The Dark Opus

Chapter Two: Lime

Cynthia here. Sorry to everyone who read the Chapter two that was on previously, but I just had to rewrite it. It felt wrong -this one, I think , feels better. I hope you like it :)

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Chapter Two: Lime

The night wore on. The music had a slowed to a stop the moment I’d left Chéri’s table, and instead an eerie silence had swallowed up the cafe, allowing it’s occupants to hum quietly, conversation still lingering as, backstage, the actors began to prepare. That night’s operetta was a piece written and composed by one of the cafe’s frequent dwellers. Marcus, of course, was going to be playing the lead comedian and soloist, while eight other actors ran around him to amuse people. A band was set up on a separate stage –one that was nearly hidden behind a protruding wall to disallow any distraction that could perturb the musicians. And the musicians, like the composer, were also amateurs and nightly crawlers of the Opus –recruited regularly, though, to show off their skills in frequent shows that were performed at the Opus.

And by frequent, I meant extremely rare.

“This is quite depressing”, I muttered to Fay as I joined her behind the counter. “It’s the fifth time this week that Marcus’ troupe’s performed George’s piece.” I grabbed a bottle of lime green liquid from one of the shelves, and distractedly began refilling it. I shook my head, spewing out my frustrations, “It’s like people don’t want to perform anymore! It’s like all this talent –which I know exists here”, I gestured at the buzzing crowd, “just doesn’t want to showcase it.” My hand shook with irate, and I realised I’d spilled some of the green liquid all over the counter. As I glanced at Fay, I realised she’d actually been watching me. Her violet eyes glowed –with something close to ferocity.

“I’m sorry.”

I hastily put the bottle down and reached under the counter for a wet cloth. Anxious, my hand patted every corner and abyss it could reach but I couldn’t get the cloth. I bent down, catching one last glance at Fay’s dagger eyes, and disappeared under the counter. It got dark. The wooden levels of the counter stretched across like steppes on a high mountain. They went on and on in the dimness forever, and I only searched the spaces I could reach.

Along these counters were everything that was hidden from the say. Mugs, coffee machines, little containers filled with cookies and homemade muffins. I pushed one specific container which held some butter, in search of the wet cloth that I was sure was there. And I actually got slightly desperate –the lime liquid was running along the table and dripping down my back. I winced as the first sticky drop trailed down my back.

A hand clasped itself around my arm and I was roughly pulled up. Fay’s rouged lips, lilac eyes and orange hair, cascading lusciously down her face, faced me with a fearful symmetry. “I’ve got the wipe, moron.”

I yanked myself out of her grip. “Why didn’t you tell me, then?”

I watched her shrug. I threw my arm to get rid of the numb pain and began trailing my fingers through the liquid on the counter. “What do you propose I do then, Fay?”

This time, her cherry lips smiled. “Why not lick it off the counter –“

I’d only managed to give a second of my renown glare when, suddenly, a loud noise from one of the saxophones on the clandestine stage erupted. It was high pitched –painful and slightly searing and I looked around to see if it had the same effect on everyone else but me. And to my annoyance, people around the cafe were clapping as a tall, built figure made his way across the stage to the centre, grinning broadly as the wave of applause only got louder.