An Unbiased Perspective on a Controversial Figure

An Unbiased Perspective on a Controversial Figure

Things had been looking up for Marcus Pierson recently. With the return of Mr. Party himself, Discord’s music scene was thriving, he was representing the hottest new band in the city, and he’d just purchased his very own recording studio.

Actually, he had some help with that one. He’d been pretty worried about his chances at the auction, especially with high rollers like Debonair around. But because of timely interference by a certain daemon, Holliday, he’d been informed was his name, he’d been able to sneak in the one win he’d needed.

He’d approached the man just after the auction, to thank him for his, if inadvertent, aid, and it was then he’d learned that this was the crazy bastard behind Bourbon Street. Marcus had seen an opportunity and took it. They got to talking, and somehow the conversation came around to Discord’s lack of touring options—by virtue of being a singular city surrounded by void—and Bourbon Street’s need for new entertainment. The potential for a mutually beneficial arrangement was acknowledged.

And, in a nutshell, that was how he’d ended up on a ferry in the midst of the Other, floating towards the enormous, hulking mass of Bourbon Street in the distance. Marcus had never actually seen it personally, he’d been far too busy at the time it had made it’s big debut in Discord’s airspace. He’d only heard of the uproar that it’d caused, and how it had suddenly left. There had been all sorts of rumors, although a vast majority of the city found it extremely suspicious that Kei had returned to the ranks of the Tea Party immediately after.

Regardless, that was then, and this was now. Though he needed to keep up with Discord’s goings-on for his business, he didn’t take any actual pleasure in it. Marcus preferred to look towards the future, like the large pleasure dome that was rapidly approaching.

Holliday had invited him to come take a tour of the ship and talk business. Marcus was used to dealings happening in smelly, smoky backrooms while club music vibrated through the walls, so this was an exciting novelty for him.

He didn’t know quite what he’d been expecting as his otherwise empty ferry approached the docks, but it certainly wasn’t for Holliday himself to be waiting for him personally.

Maybe Marcus was just too used to head honchos acting more like celebrities. It simply felt unnatural for the man to be surrounded by so little fanfare, just standing there in his brown suit and leaning on his cane.

“Mr. Pierson, how simply marvelous to see you again,” he said after the ferry had slid smoothly onto a metal track and came to a stop just off the boardwalk. The daemon held out a hand and shook Marcus’ firmly. “Your trip went smoothly, I hope?”

“Sure did,” Marcus nodded. “I gotta say, I’m impressed with the set-up you’ve got here.”

Holliday grinned, tipping his hat. “The ferry system was a necessity, really. It would be so terribly chaotic to attempt to land the old girl directly inside realities, so I thought: why not bring the guests to her instead? Begin the experience early.”

“It’s a genius system. Ran smooth as butter. Did you design them yourself, Mr. Holliday, or…?”

“Oh, heavens no,” the daemon laughed. “I have several very talented engineers in my… employ.” His grin turned just a little bit devilish.

Ah, so the rumors that a large portion of the staff on Bourbon Street were debtors might have been true. It certainly explained how a man known for his gambling acumen had such a technological marvel under his command.

This thought was only confirmed when one of the ferry attendants approached the track with a positively sour look on his face. Holliday ignored it entirely.

“Now, I have set aside a VIP room for your use tonight at the Tombstone. Please, allow us to take your bag.”

Marcus handed his briefcase to the sour-faced attendant, and allowed Holliday to beckon him onto the boardwalk, where he gazed at the strip before him in awe.

The road was slightly crooked, so you couldn’t see all the way down, though the nearly blinding sign for the Tombstone could be seen glowing above it all. On either side of the broad street were a series of brightly painted buildings, many done in the same, classic New Orleans style, with multiple levels of open-air balconies wrapped around their exteriors. Colorful strings of flowers and paper were folded around the banisters and hung in between the buildings themselves.

In short, it looked just like an enormous Mardi Gras.

“I see you’re a fan of New Orleans,” Marcus commented.

Holliday laughed. “Of course, there are several of them out in the cosmos. But I based Bourbon Street off of my N’orleans. Back in the day, it was that sort of place that I always found myself coming back to. Ah, but there’s no point in indulging sentimentality. The day is short and there is much to see, my friend.”

It was a little after lunch time, but despite the early hour—at least by Discord standards—the street was filled with a veritable crowd. Some of the people were daemons or magi, but a large portion seemed to be individuals of all sorts.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking, where do you find your guests?” Marcus glanced back as he passed a woman in a full bustle.

“Surprisingly easily. Sometimes we pass by daemon outposts and the like, but often we simply park the old girl just outside a reality and bring a few ferries in. Drum up some excitement and many people are more than willing to come aboard. There are shades on the ferries to prevent boggling the mind too much. We usually stay in one location for a few weeks, so there’s plenty of time to disembark, but you’d be surprised how many decide to stay a spell.”

Marcus could definitely detect the slight lotus-eater energy around this place. It seemed as if every sort of building contained some sort of event or attraction. Of course there were a dizzying assortment of restaurants and hotels of all kinds and price ranges, but there were also theaters, tourist traps, escape rooms, and mini-golf courses. And then of course there were the casinos. They came in a variety of themes, but each seemed to be attempting to outshine the others in their various, classy sort of ways. It needn’t be said, however, that none of them held a candle to the Tombstone, but that was most definitely The Way of things around here.

There was even more excitement on the street itself. Vendors were selling food and bric-a-brac directly from carts, musicians played music. Specifically, there seemed to be a large crowd gathering just ahead of them.

“Ah, I see we made it just on time.” Holliday seemed to know what all the hullabaloo was about. “I think you’ll like this. He’s one of my newest acquisitions.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” came a voice from tinny speakers just beyond the people in front of them, “a reminder that what you are about to witness is performed with no magical aid. I am an entirely ordinary man with no magic ability.”

The crowd parted as they saw Holliday approach, and so he and Marcus immediately acquired front row seats to what looked like… a street magician? Yes, there was indeed a smart wooden sign that had the name “Saturn Gale” painted in sharp letters on its surface, while just behind a man with blond highlights and several piercings stood, holding up a mannequin head.

“And also to prove that the nail gun… is very much loaded,” he held the mannequin head up high. “Ivy, let ‘er rip.”

Across the clearing, a young woman wearing nothing more than a bikini top and a very short pair of shorts took a deep breath, aimed… and fired. A big chunk of the plastic head exploded as the audience gasped.

“So now…” he gazed intensely at the crowd. “I’m going to catch one in my mouth.” He grinned manically at the reaction.

“He’s a… magician?” Marcus had to admit he was a little surprised.

Holliday chuckled under his breath. “Indeed he is. Quite a crowd pleaser, in fact,” he explained. “He’s one of those ‘daredevil’ types, lot’s of ‘deadly escapes’ and such.”

“That’s gotta hurt if he fucks it up.”

“My personal theory is that he quite enjoys that part.”

“Now, if this goes wrong, I could very well be killed. So I ask for complete silence as Ivy takes the shot,” the magician intoned, the smile dropping off his features as he became, well, deadly serious again.

The audience obeyed. Even if there wasn’t a drum roll, the tension was so thick that it felt like there was. Saturn Gale stood stock still, arms out like jesus christ in guyliner, ready to receive. He was grinning again.

His assistant took several deep breaths this time, aimed very carefully, and when she was ready, grinned back at him, and pulled the trigger.

A gasp arose from the crowd as the magician stumbled backwards. Yet a second later, he straightened, still smiling. But now, in between his slightly crooked teeth was a silver nail. The audience applauded as he spit it out into his hand and held it up for them to see.

“And with no magic, huh?” Marcus confirmed, clapping along. “I wonder how he did it?”

“Well, I will admit I know a thing or two about tricks of slight-of-hand. There’s several ways one could pull off a trick like that without firing the gun at all. But if he did one of them, I sure as hell didn’t see it.”

They moved on shortly thereafter, and spent a pleasant afternoon meandering around the strip. There was much less in the way of hard drugs available than Marcus was used to, but there was liquor and cigars aplenty. He made sure to maintain his cool, as did Holliday. This meeting was for business, after all. But Marcus found he was greatly enjoying himself wandering through shops and seeing the sights. If he ignored the sullen faces of the workers, than all was well.

Yet Marcus was a Discordian through and through, so it did bug him a little. “Are all of your staff under… uh, contract?” he asked.

“Well, they’re all under contract, but they’re not all under ‘contract,’ if you understand me.”

Marcus nodded.

“All of the establishments are rented out to independent parties, though I do provide some of their staff members. More of the talent, like Mr. Gale as you saw earlier, I’ve picked up along the way. It’s mostly the grunt workers and other such background roles that consist of proper contractors.”

“That’s a lot of deals,” Marcus commented. He wondered how Holliday kept track of them all.

“Maybe a hundred, all told? Perhaps two? But this is not the time for such talk. There’s so much more to see!”

They had dinner at a very… intensely artistic restaurant. Marcus’ first course consisted of a single basil leaf that he was supposed to run under his nose, and more than one of the others were served in a test tube. The chef came out to greet then personally, and he looked more like a scientist than a cook.

For some reason, it struck Marcus that this restaurant didn’t quite gel well with Holliday’s usual sense of aesthetics, but the novelty seemed to amuse him more than anything.

He was also struck by the difference between Bourbon Street and Discord’s general dispositions towards their rulers. People were scared of Bacchae, sure, but it was a small, niggling fear at the back of one’s mind that was certainly eased by the fact that most of the time, he was perfectly charming and maybe a bit of an idiot. Holliday, on the other hand, seemed to strike a quite intense feeling of horror from his subordinates that was hastily plastered over with platitudes. On the one hand, it was more stressful, but on the other it was much less bi-polar. At least you knew just how to get on Holliday’s good side.

When they were finished with their meal, Holliday patted Marcus on the back like they were old friends and said: “I have one last thing to show you, and then we’ll retire to the Tombstone to discuss business.”

Frankly, he was having a rather good time, and was in no hurry to work. “I’m assuming you saved the best for last?”

“Of course,” Holliday’s eyes twinkled. “A sojourn on Bourbon Street would simply not be complete without a stage show at the Theatre du Mal.”

Ahh, Marcus had been wondering what that building was for. Holliday led him towards an elaborate, nearly gothic facade, which looked slightly out of place against the somewhat squat, square buildings surrounding it.

“Is it an opera house?” he asked.

“On occasion,” Holliday shrugged. “The troupe puts on a variety of different performances throughout the year. Which makes you wonder what the ‘gimmick’ must be, I suppose.”

Marcus nodded.

“There is not a man among them. All the parts in every play are performed by women. It draws a more… varied crowd than one might expect. The troupe has developed a somewhat dedicated following, though if I must say, most people come to see Mademoiselle le Blanc.”

“Is she the prime donna?”

Holliday laughed. “Most certainly.”

The theater was just as extravagant on the inside. Dim light bulbs were surrounded by intricately-carved wood, painted in a vaguely golden hue, and their light was just bright enough to illuminate a renaissance-esce mural between them on the ceiling.

Marcus was slightly awestruck as he followed Holliday to his private box. They had a perfect view of the stage from here, though at the moment it was covered by a heavy velvet curtain.

As they waited for the play to begin, Marcus couldn’t help noticing a slight change in Holliday’s disposition. He was as collected as always, of course, with a slight smile on his face. But somehow he seemed to be… excited. He had a nearly manic energy about him. Marcus was curious, but he didn’t have to wait long for his answer.

A hush fell over the crowd, who seemed as equally energized as Holliday, as the lights went down. After a few, agonizing seconds of silence, the curtains were slowly pulled apart.

It was a rather modest set, just a railing-lined platform designed to resemble a balcony on one side, behind which a woman in a simple dress was waiting. A spotlight dropped on her, and as the orchestra in the pit below paused, she began to sing.

Her voice was very pretty, clear and high, and she immediately drew the attention of the crowd. As she sang of a sailor, a lover of hers, Marcus turned to Holliday. “Your Ms. la Blanc is very talented,” he whispered.

Holliday looked confused for just a moment, then chuckled. “Oh,” he said, “that is not Ms. la Blanc.”

Suddenly, Marcus’ attention was drawn back to the stage as the orchestra kicked back in, and to the awe of the crowd, what looked to be a giant ship—an airship, by the looks of the balloon on top—descended onto the stage. On its deck was a dashing young man, who Marcus noticed was dressed suspiciously similar to Holliday. He reached out to grab the woman’s hand and also started to sing. And as soon as he did so, Marcus realized his error.

He was, of course, not a man at all.

You couldn’t hear her for the first few measures due to the applause from the audience, but once they quieted down, Marcus could see why they were so excited. Her voice was somewhat husky, but still decidedly female. Yet there was something so dashingly androgynous about her, in the way she held herself and the expressions on her face, that Marcus even found himself a little confused. A lot of the audience probably was too. He supposed that was most likely the draw.

At one point, the chorus had joined the two lovers on stage, and the opening number ended with big applause. As the lights fell, Holliday once again leaned over to Marcus. “Now that was Mademoiselle Zellie la Blanc.”

The performance, Marcus had to admit, was very entertaining. The score was beautiful and the actors all very talented. But it was Ms. la Blanc who truly stole the show. There was something so eye-catching about her, especially when she smiled, and her singing was simply captivating.

After the show, Marcus inquired briefly about her, and Holliday asked if he’d like to meet her. It looked like that had been the plan all along, considering that one of his assistants had just handed him a bouquet of very elaborately-arranged flowers.

Of course, Marcus was no stranger to green rooms. So Holliday told someone to inform her of their arrival and they meandered their way slowly backstage. The hallways were thin and the walls covered with various paraphernalia from past productions: old props, programs, and autographs. That was good; Marcus didn’t trust a theater that had no mark of the actors who’d performed there.

Finally they came upon a general use area just outside the dressing rooms, and there she was, waiting for them. She’d changed out of her costume, and was wearing a simple button-down shirt tied at her waist over rather tight pants.

“My dearest Ms. la Blanc, another spectacular performance,” Holliday kissed both her cheeks and handed her the flowers.

“Thank you, mon cher,” she grinned. “It was my pleasure to perform as always.”

Now that she was closer, Marcus realized something. Her… face looked different up close. It was probably just the lack of stage makeup, but it looked somehow rounder, slightly more feminine.

“Who is your friend?” she asked, noticing Marcus.

“Ah, this is Mr. Pierson. He’s a business acquaintance of mine.”

“How do you do?”

She leaned forward, and he repeated the cheek-kissing. Very old-fashioned, very odd. But if that’s what they did here, he’d better follow along.

“Very well, thank you. You’re a very impressive singer.”

Holliday took a singular step in between them. “Now, don’t go poaching my best talent, Mr. Pierson.” He laughed, and his smile indicated a joke, but his eyes did not.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I don’t think you’re the type who would want to front a greasy rock band.”

“Oh, goodness no,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t know when to come in without a conductor.”

“Speaking of business,” Holliday interjected. “Mr. Pierson and I were just about to retire to the Tombstone. Would you care to join us?” He held out an arm, which Zellie took, nodding.

“I thought we were going to be talking business.”

“Oh, of course, of course. But I always like to warm up with a little game of cards, you see.. It gets the mind working. Unless you’re opposed?”

“I suppose not,” Marcus shrugged.

“Good,” Holliday grinned. “Though I must warn you, I almost never lose.”

There was something in his smile that Marcus didn’t like.