Legend of Ransera

The lights inside the main hall were uncharacteristically dim. The crowd was uncharacteristically quiet. The gambling tables were in a lull. Several patrons had wandered in from the hookah lounge to watch the floorshow. It wouldn't be a cabaret if there weren't performances, after all. Nextdoor at the Golden Peacock, the shows were larger, grander, and often more serious. But here, the cabaret was more burlesque. Music, dance, humor, skills—but often with a lot of skin showing. There were seeder establishments where one could wink back at orifices that could be made to wink. Here, there was the veneer, at least, of art. They put the tease in striptease.

"I don't want to do this," said a voice from the stage as the music began.

"Aurin, shut up."

"I'm not a performer," Aurin continued.

"Aurin, shut up." Another voice.

"I hate it."

"Aurin." This time it was several voices, saying various things like, "you love it," "you'll get a treat later," and, predictably, "shut up."

The music continued to patter. The lights came up. The familiar—to any regular patron of the Cabaret—figure of Aurin Kavafis stood on the stage. He never stood on the stage. His smile was comically awkward. With a walking stick in hand, he walked forward to the edge of the stage, twirling it as he went.

"Welcome, strangers."

People laughed. Some shouted his name. Someone definitely demanded he take off his clothes. He winked in the general direction of that voice.

"I appreciate a woman who knows what she wants," he said. "I'm sorry, but it appears that I'm your emcee for... this number and then I will quit the stage for much more talented people." Then, when he spoke, it was clearly in time with the music and if he wasn't an accomplished singer or dancer, the courtesans had obviously pulled him on for comic effect and because most of the patrons enjoyed him.

"Happy to see you. Please, rest, stay... at the Velvet Cabaret." He rolled his eyes in self-deprecation, then laughed when a man's voice called for him to drop trou. Several people present had tried to proposition him like one of the more willing courtesans and he usually responded with something along the lines of them not being able to afford him, but they could get a discount version in Rickter if they wanted to slum it. He did a little bit of fancy footwork, bowed, continued. The dancers were coming out one by one, finding a spot, and striking a comically bored pose. Rather than stand completely still, though, they would pulse in time with the music, clean, crisp isolations of different muscles. They were the talent here, and Aurin actually enjoyed a little stage time with them. Though he claimed to take nothing seriously, he respected the hell out of the courtesans—their art, their wit, and their bravery.

Perhaps that was why so many of them loved him in one way or another. He protected them. He made their jobs easier. And if he was a bit of a curmudgeon, they all figured it was just an act. It was also nice that he never tried to take advantage of his managerial authority to demand sexual favors. There had been bad apples in management before, though Madame Lunaria did not put up with that sort of predatory shit. Perhaps that was why Aurin had lasted so long where he was.

"Ladies and gentlemen, friends beyond the binary, good evening! Do you feel good? I am your host. Welcome," he repeated, "to the Velvet Cabaret." It was, in effect, a stylized version of what many here present had experienced when he was working. He checked in, made sure people were happy, people were comfortable, and while he wasn't a courtesan, he was a bit of a charmer, and told jokes, asked questions, and listened. He truly listened, which was rarer than one might think.

He warmed up to the stage, to the audience, dropping his pretense of hating it, of being uncomfortable. He turned in time to catch the muscled leg of one of the dancers. He looked down at the man's crotch, flush with his leg, then out at the audience with wide eyes as if he could be shocked. They knew him better than that. He have an awkward shove and the dancer spun one hundred eighty degrees into a pose like his colleagues, pulsing with the music. It was an understated thing they were doing, but they were certainly showing off the goods. Almost anything could be turned into a show here, hence the variety show moniker it frequently received. One never knew what one would see at the Velvet Cabaret. Unlike the Golden Peacock, they didn't hand out playbills.

"Leave your troubles outside," he demanded of his audience. "So life is disappointing, your husband's... is disappointing. Forget it! In here, life is beautiful. The girls are beautiful. The boys are beautiful. Even the orchestra is beautiful." Several of them turned to face the audience, revealing the instruments they were playing. The music picked up and Aurin moved to the back of the stage during the dance break, though he had a few comical interactions with various performers, then back to the front when they found their new poses.

"And now to present them. Each and every one... a virgin." He slapped one of their asses with his walking stick. There was immediate laughter. Some of the performers looked amused, others offended, some others something else. It was all a masquerade for the people's enjoyment. "Don't believe me? Go ahead, ask them yourselves."

Several of them added come-hither gestures into their pulsing choreography. The music was slowly building, not in volume or speed, but tension. Those with a musical ear would hear it, the same as before the explosion of dance. More was in store.

"Outside it is winter, but, in here, it's so... hot." A woman cracked her fan open and wafted fresh air toward his crotch while leering at the audience. He hiked his thumb at the dancers. "Every night we have to battle to keep them from taking off all their clothing." He half-turned away before returning to the audience with a conspiratorial, "so don't go away. Who knows? Tonight, we may lose the battle!"

Then, with overexaggerated steps, he snuck off the stage while the real professionals burst into song and dance. The show was impressive—beautiful, titillating, and comedic. From the bar where he took refuge, he watched and enjoyed their hard work, how they charmed the audience in entirely different ways than he did. Then he let his gaze travel over the audience since they were his charges as well. It was his job to keep the good times rolling and that involved both positive reinforcement and the occasional deflection. People under the influence of substances, gambling, and their hormones could be both laughably predictable and dangerously unpredictable. And so he must remain vigilant.

Near the door, his eyes fell upon a young woman with an astounded expression. Ah, he thought, another one. He made his way surreptitiously to her vicinity such that when the larger show gave way to something more intimate—a slender contortionist doing a striptease and quite amazing things with a long cigarette-holder—he eased into her peripheral vision as the lights came up a bit more to encourage drinking and fraternizing while the variety show continued.

"Oh, a fellow red-head," he said. "You are new here. Hello. I'm Aurin. How can I be of service?"

Oh, You Sweet Summer Child.

"Ah, well," he began, "as you may have noticed, our courtesans are musically trained and talented, but we do keep a list of dependable musicians for when someone's sick, overbooked, or big shows are planned. That might supplement your income, but might not be enough to live on. Most of the musicians on that list work several venues part-time. The good thing about us being next door to the Golden Peacock, though, is that they have sniped some of our artists..."

He spread his hands as if to assure her he wasn't hiding anything.

"I don't mean to deflect or discourage, but even in a city the size of Kalzasi, there are only so many cushy full-time positions for artists. Of course, if you audition for Madame Lunaria and you do well enough, she has been known to hire musicians on a more full-time basis without requiring them to be courtesans. But many of the people here wear multiple hats as well. I will say, if you want to win her over... well, be good, but also... win over her cat, the White Dread, Pascal. I mean, if you have any kind of animal magnetism, in Pascal's presence would be the time to bring it to the fore. It's how I got fired and I've been here now... Gods, five years?

"In any case, have a drink. Take a look around. Especially in dark corners. You'll see naked and near naked people here, many up to no good. Narcotic things get smoked and inhaled. Many people come by with notions of what it's like here and then are surprised by all the things permissible here. Wouldn't want you going into this with your eyes closed." His grin was a touch wicked, but he was being forthcoming, both for her sake and because nobody there wanted to vet and audition someone only to have them decide it's not a venue in which they are comfortable working.

"If nothing scares you away, I can introduce you to Madame Lunaria."

Oh, You Sweet Summer Child.

"Not to worry," he assured her, offering his arm and twirling the prop walking stick in his other. "Should you be hired even just for a one-night, command performance, I or any other manager on duty would be certain to have an eye out for your safety and, ahem, virtue. Even the courtesans are protected by legally binding contracts. They are not subjected to any sort of sexual servitude, and some of them abstain from any sex work at all. Even some of the most lascivious dancers—it might surprise you. Nothing happens here without mutual consent or else I have failed in my duties, and I don't fail."

He winked. Leading her along the wall and past a bustling bar, the contortionist was held aloft on the hand of a man as built as any Avialae warrior, hand-to-belly. Wearing only glittering garments that would be scanty by lingerie standards and a man's hat, her back and entire body were arched such that she could take the occasional drag from her cigarette where the cigarette holder was held between her toes. A very O of a woman.

And then they were through a side door, in a close corridor largely unused at this hour. Nothing exciting was happening here, though when they passed an intersecting hallway, she caught glimpses of performers changing costume, wigs, makeup, and the like.

"Play pretty for the people," he called, and she could hear the snarky responses called after them. She was, after all, a potential co-worker, not a client. Then he stopped, knocking on a heavy door.

"Are you decent, your Majesty?" he called through the wood. "My cousin is here to audition, if you'll recall." He made conspiratorial eye contact with her and pointed to his red hair, shrugging, as if to say she might as well use any angle she could to get ahead in this crazy world, and that he would back up the little white lie. What's your name? he mouthed. When she answered, he called, "Fawn," through the door.

"Don't forget," he whispered to her, "you charm the cat, you charm the elf."

Oh, You Sweet Summer Child.

Aurin was an observant fellow, and he observed her closely while she was taking in the milieu of the Cabaret's main hall, and again in the hallways reserved for those who worked there. Even some quite professional hopefuls had come more for the opportunity to look than to perform, and that was yet another thing he had to protect the employees from. Some jokingly called him various plays on father for it, but most of them appreciated knowing that Madame Lunaria had things set up in such a way that her people, once vetted and accepted, were under her protection and not just resources for her to exploit for coin and prestige.

Whatever he thought about her reaction, he returned an amused half-smile. Lunaria would decide yea or nay, but then she would defer to him and her other lieutenants to keep things running smoothly. While he hadn't choreographed or orchestrated the recent show, merely stepping in because the artistic powers that be wanted to play off his popularity with the guests for laughs, there was an element of the puppeteer pulling strings when he was running things. The Velvet Cabaret did have its stars, but even they had to be an instrument that fit in with the larger ensemble.

Hearing Madame Lunaria's called invitation, he prepared to open the door for the budding chanteuse.

"Oh, good," he said, his voice entirely too earnest to be even remotely trustworthy. "She does love her women with balls. Break a leg."

That said, he pulled open the door, gave her a nudge inside, and then closed the door behind her. Now, ought he to stay by the door to listen and in case his employer should call out to him, or get back to the pressing issues of keeping her Cabaret running?

Oh, You Sweet Summer Child.