A Night on the Town: Of Flowers, Cherries, and Absinthe

Asmodeus made his way easily and casually through the now-crowded opium den, keeping his sights firmly set on the radiant figure at the bar ahead of him. She was tilting back a glass of liquid emerald, and Asmodeus felt his pulse quicken at the sight of her slender, perfect neck. He hungrily admired the sloping lines of the luxurious dress hugging her curves. This’ll be too easy, though I bet she chose that dress just to tease me.

Asmodeus prided himself on his approach to love. Since before he could remember he had viewed it as a sort of game and each will that he manipulated to his own carnal designs brought him that thrill that demanded satiating; like drinking or picking pockets. And like all his hobbies, he considered himself exceptional… until now.

From the time he joined Vapeur he had felt something in himself changing. Around Alexandra, other girls seemed to pale in comparison. The vacant space in his heart, craving affection, would not be filled. He would feel distracted, so that without concentrating on what he was about Asmodeus would be as a drunken fool, of which he had a bit of experience. The closer he tried to get to her, the further he sank. He vowed to himself to remain in control, but the sight of her neckline chased away all sense. Tonight’s assault at the fortifications of her icy composure would require a bit more tact than usual.

Asmodeus was now but a few feet from Alexandra, and he felt sure that he had approached unnoticed. With his right hand he smartly flipped the top-hat from his head in a blur of violet, the brim held fast between his index and thumb, while his left hand shot up to produce a rose, seemingly from thin air, as red as the den’s couches. He sank into a deep bow and with a voice was as clear and powerful as dawn he said, “A beautiful flower, for a beautiful lady.”
Alexandra continued to lean back against the bar, arms crossed, her eyes leveled on the bent figure before her, and her expression unreadable. “Only one?” she asked with raised eyebrow.

A sudden, almost imperceptible, jerk of the shoulders was the only sign that belied Asmodeus’ surprise and pain at the response. With an immediate flick of his wrist the one rose became a full bouquet, each blossom in perfect full bloom. “Those aren’t even my favorite,” Alexandra replied, as nonchalantly as possible, twisting a proverbial dagger further into Asmodeus’ wounded pride. He righted himself in one fluid motion, the flowers disappearing neatly into his sleeve with a quiet ‘click’; one of his favored mechanisms at work. The top-hat returned to his head and he took her hand gently in his own. “A lovely evening, is it not, Alexandra?” he asked in a voice as smooth as the silk of her dress, lifting her hand to his lips.

At the last moment, Alexandra withdrew her hand from his, whirling away from Asmodeus and causing her dress to rustle angrily across the wooden floor. “It would be a lovely evening without you fouling the air with your serpent’s tongue,” she replied, glad to be hiding the smirk creeping across her lips. “I am actually surprised to see you here. Haven’t you some rock to crawl under, sir?”

Asmodeus slid to a spot at the bar next to her, signaling to the barkeep for a glass, and resting his hand on her shoulder. “On the contrary, madam. Tonight I am at your disposal.”

“In which case, sir, if you would kindly dispose of yourself, and do us all a favor.”

A gasp of mock disbelief escaped from Asmodeus’ as he recoiled, hand moving to still his aching heart. “Why, what a horrid thing to say, issuing forth, as it were, from such a beautiful creature! It is as if you revile my very presence, which I do contest, judging from your choice of evening wear.”

“Whatever could you mean? What’s wrong with this dress?” Alexandra asked, concentrating on her absinthe, her voice taking a frigid tone.

“Well, I wouldn’t say anything is wrong with it,” Asmodeus replied, trying to recover from the possible insult. “As a mater of fact, I find it absolutely… delicious.”

And with that Asmodeus reached out in a flash and plucked a cherry from the midst of her bosom, much to Alexandra’s chagrin, placing it between his teeth with a wide grin.

Alexandra, duly flustered, opened her mouth to explain to Asmodeus, in no polite terms, just what she thought of his little cantrip, when a small patchwork of fabric bounded out of the crowd to interrupt. Marie was by far one of the smallest performers Asmodeus had met in his travels, which he felt made her an excellent candidate for his tutelage. It was, in fact, how they had found her in the first place; one does not pick the pocket of a champion thief.

Marie informed them that Marguerite already knew about the Hirondelle performers, and was presently engaged in delightful conversation. Alexandra declined to approach them just yet, which Marie would hear nothing of. With a clatter of her tea cup, Marie pranced back to see more of her handsome competitors.

Asmodeus grinned to himself. Cute little moppet. She’ll grow into a fine cutpurse… if we can keep ‘er focused; teach ‘er a bit o’ tact. He turned his attention back to Alexandra. So far, his passes this evening had borne no fruit, so he sipped at his wine for a bit, and mused, observing the scene at the other end of the bar. Can’t imagine how it feels to have competition like that. Thankfully, no one comes near besting me.

After watching Colette’s expressions go from vexation through to outrage, Asmodeus finally spoke. “Alexandra, there may be trouble. Colette doesn’t look happy, and neither do the acrobats. Let’s get over there and see what we can do to help.” He would hate for this fine evening to be cut short. In his experience, running from the authorities always has that effect.

But before they could shift themselves, a tall athletic man, with an aroma of too many drinks, toppled into them. His eyes opened wide at the sight of the green drink in Alexandra’s hand. “What color! It is as green as your dress,” he shouted, tickling one of the wretchedly dressed girls seemingly hanging from him, much as one wears necklaces and pocket watches. “Please tell me, what is it?”

Alexandra cocked an eyebrow. “It is called absinthe. Though, in your present state, I doubt if it would be a good idea.”

“Nonsense,” he shouted back, rather uncomfortably close to her face. “Barkeep! A round of aby-senth for me and my lovely dates!”

It was about this time that Asmodeus noticed the rising volume of Colette’s voice. She then proceeded to drain her glass, for reasons unknown to himself, on the acrobat’s front. Maybe she found the wine offensive? Or perhaps it was his clothes; they were gaudier than they had a right to be.

Asmodeus had no more time for the drunken buffoon and his gawkers. Turning to their unwanted guest, he said, with the friendliest smile he could gather, “If you like the drink, sir, I pray you stay and chat with the lady. She is quite versed in all aspects of this particular liqueur.”
Abandoning Alexandra to the jabbering fool, Asmodeus tore himself away from her, and strode purposefully across the bar. Getting her garters was a personal matter; this ruffian insulted the family. The ruffian in question was dabbing the wine on his chest with a handkerchief, cursing the girl under his breath. Asmodeus slipped up behind, and threw his left arm around the man’s neck. “My, how positively atrocious. Red wine all over your lovely waistcoat.” This last sentence was spoken through clenched teeth, as if acknowledging the costume as clothing was poisonous to his mouth. The acrobat, in his enraged state, did not notice. “What is your name, sir?”

The acrobat seemed to calm a little, and straightened his posture. “Alphonse. My brother Hyacinth and I are the famous twin acrobats of Cirque de Hirondelle!”

“Ah, yes, I had heard your circus was in town.” Asmodeus reached into his coat pocket and when he produced his pocket watch, flashing the rosette on the case, Alphonse’s face grew grim. “This here says I’m a performer with Cirque de la Vapeur. That fiery woman you came across is like a sister to me, and I rarely see her upset. Whatever you’ve done, I would suggest you refrain from repeating in the future,” he whispered to the startled man, as a soft click, emanating from the flexing of specific forearm muscles, produced a sharp dagger in Asmodeus’ right hand, poised near Alphonse’s gut, “or you’ll find your duo reduced to a solo.”

Asmodeus shoved him back hard against the bar, the knife returning to its secret sheath. Signaling to Alexandra, he turned to see Marie alone in the crowd, a look of approaching despair on her child-like face. “I think it’s about time we left,” he said to his ward. Offering her his arm, they headed toward the exit. “So, little one, did you have a pleasant night out?”