Post by Jordanna on Jan 30, 2006 20:10:39 GMT -5
As always, there was a lively crowd at the Paragon Club. The orchestra was in full swing, and the dance floor was full. As was his custom between performances, Foxy Malone was circulating among the tables, giving the patrons a touch of personal entertainment; he would descend upon them randomly with comic banter, impressions, vocal tricks, or sometimes even an improvised song. And illustrious host Sidney Rosenstein was making a busybody of himself out front as usual, gladhanding everyone who entered his doors, his worries temporarily repressed behind his jolly public face.
Nicholas Tiernan strode into that social cyclone as if he owned the club himself.
He was quite conscious of the glances attracted by his evident deformity. It was not the least of the reasons why he so rarely appeared in public--yet to a large extent, his elusiveness gave him anonymity when he did venture forth. Most of the patrons were interested in nothing beyond the expensive label of his clothes. The very few who did recognize him merely scowled and looked away, bestirring themselves just enough to be mildly offended by the presence of that crusading mutie-lover from the newspapers.
Disdainful of physical contact, Tiernan glowered at a young woman who hesitantly offered to take his cape, and stayed close to the wall as he made his way through the crowded foyer. At an ebb in the tide of incoming and outgoing guests, he ducked through the main doors--and came face to face with the man he'd intended to see.
"Good evening, Mister...?" began a politely smiling Sid Rosenstein, automatically extending a hand.
"Good evening," Tiernan replied airily, brushing off both the offered handshake and the question of his name. "Mister Rosenstein, I presume? You have a... charming establishment."
"Er... thanks." Visibly bemused, Sid looked around and grabbed the arm of the nearest passing waiter. "Sammy, show the gentleman to a table..."
With a doubtful look at Tiernan, Sammy bowed slightly and gestured. "This way, sir."
Sid retreated deeper into the club, weaving between crowded tables and random, slightly-soused guests. The creepy guy who had just walked in left him with a bad feeling he couldn't shake. It must have been those eyes: black, cold, haughtily amused, like someone who was waiting for a nasty prank to be sprung.
He jumped when a quizzical Alex appeared beside him. "Hey, you look like you just saw your cousin-in-law Tony--and that's worse than seeing a ghost."
"I don't know what I just saw." Sid peered through the crowd, and spotting the dark stranger looking bored at a table, he chucked a thumb at him. "You know that guy?"
Alex looked. "Nope. Never saw him before. Who is he?"
"I dunno... and I don't think I want to." Sid shook his head abruptly, as if to shake a disturbing idea out of his brain, and clapped a hand on Alex's shoulder. "Don't matter. Come on, I wanta talk to Marty about your act later."
The two men went off toward the stage--unaware that Nick Tiernan was watching them with a complacent smile.
Nicholas Tiernan strode into that social cyclone as if he owned the club himself.
He was quite conscious of the glances attracted by his evident deformity. It was not the least of the reasons why he so rarely appeared in public--yet to a large extent, his elusiveness gave him anonymity when he did venture forth. Most of the patrons were interested in nothing beyond the expensive label of his clothes. The very few who did recognize him merely scowled and looked away, bestirring themselves just enough to be mildly offended by the presence of that crusading mutie-lover from the newspapers.
Disdainful of physical contact, Tiernan glowered at a young woman who hesitantly offered to take his cape, and stayed close to the wall as he made his way through the crowded foyer. At an ebb in the tide of incoming and outgoing guests, he ducked through the main doors--and came face to face with the man he'd intended to see.
"Good evening, Mister...?" began a politely smiling Sid Rosenstein, automatically extending a hand.
"Good evening," Tiernan replied airily, brushing off both the offered handshake and the question of his name. "Mister Rosenstein, I presume? You have a... charming establishment."
"Er... thanks." Visibly bemused, Sid looked around and grabbed the arm of the nearest passing waiter. "Sammy, show the gentleman to a table..."
With a doubtful look at Tiernan, Sammy bowed slightly and gestured. "This way, sir."
Sid retreated deeper into the club, weaving between crowded tables and random, slightly-soused guests. The creepy guy who had just walked in left him with a bad feeling he couldn't shake. It must have been those eyes: black, cold, haughtily amused, like someone who was waiting for a nasty prank to be sprung.
He jumped when a quizzical Alex appeared beside him. "Hey, you look like you just saw your cousin-in-law Tony--and that's worse than seeing a ghost."
"I don't know what I just saw." Sid peered through the crowd, and spotting the dark stranger looking bored at a table, he chucked a thumb at him. "You know that guy?"
Alex looked. "Nope. Never saw him before. Who is he?"
"I dunno... and I don't think I want to." Sid shook his head abruptly, as if to shake a disturbing idea out of his brain, and clapped a hand on Alex's shoulder. "Don't matter. Come on, I wanta talk to Marty about your act later."
The two men went off toward the stage--unaware that Nick Tiernan was watching them with a complacent smile.