18067/Venues with Euterpe
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Venues with Euterpe | |
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Date of Scene: | 26 May 2024 |
Location: | Some small bar in New York City |
Synopsis: | Dazzler puts on an impromptu concert in a small club in New York where she meets up with Dominique Thiebaut. The pair hit it off and go to find food after leaving the club. |
Cast of Characters: | Alison Blaire, Dominique Thiebaut
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- Alison Blaire has posed:
Periodically Dazzler like sto perform at small, intimate venues throughout New York when she's off her official tours. Like any artist, she perfects her new songs in front of these smaller audiences, fine tunes things that don't seem to work and add to those that do. Which is how she got the reputation for impromptu concerts. Like a flash mob. She shows up with her guitar and pays the VENUE to let her perform a few songs. A small set. They can advertise it as they like, draw in customers.
She calls it giving back.
So while they may 'start' small, the rooms almost always end up seated to capacity.
With the blonde haired eccentric popstarlette up on stage strumming her guitar playing music one might never expect to find on any of her albums, at least before a year ago where her style took a dramatic folk-pop turn and become more soulful and deep. More akin to Jewel, P!NK, or Melissa Ethridge than Taylor Swift. T-Swizzle.
That's what she's playing now.
The hissing pop of her nail drawing across the strings between melodically dancing into a slower rhythm and her vocals.. smokey, deep. Coming from somewhere in her abdomen. Gone are the cries of lost love or partying all night.
Some people aren't appreciative of her new direction. Preferring to hear the booty shaking pop music for which she became famous, but there's a growing fanbase developing around this last album that is sweeping tiktok with duets and dances. Whatever she is, she knows how to use social media to her advantage.
- Dominique Thiebaut has posed:
When she found out Dazzler would be playing near her, and in a venue she could afford to visit, Dominique's heart had taken a sudden sideways twist as if someone had hooked with and started reeling it in with a winch. She could not easily explain her feelings about Dazzler's music, especially the new stuff, so she didn't try (and had no one to explain them to in any event). She just got herself a cute, dark coral dress for the occasion, one admittedly more suited to a big pop concert than a folk venue but her personal style doesn't really work in folk venue anyway; and just because she could, she got a couple of white patches to iron onto it after cutting them into the shapes of Dazzler's stars. The boots were dear but she could afford them.
Dominique got to the show early so she could be sure to grab a seat up front. She made sure to keep her phone in her purse: as much as she'd die to have footage of Dazzler performing live, she can't help feeling it would be rude to record her. A form of theft.
Besides, it's not like she'll forget these memories.
- Alison Blaire has posed:
In reality it's less of a concert and more of a small, intimate, performance. The kind Alison had performed before breaking out when she was cusping adulthood. It grounded her. The music was always easy, but fame wasn't. The years hadn't been kind to her, in regards to tabloids. They really loved her.. they loved to trash her image. Especially after appearing on April O'Neil's podcast and outting herself as a mutant. There'd been more than one analyst who thought her career was over.
Under estimating Alison Blaire was a sure fire way to disappointment.
Her label had dropped her. She'd made them millions and they dropped her. So she started her own label. Dazzling Stars. But with that came more responsibilities. Which led to her image as a 'bad girl' of the Music Industry. These shows, they always reminded her why she enjoys what she does... besides the money. Which got old years ago. It wasn't about that.
It was about the faces in the crowd. The Dominique's. She made eye contact with her and smiled as she finished the song she was playing. As dazzling a smile as anything that's ever been photographed for any website or magazine. As the guitar belts out the last few cords, she pops her palm against the base, a hollow echo that rhythmically mirrored her throaty humming. The gentle pop over her shoulders, the flash of cameras created by her mutation. To accentuate the song sung about the trappings of fame.
"Thank you." She says into the mic, which wasn't studio quality. It echoed, it popped. She liked it. It felt real. Her nail drew up the cords with a whining hiss and she slipped the strap off her shoulders as the crowds applause drowned out the sound of feedback when she unplugged the acoustic amplifier from the guitar. It wasn't her usual setup, but she liked that too.
Once she's set it away, she kneels down at the edge fo the small stage and holds her hands out to give high fives, winking at Dominique, and then stands to make her way towards the bar. Obviously singing had worked up a thirst which could only be satisfied by some alcohol.
- Dominique Thiebaut has posed:
Shall we dwell on Dominique's face during the performance? Let's not. It's a bit embarrassing to linger on how her eyes shine with joy, how her face seems transported, how her carefully cultivated defenses go down and she just melts into the music. She just lets it take her, and when the show is over she's still so high on the music she does something she never thought she would ever do; and more, she does it without a moment's consideration.
She joins Alison Blaire at the bar. Her satin dress shimmers in the light cast by the naked bulbs over the bar, emphasizing the duller material of the star patches; her polished boots gleam. Her hair shines mostly black but not quite black enough to hide the blue beneath the camouflage. Her rings glitter as she thrusts a hand out to shake.
"Miss Blaire? Thank you so much for your music," she says in her almost but not quite New York accent. She's smiling, and her cheeks are dark. "When I listened to them, they made me want to learn English so I could understand you."
- Alison Blaire has posed:
There's a connection Blaire has always had with her fans. Perhaps that's why she became so popular. Whoever she is when she's in private, she never turns away a fan. A signature, a photo, even recording those little messages for family members. She doesn't mind. These people pay to see her do what she loves. Seeing that star struck look in Dominique's eyes, it's rejuvenating. Which is why she'd winked at her. Why she'd reached out to lay a hand on her forearm before taking her leave from the stage and made her way to the bar.
Would she even remember that moment?
Was it just another moment in a long history of exactly those moments?
Her smile is gone once she's leaning the bar, the bartender already fixing her a gin and seven-up. There's a light sweat. This club is small, there's tons of people. Most of them stare at her, few of them have ever seen her this close, in person. Only one of them comes up.
It draws her attention away from her inner monologue. It draws out her smile on pink lips when she turns to face Dominique. "Ahh satin dress." She didn't know her name, but she does take her hand. "Alison. Or Ali, please." She takes her hand and covers the back of it with the other. "Thank you." To the compliments. The honesty.
If she doesn't mean it, it's convencing enough that she's practiced the lie. The little twinkle in her eyes. "You learned English because of my songs?" She blinks a few times, head canting slightly. Smile widening. "I.. am not sure anyone has ever said that to me before. What was your native language?"
- Dominique Thiebaut has posed:
Dominique's grip is firm and a bit rough: despite her well-polished, chic look that borders somewhere between groupie and aristocratic, her hands have callouses. Her eyes are aglow with excitement at being this close to Alison. "Albanian," she explains briefly. "I'd always known I would have to learn English because it was the language of the larger world at the time, but it was a chore. An obligation. Your music made it a joy. Thank you."
- Alison Blaire has posed:
Alison has shaken a lot of hands and doesn't disparage callouses. While she certainly doesn't have the hands of a craftman, her's also have callouses. Those of a musician. On her fingertips, the pads of her palm. Her grip is firm, but not rough and she squeezes the back of DOminique's knuckles affectionately hearing the story of why and how the young Albanian had learned English. It's very touching. Perhaps more so than anything she's heard in a long time has been.
"I'm glad I could help you with that." She says that genuinely, nodding. Still gripping the younger woman's hand. "Here." She finally slips her fingers free, but only so she can reach up and pull one of the butterfly clips from her bleach blonde hair. Bottle Blonde. "I don't have very much to give and an autograph seems kind of impersonal." So she holds out something she's wearing.
She holds it out in the palm of her hand.
She turns Dominque's over and lays the small object in it, then closes her fingers around it. "Thank you for coming to my show. Your dress is beautiful, by the way."
- Dominique Thiebaut has posed:
Dominique's eyelids are smoky and pearlescent, her lashes long as she lowers her gaze modestly at the compliment. "Thank you. It felt right to dress for you." Her blues rise fearlessly again to Alison's again as she raises her arms to her hair, clipping the butterfly--symbol of transformation and beauty, or just a pretty gewgaw? She can only guess--high on the back of her head. "You look magnificient as well. I'd offer you a gift in return, but all I have are my rings, and I'm a bit self-conscious about giving a ring to someone whom I've just met."
She pauses for a beat, holding eye contact, before her cheeks spread in a smile. "I'm Dominique, by the way."
- Alison Blaire has posed:
Alison's laugh is almost as dazzling as her smile. It's not insulting, the way she chortles, but genuinely amused. An easy sound. With her own blue eyes half lidding in a clipped nod, "No, it's okay. I have plenty of rings." She does, but none of them are what one might expect of someone with the kind of money she's reported to have. When she wiggles her fingers, they're all bauble. There's a mood ring that looks about 40 years old, a decoder ring that's straight out of a cracker jacks box. A class ring from some place called Xavier's.
Then she's leaning back against the bar, bringing her drink around to sip from the short straw. "You dressed up for me. Well, you certainly do know how to flatter a girl, Dominique." Repeating her name, white teeth appear from behind a pink lipped cage in a cheek dimpling smile. "Listen, I need to get going. I don't really like crowded places.." Even though nobody is bumping into them, there are certainly eyes cast her way. "And I'm starving.... actually are you hungry? You want to get something to eat?"
"I'd love to hear what brings you to the States?"
- Dominique Thiebaut has posed:
Dominique Thiebaut, an assassin who's been trained to hide her feelings for longer than she can remember, manages to keep the blush out of her cheeks at being invited to dinner by Alison!!! Blaire!!!!! But if you're watching her eyes, as several of the clubgoers are, there's no concealing the dilation of excitement at her offer.
Softly, sincerely, she answers, "I'd like that very much, Ali." She tries not to let show how she's rolling the taste of that nickname on her tongue.
- Alison Blaire has posed:
"Excellent!" Alison drains the glass in one big swallow and slams it down on the bartop. Which frees her arm to loop around Dominique's shoulder and usher them out as if they were old friends. One might imagine that's about how quickly Alison actually makes friends, honestly. "S'cuse us, pardon us." Hand up, just in case there's any phones pointed in her direction. A grin on her face, despite how dower she'd temporarily appeared once she was no longer on stage.
Until they're outside in the cool New York night. At least in comparison to the hot interior of the club. Her blonde hair is sweat to the sides of her face, clinging, while she fishes her keys out of a purse she'd retrieved from the Cooler at the door. Absently pushing the button on the FOB until she hears the beep of her car down the street.
"So, what do you want to eat? I want carbs, but I'm easy."
She doesn't look like she's ever seen a carb in her life.
- Dominique Thiebaut has posed:
Dominique doesn't *quite* start with surprise at the chummy gesture, but it does give her a cause to stop and think a moment before deciding to slip her arm around Ali's waist. Every nerve is standing on end, checking for tension in Ali's response, to see if the familiarity of the grip goes too far. But at the question, she laughs a little and says, "In this dress? I have about enough room in my stomach for half a glass of water and a saltine." Her grin is amused with self-directed irony. "I'm happy to go where you'd like. I'll answer your question and distract you with my chatter while you eat."
- Alison Blaire has posed:
There is exactly zero tension in Alison's posture when the arm loops familiar around her waist. If anything, she loosens up, half leaning into the arm around Dominique's shoulder. Truly as if they've become best friends in the span of just a single conversation. Only parting long enough to raise her hand up over her head to push the button on her FOB until she spies her car and again with a quiet, melodic, laugh at the assassin's quip about her dress. There's an up/down glance of blue eyes behind smokey makeup, but aside from the click of her tongue off the back of her teeth, she's temporarily silent.
"I have a change of clothes with me in my trunk. In my youth I had a bad habit of waking up in strange places." She explains, leading them to the shimmering pink Maserati MC20 parked along the curb a half block away from the club. BEEP BOOP and she's climbing in the front seat, detaching from Dominique with a point at the passanger seat, "You'll notice the seatbelt sign is on in the cabin. We'll be cruising at a comfortable nintey five an hour. Thank you for riding Dazzler Air." A pair of shades drop out of the visor and she slides them on before push starting the monster machine with a rumbling purr.
Side glance at Dominique. "Are we flirting? I always like to vibe check. You'd think I'd know, but I never know."
- Dominique Thiebaut has posed:
Dominque's lips quirk to the right in an expression rather more of a half-smile than a smirk. "No one can tell," she says simply. "Studies have been done. People are terrible at telling when someone is flirting with them. So asking is a good idea."
She pauses, looking silently at Ali for a moment before the half-smile becomes a full one, and her legs cross. Polished, patent leather creaks just audibly as one calf slides along one shin bone. "Yes, I suppose I am flirting with you. I've had a crush on you since before I knew what a crush is. Would you like me to stop?"
- Alison Blaire has posed:
Alison is adjusting her hair without the clip she'd given Dominique, pulling blonde bangs across her forehead to frame down the slope on the sides of her glasses. The music was loud when the care started, but she turns it down with a button on the back of the stirring wheel. It's not her music playing because she's not /quite/ to that level of self indulgence. "Right?" A grin side long at Dominique, all pearly white teeth. Small wrinkles on her forehead at the hairline. "Soon as someone figures out how to tell if they're being flirted with, they need to let the rest of us know the secret."
Click click. She shifts the car, manual, into first and pulls off the from the curb.
Not really going ninety, but only because this is New York and there's almost certainly traffic. "I do /not/ want you to stop, actually." Leaning forward, glancing around as she drives, but her hand turns over on the center console. Fingers wiggling, spreading, then wiggling again. "You're cute as shit, Domi. You can flirt with me all night and then a little more after breakfast."
- Dominique Thiebaut has posed:
"I think you just figured it out," Dominique points out wryly. She notices Alison's hand on the console, but, rather than taking it, scoops it up gently and reaches across her body to let the soft tips of her fingers (her nails are very short) drift breezily up and down the webwork of faint blue lines inside Ali's wrist. The gesture is perfectly confident and perfectly calm, like her voice with it's almost-but-not-quite accent as she chats, "I came to America to get away from home. My family situation was... complicated even before they passed away. With them gone, it seemed best to move on, make a fresh start." Her eyes twinkle. "Today, at least, it seems like an excellent idea."
- Alison Blaire has posed:
The Starlette almost certainly shouldn't be driving at the speeds she's driving in New York with only the use of one hand, but there's a snowballs chance in a microwave Ali's pulling it away with those short nails tickling along the veins running the inside of her wrist. "I'm a clever clever girl." Quick side glance, a second too long maybe, then back on the road. Even behind her glasses, New York is very bright. All the lights, especially as they get nearer to Central Park West.
That not quite accent is heard, but sounds are Alison's thing. Music, melody, harmony. She picks out the subtleties. Grinning as it drifts in her ears. A grin that fades as more of the story developes. Another glance over at Dominique, then back to the road. "Parents always think they know best what's best.. they very rarely do." She cannot know the intricacies of her particular situation, but ultimately it all comes down to the same story told with different details.
Her fingers coil so her thumb brushes the outside of Dominique's, "I sometimes wonder what my father thinks of my career. I suppose I could ask him... but he never really cared for mutants and he certainly didn't care for me dropping out of college." It sounds so humdrum and boring when she says it out loud. "Haven't gotten many Christmas cards from home, at any rate."
The car pulls up to the curb and shuts off with a whine of the powerful engine, shifting in her seat then to face Dom, a knee pulled up onto the middle console. She's leaning forward so her hand doesn't pull away. "And I don't really remember my mother. Only that she left... and that she tried to reach out on social media when I got famous." Her nose wrinkles at that, brow curls, shoulders hick in a shrug. "But anyways.. sorry. My story is hella boring."
- Dominique Thiebaut has posed:
Dominique notices the closer lean, and a dozen images flash in her mind. Fortunately for her, Alison is not a telepath. She just continues her little tickle and turns an equally teasing smile up to the pop star's face. "So boring," she agrees ironically. "It's why your songs aren't popular. Because your life experience is just soooo dull."