Post by lucius branwen / 10 — fox on Sept 17, 2023 1:58:17 GMT -5
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There's the sound of quick jazz on the baby grand, periodic applause, din of chattering. The stage glitters with lights, empty during intermission – save for the piano player in the corner entertaining all the guests. A century ago, the food would've been relatively cheap here, with workers rambling through for entertainment on their nights off. Now with two renovations under its belt, the patrons wear suits and watches and long dresses, dining on imported goods at the dazzling, luxurious Plaza.
Behind the stage, there's a private lounge for the performers, fitted with a plush couch made of deep green velvet and dark wood. An old chandelier in brass finish hangs from the ceiling, dripping cobwebs in the place of a few missing crystals. The room is understated compared to the rest of the club.
The smell of smoke drifts from the cigarette between Oscar's fingers as he fulminates endlessly against the Peacekeeper occupation of the District. Thalia does her makeup in front of the mirror of the vanity, holding a thin brush to her eyes, and with every little movement her dress sparkles in the dim lights.
Beside Oscar, Juliet sits on the couch and drinks a glass of wine brought in from the slopes of Two. Her emerald clothes bleed into the upholstery, and it almost looks like she's floating in the middle of it, moving with a slow, languorous disposition.
"The east's become a concession," Oscar says bitterly. He's sharper when he's drunk, burning and indignant. The amber bottle on the table is nearly empty now. "Can't walk that side of town without seeing keepers swarming the place. They've set up recruitment booths near the school as well – imagine joining the fucking pigs!"
Politics bores Juliet. She smiles through the tirade without rolling her eyes.
It feels utterly pointless to discuss it when nothing would ever change no matter how astutely they could state the names of their condition. The ribbons of smoke follow his gestures, and she takes the cigarette lithely from his hands to her lips, inhaling.
"Well, I like a man in a uniform," she says idly, blowing smoke into his face. His expression sours, and Thalia laughs from her table. She leans forward, taps the ashes off into the square glass tray, tilting her head from side to side to stretch.
"And please Oscar, your family went from producing toy parts to cartridge clips. You can hardly say anything about joining the pigs."
He scowls at that, reaching for the pint of scotch, rolling his sleeves up his forearms before pouring into the low glass on the glass table.
It's eleven p.m. but the night is only getting started. They're back at one of their old haunts – the Plaza owned by Thalia's great-aunt. The club's last renovation a decade ago went for Deco, full of jewel tones and geometries, but parts of the venue still retained the lofty, organic asymmetrical style of the past. Most of the patrons are the usuals, though they've begun to notice the creep of keepers in the crowd.
Every Saturday night, they would sit in the back of the club, gossiping about the lives of all the families in Nine, watching Thalia sing old pre-war songs. But the repertoire changed once the keepers showed up, and they moved to the employee lounge due to Oscar's predisposition to complain about the affairs of state while drunk.
"I'm surprised to see you." he quips, taking his half finished cigarette back. "Thought you were being sent to live with your grandparents out of the city after your last stint here."
Juliet shrugs, playing with a ring on her finger. "I'm getting engaged."
Something clatters to the floor. She looks up to see Thalia swiveled around, the brush fallen from her hands. Her lips have been painted red, and somehow it makes her expression of surprise seem more enormous, exaggerated.
"You? Engaged?"
Juliet laughs like a maniac when she sees Oscar's spit up half his drink. "That's the news. Don't choke on it, darling."
Three months ago, her mother had given her a binder full of marriage prospectuses. Apparently an engagement was supposed to control her social habits, tie her down, bound to marriage – as if both her parents weren't having their own separate affairs.
But the search for a husband had not gone well. "I've scared most of them all off," she mockingly pouts.
"Did you put on one of your acts for them?" Thalia asks with a knowing look.
"I was just honest, you know. I told them I'd love to be their wife, on the stipulation that I could bring my three other boyfriends."
"I hate you." She bends down to pick up the brush, smiling despite herself. "That is so stupid."
Juliet's voice grows an edge more serious, but she's still languid in her seat, leaning on an arm. "My parents don’t trust me with the business apparently. They think I can't manage it. That, and they think I'll settle finally if I have someone to keep me in check."
She puts on a voice, more high-pitched than before, straightens her back and frowns lightly, imitating her mother – "It's improper for a young lady to behave so recklessly in such a manner. Your reputation isn't just yours, it's your family's as well."
Ha! Since the age of five, she’d been in dance lessons. What's the point of it all if she's never allowed to perform? She drops back into the couch, sighing dramatically.
There is not a person in Nine that she wants to marry. She would spend the rest of her life alone and be perfectly content with it. Children are bothersome, and she can't fathom what it is she's supposed to do with a screaming, puking baby. And the whole marriage aspect itself – she isn't particularly thrilled by watching her parents perform domesticity for the in-laws. To her, it's always been something of a hassle.
"Who's left?" Thalia asks.
"Ah, just one." She looks over at Oscar, grinning like a fox. "You know Marius Chu? His cousin."
He flushes and then scowls quickly to cover it, but the pink lingers at his cheeks and ears. "Fucking liar. His cousin is like fourteen."
"Ugh, not that one obviously. The other one."
A saxophone starts playing outside, washing over them, slow and rich in D-flat major. The door creaks open, and a staff member pokes her head in, looking around until she spots Thalia.
"You're on in ten!"
Thalia stands up in her glimmering red dress, high-collared with a slit, and picks up the fur shawl hanging off the chair before turning to them impatiently. "You two – leave, I need to warm up."
Oscar smothers his cigarette in the ashtray. Juliet raises her arms and smiles sweetly. "Help me up, won't you?"
