4. Dance of Decadence

by practicalspactical

Crystal Ball. Location TBD. Women in cubist Spring 2009 Comme De Garcons dresses, you cannot see their faces. Noise rock blaring from potted plants. Nude waiters and waitresss passing out pills and philtres. Lights blink in rhythm. Young Vagabond Debutante-Son, in a black and white three-piece, laughs uncontrollably as he turns a flute of liquid over and over — it clings to the glass, it is non-Newtownian fluid, ooz, Mirrors surround the room, come up and down like stalagmites and stalactites, forming columns — the guest list is exclusive, someone famous is in the corner, lighting the hair of a model on fire as she laughs uncontrollably, dark drugs are at work in this place — a naked girl walks past, bleeding from a thousand cuts, eyes red and tear-stained, but she is silent and elsewhere — and old woman, in a large Queen Elizabeth dress looks on, as a young dark-skinned man goes to work under her skirts — she talks all the while with an impossibly old old man, attended by his own young dark-skinned man. Flamedancers dance in the middle, as young howling lordlings take deep drinks of kerosene and spit at them, the dancers dart out of the way, but flames lick at their feet. Uproarious laughing.