The music rattled the building, not that any of the intoxicated customers or employees noticed it themselves. You could hear the buzz from a mile away as it echoed across the barren land of Leeds and shook the crumbling buildings around it. Obscure looking trombones sounded, accompanied by the polite melody of various lutes played by the bigger boys. A roar of laughter reverberated against the plush pink velvet lined walls as the people within talked, beat, and molested one another under the slight red glow. This was the limelight of the French Quarter – a place tucked away near the northeast of the main square in Leeds itself. A haven of filth and sin, a place condemned and left for the demons and squatters in Athoria to dwell in. It was Hell on Earth, bathed in the artificial flickering red light. It was an ethereal place untouched by the hands of mortal men. A place of magical splendor beyond imaginations, where you could release all your inhibitions without the worry of it getting around anywhere outside the city limits.
A world all its own.
Ran by a fucking lunatic in heels.
The stage lit up and the crowd fell into applause, the music coming to an immediate standstill. A dark silhouette showed behind a makeshift curtain made of thin sheets, striking a fierce contorted pose. “They say I’m not much of a man, by the light of day.” A voice came from the enormous figure as it twisted its body into another position, singing as it went. “But by night, I’m one hell of a lover anyway.” Hollers and whistling from the crowd came along as people clapped, cheering on. “They say I’m terrible news, and that the dead follow me everywhere. But, I’m still. One hell. Of a lover!” Music wailed in again, filling up the silence. The curtain dropped at a scantily clad Madame Telulia moved like an animal along the slick floor. Dancing on air as her heavenly voice held the attention of the entire brothel house, twirling on netted legs.
It was a shame that this niche was going under faster than a sinking ship. Not because of ill funds, but because of the outstretch in the Athorian war. It was already toppling over everything else; it was a matter of time before this venue fell with the rest. It pained Telulia to think of, but as always she kept her wits about things, and greeted the challenge with her ego in tact and her head held high. She would never let her safe place falter without a fight. It was not only a business, but a home to not only himself but the employees. A ragtag troupe of boys, girls, and everyone in between cast out of society. The pariahs of the world. They came here to feel alive, to live the lives that were otherwise closeted because they were far from considered “normal”. With Rudrim at the helm of this mighty ship, there was no way he would let his little dollies return to being oppressed. There they were protected. It was there that they belonged, and there they would remain.
Although there were signs all over town now proclaiming the damnation of all Athoria’s monsters according to the King, Telulia would find a way to let her children of the night run free. One way, or another.