days. I wonder if Rosa got that note I left her about this show. I hope she will be here. She is my best friend and could not imagine a show like this without her. I find a spot toward the back trying to blend into the crowd, but still see the show. The air is electric and the crowd is young. I can feel the energy from the stage. This is living.

That's when I see her. She is at the bar looking at the crowd. Talking to some punk guy with a guitar. She must be the happiest person in the world. She has everything I could ever want. I always come to see her. Her dark hair, her casual clothes are so perfect. I wish I could speak to her, but I'm just some face in the crowd. I make a promise that if I ever get outta this mess I'm gonna talk to her. I know she'll just laugh, but I'll know whether she is real or just a dream.

 I have to

2009-01-10 13:08:47 Rosa Maria rolls 3 dice to Manip+Intim [browbeat] 8,7,3 (2 successes)

Im a little behind Misty. You see i got caught up at the door arguing with this fool whos asking for a cover. I explain to him in rowdy ghetto bitch fashion that i aint never paid no god damn cover for this joint before.

Ill end up paying it though; Its just a few bucks and its for a good cause. Misty and I really like this place. I just have to make my point before I go inside. I probably dont fit in so well. Being the only chick rockin a fur rimmed coat, Ugg boots and absolutely no black clothes. But im a pretty bitch, and whatever I lack in melodrama I make up for with attitude.

I creep around the place until i find Misty in the back watching Deirdre again. I flick off my hood and join her.

'She playin tonight? And doesnt that guy come to the stable?'

I flick my chin at Slater, he looks familiar, but then again all the punks really look alike.

 "Does he?" obviously her attention not on the man at all. She glances at him again and has never seen him. No big deal, she misses a lot of the action at the stable because of her 'condition' so its not a surprise that she missed him.

"Oh, and yeah she's supposed to play tonight. I wonder what her life must be like? She must have a great life, playing shows, being a musician, It must be great. I bet she never has to take shit from anyone. I'd like to get to know her, but she'd think I was just lame I'm sure," as she daydreams about what she must be like.

"There is a crappy Pixies cover band coming on later. I think it sounds good. Hopefully they'll have some shirts. I want to get us both one."

He Give a nod to the ladies. He walks over to Henry. "Hey when do i go on?" He gives a firm and mighty handshake. " I'll will be playing mostly original tonight so i would prefer to be after the cover bands and trust me i can pull in a crowd so Deirdre can knock them down." He puts his left arm on the bar and lean his face against his hand.  

--Last edited by Matthew Slater on 2009-01-10 18:29:42 --

 I drive up to the reopening in my black hearse, parking it a few blocks away. Its a bit ragged and covered in band stickers, but one must travel in style. After I park I sit and finish the last touches to my mascara and lip liner. It must be perfect. I know that I spent the last four hours getting ready, but one can never be too early and I am hoping to speak with someone tonight about the possibility of acquiring a DJ gig here. I examine my face in the rear view mirror and am pleased, certainly one of my better nights.

I step out and retrieve my coffin purse, I know it might be a bit over the top, but romance is what you make of it and I like it whatever anyone else really thinks.

I pay the cover without even a hint of emotion, it would not due to allow someone to shatter my pristine image.

I enter the club in full fashion, dressed in a black vinyl dress that sweeps just above the floor. My midriff taught under the corsets boning as it accentuates the curves of my hips and breasts. I have an ornate black lace shirt under my dress that seems to mesh with it flawlessly. The sleeves hang downward falling well beyond my hands. My chest is a stark pale color as well as my face and it is even more contrasting with my dark eyeliner, burgundy lipstick and long black nails. My hair hangs long in small braids with dark strips of sheer silk woven into them. I start toward the bar, my high witch cut boots leading they way.

My gaze cascades about the environment taking in everyone that stands out amongst the crowd. I certainly appreciate the decor, the clubs newly remade appearance catching my eyes.

I walk up and find an empty spot at the bar and nod toward the keeper, "Excuse me, but do you happen to have any Merlot?" as I reach into my bag looking for my chalice if he happens to have any.

'Who are the crappy pixies?'

I scrunch my face at Misty. I love her, but she has weird taste in music. She needs to just accept the merits of the Wu-Tang clan. I join her in oogling Deirdre from across the room. The girl definitely has a presence about her. I may not get the whole Goth thing, but its all for show anyway.

'Maybe if we steal her seat while shes playing she will have no choice but to talk to us afterwards?'

Malaclypse pulls up to Thorns in her usual frighteningly pink Hello Kitty-mobile.

She steps out, knee high black vinyl 6-inch platform boots with a lot of unnecessary silver buckles appearing first, followed by fluorescent pink tights, a black vinyl miniskirt with an equally unnecessary quantity of buckles, her "fake" laser gun and assorted pieces of electronic equipment at her waist, and a black vinyl corset with silver spikes and buckles. Tonight, her dreads are bright pink, blue and white, topped with black goggles that she must have forgotten to remove after a day in the lab. That or she just wears them everywhere, which is far more likely.

She waltzes up to the door, pays the cover without flinching, and strides confidently into the club, taking in the ragtag crowd.

 "That's a great idea. I'm glad you came along, things were getting kinda quiet at the stables and I needed a break."

She smiles at her friend, yeah she knows she is a bit different, but Rosa has never looked down at her. She has always been there when she needed her. Tonight will be great.

At her thought she feels a sharp pain in her abdomen, like a throb or muscle spasm. She brushes it away, nothing can ruin this night, nothing.

Harry nods to Slater as he approaches, not missing a beat as he glides from one end of the bar to another.  Glide is the only real word to describe it.  One wouldn't think that a man of his size could move like that; while Harry certainly isn't overweight, he's a broad guy and his age shows in his paunch.  But he sails from one end of the bar to the other, taking orders, filling drinks, sliding them in front of the patrons.  There's already a satisfying sheen of sweat on his brow.

"Well," he says to Slater as he pours a pair of whiskey sours, "I guess then you can go on before Deirdre's first set."  He thunks the drinks down in front of two guys wearing enough rubber to supply a tire factory.  And just as soon as he's done with that, he's approached by Sarah.

"Merlot?"  He scratches at his salt-and-pepper stubble of beard.  "I don't have much of a wine selection.  To be honest, it's not something folks usually order up."

 She smiles, trying to let him know she had not really expected an Italian bistro, "Well any red will do, or a chilled white. No blush though, I prefer real wine. Otherwise a Gin and Tonic, light if you have it," not that she was particularly watching her figure, but she had long ago figured out that quinine water whether light or not taste exactly the same.

"I was hoping to speak to someone about booking a night, I'd really like to give Sanfield a nice night of old school goth and darkwave. I heard that this was the spot and wanted to see if you were hunting..." as she lays down a ten. The rest is for a tip, whatever the cost of the drink is.

"Can we smoke in here?" as she starts digging in her coffin purse, presumably for her cigarettes.

Mal saunters up to the bar next to Sarah.

Addressing Harry, she shouts over the music.

"A G&T, my good man! Heavy on the G, light on the T, two limes, please!"

She eyes Sarah up and down. Oh yes, she recognizes the antique style of dress as late 20th-early 21st century "Victorian goth". Very nice, very nice indeed.

After some fishing Harry mamanges to find a few cheap bottles of red wine he vaguely remembers having in the back storeroom.  He can't remember why he'd bought it in the first place.  Popping the cork he pours out a glass.

Nodding to Mal he begins pouring out the gin and tonic while still talking with Sarah.  "Well, I'm the person to talk to.  Always lookin' for new DJs.  Talk with me a little later and I can schedule an audition or somethin, or you can send me a mix of some of your stuff."

Slipping the limes onto the rim of the glass, he slides the drink over to Malaclypse.

'Quiet?'

I make a fart noise with my lips and grin at Misty.

'I dunno where you been hidin Chica but shit aint quiet tonight. Fuck-up-o-Matic came home all ripped up and the crackhead in the basement is all dude lemme touch you a little.'

I waggle my fingers at Mistys crotch dramatically for a moment.

'So shit aint quiet. God damn I woulda been 21 this year too...'

I say, my tone shifting as I look over the bar again.

 She draws out a nice cigarette holder and a clove. She smiles toward Harry as she lights it, drawing heavily upon it before allowing the breathe to exhale.

"I'm certain that can be arranged."

She glances at the uber goth next to her with a smile. She has seen them before, but this one looks to fit the role nicely, her beautiful eyes inviting.

"Thank you my dear, and you look lovely yourself," offering her my lace covered hand. "My name is Skarah."

 "What? That's crazy, I always seem to miss all the good stuff. What fucking happened? I bet that Kim was fucking crazy mad. I thought Dom had told us to stay away from that dude in the basement, he's hella creepy. I caught him staring at me a few times with those eyes of his."

She did not really care all that much, the two idiots always seemed to just bring trouble to all of them anyway. The guy being interested in him was kinda weird, but he seemed to be getting a bit more familiar with the Stable lately and she expected someone can only stay alone for so long.