i_am_your_host | oom: for Moist

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oom: for Moist

[Continued from here...]

The door opens to a backstage area, where rousing, brassy music and the sound of dancing on wooden floorboards can be heard. It's dimly lit, narrow and close, with sequined and feathered costumes hanging randomly on light fixtures, trunks full of shoes, hats, and props left open against the walls. The other dressing rooms are just down the hall. The smell of cigarette smoke and sweat pervades the air.

The Emcee leads his new friend Alfred Spangler down a smoky corridor, the music growing louder and louder. They stop in the wings where they can see the main room of the club.

To their left is the stage, where five women are doing high can-can kicks while wearing nothing but silky underpants, brassieres, and fishnet stockings. The band at the rear of the stage isn't dressed much more fully than the dancers (neither is the waitstaff). Hollering, wolf-whistles, cheering, hearty clapping come from the audience, made up of people from every walk of life. They are seated at tables lit by little lamps, their shades red and fringed, a table number on a tag on the top. There is a telephone on each table as well.

Over the music and the noise, the Emcee turns to Alfred to say into his ear, his lips nearly brushing his skin, "What do you think so far, mein Herr?"

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Walking down the hall, Moist takes note of the variety of costumes versus what's actually being worn and smiles loosening his tie and unbuttoning his collar.

This makes him look elegant but with a greater hint of decadence, "I like it. This is a place where secrets live."

The Emcee approves of his look.

"Secrets may find their way in here, darling, but they never find their way out."

With a cryptic smile, he motions to follow him. He leads him further into the room in amongst the audience. Finding an unoccupied table that will give him a prime view of the stage, he pulls out a chair for Alfred and signals to a waitress.

"Do sit down. This is Inga -- she will serve you tonight. Anything you order is my treat."

Inga is a tall, angular blonde wearing a tiny white apron over a short, black slip of a dress. "Good evening, sir," she purrs in German in a husky voice.

Moist sits down as he thinks on that, holding secrets provides a lot of power and gives Inga one of his smiles that's almost a smirk before answering in Uberwaldian,

"Good evening to you. I'll have a whiskey and pour one for yourself."

She smiles slyly with a slow bat of her heavily made-up eyes. "Thank you, sir. Right away, sir," she says before slinking away.

The Emcee eyes the exchange. "Already you are making yourself a favorite, hm?" he chuckles, passing behind him and dragging his fingers across the back of his shoulders.

"It never hurts to be liked," He leans into the touch and runs his hand up the Emcee's leg.

His eyes widen playfully at the reciprocated touch.

"Naughty," he growls into his ear, taking his hand and moving it even higher up his thigh.

Meanwhile, the very flexible ladies onstage are dancing and posing in ways that could make some of the most experienced sailors' eyes pop. It's easy to see why the Emcee enjoys working here.

They're very good and Moist uses his long fingers to good advantage, he's flexible too,

"Oh yes, being good is so boring."

He slides a cool hand up the back of Alfred's neck, fingers curling in his hair. With his lips still near his ear, he murmurs, "You may end up being my favorite tonight, too."

Inga approaches the table with a swing in her hips and a glass in each hand.

"Your whiskey, sir," she says as she sets one glass down on the table in front of Alfred, unperturbed by the obvious groping and flirting, and in fact observing it with detached amusement.

With his free hand, Moist lifts up the glass and toasts it to her,

"Thank you. Drink with me, there's a toast I think you'll both like from a country I know. May your shutters only open when you wish."

Her smile widens at the toast, and she chuckles before taking a sip of whiskey.

The Emcee, with a lazy arm draped over Alfred's shoulder, remarks wryly, "I can think of other things besides shutters that we might wish to open."

"Some of them never close," she adds, giving him a pointed yet sultry look.

"Mm, I should know, my dear." He takes the glass out of her hand and helps himself to a quick swallow before giving it back.

Turning to Alfred, he then asks, "Do you need anything else at the moment, darling?"

"No, I'm comfortable and I do enjoy easy access when its provided. Now though I'm rather looking forward to the show,"

He smiles at Inga and gives the Emcee a wicked smirk, this is his sort of place, a mix of people and few morals.

"I am here to serve you, sir," Inga purrs, and she empties her glass without even a grimace. When she turns to leave, the Emcee gives her a swat across the bottom. She doesn't even look back.

The number is coming to a close, and the Emcee straightens up, adjusting his coat and reluctantly pulling away from Alfred's hand.

"This is my cue. I will return in a while to see how you are holding up, but in the meantime, I do hope you enjoy the rest of the show. And please, feel free to mingle if you wish. That's what the telephones are for. Convenient, no?" And he taps the number affixed to the top of the lampshade.

"Yes, very,"

Telephones don't exist on the Disc but he can see the general idea, this will be a learning experience.

"Good." He caresses the back of Alfred's head and leans in again to whisper, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

By which of course he means go ahead and do it.

As the band brings the song to a close and the audience erupts in applause, the Emcee darts up the stairs on the side of the stage and into the spotlight. The five women circle around him, touching and stroking him, before disappearing into the wings.

"Rosie, Lulu, Frenchie, Fritzie, and Texas! Weren't they beauuutiful! Helga, I know you're hiding back there -- you are definitely getting a spanking tonight." In a stage whisper to the audience: "All the time she does this on purpose, believe me."

The crowd laughs.

"Oof, after that performance, it is so hot up here! I think I need to take off this thing, how about you? Do you think I should?" He starts untying the belt of his leather coat and undoing the buttons, while people in the crowd (both men and women) whistle and whoop in agreement.

Moist joins in the whistles as he unbuttons his jackets and relaxes in his seat, looking over who's sitting in the seats near him. Its key to know what's expected here to play on it best.

The Emcee rolls his shoulders to the sound of a drumbeat and cymbals crashing, and the coat slides down his arms -- revealing that he's wearing little more than trousers cut off at the knees and a strappy harness made out of suspenders that criss-crosses over his torso and between his legs.

Some of the crowd are regulars and have seen him dressed this way before, yet they still delight in adding to the revelries. Such as bearded Herr Bauer, who sits back with his hands folded over his rotund belly and chuckles to himself; young Herr Kohler, who hopes that his eager cheering will be heard over everyone else's; and even Frau Klein, wrapped in a mink stole and who indulgently raises a pair of opera glasses to her eyes.

Fading bruises mar the skin on the Emcee's slender arms, but neither he nor anyone else takes notice.

We have no troubles here...

A tall, handsome, shirtless blond man wearing an unbuttoned tuxedo vest comes up behind him to take his coat, and when he turns to leave, the Emcee reaches back to grab his crotch. The man stops, staring down at the Emcee, who in turn is staring up at him expectantly. The space between their faces closes and their mouths meet in a brief but rough kiss. The Emcee lets him go and turns back to the audience.

"Herman is very well-trained."

It's all a steamy, smoky, tawdry comedy.

"And now, meine Damen und Herren, mesdames et messieurs, ladies and gentlemen! Please give a warm, welcoming hand -- or two -- to Fritzie, her squeezebox, and the twins!"

Amid fanfare from the band, Fritzie sits on a chair with her knees spread wide open, an accordion in her lap. Lulu and Helga, dressed in identical pairs of lederhosen and pigtail wigs, trot out like little schoolgirls to do a naughty version of a traditional folk dance. As the Emcee leaves the spotlight, he smacks Helga on the rear end, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

Its quite an outfit and Moist leans forward to get a better look and laughs. He loves seeing the naughty out for all to see, normally he hides his under a mask of respectability, but he loves not having to.

There's a game to hiding while this is simpler as the mask is drawn back and forth. He sips his drink, stretching his body to rest across a few seats, the picture of a man at ease with himself and in the mood to be admired. It also provides him a chance to use his foot to tip Frau Klein's bag towards him and get a look inside.

If he was working, she would be a good mark, one who likes to live her kind of dangerously and who would find a thrill in not knowing exactly what he wanted from her. Though Herr Kohler would be an even easier mark, one who wants to be seen as the prize who gives out rewards and that believes he sees more than the others.

The dance makes him think of Uberwald and he grins, humming the words to himself though his lyrics are different.

As the act continues, the telephone on Alfred's table suddenly rings.

When it rings, he adjusts his feet and the bag is back where it started and he picks it up answering in Uberwaldian, his voice warm and pleasant,

"Hello."

"Hello, stranger," comes the reply in German, tinted with a French accent, in a deep yet lilting and sensuous voice. "I could not help but notice you and our dear Master of Ceremonies getting rather cozy up there. Might I say that he has chosen quite the pretty pet tonight, young man."

The voice trails off in a low, smoky chuckle.

The accent makes Moist think of Genua and he smiles, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his collar to give anyone watching a nice show,

"Oh, I'm only a pet when I want to be. I do get bored of being tame."

"Is that so? Mmm, how very intriguing. I do believe everyone has a bit of a wild side to them, no matter where they come from. After all, take a look at the clientele. Have you ever seen such a myriad of individuals? They are all here because they, too, are bored of being tame."

At the bar, a sailor is talking closely with a mousy man in a monocle and a tweed suit. At a table to the right of the stage, two women sit with their legs crossed over each other's knees as they watch the show. And in a corner booth, upholstered in leopard print and red leather, sits a figure clad in a black dress and veiled hat.

This figure is holding a telephone. A gloved hand waves its fingers at Alfred.

"I've found few people who are exactly what they seem. Yes, its a charming collection,"

Though he personally finds it weird that everyone here is human, he knows that's how Earth works but he keeps expecting to see a vampire. He salutes the wave with his drink.

The hand makes no beckoning gesture, as the figure decides to keep the distance between them for now, keeping an air of mystery.

"Few people have the luxury to be exactly what they seem."

Another deep chuckle: "And you are a charming man."

"Luxury, yes, that's part of it. Thank you, I work at it,"

Its how he makes his living by charming people.

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