Musings, Musicals, Madness, and Muses

Early the following evening Sy made his way to the Helicon Club. Sy brought a change of clothes with him, but was currently attired in simple but clean navy blue slacks and long sleeve azure-blue shirt he’d left partially unbuttoned exposing a white T-shirt beneath. He’d rolled the sleeves halfway up to hold a pack of cigarettes in the rolled sleeve.

Upon arriving to the club he made his way to the door and knocked.

The peephole slides open. Smooth music drifts out into the night and the yellow glare of cat's eyes stares out at Sy. The bouncer grunts once and the peephole slides shut again. A moment later the lock clacks and the door swings open to allow Sy entry.

Sy enters the space and gives a nod to the bouncer once he crossed the entryway and extended his hand for a shake. “What’s the state of things in your world Mr. Filo?”

The young brujah looked around taking in the view and sounds. After the man responds, Sy adds, “I must have missed you at the ball, were you able to make it?”

The bouncer looks at the proferred hand as if he doesn't quite know what to do with it. He's a tall man, thick with lean muscle and a long black mane of hair complete with neatly trimmed beard. He wears second hand clothes, but keeps them clean. He seems to have a sort of haze gathered around him separate from the tobacco smoke of the club. Then Sy realizes the haze is a horde of fleas jumping about on the Gangrel. He doesn't seem to take any notice of the parasites but does give a firm handshake after a moment. His voice is a quiet growl with an accent that seems to jump randomly off the tongue.

"I had other business to attend that night, seeing to the needs of my Mistress. I've heard much that happened there; the club is all a chatter and perhaps some don't speak as carefully as they should."

He shrugs one hairy shoulder.

"Such things matter little to me. I care only that you honor the peace of this place. Leave your war and your strife outside; this is not the place for it."

Sy looks at the man for a long moment seemingly to take the measure of him, before he steps back and ask “I am curious at your choice of words, what does honoring peace look like?” Sy adds contemplatively, “I do not know if I can do as you ask. My greatest war is within myself, how can I surrender the struggle when the struggle is what shapes me?”

Sy gestures back outside, “Politics and the headache that comes with it I gladly leave at the door, but I fear I cannot abandon myself-that power lies beyond my grasp.”

The bouncer shakes his curly mane in negation and pokes a sausage like finger into Sy's chest over his heart.

"To be a man is to be at war. Always."

He points towards the door.

"There is war without, that you fight when you are out, and that is well and good. A man needs enemies to keep him strong. Make war with with other men out there."

He jabs the finger back into Sy's chest.

"This is the war you fight always. Keep it within, as you are contained within this place and you honor my Lady. Make war with yourself, within yourself and you honor all."

Sy takes the answer in and slowly nods his head. He then looks back to the bouncer and says while moving his open palm from his own chest to the bouncers, “You ever have an enemy you must fight and find yourself lacking support or arms, call me. One warrior to another, I will answer. Your word is true, and I always honor mine.”

Sy then turns to face the room, removing his hand. He directs his words to the bouncer. “You’ve mentioned your lady and mistress. I would be honored to meet her if you’d permit me and she wills it.”

There was a sound like chiming laughter. It danced all around Sy, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The sound of it was warm and welcome at first, but quickly gained a tone of alien perversion. Like warm bread turned to sour wine in his mouth he found it welcome and revolting. Strange visions danced in his head at the sound, and the smell of some exotic spice that was so familiar but he couldn't quite name filled his nose. All around him the lights seemed to dim until all was pitch black but for the golden glow of Filo's eyes, now shifted to look just over Sy's shoulders. When Sy turned to see what he was looking at the laughter congealed behind him. He felt hot breath on the back of his neck and smelled honey and wine. And there was the Singer, the Siren up on the stage. She was all smooth curves and long limbs. A spotlight seemed to shine down on her bathing her in golden light with diamonds dancing in her glow. Lines of silver spread out behind her in a radial pattern; the spider sitting in her web. Arms stretched up and hip cocked like a lover luxuriating in new bedsheets Sy heard her voice; felt it wash over him like boiling water on a cold night it burned him; hurt him, but he couldn't look away.

"If she wills it? Oh, but she does. Come take a seat, Daddy-o. I'll be with you shortly."

Sy blinks and everything seems back to normal. Nobody in the club seems to have noticed anything out of the ordinary but Filo. Those feline eyes settle on Sy and the bouncer gives him a nod and steps aside to allow entry.

"As you wish."

No! Not again! I will kill myself before I go back...
Total claw-gripping-heart-stopping terror held the brujah frozen in place. His entire body locked up as Sy was no longer mentally in Elysium but was back in the desolate, empty, cold snowy expanse of the Russian Katorga prison camp. He shook his head telling himself internally it wasn’t real but that didn’t make it feel any less real. His body visibly shook as he relived the bitter, howling, gnawing icy wind that tore through his body-ripping away any vestiges of memories and hope for heat. His body arched as the sting of the whips lashes seemed to find old grooves sliced across and buried deep into his back. He saw frozen bodies stacked atop one another; some missing eyes, others with bullet holes through their head, others so badly frost bitten they were nearing beyond identification as human bodies.

Sy looks around at the sea of black nothingness that began to envelop him, desperately trying to find something to cling to, something familiar-something other than his inevitable slide into oblivion. Unable, he lifted his eyes to the sky in a last futile effort to escape from his own private hell to find a pair of golden glowing feline eyes where the stars should have been looking at him. And he heard a voice...

Sy focused all his efforts on the oddity and slowly felt the darkness recede as he returned to his physical body and rejoined those in attendance at the Helicon club.

He took a minute to prepare himself. Slowly releasing his vice grip of death on his walking cane and forcing his legs to remember they were attached to him and useful for something other than securing pants to, he made his way delicately to a table near the stage.

He didn’t look at anyone or anything beyond the table and his hands which he was fighting a losing battle with in trying to keep them from shaking.

Sy finally settled on gripping the table edge with both hands which began to settle his nerves, as he spoke as much to himself as to the lady near him, “That was unexpected.”

The club went about it's business as usual. Here up at the front there was a small depression set off to one side of the stage, sheltered from the rest of the club by the swooping curve of wood work around the alcove. Sy found himself catching his breath at the table there. Up this close to the stage he could feel the music all around him. It was warm and living and fierce, but at rest right now. The steady *ra-ta-ta* of the drum provided a heartbeat, the wailing brass a hungry howl, and the Singers voice gave it all a soul of fire and honey.

Suddenly Sy realized he wasn't alone at the table. Sitting in the plush corner with her back to the wall was the Singer. Her features were exotic and mixed. Heavy lidded almond shaped eyes with bright crystal blue peeking out from under seemed to carry the promise of wickedness. Long tresses of curled midnight hair framed a face that might have driven men to war in centuries past. She wore a simple black gown slit high up her thigh. The skin revealed when she crossed her legs was the same light earthen tone as the rest; uniform all over. Her one flaw was a slight crimp in the bridge of her upturned nose; an old break poorly healed. Ruby lips that bore no paint wrapped around a long wand of carved ivory and took a long drag on the cigarette lit on the other end as those blue, blue eyes seemed to drink in Sy.

And through it all Sy could hear her still singing behind him on the now empty stage. Empty save only for the band, still playing on.

Sy maintained his grasp on the table, and therein his tentative hold on reality only just, but he managed to wrestle control of his tone of voice and posture with ingrained skills hammered into him since childhood as he stood to his feet out of respect for the woman.
“I must confess dear lady-you can be quite breathtaking for the ill-prepared....your talents as well.”

He honed in his focus on the woman before his eyes as he retook his seat and said, “You have peaked my curiosity as to how you found yourself running this place. Such a task would seem a waste of your skills...though I think you have more than managed to find a way to make it suit you.”

He looks over to Filo and then back to her adding, “You certainly have an eye for finding good men.”

Her lips curled on her be side and not a smirk; an expression that looked perfectly natural on her.

"Oh honey, you look like you're drowning. Don't feel too bad, I'm a lot for anyone to handle."

She takes another long drag on the cigarette, glazed eyes perfectly at ease.

"I've seen you in here before, with your little Coterie. What a motley crew you are, all disparate and desperate. I wonder where your journey will take you. Well, I wonder where theirs will. You? I've seen your type before and it always ends the same."

She blows a cloud of smoke out to settle between the Kindred, obscuring everything but her bright eyes and the outline of her features.

"You come in here with your plans and your revolution and make nice with the help. You think yourself a chess master, or at least a master in the making. You think by make Ng friends with the outcasts and rejects of our society you can build a coalition to make your revolution happen. You think of others as pawns to be moved and discarded in the name of your grand ideals. You think my Poet-King is another such tool. You think you can come in here to my home, without any further introduction, and flatter me then belittle me in the same breath. You think that, like the vapid whores you're used to dealing with I'll be thrown off balance and act to get your approval. You think I'll suffer such treatment and not have you flayed, salted and left to sun dry. And you're right."

Her eyes snap onto his, the smoke clears and the music hits a crashing high note. Her smirk grows to absolutely smug levels and her eyes dance.

"It'll be much more fun to sit back and watch as you heap pain and torment onto your own shoulders. How long will it be until your heart breaks, I wonder? Will you even feel it when it happens?"

The brujah relaxed his hold on the table, his body and nerves having settled themselves once more. As the lady before him mentioned his coterie Sy found himself nodding along until she mentioned him. He sits up and with a straight face and total authenticity says, “Oh that’s no secret my dear. My journey was set before me by fate awhile ago; I’m a Son of Vulcan bound for hades-no questions or doubts to the contrary. The only question left is how fun the ride there will be.”

As the Muse shares her thoughts about who Sy is, he laughs boisterously. “Let me stop you there. If I’m ever in a gaming mood it’s either gonna be checkers or Twisting the Tigers Tail. Chess is a game for people who think they control the board-I know better.”

Sy’s smile is genuine as he continues, “And I honestly hadn’t considered outcasts or rejects as a way to get a revolution started, but it’s not a bad idea. Thanks!”

He looks intently at her-his body alert when he says, “But I’m not sure where you got your information on my Grand ideals though-Allow me to correct you so the story is straight, and I know you know the truth. I’m a straight shooter, not a child playing with puppets on strings. The people that will aid me aren’t to be blind fools to some nebulous cause; they will be just as clear and informed on what has to happen as me. Those who oppose me likewise won’t be uncertain as to why they died. It’s up to the individual which side of me they get-my helping hand, or my hand on the stake rammed through their heart. Call me naive or foolish to see the world as I do-so be it I accept that, but that doesn’t change my path or my destiny.”

Sy sits back, “As far as my assumptions of you or your response to me go-frankly I didn’t have any idea of what to expect. Fortuitously, I like you and your moxie.”

The brujah leaned in as the smoke clears, before he looked around conspiratorially and said “Don’t you promise me a good time-“

He smiles again-a devilish glint in his eyes, “In answer to your questions-you alone can help answer that better than me. Would you care to dance with me?”

She raised one eyebrow at his offered hand.

"You like my moxie? I'll take the compliment, if not the dance, as you seem to be an expert on the subject."

She idly flicks a but if ash off her cigarette, eyeing him up and down again more slowly.

"I see you're no stranger to pain. More is in your future, you'll be glad to know. I say that because I see you're someone who treasures pain; you know it's value. Had I known you in life Id have made a sculptor, I think."

Sy blinks and suddenly she's sitter Ng next to him, holding one of his hands in both of hers to examine his callouses. Her fingers are delicate but strong.

"You talk like a salesman. You're after something even if you won't admit it to yourself. You walk like old money. But your hands... These are the hands of labor. That tells me something; more than anything I think. These are the kind of hands that move and shape the world around them... Or break in the effort."

She traces one neatly trimmed fingernail over his wrist.

"My money is still on the latter. Just try to break prettily. Those hands deserve better than fire."

Sy blinks again, and again she's recliner Ning in her spot across from him, lazilly dragging on her ivory wand.

"Bug you're not here to listen to me musing. Or maybe you are? I'm curious what motivated you to seek me out. You'd be surprised how many of my regulars never bother introducting themselves."

Sy seeing her turn down the dance relaxes slightly.
As she compares him to a sculptor he tilts his head. “You truly have a gift with perception. I do view myself as a sculptor...in a way.”

As he found himself momentarily sitting beside her and she inspected his hands he smiled, but then frowned as though remembering something.
“Madam, I would love to tell you what I am after...but in doing so I fear that I would risk breaking my word of honor to your Poet King and that simply would not do. Can I suffice it to say I am a man chasing a dream? I hope that could sate some of your thoughts.”

The brujah seeing her back again in her prior position turned to look at her. “It is truly your patrons loss to deny themselves the opportunity of your attentions.”
He leans forward again, “My motivation for meeting you served many purposes. The most obvious being that I simply view it as rude to frequent a place without showing deference to its caretaker. But even beyond that, I wished to meet you because I believe I can learn much from you. I am no scholar but I find history can be fascinatingly enlightening.”

Sy leans back one hand gripping his cane. “Your vibe here and your title inspired me. Additionally, as I’m rather new to the scene I think having a familiar face, dare I say a friend, in my corner I almost always welcome.”

The brujah looks around the room, gauging how closely anyone seemed to be listening before settling his gaze upon the woman before him. “I must also add that since the Ashen ball, my guard is up. I find it unlikely that as before now we having never met, that you would have any additional reasons to want me out of your picture. I’m not so arrogant as to think I was the intended target or even that anyone in our society was involved...but I can’t rule it out either. So in a way-you by your very position offer me a place of refuge, for which I am grateful.”

He sighs, “As I said, I don’t play chess-but I know others do. I hope you may be able to give me an idea of the more dangerous players.”