Satya
Mar 7th, 2007, 09:10:16 PM
The establishment was aphotic but could hardly be listed as drab. Alexander Mirit, the proprietor, would not allow it to be slandered so. The furniture, in place of the usual table and chairs, was top of the line; plush, deep in hue, and varying in an array of style and placement. The caliginous cocktail lounges were set aside at the western and eastern walls, making way for the running, incurvate stage complete with whisps of smoke from the posh patrons, gathered on either side of the run way, and twinkling lights. The over all mood was nothing short of mesmeric.
The softest hint of music stirred their idle lot, the whispered fanfar note caressed the comatose clients from their inertia and drew their attention to the shift of curtain. More notes, capricious instruments ensued but never above the dynamic of piano.
Then, voice. An instrument of its own. The soprano coaxed the rapt minds with her docile notes of introduction and the tale of tune known by choice few.
Il dolce suono. Mi colpi di sua voce! ...Ah, quella voce. M'e qui nel cor discesa! ..... Edgardo! Lo ti son resa, Edgardo! Ah! Edgardo mio..! ..... Si, ti son resa! Fuggita io son da' tuoi nemici... Nemici!
A pause. The angelic timbre decrescendoed into nothingness that did not go unmissed. For now, the musician allowed her thoughts to wander. It had not been so long ago, not but hours, that her benevolent employer had commissioned her for a different task. Naturally, it had already been taken care of.
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"It has come to my apt attention that a damsel is indeed in distress. Her name is Trish Volivette, the daughter of my abrasive acquaintance, Ondul Volivette. Normally, I would not interfere. However, I can see much gain from her rescue and his demise. See that it is done before the night is out, yes, my sweet?"
He had left then, not bothering to wait for an answer. He didn't need one. She had been under his wing long enough to know that his will was not to be questioned. And thus, since she didn't have anything to do at that point in time, she had set off for the abode of Alec's dear friend, Ondul.
The softest hint of music stirred their idle lot, the whispered fanfar note caressed the comatose clients from their inertia and drew their attention to the shift of curtain. More notes, capricious instruments ensued but never above the dynamic of piano.
Then, voice. An instrument of its own. The soprano coaxed the rapt minds with her docile notes of introduction and the tale of tune known by choice few.
Il dolce suono. Mi colpi di sua voce! ...Ah, quella voce. M'e qui nel cor discesa! ..... Edgardo! Lo ti son resa, Edgardo! Ah! Edgardo mio..! ..... Si, ti son resa! Fuggita io son da' tuoi nemici... Nemici!
A pause. The angelic timbre decrescendoed into nothingness that did not go unmissed. For now, the musician allowed her thoughts to wander. It had not been so long ago, not but hours, that her benevolent employer had commissioned her for a different task. Naturally, it had already been taken care of.
-
"It has come to my apt attention that a damsel is indeed in distress. Her name is Trish Volivette, the daughter of my abrasive acquaintance, Ondul Volivette. Normally, I would not interfere. However, I can see much gain from her rescue and his demise. See that it is done before the night is out, yes, my sweet?"
He had left then, not bothering to wait for an answer. He didn't need one. She had been under his wing long enough to know that his will was not to be questioned. And thus, since she didn't have anything to do at that point in time, she had set off for the abode of Alec's dear friend, Ondul.