Dancer's, Grifters and Shadows in the White Room

The Lady Tilani had been kind enough to introduce her to the White Room’s proprietor, and while the Eyes that followed didn’t seem pleased, Seraphine had secured a few more performances. If she couldn’t attend the Grand Arcadia for her dancing then she would need some income separate from depending on the Archon’s estate for everything. Costumes were a little trickery, most made from old dresses and what baubles she could find to embellish them. Her tailoring skills weren’t perfect, but the few outfits she had gave the dancer some variety.

Tonight's dance had been a more lively affair than the romantic debut. The meagre magical talent Seraphine had came into some use, setting the scene in a soft light as she danced, using it to fade in and out the figure of a ghostly partner. The choreography was of her own design, a blend of classical movements and improvisation that hinted at stories only half-told. Each twirl and leap seemed to paint a picture in the air, the ghostly partner mirroring her with ethereal grace.

As the final notes of the music lingered in the air, Seraphine held her concluding pose, the ghostly figure fading into nothingness beside her. The applause was polite, restrained - a sound she had grown accustomed to in this small but discerning venue. She smiled, bowing low, eyes scanning the audience for any familiar faces, any sign of approval before retreating towards the wings.

She slipped off the stage, the glow from the magical lights returning to their previous warm ambiance, and made her way to the dressing room. After changing into something more modest - a simple, flowing dress that was comfortable yet understated - she wandered back into the club, the atmosphere a stark contrast to the quiet solitude of the dressing area.

The White Room was a labyrinth of dim lighting and velvet drapes, its patrons a mix of those who sought solace in the shadows and others who revelled in the club’s sultry allure. The scent of spiced wine and distant smoke lingered in the air. Seraphine moved through the light crowd, her steps easy and measured, taking in the various corners of the room where whispered conversations had been had before. Alas, Lady Tilani didn’t seem to be in attendance this eve.

Her disappointment eased as Seraphine passed a small group of musicians who were tuning their instruments for the next set, their eyes briefly flickering to her and offering a smile before returning to their work. Nearby, a couple sat at a corner table, their faces close, engrossed in a hushed exchange and the young woman hastily looked away, gaze landing on a lone figure approaching with two glasses.

@Quintilian Frey

It was always wise to keep an eye on the competition. To that end, Quintilian Frey maintained a membership at a number of clubs throughout the city. The White Room was one such, and a fine one at that. Even though the excessive drapery rather set his nerves on edge – there were no clear sightlines in those secretive warrens where muffled conversations blurred into breathy sighs.

He always half expected an ambush. It would be dreadful small talk instead of Antaam spears, to be sure … But not tonight. He was hunting, instead. The White Room had a new dancer – one whose ethereal performances filled seats and circulated rumors. One night, no one knew who she was, an identity as thin and insubstantial as her ghostly partner. The next, noted to be in the company of the scandalous Lady Tilani, a figure always heavily featured in the gossip sheets.

How interesting. And Quinn liked to collect interesting things and people, at least for a time. Truly, Lord Pavus and Madame de Solar were his only long term associates, too dear to discard.

He’d come to see her performance for himself, though he did not consider himself any great appreciator of art. Watching her invoked a sort of calm melancholy that he did not wholly care for, and yet … It was utterly unlike any of the stage shows put on by the Blind Eye or half a dozen other establishments. It would be something of a coup to lure the dancer away.

So he ordered the drinks and waited for her to reappear, gliding over with a stemmed glass in either hand and admiration in his eyes.

“Quintilian Frey, my lady. Might I beg a few moments of your time?” He offered her a choice of glasses, taking in her clothes and gleaning a sense for her magic. Subtle, like her art. You did not meet so many skilled in umbramancy – aside from those belonging to the House named for it, of course. Quinn gestured toward the seating area, wanting her to have her pick.

“Forgive me for resorting to base flattery, but your control over the light is very impressive.”

@Seraphine Salvo

Given the eyeful I had a moment ago, I’m grateful for the distraction, Sir. Lord? Frey, politely taking the glass though not partaking of a sip just yet. Her shadow was ever present, circling the perimeter of her engagement until her mingling came to an end and she’d return to her gilded cage. Yet, it was rude to refuse a gift of refreshment from a patron of the White Room as a visiting act. L-Lady Seraphine Salvo.

Engaging in a conversation with him both delayed her return and also sour the Vrai’s mood in one swoop. Ha!

Subtle and impressive were generous of him. Her magic was stunted, a trickle, of what an average mage of her age was capable of. Sera offered him a hesitant chuckle and grin, I’m afraid you offer my magic far more praise than it deserves. It took me an embarrassing amount of time to master and weave. And with an added price. She tired far more quickly when having to sustain such manipulation and dance, so when offered a seat the Ward hummed in approval, grateful.

Are you a regular of the White Room, Mr Frey? This is only my fourth… fifth? Time.

@Quintilian Frey

It seemed to Quinn that she spoke very carefully. Good. Lady Seraphine was not an idiot – and nor was she some great and fearless Magister slumming it for amusement. Either of those things would have dashed his budding curiosity in an instant. He trailed after her to one of the booths, at pains to suppress his discomfort.

It was only a great deal of suffocating velvet on brass rods, after all. Should this comedy of manners fall apart, he would not actually be trapped here. Even so, he trailed his free hand over the fabric before he sat down, as if to make sure. The ghost of guests past rose from the cloth as scent: smoke and sweat and the sweetness of perfume.

“It is only fair; I am certain that ‘Lord’ is far too generous a word for me.” Watching her, his brows pinched briefly together. While he truly did not care much for titles – at least not in the same way these native Vints did – her insecurity had the bitter taste of truth to it. It felt like she had placed a knife in his hands. For a split second, he felt a twinge of regret. Then he put on his most affable smile.

“No, I wouldn’t call myself a regular, exactly. I’ve been on the road these past weeks. Do you recall House Verax’s griffon expedition?” He offered, gathering himself to proceed smoothly along with the pitch. He wasn’t here to talk about Argos and his discomfort with the White Room’s layout made him less careful than he otherwise might have been. Now was good; he could not sense other minds within easy hearing. Though of course a scream would travel much further.

Quinn dearly hoped she wouldn’t scream. He’d be sure to get kicked out and the small fortune he paid in membership dues would not be recoverable.

“To lay it out very plain, I am a businessman of no small ambition – and a foreign one at that.” Gradually, his flat Marcher accent revealed itself. His speech had been softened by a decade among the Vints, but the years were easily waved away when his natural voice might be of some use.

“I would like to offer you patronage.” Quinn raised his glass as if he might make a toast. “That I might ride your coattails to greater social acclaim.” There was some shining, perfect string of words right at the tip of his tongue. Something about how little strength it took to raise a paintbrush and spill out a masterpiece upon canvas. And yet, he was not quite ready to reach for that knife. Their acquaintance was too new, too fragile.

This would not work if she was not interested on her own right.

@Seraphine Salvo