Aphrodite's Kiss returned to the stage, Sascha's ambiguous body winding about the mike as her otherworldly voice beckoned the crowd back to the stage. "Okay, this is the last set of the evening and it was put together for one of your hosts. Hey, let's have a big hand for Acheron, huh? Yeah, great job on the venue guys."
Either from genuine respect or fear of reprisal, the crowd gave the hosting pack a round of applause. The blood mead had flowed freely, lubricating inhibitions and relaxing ill will. Packs that regularly butted heads gathered shoulder to shoulder before the stage, conversing as peacefully as could be expected amongst predators sharing space, but all knew that even with the festivities, this was Acheron territory, and clashes that couldn't be settled quickly would be settled for the clashers, no doubt with the assistance of the brutish muscle of the city's oldest pack.
"Okay, this first one is called 'Jolly Roger ain't so Jolly no more'. Ready? And a-one, two, three..."
As the drums began to roll and the guitar began to peel off layers of sound, a shadow grew thicker in one faithless corner. Harvey's venomous green eyes cut across the crowd to spot a pair of aquamarine peepers peering back at him over an ear to ear grin of mischief.
He knew it was coming. Maybe not this exactly, but he knew something was coming that would end up pissing him off. Fine. She wanted to ruin his evening? So be it. He'd make sure it was ruined for every mother fucker in attendance. Though it is fair to say he'd already been making an effort to do just that anyway.
There was spiked blood at the party, so needless to say there were dumb fucks in attendance that had severe ass kickings coming to them. Being that it was a grave yard, how long do you think it'd be before someone got the wise notion to start digging up bodies. They didn't consider that those resting eternally in Mommie's garden were considered property of the pack. VanZant of the Wretched 'tied one on', much to the dismay of his Ductus, and quite unbefitting of a priest. When he started playing in to one of the Sister's teases about his faint doggish features, he decided to display doglike behavior.
By the time Hentai caught sight of this, the City Gangrel Priest was already five feet deep. It was a snarl and a moment of focus later that VanZant was clawing at a coffin lid, and but a second later before the lid exploded outward, something within ensnaring the disrespectful guest and crushing him through the wooden box top. When they pulled him out, it seemed whatever had pulled him in had also jammed every wooden splinter it could find into the thick skinned Priest's chest, more than enough getting into his heart to make it a difficult endeavor getting them all out.
Aside from what was a rather understandable act of territoriality, the man was just plain rude. He shoved people around, picked on the neonates, butted in on conversations to contradict opinions. He was a jerk... and perhaps only Mommie and Shiloh would realize that meant he was having a good time.
Now, as a piss poor (in his mind) rendition of one of his songs was belted out, he realized why Shiloh had been feeding him drinks. He'd set the last two down... or, smashed one in the corner and splashed one on some fat assed bitch rubbing up on Shiloh's old retard ductus. That might have started a fight if the Ductus hadn't pulled the Amazon woman's attention away by licking her clean. Despite the discarded drinks, he felt the effects of the mixture, recognizing it from a few nights prior, and that's pretty much what made him say fuck it.
He shouldered roughly through the crowd, moving up on Shiloh and seizing her by the arm, fingers digging into her pit. "Alright, bitch... you get one, but you're going up there with me."
Shiloh's grin could have shattered diamonds. "No shit?"
"No shit. Which one's do they know?"
"This one, Sister Fister, and Nothing in the End."
"Alright," he muttered, jerking her along as he moved for the stage, "we're doin' Nothin'... it's got backup vocals."
"Yeah..." he grunted, "We." He tried to keep moving, but suddenly she was shouting "hold on!" over the music and heading for the bar. She twisted from his grip and snaked her way effortlessly through the gathered sect, suddenly popping up and hopping over the bar-top. Hentai was just catching up to her, a perplexed (and impatient) curling of his lip forming, when Shiloh came up with a long black case, lofting it over her head as she hopped back up on the bar and trotted to it's edge. She jumped down and shoved Harvey's guitar case into his pinstriped chest, to which he could only gawk.
"I'm gonna make you pay for this, baby," came his low growl, more felt over the music than heard.
"I can't wait," shouted Shiloh, her teeth shining for the permagrin plastered on her face.
The Ruiner walked, and slithering from the folds of his shirt, black stretched forth, like liquid shadow... but different than the usual tendrils of the abyss the Keepers were known to summon. It preceeded his presence, reaching to lay a chilling touch upon the crowd before him, urging them to part if for no other reason than to escape the leaching black that clung to them like a tar, releasing them only once they made well clear the path to the stage.
He was mounting the stairs even as the singer of the Kiss was finishing the last of his/her song. It gave Harvey a startled double take, but upon seeing Shiloh, Sascha wrapped up and got a roar of approval. Harvey's groupie trotted over to the front of the stage and murmered to Sascha as the night's opressive security guard laid down his guitar case and unsnapped it's clasps. He lost the Zoot Suit tailed coat and unbuttoned his left shirt sleeve, rolling it up before drawing forth a guitar so white that it stood out against the dim stage lights.
Shiloh came dancing back to him, "It's all set," bursting from her lips from midstage. Harvey stood up, gripping the neck of the guitar and pulling the feathered fedora from his thick messy hair and set it upon Shiloh's head. "Spec-fuckin-tacular," he grumbled, wiring up is guitar before stomping front and center.
He didn't address the crowd. He didn't mention why he was replacing the so far entrancing androgynous singer. He just looked over his shoulder to Sascha, nodding for Shiloh's attention as well.
"We're doing 'Nothing in the End'. You two know your part... back up on the chorus. When I give you the que, you make these mother fuckers miserable... you got me?"
When the spot light hit, the absolute white of the guitar was blinding. He let the strings gleam for a moment as he adjusted his volume, letting the curious whispers begin before cutting a flat G with a slice of his thumbnail. The drone was undone by a sudden quick picking of notes, a rough blues riff blaring from the amps. The band knew when to jump in, and following a gradual build to a full, almost rockabilly beat, though the distortion of the guitar and inclusion of the synth gave it a slightly industrial feel. The bass line was a liquid quick hum and the drums sounded almost mechanical. It was the guitar that carried the rythem, while the rest provided the blues.
He'd been hovering mid-stage, rocking back and forth with the support of a full band, though his eyes never left his fingers as the intro went on a good minute and a half, and with the last slamming of the bass petal, hentai slid forward and seized the microphone, a fanged dread gaze, hiroshima green eyes cutting across the crowd for the shortest of moments, just the span of silence of the instruments, and then it breaks... and he's singing.
there's no point in living,
this lie can not sustain.
can't look yourself in the mirror,
your breath cause only pain.
and the guitar wept, and the drums built and Harvey was screaming.
so why you look so nervous,
you feelin' like a whore?
well trust me baby,
it ain't nuthin that never,
there's nuthin that ain't never been done before. Oh!
he fucked his face on that microphone up to that point, going into a murmering whisper as his fingers tore a steady set of chords across the PRS... though the observent would notice that black creeping over the body, Hentai's shirt shredding at the torso, liquid black curling out from his chest, like tendrils of the abyss anchored to his black heart and reaching out from his body. Soon there was no reflection cast into the crowd from the once white guitar. Soon flickers of black, like negative sparks popped from Hentai's shoulders, further exposing the ink like ropes, seemingly moving to the pace of their prison, it was almost like tattoo's given the freedom to move, but who could work such an act of flesh crafting.
so came the murmer, and the boot scootin' beat, and the darkness as the fireflies of black caught the surrounding lights, sending sparks spraying hot on the already worked up crowd, and further darkening the stage.
so why not, why not, why not, why not,
make a monster out of yourself?
why not, why not, why not, why not,
put those morals on the shelf.
All the while, every other verse as there was no real chorus, Sascha and Shiloh were singing, lip to lip into a microphone just off center. They knew their parts; one was a professional and the other was Harvey's biggest groupie bitch.
so give up, give in, give up, just give in,
and take a long look around.
With this many monsters.
yeah, this many monsters...
Hey baby, with this many monsters,
you're knee deep, and you might as well drown.
So baby, so baby, so baby, so baby,
so baby, I got a truth to tell.
It don't matter if you're good, don't matter if yer bad,
there's a heaven and there's a hell.
after that last verse, the guitar began to beat out steady, Harvey giving a shout of "get 'em, girls!" and suddenly the backup duo turned into an octuplet,, Harvey letting them vocalize, letting the already worked up crowd try and register this alien sound, voices harmonizing then going all out of synch, but somehow it worked... like a children's choir.
and then Harvey was joining in, singing over the background vocalizations they provided.
but just when ya think you see the light,
it's a' comin' round the bend.
well that's just illusion, that's all a lie,
cause there ain't nuthin at the end.
ain't nuthin at the end.
yeah yer all dead in the end.
and the guitar cuts to a close. when? at "the end", naturally. the crowd don't seem to understand what they just experienced. Tears run down cheeks, faces look somewhere between horrified and furious, and for a few seconds, there's just silence. silence and darkness.
and then the crowd errupts. it's not cheers. it's fury. they're all cussing each other. They're cussing Harvey. They're cussing Acheron. They're cussing the person who just bumped into them. Those not packed shoulder to shoulder just seem to seek the solitude like a blanket, sinking back into the shadows to wallow in how fucking pathetic all these fun and games of theirs really makes them. How there is no real immortality, and to think otherwise is fucking stupid.
and on the stage? the band looks no less effected. the drummer is talking shit to the bassist, who's stepping up on the kit. Shiloh and Sascha both looked ashamed, the Daughter of Cacophony and the skilled Flesh Crafter, both able to modify their voice... but there was something more. something forcing the listeners to understand the horror that was their lives for what they were. a power of the blood surely, which the Daughters were known to possess. But who would have thought it would work so potently. Surely the sheman singer was worthy of just a little more respect when it came to the capabilities of singing.
but even the singer himself is not unaffected. He sneers over his shoulder at Shiloh, pure loathing in his eyes, and she knows exactly why. and he knows she totally just fucking came in her black skirt while watching her little monkey dance. He slapped the mic out of his way, and kicked the PA into the crowd. The heavy speaker box landed flat on top of someone looking the opposite direction, and with that, Hentai gave a shout as loud as any speaker could produce.
"THE PARTY IS OVER. EVERYONE GET THE FUCK OUT."
and thus the hounds were released... or rather, the abyssal horrors. Seven vicious creatures of mottled and filthy black came roaring out from the corners, snapping and slashing at anyone not moving for the exits. they were indiscriminate of whether someone was seriously injured. clearly they were eager for the opportunity to cut into the crowd.
and that's how Palle Grande 2009 ended in Denver Colorado. The crowd frenzied, dozens were trampled. there were no fatalities, but more than a few had to be carried out by their packmates. of course, plenty more happened while all this occurred. Stories still to be told.