12 March 1892 — True Hart Music Hall, London

It hadn't been Ozymandias' idea to come here tonight, but by this point of the night he'd forgotten whose idea it had been. It was all the same when everyone he was with was drunk and crowded into one of the balcony boxes. Someone had been trying to celebrate something or other, but it had been lost to the general debauchery a venue like this allowed for. Not that whoever it was minded, probably. He must have expected this would happen. If he'd really wanted any degree of attention paid to his celebration, they ought to have stayed at the club. It was difficult to carry on a coherent conversation over the sound of the music (broadly defined) from the stage below them, and harder still once two or three of their companions had invited the performers up to keep them company.

Oz was still alone, by choice. One of the fellows from the club who was seated nearby was slurring a little more aggressively than a gentleman ought to be, at this point in the night; Oz would have put money that he wouldn't make it to one of the bedrooms with the redhead currently half-sitting on his lap. Maybe he would pass out and Ozy could simply swoop in and steal her up at the last minute, getting the benefit of retiring to one of the rooms at the same time as everyone else without having to put in the effort of flirting with a girl of his own. The redhead was pretty enough — she had large eyes and her makeup wasn't too thick, so she was as good as any other, as far as he was concerned. On the other hand, maybe the fellow from the club would do something embarrassing, like vomiting or pissing himself, and would need to be escorted home — Oz was equally happy to take on that burden, and skip the redhead. If he ended up home early, he could probably find Sina before she fell asleep.

He took a break from the box to find the lavatory, timing it with one of the performers whose vocal talents left something to be desired. On his way back he must have taken a wrong turn, because the door he opened certainly did not have half a dozen men from Atlantis and a handful of buxom young women behind it — only one woman, in fact. "I think I've gotten turned around," Oz said by way of apology, though that must was probably obvious.

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Rose Hart Madeleine Backus

  

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MJ is the light of my life <3

Rose enjoyed evenings like this one, it was busy, the hall was full and better yet so were the boxes. The drinks were flowing the singers were warbling with reasonable skill and a 'patronage' was on the cards for more than 1 of them. A good night for the business was a good night for Rose - and tonight was shaping up to be a very good night indeed.

Rose usually made a point of 'visiting' each box - she wanted the gentleman to be comfortable enough with her to ask for her girls services and future events but also she wanted no one in any doubt as to who was in charge, but not this evening. She retired to her upstairs 'parlour' - a room on the same level as the boxes in which she could discuss patronage arrangements -or indeed, as was the case this evening, actually do work, like checking the accounts for those patronage arrangements

She looked up as the door opened, a slender blonde eye brow arching, head cocking to one side as a gentleman entered. Rose stood respectfully, her hands clasping in front of her and stepping out from behind her desk. 'You are rather lost Mister Dempsey' because of course she knew the names of the most notable guests who were in her hall on a given evening. 'Were you looking for your box? Or were you looking for me?' she asked with a rather feline smile.

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This but in deep peacock blue

  

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Stef made this and it's beautiful!

Oz let his eyes sweep over her as she rose from behind the desk. It was a familiar face — the woman who ran the place, if he wasn't mistaken. That explained her having such a lavish room tucked away amongst the collection of boxes; he assumed this sort of treatment was not available to any of the music halls' stars. Not that the room was lavish by his standards, but it was certainly a far cry above what he expected the dressing rooms downstairs must have looked like for the rest of the performers.

He counted her in that group: performers. The smile she gave him as she asked the question was certainly a show.

"I didn't know you kept rooms up in this area," he admitted with a smile of his own. He ran his eyes over her again, letting them pause on all the parts of her body the dress had been designed to draw attention to. It was a flattering dress. "So it's only my good luck that's carried me this far."

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MJ is the light of my life <3

Rose didn't flinch away from the appraisal, she neither preened like one of her girls, nor shyed away from the gaze like a blushing debutante for she was neither.

'Sometimes lucky is better than talented' that was certainly true for most of her girls - they were lucky to have been born pretty, because they certainly lacked talent. Although was it really lucky to be so reduced in life that your best recourse was to sing for tips and patronage in somewhere like the True Hart. 'And only the very lucky get into my inner sanctum.'

'One never knows when one might need to entertain guests' she gestured to the room around him and then to him and poured a whiskey from the decanter that sat on her desk with proper crystal glasses, a contrast to the glassware in the rest of the bar. There were clearly of better quality than those served at either the bar or the boxes. 'Are you in need of entertaining Mister Dempsey?'

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Stef made this and it's beautiful!

Only the very lucky, indeed. He didn't believe that for an instant, but recognized it as the sort of thing people were apt to say when they were trying to be flattering. He supposed he was flattered, not by the sentiment so much as the fact that she had deemed him worth trying to cultivate as a potential client or patron. Or — flattered was perhaps the wrong word, because he was very self-assured regarding his own worth, but it did validate his ego to have others recognize it as well. Still — he ought to go back to his box. Being at a music hall with a handful of friends who had dragged him along was one thing, and sharing a glass of whiskey with the attractive owner of the establishment in a private room was quite another. Not that anyone at a place like this would be the sort to start rumors, but...

"Are any of your guests not in need of entertaining?" he quipped, still undecided on whether he wanted to move beyond the doorway or back out into the hall and return to his friends. "If one was of a mind for quiet contemplation, this seems like a suspect choice of venue."

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MJ is the light of my life <3

'Some are more worthy of entertainment than others' she quirked a smile, 'I take the entertainment of allmy guests very seriously, it's of paramount importance to me.' She leaned against the carved wood of the desk. It was an expensive desk that had clearly seen better days - like a lot of the furniture. Once upon a time it had probably been in a grand house, but use- or rather misuse had left it past its glory days and no longer worthy of a grand home, but Rose, who knew what money looked like recognized the quality they once had - like everything in Rose's life it was a bit tired.

'My own contemplatin, my own pleasure, is second only to that of my customers.' she smiled, 'What is your pleasure Mister Dempsey?'

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Stef made this and it's beautiful!

She laid the question out so easily — because she did this all the time, he reminded himself. On the one hand, Ozymandias liked to think he had grown out of this sort of thing, chasing after the sort of women who put themselves on offer for so little. On the other hand: she was attractive, and was offering him a glass of higher quality whiskey than what they sold at the bar. Would anyone in the box miss him if he lingered here a minute for a drink and perhaps a little more? The box had his friends, who were at least passable company — the quality of her company was difficult to determine from so little conversation. The box also had drinks and girls, though slightly lower quality on both. The box also had the possibility of leaving early and getting to go pester his wife, and this room did not.

"We're all the better for your hospitality," he said with a slight twitch of his lips in the direction of a smile. "But really, I ought to get back to my box. My friends might send out a search and rescue party if I'm gone too long, and I can't imagine you'd welcome that interruption," he joked lightly.

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MJ is the light of my life <3

If Rose had realised the thought that ran through his head she would have hexed him and sent him packing - She was no whore, she wasn't on the stage, she had never been paid to lay with a man - a point of no small pride for the diminutive American. Rose Hart - or rather Catherine Margarete Temple, as she had been would have been his social equal - but here she was her pride thrumming at the struggle to keep his attention from straying back to the girls she had scooped from the gutters of England and the continent beyond.

'If you feel that company is preferred, what sort of proprietress would I be if I kept you from your preferred method of entertainment.' she said, managing to keep her playful tone in place in spite of her annoyance - another skill of her new profession. 'That decision ought to be yours sir.'

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Stef made this and it's beautiful!

Her response released him from any obligation to stay, but her tone suggested it was still an option if he changed his mind. He offered her a smile and considered for a second. Oz ought to return to the box. His friends likely wouldn't come looking for him, in a place like this — they'd either assume he'd found someone he preferred to spend his time with or that he'd gotten bored and left them, neither of which would have been entirely unlikely. Still, he didn't need to spend his nights exchanging banter with the proprietress of a music hall.

"I hope you won't let that glass of whiskey go to waste," he joked, with a nod towards the glass she'd poured for him. She seemed like the sort of woman who might have a taste for whiskey. He certainly hoped so, if she was stocking high quality bottles of it.

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MJ is the light of my life <3

'Nothing with me is never wasted' she told him, running her fingers along the rim of the glass. 'whiskey...or time.' she added after a beat, the inference clear. She lifted her own glass and tipped it his direction before taking a drink herself.

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wrap if he's outie?

  

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Stef made this and it's beautiful!