Their box was situated high on the left wall, offering a commanding, slightly angled view of the stage. Several plush armchairs, upholstered in the same deep red velvet as the main seating, were squeezed into the intimate space, all facing the grand proscenium. A low, polished wood railing, topped with a thick pane of curved glass, ran along the edge of the balcony, ensuring an unobstructed view while maintaining an air of sophisticated safety.
As they settled into their seats, Kev's eyes were immediately drawn upwards to the intricate paintings adorning the domed ceiling. Cindy sat down beside him, her presence a comforting warmth.
"May I have some popcorn, dear?" Cindy asked, her voice a soft murmur.
Kev, still captivated by the celestial scenes unfolding above, absently handed over the container of popcorn. The paintings were indeed impressive, depicting mammal beast people in classical, heroic poses, their modesty artfully preserved by strategically placed fig leaves and flowing drapery. It was a masterful blend of classical artistry and beastman mythology, a testament to the city's rich cultural heritage.
Kev's gaze finally swept over the rest of the seating, taking in the tiered balconies that curved around the auditorium and the dark expanse of the orchestra pit below. He looked back at Talon and Fang. Talon was quietly opening a small box of sour candies, his sharp eyes still scanning their immediate surroundings. Fang, in contrast, seemed to be surveying the assembled crowd with a distinctly bored expression, his regal purple suit making him stand out even in the dim light of the box.
Kev turned to Talon, a curious look on his face. "How did you know where our seats were?"
Talon swallowed a sour candy, a faint pucker on his beak. "The playbill usually has a seating map," he replied, his voice a low rasp.
Kev opened the small paper book that the salamander-woman had given him along with the tickets. As Kev read through the different information, like the actors' bios and the names of the musicians, he couldn't help but notice that half of the pages were just advertisements for businesses: lawyers, real-estate agents, restaurants, and vacation planners, all with catchy slogans and colorful pictures.
"Maybe we should advertise for the club in here," Kev remarked, a thoughtful expression on his face as he flipped through the glossy pages.
Cindy looked over at him, a gentle smile on her lips. "These nice people have different tastes than our normal customers, dear," she said, her voice soft and knowing.
Kev grinned. "It can't hurt to try to entice them," he replied. "Everyone here seems like they might have the time and money to spend a few dollars."
Before Cindy could respond, there was a wave of polite applause from the crowd below. The salamander-woman who had sold them tickets walked out onto the stage. Kev watched as she, now holding a microphone, pointed out the exits and explained that people should turn off their phones, and that flash photography was prohibited.
Cindy munched on Kev's popcorn ravenously, her excitement barely contained.
When the salamander-woman finished her announcements and left the stage, the lights in the grand auditorium dimmed, and a hush settled across the audience, a collective intake of breath in the sudden darkness.
Kev leaned back in his seat, not concerned that Cindy had seemingly claimed his popcorn. He was excited. This was the first entertainment he was really excited for. Asmodeus's music was great, but with all the other stimulation of the club, the constant thrum of conversation, the swirl of bodies, the scent of food and drink, it was hard for Kev to separate the art from the other overwhelming sensations the club produced. This opera was different. He was sitting in the dark, in a space designed for focused appreciation, and he was ready to give his full attention to the live performance.
Kev thought it was like TV, which he hadn't watched, other than muted glimpses when having dinner with Ralph in "The Sewer." He realized he kind of missed just sitting and watching something unfold, getting lost in a story.
A palpable thrill coursed through him. He felt little goosebumps forming on his arm as the orchestra, unseen in the pit below, began to swell with the first few notes. The sound was rich and resonant, filling the grand hall, promising a night of drama and passion.
The opera started basically as Kev expected. Two beastmen stepped onto opposite sides of the stage, their powerful voices filling the auditorium. One actor, a stoic wolf in a dark green military uniform, delivered a booming, melodious monologue about duty and order, the weight of his royal command to prevent riots evident in his every resonant note. The other, a gaunt but determined-looking fox in a faded yellow uniform, sang a mournful, yet defiant aria about hunger and the desperation of his people, his voice a clear tenor that tugged at the heartstrings.
Kev had just gotten comfortable in his seat, the plush velvet embracing him, and taken a large, curious sip of his mead when his eyes bulged. He nearly spat the sweet, honeyed liquid out onto the glass railing as the music swelled to a dramatic crescendo. The two beastmen, their monologues complete, ran at each other with a sudden, shocking ferocity. The leatherworker character, despite his leaner frame, moved with surprising power, scooping up the soldier and, with a guttural roar that blended bizarrely with the soaring orchestral score, powerbombed him onto the stage. The impact echoed through the theatre, a visceral thud that made Kev's jaw drop.
His eyes watered as he coughed, the unexpected violence a stark contrast to the elegant setting. More and more actors spilled onto the stage, a chaotic swirl of fur, feathers, and scales. They weren't just singing; they were fighting, their movements a strange, brutal ballet, their operatic voices rising in a chorus of rage and despair, punctuated by the sickening thuds of bodies hitting the stage. This was not the stately, refined performance Kev had envisioned. This was something altogether more… visceral.
Kev's mind went blank as he watched, the high action and visceral fighting having shocked him so much that he didn't even know who each character was or what the scene was about. Arm-bars, donkey kicks, choke slams, suplexes – Kev winced every time one of the actors was tossed around. It was like watching a choreographed riot set to Wagner. He looked over at Cindy, who was methodically finishing off his popcorn, her eyes wide and unblinking, utterly captivated by the spectacle on stage. She didn't flinch at the body slams or the operatic war cries.
Every now and then, a scene would conclude with a dramatic pose from a bloodied (and presumably, fake-bloodied) actor, and the audience would erupt in applause. Kev found himself a bit late in clapping each time, still trying to process the sheer audacity of what he was witnessing. This wasn't just opera; it was opera-meets-professional-wrestling, a bizarre and surprisingly engrossing hybrid.
As the first half ended, after a particularly fierce actress sang a powerful aria about turning the royalty's bones into flour while simultaneously executing a flawless short arm scissor on a guard, the house lights slowly came up. Kev didn't know what to say. He felt a strange mix of exhilaration and utter bewilderment. The mead, which he'd nearly choked on earlier, suddenly felt like a very appropriate beverage for such an unexpected evening.
As the clapping subsided and the house lights came back up, Kev smiled as he saw Cindy still clapping enthusiastically, a delighted expression on her face.
Fang growled, "Is it finally over?"
Talon, ever the stoic observer, stated, "This is just intermission."
Fang was about to launch into a complaint about the opera's length when Kev noticed the wolfman's gaze fixated across the theater. Kev followed Fang's line of sight to the box seats directly opposite them. An otterman in a sleek black suit, noticing Fang's attention, gave a small, almost imperceptible wave.
Fang's eyes narrowed. "Intermission, huh?" he said, his voice a low rumble. "I'll be back." With that, he rose and exited their box, his movements purposeful.
Cindy passed Kev the now-empty popcorn container and stood, stretching her legs with a contented sigh. "I want to stretch my legs a bit before the second act," she said, her eyes still sparkling from the performance.
Kev nodded. "Good idea." He stood up, and they walked back down the short staircase and into the bustle of the second-floor lounge, Talon following closely behind.
Kev and Cindy walked back into the 2nd-floor lounge, the space now humming with patrons discussing the dramatic first act. The bar was busy, attendants expertly pouring drinks and offering small, elegant snacks. Cindy's face was still flushed with excitement, her eyes bright.
"Oh, Kev," she said, her voice a delighted murmur as they found a couple of unoccupied armchairs, Talon dutifully taking a discreet position nearby. "The songs! I've heard them on the radio, of course, but seeing it live… it's so much more emotional, isn't it? The power in their voices, the raw feeling!" She clutched her handbag to her chest, her knuckles white.
Kev nodded, still trying to reconcile the soaring vocals with the image of the leatherworker executing a perfect moonsault. "It's definitely… impactful," he agreed, taking a slow sip of the mead Talon had procured for him.
Cindy leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. "What was your favorite part so far, dear? Was it the leatherworker's lament? Or perhaps the soldier's defiant stand? The staging for that was simply breathtaking!"
Kev's mind replayed a montage of punches, kicks, and dramatic body slams, all set to a surprisingly beautiful orchestral score. He searched for a specific song, a particular scene that stood out beyond the sheer spectacle of operatic wrestling, but his brain kept defaulting to the flying dropkick the gaunt fox had landed on a heavily armored guard. He cleared his throat. "You know, Cindy," he said, trying to sound thoughtful, "I can't pick just one part. It all flows together so… powerfully."
Cindy beamed, clapping her hands together softly. "Same here!" she exclaimed. "Everything is just perfect! I can't wait for the second act. I hear the ending is absolutely heartbreaking."
As they sat, enjoying the brief respite and the lively chatter around them, Kev noticed a familiar figure approaching. It was the salamander-woman from the ticket booth, her red velvet uniform a striking contrast to the more muted tones of the lounge. She navigated the tables with a practiced ease, her gaze fixed on their small group.
The salamander-woman reached their table, her earlier, slightly harried ticket-booth demeanor replaced by an air of polished authority. "Good evening," she said, her voice smooth and cultured. She extended a hand towards Cindy. "Mrs. Hellbender, Vice President of the Arts Council. It's a pleasure to see you enjoying the performance."
Cindy, her own smile warm and gracious, shook Mrs. Hellbender's hand. "Madam Cindy," she replied. "And the pleasure is all mine. It's a truly wonderful production."
Kev, not wanting to be rude, started to offer his hand as well, but Mrs. Hellbender's attention was already elsewhere. She gave Kev a cursory, almost dismissive glance before turning her gaze around the lounge. "The donation made for your box tickets was most generous," she continued, addressing Cindy. "We are so grateful for such patronage." Her eyes scanned the room again. "And where has the gentleman in the purple suit gone? I was hoping to thank him personally."
Kev, letting his hand drop, cleared his throat slightly. "Oh, Fang," he said, trying to sound casual. "I think he recognized someone when intermission started. Not sure where he went."
Mrs. Hellbender's head snapped back towards Kev, her yellow eyes widening slightly. "Fang?" she repeated, a hint of disbelief in her voice. "You don't mean... Mr. Fang? The owner of the, ah, nightclub?"
Cindy nodded serenely. "Yes, that's him," she confirmed. "This is his personal assistant, Mr. Kev."
Mrs. Hellbender's gaze landed on Kev with a sudden, sharp intensity. It was a completely different look than before, appraising, calculating, and undeniably intrigued. The earlier dismissal was gone, replaced by a keen interest. "Well, well," she said, a slow smile spreading across her features. "We are always so happy to find new arts lovers in the city, Mr. Kev."
Kev deflected smoothly, a charming smile on his face. "Oh, I can't take any credit, Mrs. Hellbender," he said. "Cindy is really the one responsible for this visit. She's the true arts enthusiast."
Cindy, however, wouldn't let him off the hook so easily. She gave Kev a knowing look, her eyes twinkling. "Don't be so modest, Mr. Kev," she said, her voice a gentle tease. "Without you, this would have never happened."
Kev chuckled nervously, caught between Cindy's gentle prodding and Mrs. Hellbender's newfound scrutiny. He knew he couldn't deny Cindy's assertion, not entirely. He looked at Mrs. Hellbender and offered a polite smile. "It really has been nice so far," he said. "The show has been very... memorable."
The salamander-woman seemed pleased by his appreciation. "Indeed," she said, her voice resonating with pride. "This particular performing troupe is renowned. They travel to major cities all across the world, bringing their unique brand of operatic drama to audiences everywhere."
Kev, still picturing the high-flying suplexes and thunderous powerbombs, nodded. "The actors are very resilient," he remarked, a genuine admiration in his voice. "The choreography is… intense. I would probably need months to recover if it wasn't perfect."
Mrs. Hellbender waved a dismissive, elegantly webbed hand. "Actors are artists, Mr. Kev," she stated, her tone matter-of-fact. "They push their bodies to give a good performance. It's part of the craft, the dedication required."
Cindy nodded in agreement, her expression serene.
Mrs. Hellbender continued, a hint of cold pragmatism in her voice, "And besides, there are thousands of hungry actors out there who would be willing to step into any of those roles at a moment's notice. The show must go on, after all."
Kev nodded, still trying to process the idea of such physical exertion being part of a classical performance. "I can't imagine singing while being thrown off the stage," he remarked, a touch of awe in his voice.
Mrs. Hellbender sighed, a slight frown marring her elegant features. "That's such a simple way of labeling it," she said, her tone a touch condescending. "The leatherworker, biel-throwing the Bazaar's guard was symbolic of the working class throwing off the shackles of food taxation. It's a pivotal moment, representing the shift in power."
Kev looked over at Cindy, who was nodding sagely, completely in agreement with Mrs. Hellbender's interpretation. Kev, however, still couldn't shake the image of the guard sailing through the air. "Oh," he said, "I thought it was symbolic of the actor needing a neck brace."
Mrs. Hellbender frowned and sighed again, a louder, more exasperated sound this time. "Art is so difficult for the masses to understand," she lamented, though her gaze remained on Kev.
Cindy smiled gently at Kev. "Indeed," she said, her voice a soft reassurance. "This is Mr. Kev's first time seeing a real dramatic performance outside of the club."
Mrs. Hellbender looked over at Cindy, her earlier frown replaced by another big, saccharine smile. "Oh, but don't sell Mr. Fang's establishment short," the salamander-woman said, her voice dripping with a newfound respect. "He must be a big advocate of the arts. Someone who is intelligent enough to give the legendary Mr. Asmodeus a residency must understand the power of performance."
Kev, knowing Cindy's less-than-enthusiastic feelings about Asmodeus, quickly interjected, "Asmodeus is very impressive," he said, his voice earnest. "He always seems to be thinking about how his music affects the atmosphere of the club."
Cindy offered a small, polite smile. "He does seem to get upset when he thinks the guests are not listening," she conceded delicately.
"His skill really is the real deal," Kev continued, "and he has even offered to teach me some instruments."
Cindy remarked, "The parrot's clothing is so loud he often does not even need to make a sound."
Mrs. Hellbender, however, was clearly impressed by the idea of Fang's resident maestro. "It would be such an honor if we could discuss having Mr. Asmodeus be a guest conductor during our Summer Solstice concert," she said, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "I know there might be some logistical issues due to Asmodeus's… colorful history, but the theater has lots of connections to the city proper. We can ensure everything runs smoothly."
Kev nervously glanced at Cindy, who maintained her serene composure. "If there's an audience, I'm sure he would be willing," Kev said carefully, "but Fang is the one who would make the decision."
"Of course, of course," Mrs. Hellbender replied, waving a dismissive hand. "We wanted to get Mr. Fang's contact information anyway, since he was so generous when purchasing tickets earlier."
Cindy laughed and said, "Oh, that pup just cannot be bothered with waiting for change."
Mrs. Hellbender's smile remained firmly in place. "Regardless," she said, her voice a persuasive purr, "we would love for the chance to add Mr. Fang's name to our list of sponsors. As a fellow professional in, uh, entertainment, I'm sure his heart is open to helping even the less affluent in the city taste a bit of class."
Cindy said, "Well, Mr. Fang is quite the busy man, but we will be sure to let him know."
Mrs. Hellbender's eyes narrowed slightly, her sales pitch clearly not finished. "Of course," she continued, her voice taking on an even more enticing tone. "The platinum level of sponsorship gives you the ability to buy tickets for shows before the public. It even allows you backstage access during specific shows."
Kev looked up at Cindy, who's eyes were now wide with a genuine, almost childlike excitement. Kev quickly said, "That is very generous of you, Miss Vice President, but as we've mentioned, we will let Fang know."
The salamander woman sighed, a delicate, almost inaudible sound of frustration. "Be sure you do," she said, pulling a sleek, embossed card from a small clutch. Just as she extended it towards Kev, Talon, who had been standing silently nearby, stepped forward with surprising speed and snatched the offered card from her outstretched fingers.
Mrs. Hellbender let out a startled, "Excuse you!" her carefully composed expression faltering for a moment.
Cindy looked back at Talon, then at Mrs. Hellbender, her smile warm and unwavering. "Mr. Fang is a difficult man to contact," she said, her voice a soothing melody, "but we will let him know about your interests."
Mrs. Hellbender coughed, composing herself with a visible effort. "Thank you, Madam Cindy," she said, her voice regaining its professional polish. "All of us here at the theatre are always so happy to host arts lovers." She gave Kev and Talon a final, slightly exasperated look before turning on her heel and gliding away to mingle with a different group of wealthy beastmen in the VIP bar.