TORCH SONGS
The Velvet Cabaret
2 Glade
The Velvet Cabaret
2 Glade
Arvalyn's first day as a soloist at The Velvet Cabaret hadn't come about as planned, though he'd been planning it for ages. He was well rehearsed- One might even say over-rehearsed, for all the times the opportunities had slipped him by. He'd finally been assessed and given the go-ahead to sing on his own, some weeks ago, but the schedule always seemed to be too full to squeeze him in. That is, until quite suddenly, it wasn't.
The hour of nine in the evening drew near, as the half-Hytori paced backstage, mouthing lyrics he knew all too well and better. It might have been a prime slot, if it weren't the day after a holiday. In fact, the holiday was likely the culprit that took the headliner out of commission. Much of the Velvet Cabaret's regular staff looked worse for their wear, after the sleepless night of binge drinking and other indulgences that had been enjoyed during the New Year celebrations and were presently being paid for. Arvalyn hadn't sat the festivities out himself, but between his youth and his tolerance, he hadn't availed himself of much more excess than was typical for the courtesan, so he bounced back with ease.
So thus was Arvalyn granted a fresh boon from the misfortune of another. He might have felt guilty, had the misfortune been of a graver nature than a particularly stark hangover, but such as things were he was merely excited and very, very nervous. He'd really putting most of his focus upon one song, all this time, assuming he'd get started out in one of the variety showcases with a group of other performers all of whom would be afforded one brief slot with which to sing, dance or otherwise entertain the crowd before a proper headliner came out to do a proper set. But now Arvalyn would be playing the long-coveted role of headliner, and he'd need to pull out the other songs he'd been working on with less emphasis- One of which was, as far as he was concerned, not altogether finished. Finn had worked faster with the composition than Arvalyn had with the lyrics and, though a full draft existed, it was the seventh attempt. Finn had suggested that Arvalyn's perfectionism might have been an issue after the fourth draft. The aspiring bard felt the lyric was long past ready for performance, but the added pressure of having written the thing he was performing made the youth particularly precious about sharing the material- Even with his collaborator. Moreover, the fact that he'd been through so many drafts made the song sort of muddy in his mind. When they worked in sessions together, sometimes he would revert to one of the older versions of a verse and forget the witty turn of phrase he'd come up with the earlier week. Unfortunately, he needed to fill at least half an hour so he'd need to push though the fears and mental blocks to premiere the (in his mind) incomplete song amongst a few he'd never performed, but often heard performed by others. The past few hours had been a high-pressure cramming rehearsal with the music director and band, who were also not their best selves after the prior evening (into morning)'s festivities.
The rehearsal had been hectic, to say the least. The first half of their time was spent with the song selection, before they even got into the actual rehearsal. He needed to use lyric sheets throughout the rehearsal, which was only possible because he happened to have been born to an academician who put great emphasis on literacy. Most of the kids he'd come up with were wholly illiterate, whilst he grew up in the home of a man of science fallen on hard times. Reading had become an escape for him when he was quite young, as performing was now. Perhaps his penchant for acting had actually come out of the reading, because he enjoyed fanciful stories and pretending to be like the rich, powerful protagonists who were the children of gods, rather than down-and-out humans and deadbeat Hytori.
After his slapdash, impromptu rehearsal/planning session, the music director needed to get to the stage with the band to play for the warm-up acts, and Arvalyn was left to memorise the new songs, fortify the songs he already knew, and hope he hadn't just shot out his voice during the rehearsal. It wasn't as though the music director was going to have time to transpose anything, after all, so he'd be singing borrowed melodies in whatever key they were usually sung in irrespective of where that fell in his range. The one consolation he'd been offered was that the cabaret was typically quiet the day after a major holiday like that of the New Year. Then why did the crowd behind the curtain sound so loud, as he paced and murmured lyrics to himself.
It was hard to even focus, in fact, with all the clamour of clinking glasses and voices shouting to top one another. He adjusted the cloth-of-gold tunic he'd selected for the occasion. As high stakes as this performance felt for Arry, management didn't seem particularly concerned with the details. Perhaps it was that they, too, were weary from the prior evening or that they weren't expecting much of a crowd to see whether the inexperienced singer soared or flailed with his solo time given. Whatever the case, Arvalyn was glad to be able to costume himself. His room was essentially excess costume storage, so he'd had plenty of time to sift through the cabaret's offerings and find his favourite pieces. He'd selected this one in particular because it played up the image he'd been building since he arrived in Kalzasi. It looked foreign, princely... perhaps a bit austere insofar as it looked like something a foreign noble in an earlier age might have worn at court. It was also simple- A finely hewn tunic, and a simple chain belt to round his waist and give him a bit of a shape. The skirt of the tunic was high enough to show his lean, sinewy legs which were bound in the gilded cage of gold gladiator sandals that ended at his knee. His brow was rounded with a simple golden diadem that looked as though it had been forged of fern leaves dipped in gold- All very elfy, to put it simply.
His musings were halted by the din of applause and catcalling, as the last of the openers slithered through the lips of the curtain and offered a faint nod to Arvalyn.
"Good luck, kid." She offered with a wink, as she slipped by him and made her way farther backstage. He could hear the muffled voice of the music director making his announcement, though he couldn't make out the details of what was being said over the sound of his hard-beating heart and the waning applause. All he heard was:
"ARVALYN!"
And his heart felt as though it would burst out of his chest. It felt as though it was drawing him forward onto the stage, and his feet could only follow the orders of that furnace-burning heart as it brought him centre stage. The crowd hushed and Arvalyn stared out and a little bit over them, glad of the bright lights that blinded his golden eyes to the details of the shadowed mass of people before him. A great deal more people than had been anticipated for the evening- That much he could tell. But he couldn't tell if Finn had gotten his missive in time and shown up to support his client and hear the premiere of their collaboration. He couldn't tell if Aurin was there, or if he'd brought his Torin to see the culmination of the practice sessions they'd both observed. He didn't know if Lunaria was poking her head out to see whether her investment in him was paying off, or whether there were any dignitaries of the Avialae or any other figure that might have added to his terror. And even if they were plainly visible, he wasn't looking their way- He was looking just over their heads.
After a pregnant moment of silence hung between the crowd and the performer, he looked to the music director and inclined his head in a graceful nod.
"You say, "I love you boy."
I know you lie.
I trust you all the same,
I don't know why..."
What happened next, he could not say specifically. He couldn't remember the details of what transpired over the next forty odd minutes. He knew that he remembered most of his lyrics and that those he forgot he'd been able to muddle through in such a way that only someone familiar with the song would recognise the flaws. He knew that the large crowd became increasingly engaged by the storytelling of his set order, and the execution of his performance. He knew that some of the crowd was getting bored in a few spots, and that he switched things up to bring them back. And he knew that, ultimately, he was more proud than embarrassed.
In the end, that was the most he could have asked for. He bowed low, and rose with the grin of a courtesan who knew he'd be refusing clients that evening and would relish mingling amongst his audience, at least some of whom would almost certainly buy him booze. After three long years, at last: Arvalyn Val'Cithaeron had arrived in Kalzasi.
