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Post by Edwin O'Connor on Oct 30, 2009 11:47:49 GMT -5
Hector's time had finally come; he hadn't just scored a gig at any club in Muertan, he'd scored a gig at THE club in Muertan. Nighthaven had hosted some of the biggest names in electro-music and solo dj projects in the world. The idea that this little town could somehow attract big names amazed him, although Hector knew that many of these off-the-beaten-path sort of towns were full of money and power, full of people with the influence to bring such talent to entertain the populace.
Hector had contacted the management about a one-off gig, agreeing on payment and such with little negotiation. He'd even managed to score himself an open bar tab, which normally was a bit harder to get from the more upscale and opulent clubs.
When he arrived, he felt a bit out of place. The club was a sprawling edifice both inside and out, doing its best to silently make Hector feel smaller than he was. He was vaguely disappointed in the decor; he'd expected any club called "Nighthaven" to have a more gothic style to it, whereas this one catered far more to the mainstream. Still, he'd been in places similar to this, and he'd always done his job flawlessly, getting the clubgoers to eat right from his hand before the night was through.
He was dressed in his standard clubwear; a tight fitting black wifebeater stretched across his frame. It wasn't that he was large, rather he bought the shirts a size too small to give the illusion that he wasn't so thin. He wore his leather pants, black and shiny with chains hanging off of the low-slung belt loops on the legs. Again, these were tight and form-fitting, hugging his lower body and leaving very little to the imagination. Torn black fishnets adorned his arms, meant by design to look ragged, By contrast, his boots were highly polished combat boots with four inch lifts, causing him to stand closer to six feet tall. He debated the merits of doing a little more makeup than usual, but had decided to go with his standard eyeliner, though he gave himself more of the Egyptian "catlike" look.
Nighthaven had a better setup than he did, which wasn't a surprise to him. While his rig was good, they had the sort of professional sound equipment that only tens of thousands of dollars could buy.
He began to set up his books of cd's, debating the merits of queuing up a playlist, but then deciding he'd best make sure he knew his crowd's mood and tastes.
He spun up his first disc as the bouncers began to let patrons in, a very safe and simple industrial track that he personally enjoyed, called "Corporate Slave", and began to let the beat fill him. He was back in his element.
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Post by Astera on Oct 30, 2009 12:23:32 GMT -5
It was different than what she was used to. Arabella had been to Muertan, once, with a few friends to go on a shopping trip and to spend the night with one of her friend's siblings. That had been six years ago, right before she made the sudden decision to move to New York City. And from what little she remembered it was not any different than any other place in California. New York City received a bad reputation for housing the rudest people and people who wanted to be beautiful and were beautiful. The truth was, it was not so. There were rude people but there were rude people everywhere, especially in Florida. But those that were considered rude were not actually rude, just.... that their accents were harsher than what most were used to and they were a bit aggressive in their excitement or eagerness. California, though... Oh, her experiences in California were not necessarily the best. She grew up in LA and she knew how people were. How fake they were, how they had to have the most beautiful breasts and butts and the biggest lips and tiniest eyes and most expensive clothes. Arabella hated California and the memories that she once held dear now only brought tears. And here she was, in California again, in hopes of finding the brother that had abandoned her, had pushed her away. And for what reason? To save her own life? She had thought of it many times, so many times it made her head hurt. It sounded selfish to go searching for a brother that had made it clear he did not want her around just to save her own life. But if she wanted to continue living, to continue singing and to even walk without hurting she had to find him. She had to ask Hector to at least see if he was a compatible match to her and then ask for his kidney.
Why did it sound so bad to her? Her parents were furious at her for going to find Hector. They and her agent told her it was a lost cause, but her agent was more supportive and even bought her the tickets. He had not done it so that his star would continue making her money; no. He had done it because he was a genuinely nice guy who agreed with her completely to keep her illness out of the news at all costs so that she could rest and she could see if her brother would be able to help her. Mom and Dad were not compatible matches to her. Neither were her cousins or her living blood uncle. It seemed fate was telling her to find Hector. Hector, missing in action, and only Hector had not taken the test.
"He's damaged his kidneys by now!" her mother had said heatedly over the phone. "You're wasting your time! You can't travel in this condition, especially with the medication you're on!"
"It's fate, Mama," Arabella had told them with a patience she found was thinning every day. They had become more adamant in her taking it easy and waiting for her name to move up the donor's list. It had gone up three spots from last week but she felt she could not wait any longer. "I miss Hector. I want to tell him-"
"He treated you like garbage! God is not on his side any longer, Bella! How can you be so simpleminded!?"
"I'm sorry, Mama.. I'll call you later."
And she had hung up and wiped away the tears that had fallen. She cried often these days, cried more than she usually did, and when she cried even the pain medication she was on could not stop the throbbing in her back.
She stepped out of the taxi and paid the driver. The nightclub was named 'Nighthaven'. It was one of the more upscale nightclubs that catered to those who thought they were a part of the darker scene of a fashionable lifestyle. Arabella felt a little out of place watching the people slip inside in their fancy outfits and costumes. She had settled for a simple black dress and slippers that had been given to her and easily cost over $200. Her hair was curled, though it was naturally a bit curly, and she had applied a golden eyeshadow and mascara plus pink lip gloss with gold flecks in it. She approached the bouncer with her purse hugged to her midsection, reaching in for her ID without having to be asked. The bouncer studied her ID when she produced it, him giving her more than a thrice over as if he could not understand why a girl of her taste was coming to a club like this one, and he stopped as he looked at her name.
"Arabella Altamonte? You related to the deejay?"
Her heart began to speed up in her chest. She felt it pushing against the fabric of her dress from beneath her breast. A smile was threatening as well as a blush of mild embarrassment and excitement. Instead of being able to answer, she nodded enthusiastically.
"Huh, he never told me he had a sister."
"It's... a surprise.." she croaked. "I haven't seen him for eight years."
"You look like him," the bouncer said. "Same eyes. Do I know you from somewhere else?"
"Broadway," she said shyly.
The bouncer's eyes light up. "Damn! Hector's sis is from Broadway! Must be proud, your mom and dad! Damn, girl, get your ass in there."
She flushed and heard grumblings of unfairness from behind but she was now receiving stares. Soon, the photos would be flashing, and the paparazzi would be called. Not something she wanted. Arabella slipped in as quickly as possible, wishing she could shrink into the shadows and not be seen.
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Post by Edwin O'Connor on Oct 30, 2009 12:50:23 GMT -5
Hector felt more and more in his element as he continued to spin tracks for the patrons. The sound system was by far the best he'd ever had the privilege of using. The bass thumped hard and without distortion. The highs echoed throughout the club, but without the ear-piercing tone that made it feel like his head might explode. Admittedly, he was wearing earplugs, to protect his extra-sensitive feline eardrums, but he'd performed in clubs before, where the sound was so bad that even they couldn't help.
He liked being the new guy in town; that was another comfortable role for him. It prevented people from feeling like they knew him, which is what he wanted, but also gave him an alluring air of mystery for the ladies, which was something he wanted more.
He was already on his third Dirty Girl Scout, a creamy drink made to taste like a thin mint cookie. The combination of cream and mint pleased the animal inside of him, and the alcohol pleased the human inside of him. He'd already gotten appraising looks from several of the women, and even a couple of the men each time he'd leave the dj area to grab a fresh drink.
"What a load of fake looking people," Hector thought to himself. It wasn't the fake boobs, nor the nose jobs, nor even the buttocks implants that bothered him. No, it was the fact that as more and more patrons piled in, doing their best to look vampiric in a Twilight sort of way, that they'd piss themselves if confronted with the reality of vampires. "Or the reality of what I am," Hector mentally added.
Another fake girl smiled at him, sipping at her drink before seductively twirling her tongue around the straw in her glass. Hector returned the smile. She was as plastic as any of these people here, but she at least had pretty eyes, which Hector had learned several years ago were the best way to judge a person.
She'd do, if nothing else as a toy for the night.
The prospect of sex boosted Hector into an even better mood, and he headed back to the dj station to bring up the next track. He was giddy, and feeling better by the moment. He was in the mood to dance now; the floor was starting to grow a little more crowded. The scents of around twenty dancers wafted to him, a collection of perfume and alcohol, of sweat and sexuality. It was in essence the smell of the best parts of life, carefree and dangerous, intimate and demure, all at the same time.
As the tune began, Hector danced by himself in front of the dj station, at the edge of the floor, losing himself in the music. His eyes closed, and his body began to sway and move. A soft smile cracked his features, and under the shifting lights from the ceiling, he acquired an almost angelic glow as he abandoned himself to the beat and the dance, his lips moving silently as he mouthed along with the song.
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Post by Astera on Oct 30, 2009 13:12:21 GMT -5
The part of her that craved for its freedom, craved to be allowed free from the restrictions of her life and of her parents and the religion she was told to believe in loved the music. Wanted to be a part of it, be a part of the crowd. There were people everywhere and she had to slowly weave her way through them, careful to not bump into someone. Especially not have anyone hit her in the back. Her purse was clutched tighter to her being and all at once, despite her love for the music that she knew was being played by her brother that was once the star in her life, she felt completely out of place. All the fake blood on the lips, the red and black lipsticks, the extravagant eyeliners. The hungry eyes that traveled over her or scrutinized and judged her. There were the few people who were dressed... well, like her, in everyday clothes but they were few and far between. She was not able to drink because of the medication she was on and she did not think her stomach could handle it to begin with.
Her foot barely avoided being stepped on by a platform boot. The couple that walked by glared at her, one a girl who had no breasts and wore tape over her nipples and had shaved her head bald. The other a dominatrix type who smiled at her and waggled her pierced tongue suggestively. Heat flowed into Arabella's cheeks and her mind became muddled and unresponsive. When she finally snapped out of it after she was bumped by a few people who wanted to get to the dance floor, Bella followed them figuring it would easier to reach the deejay. They went up a small curving flight of stairs to the platform where everyone was moving, bumping, and grinding and at once she spotted the brother she had not seen in eight years. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart stopped. All her mind could come up with was 'What is he wearing?' and then, 'Well, he is in a club. He has to fit in..'
Arabella stayed on the outskirts of the dance floor, near where the tables were so she would be able to stay hidden from the swirling lights. He was wearing a wife beater that was a size too small for him. He was wearing makeup, chains, leather that hugged him and showed her things she had not really seen of him before. And her plan to storm up to him, to yell at him for leaving her, or to smack him around a little for being an ass, was gone and she was left feeling empty and scared and like she was four again when she had accidentally broke his RC car. She had tripped while running in excitement to show to him that she could carry it all by herself and knew it was his favorite. She remembered being afraid of the hurt on his face and the anger that she was sure to receive. Now, it was going to happen all over again, twenty-one years later and she was sure of it. He was bathed in light, he was happy and in his element. He did not need his little sister coming in and ruining it. Ruining everything he had worked hard for...
Don't be so silly, Bella! Eight years! He's grown up by now! You've grown up by now!
But how sure was she of that? Was she sure he would even recognize her?
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Post by Edwin O'Connor on Oct 30, 2009 13:41:19 GMT -5
Another song ended, and the club was getting more packed. The outfits were getting a little more outlandish, and the patrons were becoming more flirtacious, both with each other and even with him. A touch here, a glance there...it was becoming readily apparent that he was going to have someone to take back to his hotel tonight.
He glanced around the club as he headed to the bar, surveying his handiwork. Oh, and it was his handiwork, there could be no doubt. He'd been building them up this whole time, getting them to plateau after plateau with his song selection, bringing up their mood slowly.
Another Dirty Girl Scout in hand, he headed back to the dj station. He began to flip through his book of cd's, searching for that next perfect song. It was then that his eyes fell upon a cd he'd made years before. The cd was a nondescript one, labeled only "Family" in black sharpie. He'd made the tracks on there himself, during a brief flirtation with making his own remixes.
He popped this disc out of its slot in the book, weighing the merits of playing it. It wasn't that it wouldn't fit the vibe, beyond not being as dark as some of the tracks.
He hadn't listened to the track in years. He wondered if anyone in the club would recognize the song, let alone the voice. It was the voice of an angel, the voice of his sister. He'd kept tabs on her in the years since he'd shunned her, driving her away and severing the final tie he truly had with the human world. When he'd heard she'd made Broadway, he quickly ran to get the original cast soundtrack of whatever musical she was in. A couple of times, he'd even gone so far as to see her perform, though he was never able to bring himself to invade her life. She was doing well; she didn't need him. Better she hate him and be protected from the monsters of the world than for her to have seen the monster that he'd become. Even as he loved the cat, he wondered if he could admit to her some of the things he'd done in the name of his nature.
She'd won her first Tony a year later for her role as Christine in Phantom. Hector had been in the audience, and his heart swelled with pride when he'd heard her name announced. He'd arranged for flowers to be sent with no name to her hotel; just a card reading
"Congrats, Little Bell,". As the song played and he danced again, the memory came back so powerfully that it nearly brought a tear to his tightly shut eyes as he thought about her. It was so powerful of a memory, he could almost swear he could smell her.
Her voice, his beats...in a way, it was like they were together when this song played, as corny as it was. It was almost as if she was singing for him, like she had as a child.
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Post by Astera on Oct 30, 2009 14:29:06 GMT -5
'In sleep he sang to me,
in dreams he came ...
that voice which calls to me
and speaks my name ...'
The tempo changed. The music changed. The people stopped briefly to look at the deejay, the deejay that was her brother, to see if he was mad. If perhaps he had lost his rocker. He would dare to play such a song in this type of club, amongst these type of people, after the continual hits with the set he was playing? It was a remix of the famous Andrew Lloyd Webber play, of one of the most famous songs ever sang in history. The people moved to the new beat. There was a wave of screams and of agreement and those that were not in to it for popularity's sake were beginning to get in to the song. There were people who even cheered. If there ever was a gothic Broadway play, it was the Phantom of the Opera. And people were alive now, they were moving, and Arabella was glued to the spot. Unbeknown to them, amongst the fans of the song, was the singer of this particular version of the song. Her mouth hung slack, her eyes wide in shock.
'And do
I dream again?
For now
I find the Phantom of the Opera is there -
inside my mind ... '
It was her voice. The speakers were superb. It sounded as if a clone of her was singing in her own ears. The nightclub had spent quite a pretty penny to obtain the sound system. She had been to opera houses with acoustics that were not as updated and up-to-date as this particular club. She shook her head. Her thoughts were beginning to drift away due to the shock she felt. Her brown eyes focused on the deejay and at the nostalgic look he received for one moment. One brief moment before he began to sway to the music.
'Sing once again with me our strange duet ...
My power over you grows stronger yet ... '
The club goers were moving up the stairs to the main dance floor with the deejay. They were crowding around her and pressing her. Their bodies were moving her and a person even fell into her and it sent her stumbling onto the crowded dance floor. Normally, she would have cried out in surprise and the pain was sharp but it was distant. She caught herself before she ran into anyone else.
'And though you turn from me,
to glance behind,
the Phantom of the Opera is there -
inside your mind ... '
It was as if she was in a dream. Her own voice was enchanting her along with the beat that was not the one she was used to. She had won a Tony Award for her performance as Christine Daee. The tragic, timid, broken woman child that relied upon a fantasy to carry her through life, to help her fly and help her succeed. It had been a gamble for the managers of the production to let a girl not even twenty-one to sing the important soprano role of the lead female. She had played Margaret the previous year and had won minor awards. Faust was a difficult play to perform as it was meant to be read rather than be seen.
'Those who have seen your face draw back in fear ...
I am the mask you wear ... '
Her brother was playing her. He had been following her. He did not hate her. How could he? He knew it was her; it could not be a coincidence! Her parents were wrong, her manager was wrong. She had been right. Hector did love her, Hector had sent those flowers all those years ago. He had known she had won the award. He was the only one who called her 'Little Bell'.
'It's me they hear ... '
Her mouth opened on its own accord. People turned around to stare at her. Her mouth was open, it must have meant she was singing. People were still dancing, but many had slowed to watch her, even a few had stopped to watch her.
'Your spirit and my voice in one
combined: the Phantom of the Opera
is there - inside your/my mind ... '
It was an out of body experience. Arabella swore she could see herself walking through the crowd, through the people, towards the deejay. There were murmurs and she barely heard someone exclaim 'Damn, that bitch can sing!' She knew this song by heart, she had sung it with everything she had. It was her first Broadway play, a role that she had been invited to reprise again and again. And she saw Hector, saw him beyond the people who moved out of her way. They seemed to be able to read her mind, knowing where she was headed.
'He's there,
the Phantom of the Opera ...
Beware the Phantom of the Opera ... '
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Post by Edwin O'Connor on Oct 30, 2009 15:04:41 GMT -5
Hector opened his eyes as now he was sure he could hear a second voice, this time much closer to him. He turned to face the voice, hearing its pitch-perfect duet with the sound system. He saw the source of the voice, a petite woman, one who was undeniably walking toward him. She looked like an older version of...no. It couldn't be. There was no way possible it could be her. She lived in New York. Muertan was a long way from Los Angeles.
Her voice was carrying to his ears, making him think back to the first time he'd ever heard his sister sing. She couldn't have been any older than eight or maybe nine, and he'd been assigned babysitter duty. He wasn't happy about it; he'd wanted to go over to a friend's house, but his parents would have none of it. He'd been rather distant and displeased with her that night, and while she'd been a little hurt, she'd given him his space. He'd gone up to tell her it was bedtime, and she was simply sitting in her room, singing along with something on her television. He'd let her finish, standing in the door, before applauding. It wasn't fake applause either. She had an amazing voice, even then, and more puzzlingly he'd found that hearing her sing had taken the edge off of his mood. He let her stay up considerably past her bedtime that night.
It had been at least a year before he was able to convince her to sing for anyone but him. She still insisted he be there to watch her, even if it was only to sing in front of family. He'd gone to every school and local theatre recital she ever did, until eight years ago. He'd seen her perform professionally before, but never let her know he was there.
And now, here she was...performing just for him. Other people were around, but this was for him, not them. No, it was just someone who could sing, someone who sounded a lot like her. It had to be...there was just no way that it could be her.
They made eye contact, and Hector's dancing stopped. She stared at him with eyes he'd stared into for years. It was her. Against all odds, here she was, like a phantom or a dream.
He knew he should push her away again. His new lifestyle brought him into contact and conflict with things far worse than a junkie or a sexually aggressive male or female. He still had to protect her. it was his duty.
He couldn't bring himself to do it though, not again. He'd pushed her away so forcefully before, and he knew he'd broken her heart.
It broke his to do it as well, but he did it to protect her. Better to give her up than to bury her was how he reasoned it.
But the eight years had been long and somewhat painful without her. Of all the regrets he had, it was the loss of his sister that somehow cut deeper. As she reached him, only two words fell out of his mouth. "Little Bell?" he asked, staring at her as though he was sure he was hallucinating, and his eyes teared slightly.
He was aware the song had ended, but his mind wasn't on the music; a few seconds later, the next track started. It was another remix of something she'd done. "Is that really you, Little Bell?" he asked, his voice slightly quivering and his chin trembling almost imperceptibly.
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