(Untitled)

[tragic_mask]

So Melpomene's in the bar. Nothing new. She's sitting in the corner, boots propped up against a neighboring chair; a cigarette butt smoulders in the ashtray by her side. As always.

But, the strange thing? She's got a harp-like instrument set up on an end table, and she's polishing it meticulously with a cloth and slim bottle of something greasy-

Comments

[balletrat]

*Tall, black hair, luminous eyes . . . all right, that's not exactly a unique description around the bar.

Nonetheless, it's worth a shot. And the harp has to be a clue.*

Pardonnez-moi if I've got the wrong person - you wouldn't happen to be Melpomene, would you?

[tragic_mask]

No, probably not.

Melpomene looks up, and she gives a polite smile.

"I am, in fact. But I'm afraid I am unable to return the favor of knowing your name," she says, slipping into French-- guessing by the phrase and the accent.

[balletrat]

*Meg's face brightens, a little, as she responds in her own language.*

Sorry, I know you wouldn't know who I am - I'm Meg Giry. I was told to find you by a boy - er, Billy, I think - who said he'd promised you help with a party?

*With a slightly sheepish grin:* And apparently I'm the help. So.

[tragic_mask]

"Some of us have to be in the background, sometimes. But I'm sure there will be plenty of time for dancing, too."

Melpomene runs her fingers lightly along the strings of her lyre.

"So tell me-- what is it you can do?"

She smiles at Meg, big and amused this time.

[balletrat]

*Meg laughs.*

Aside from dancing? Honestly, not much. But I guess I've helped with some parties here, and a friend of mine told Billy I was the one to ask, and so he hired me to - hostess, I think, is what he wanted?

*She gives a one-shouldered shrug.* And just - generally help. Make arrangements, and things. Whatever you need me to do.

[tragic_mask]

nymphs over waterfalls, whirling with fauns; laughing, loving --

"Yes?" and she, in the shadows, behind the mask--

Melpomene gives her a pondering look, and tilts her head, deciding not to comment on the dancing thing. "Do you have any idea when and where this will be, or is that someone else?"

[balletrat]

- I'm not sure, *Meg says, honestly,* but that's probably the sort of thing I should be arranging. It's not hard - often it's done out back, by the lake, especially in summer, and alternately, I have a friend who has a suite that she might let us use if we asked nicely, or a suite could be rented; and as for when, as long as you get the invitations out early enough in advance, that's pretty much up to you -

*At this point, she's forced to stop for breath.*

[tragic_mask]

Melpomene blinks. She's been watching, with one eyebrow raised. She relaxes the brow.

"Well. I guess I'll have to get started on that. It's not as if I haven't done it before."

[balletrat]

Oh, I'm sure you have -

*Meg grins, tilting her head.* I mean - you're one of the Muses, oui? You've probably done all of this a million times; the only advantage I've got is actually having done it here, in the bar.

[tragic_mask]

Melpomene gives a short nod, and a thoughtful frown.

"Oui, c'est vrai, ça. But it has been a while. In the past few hundred years I've mostly been fading into the background... not dealing much with the wild fêtes of Louis's time."

[balletrat]

- Louis Quatorze? *Meg asks, instantly intrigued.*

I'm a little past his time - two hundred years or a little more, I think - but he's the one who has the reputation of having the really decadent court -

[tragic_mask]

She doesn't smirk, definitely. But there's the twitch at the edge of her mouth.

"Decadent is one way of putting it, yes. It was more than that-- indescribable."

Melpomene chokes on her cool demeanor, and looks down at her pale hands. Remembering the dancing, flashing, glittering. So beautiful, but so selfish. And she'd been a part of it, one of many dancers palms out, golden mask in the crowd.

[balletrat]

*There's a quick answering smile, from Meg.*

We've got a reputation for decadance - la France, I mean. But it's not supposed to ever have quite reached that height again.

*Curiously:* Did you know him personally? Le roi soleil, I mean?

[tragic_mask]

She hides memories of the midnight unmasking behind a deadpan face-- secrets in the dark-- and smiles.

"I-- met him. Once or twice."

[balletrat]

Well, I can't imagine he was very pleasant in person, *Meg says, honestly.*

But still, it'd be interesting to have met him. Is he still alive, when you are?

[tragic_mask]

"No, no he wasn't too pleasant," she says, slowly.

"It's year 2006 for me, actually. I've just... lived a long time."