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“There was a cabaret,
And there was a master of ceremonies,
In a city called Gniezno,
In a country called Severoszlavia.
-"Goodbye to Gniezno", 1939
31 grudnia 1930 roku
Madame Ember's, Gniezno, Gotic-Szlavia
10:00 PM
A foreign man sat alone at a table for two. He watched the scene around him. All the other tables are occupied. Save for the empty stage, the floor is packed with people. The air is filled with laughter and smoke, mixed with the scent of tobacco and perfume. It is not like the birrerie back at home. This is bigger, opulent, and there will be live entertainment. It smells better. His only qualm is that it is darker. A person can easily trip over small objects on the floor.
However, what the birrerie did not have... What any place shouldn't have are men like who he is seeing. There are men wearing satin. Right in the middle of the floor! Sitting, not on chairs, but on the lap of other men in lounge suits. In plain sight!
Then more madness! The women and their male partners, the only natural sight in this entire establishment so far, did not seem to care about any of this. They talked, laughed, drank, and smoked, and that was it.
The patrons' ignorance competed with the waiters. In those calm and measured movements, they served every table. He caught one of those handsome faces even smiling at the unnatural ones.
The foreigner finds this scene sinful and forbidden yet he is afraid to admit that he cannot take his eyes off them. Something about it captivates him. He has never seen anything like this. It shocked and excited him. What other surprises are waiting for him in this city?
A drumroll plays.
Bang!
The lights dim everywhere, except the spotlight shining in the center of the stage. Behind the red curtains, a man emerges wearing nothing but a bowtie and a pair of suspenders holding up his black pants. Mascara, lipstick, and blush covered that powdered face. His hair, an unnatural white, must be dyed. But the irises on his eyes are impossibly red. Is it Albinism?
He leaps from the stage to the floor and twirls before he plants himself on the lap of an unfortunate man. He was at the business end of a surprise kiss. But the poor man, God forgive him, laughed instead of pushing that thing off. The foreigner could understand why that might be a difficult task. Despite the offensive man's feminine appearance, his sculptured torso inferred great strength that can overpower his victim.
The half-naked man ran back up the stairs to the stage.
"Meine damen und here! Dame i gospodo! Ladies and gentlemen!"
He blew kisses at the unfortunate man, who enthusiastically returned it while waving his hands like a maniac.
'Dobry wieczór! Brut kvabend! Good evening!"
He must have spoken every language on the continent. Even if people do not understand him, despite his funny appearance, the foreigner finds him oddly attractive. His deep, baritone voice contradicted his unmanly state. It was effective enough to make him listen and ignore his looks. For this while, at least.
"I hope everyone is feeling good!" The half-naked man shouted to the cheering audience. "Do you feel good?"
Everyone responded in different languages. By those jubilant voices, they must have all said yes!
"I am Gilbert—Your host!" Did he just grab his own-? "Bienvenue! Welcome to Madame Ember's!"
The curtains slide open. It revealed a line of scantily dressed women performing high kicks and spins. The audience roared.
Before the foreigner could try to comprehend, a new person took a seat in the other chair across the table.
"You are Messian Bosco, yes?" The new person spoke in Predicean.
The foreigner, Messian Bosco, smiled at the greeting.
He returns the greeting in Lechite, "Mat! You came. Or should I call you, Your Highness?"
Mat guffawed, banging his hand on the table. A few heads from the nearby tables turned at him.
"Not too loud, you idiot!" He whispered.
"Don't worry. Andrennian fascists don't hang out in a...place like this." Messian cleared his throat. He just saw Gilbert licking the cheek of one of the dancers.
"Both the Valkyrists and the Gazzarists are out to get my family. We tried to get the Grand Jarldom back after Ardealija got its independence. Now it's a presidential republic led by my crazy uncle."
Messian raised an eyebrow. "The one who wants you dead?"
"...Yes." Mat groaned. "If only my father accepted the position. He proclaimed he will never be reduced to a plebian."
"He would have probably gotten away with Prince-President."
Mat pointed his finger at Messian. "He insists on Grand Jarl. Nothing more, nothing less! We had Adriennic Emperors in our family, you know!" He had a funny look on his face. Probably mimicking his father.
The laughter that followed went quiet, particularly when Messian and Mat spotted the unmistakable peaked cap of a military officer. Or a police officer! Whoever he is, his table is right next to the stage.
Suddenly, Gilbert reaches out and manages to snatch the officer's hat. He put it on his head and stuck his tongue out at the officer, who only clapped and laughed and cheered with the audience. Messian and Mat both sighed.
"I suppose we shouldn't stay too long." Messian looked at the back, towards the exit. "This place is in the center of the red-light district. The police could come in at any time."
Mat waved it off. "They won't. It's legal."
"What?"
"Yes. Decriminalized since 'Twenty-Two. All thanks to the Syndicalist Party and, surprisingly, the Messianist Democrats."
Messian's eyes widened. "They're not Messianists! They're Satanists!"
Mat raised an empty glass at him. "We're here. Does that make us Satanists?"
"I'm-" Messian choked. "This is different. You said the food here is nice."
"Yes. Right after I said that you could meet nice girls here." Mat reached out to touch Messian's hand. "Even boys. Unlike in other nightclubs, you don't need pneumatic tubes to get to know someone."
Messian pulled his hand out of Mat's. "It was one time. Luckily, my confessor understands. God is forgiving if you repent."
"Keep telling yourself that, my lady." Mat nodded at the stage. "Would you look at that?"
Gilbert is introducing the performers for tonight's program.
"Say hallo to Der Brezelmann!"
A man contorts himself into impossible shapes with his arms and torso. Like a pretzel. Others ooo'd and ahhh'd. It only made Messian cringe.
"The juggler, Gospodine Radmila!"
A woman in a clown costume tries to juggle, only failing with one of the pins hitting her head. Messian laughed.
"The charming singer from Syrixia, Saanvi Bakshi!"
"Hello, darlings!" The woman said in a surprisingly good Mercanti accent.
Her exotic tan, shimmering body fitted perfectly in that red dress, those red shoes, and that red headband. She looked like fire incarnate.
She is looking in his direction. To Messian, she is only looking at him. Her intense gaze not only captured Messian's eyes. It grasped them. When she winked, he felt a heat rising from his abdomen.
"Welcome to Madame Ember's! Welcome to Gniezno!" Gilbert's voice was nearly buried in the tidal waves of applause.
"I think you're going to love it here," Mat smirked at Messian.
Messian gulped. "Y-Yes. I think so, too."
And there was a master of ceremonies,
In a city called Gniezno,
In a country called Severoszlavia.
-"Goodbye to Gniezno", 1939
31 grudnia 1930 roku
Madame Ember's, Gniezno, Gotic-Szlavia
10:00 PM
A foreign man sat alone at a table for two. He watched the scene around him. All the other tables are occupied. Save for the empty stage, the floor is packed with people. The air is filled with laughter and smoke, mixed with the scent of tobacco and perfume. It is not like the birrerie back at home. This is bigger, opulent, and there will be live entertainment. It smells better. His only qualm is that it is darker. A person can easily trip over small objects on the floor.
However, what the birrerie did not have... What any place shouldn't have are men like who he is seeing. There are men wearing satin. Right in the middle of the floor! Sitting, not on chairs, but on the lap of other men in lounge suits. In plain sight!
Then more madness! The women and their male partners, the only natural sight in this entire establishment so far, did not seem to care about any of this. They talked, laughed, drank, and smoked, and that was it.
The patrons' ignorance competed with the waiters. In those calm and measured movements, they served every table. He caught one of those handsome faces even smiling at the unnatural ones.
The foreigner finds this scene sinful and forbidden yet he is afraid to admit that he cannot take his eyes off them. Something about it captivates him. He has never seen anything like this. It shocked and excited him. What other surprises are waiting for him in this city?
A drumroll plays.
Bang!
The lights dim everywhere, except the spotlight shining in the center of the stage. Behind the red curtains, a man emerges wearing nothing but a bowtie and a pair of suspenders holding up his black pants. Mascara, lipstick, and blush covered that powdered face. His hair, an unnatural white, must be dyed. But the irises on his eyes are impossibly red. Is it Albinism?
He leaps from the stage to the floor and twirls before he plants himself on the lap of an unfortunate man. He was at the business end of a surprise kiss. But the poor man, God forgive him, laughed instead of pushing that thing off. The foreigner could understand why that might be a difficult task. Despite the offensive man's feminine appearance, his sculptured torso inferred great strength that can overpower his victim.
The half-naked man ran back up the stairs to the stage.
"Meine damen und here! Dame i gospodo! Ladies and gentlemen!"
He blew kisses at the unfortunate man, who enthusiastically returned it while waving his hands like a maniac.
'Dobry wieczór! Brut kvabend! Good evening!"
He must have spoken every language on the continent. Even if people do not understand him, despite his funny appearance, the foreigner finds him oddly attractive. His deep, baritone voice contradicted his unmanly state. It was effective enough to make him listen and ignore his looks. For this while, at least.
"I hope everyone is feeling good!" The half-naked man shouted to the cheering audience. "Do you feel good?"
Everyone responded in different languages. By those jubilant voices, they must have all said yes!
"I am Gilbert—Your host!" Did he just grab his own-? "Bienvenue! Welcome to Madame Ember's!"
The curtains slide open. It revealed a line of scantily dressed women performing high kicks and spins. The audience roared.
Before the foreigner could try to comprehend, a new person took a seat in the other chair across the table.
"You are Messian Bosco, yes?" The new person spoke in Predicean.
The foreigner, Messian Bosco, smiled at the greeting.
He returns the greeting in Lechite, "Mat! You came. Or should I call you, Your Highness?"
Mat guffawed, banging his hand on the table. A few heads from the nearby tables turned at him.
"Not too loud, you idiot!" He whispered.
"Don't worry. Andrennian fascists don't hang out in a...place like this." Messian cleared his throat. He just saw Gilbert licking the cheek of one of the dancers.
"Both the Valkyrists and the Gazzarists are out to get my family. We tried to get the Grand Jarldom back after Ardealija got its independence. Now it's a presidential republic led by my crazy uncle."
Messian raised an eyebrow. "The one who wants you dead?"
"...Yes." Mat groaned. "If only my father accepted the position. He proclaimed he will never be reduced to a plebian."
"He would have probably gotten away with Prince-President."
Mat pointed his finger at Messian. "He insists on Grand Jarl. Nothing more, nothing less! We had Adriennic Emperors in our family, you know!" He had a funny look on his face. Probably mimicking his father.
The laughter that followed went quiet, particularly when Messian and Mat spotted the unmistakable peaked cap of a military officer. Or a police officer! Whoever he is, his table is right next to the stage.
Suddenly, Gilbert reaches out and manages to snatch the officer's hat. He put it on his head and stuck his tongue out at the officer, who only clapped and laughed and cheered with the audience. Messian and Mat both sighed.
"I suppose we shouldn't stay too long." Messian looked at the back, towards the exit. "This place is in the center of the red-light district. The police could come in at any time."
Mat waved it off. "They won't. It's legal."
"What?"
"Yes. Decriminalized since 'Twenty-Two. All thanks to the Syndicalist Party and, surprisingly, the Messianist Democrats."
Messian's eyes widened. "They're not Messianists! They're Satanists!"
Mat raised an empty glass at him. "We're here. Does that make us Satanists?"
"I'm-" Messian choked. "This is different. You said the food here is nice."
"Yes. Right after I said that you could meet nice girls here." Mat reached out to touch Messian's hand. "Even boys. Unlike in other nightclubs, you don't need pneumatic tubes to get to know someone."
Messian pulled his hand out of Mat's. "It was one time. Luckily, my confessor understands. God is forgiving if you repent."
"Keep telling yourself that, my lady." Mat nodded at the stage. "Would you look at that?"
Gilbert is introducing the performers for tonight's program.
"Say hallo to Der Brezelmann!"
A man contorts himself into impossible shapes with his arms and torso. Like a pretzel. Others ooo'd and ahhh'd. It only made Messian cringe.
"The juggler, Gospodine Radmila!"
A woman in a clown costume tries to juggle, only failing with one of the pins hitting her head. Messian laughed.
"The charming singer from Syrixia, Saanvi Bakshi!"
"Hello, darlings!" The woman said in a surprisingly good Mercanti accent.
Her exotic tan, shimmering body fitted perfectly in that red dress, those red shoes, and that red headband. She looked like fire incarnate.
She is looking in his direction. To Messian, she is only looking at him. Her intense gaze not only captured Messian's eyes. It grasped them. When she winked, he felt a heat rising from his abdomen.
"Welcome to Madame Ember's! Welcome to Gniezno!" Gilbert's voice was nearly buried in the tidal waves of applause.
"I think you're going to love it here," Mat smirked at Messian.
Messian gulped. "Y-Yes. I think so, too."
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