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66. Spotlight, Stage Bright
🕑 Added 2021-06-20 20:01:00 +0000 UTCStartled from his thoughts, Twain whirled. “Huh? Yes, I think so.”
She looked them over one at a time. “What’s with the masks?”
“It’s, uh, our theme,” Twain said.
The curvy lady frowned, and for a second, Twain worried she’d order them to take them off, but then she waved her hand. “Whatever. You’re shy, first timers, I get it. As long as you work it on that stage, I don’t care. You have stage names?”
“Er, stage names?” Twain asked.
“Call me… Horse Bandit,” Spar declared.
“So you don’t have stage names. Are you—are you a horsefolk?”
Spar started to open his mouth, but Twain cut him off. “Close enough.”
“Pull out those ears and that tail if you can, the human ladies go wild for that shit.” She puffed on her cigar, then gestured vaguely. “If anything goes wrong, shout for me. I’ll do whatever needs to be done.”
“Works for me,” Twain agreed.
She nodded. “Backstage is this way. Follow me.”
Rickety floors groaned underfoot. Dark passageways caked with grime twisted through the building. The curvy woman moved with confidence, leading them unhesitatingly even when the glowing ember of her cigar was all they could see in the dark.
At last, they came out into a large dark room. A thin line of light at the front edge demarcated where the curtains met at the front of the stage. The woman stood near the front and nodded at them.
“You, the big one, stand up front. You’re gonna have the spotlights on you as soon as the curtains open. Do a little dance, I don’t care, what matters is that your clothes come off, alright? But slowly. Make ‘em want it.”
Spar gave her a thumbs up. “You’re speaking my language.”
“You, the tall skinny one. Pole’s over here. You know what to do.” She patted a silvery pole set into the stage.
Twain walked over to it and looked it up and down. The pole was bolted into the floor and ceiling. He frowned. Do I? How am I supposed to demonstrate polearm martial arts like this?
“And the little one. You stand over here, kind of in the back. Look cute and fetch the big guy’s clothes out of his way. It’s fine if you don’t do anything, but if you get the feeling, feel free to join in.”
Fell nodded jerkily, a little anxious.
The curvy woman looked them over one last time, then smiled. “Alright, boys. Let’s get this show on the road!”
She snuffed her cigar, turned to the curtains, and put her hands on her hips. “Poses, everyone.”
Spar popped his hip and threw a hand toward the audience. Fell jolted and cast about, put his hands on his hips, paused, drew them up and crossed them, paused, put them behind his back, then awkwardly dangled them by his sides, utterly lost.
Twain glanced at the pole again, then shrugged and gripped it in as powerful a stance he could muster with the pole stuck in the vertical position. Better than nothing.
The curtains flew open. Light flooded in. Twain flinched and raised a hand against the spotlights.
“Ladies! Get ready for the night of your lives! We’ve got some fine men for your viewing pleasure tonight!”
Girls whooped and hollered. Colored lights whirled. At the foot of the stage, the bard strummed furiously, hands dancing over the lute. Beside her, a trumpeter played a fanfare, and a keyboarder joined in, hammering a dusty harpsichord that had materialized while they were gone.
Spar reveled in the attention. He flipped his hair and gestured at the crowd, hyping them up. Fell flinched in the background.
Holding onto the pole, Twain desperately scanned the crowd, searching for the princesses. Over there? No… There. A flash of gray skin. He caught Cel’s eye. She stared, jaw slack. As he watched, she raised her hand to the earring.
“Is that…?”
Twain nodded, cutting her off.
Cel burst out laughing. Beside her, Eleda leaned in and whispered something, and she smiled and nodded. To her other side, Clarita smoothed her fur back, a prim expression on her face, but couldn’t hide her wagging tail. Gawain balanced on Clarita’s shoulders, grinning broadly.
“Take it off!” Gawain howled.
The curvy woman hustled off the stage, and Spar strode to the front. He ripped the cloth layer out from under the leather harness. Women screamed. Swinging the remains of the shirt over his head, he slung it into the audience. A dozen hands reached for it.
Gawain leaped off Clarita’s shoulders, snatched it out of the air with her teeth, and scurried into a corner with her treasure.
“Alright, ladies! Let’s get this show going!” Spar gyrated across the stage, dancing and dipping to the music.
