Kamakhya Bhairavi (_kala_) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-06-12 15:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | kali |
Who: Kali, NPC employee Uma & Open to Everyone!
When: Friday evening to Dawn, Saturday.
Where: Club Shanti, near Greenwich Village
What: Preparation for a party -->This: dancing, DJ Kala's mixed music and other various music she enjoys. She will be performing & mixing, but also while other tunes play she'll be socializing. Fun times!
Warnings: TBD. Depends who shows up. But, Club Shanti is a non-violent solace/neutral ground where all are welcome.
Uma was running around like a mad woman trying to prepare the club for her employer's show and set. She was not entirely forewarned about this event, but was it not entirely surprising when her unpredictable boss threw together the flier only days ago, having Uma write it, because Uma was good at writing delightfully infectious and ridiculous amounts of enthusiasm. If Kala were to write such an ad, Uma mused, it would likely only read, "CLUB SHANTI IS AWESOME. PLZ COME & DANCE!", because, while Kala was immensely creative and innovative, she often got so wrapped up in the glory of her work that words failed her. It was one of the many endearing qualities about Kala, and that Kala even had such endearing qualities one of the many reasons Uma had worked with her and for her as long as she had.
Said boss Kala was standing up on platform, leafing through pages of her scrawled notes that were mostly in Sanskrit but also, Uma noticed, in various other languages for which Kala had no reason to know but somehow did. A lot of it looked like gibberish.
If Chaos had a language, it was in that notebook.
Haphazard glam marked every fiber of Kala's being, particularly in her attire, which was surprisingly modest, only the bright color of her lime green camisole dress subtly clashed with the soft heather grey of the long open cardigan that moved softly with her in her subtle dance, as she always seemed to be moving, if only slightly. The only thing outrageous was the oversize authoritarian hat perched upon a head crowned by riotous black curls. Disciplinary action for mankind.
It was 7:20, and a few regulars had already begun to filter in. They consisted of dew-eyed college students from the various classes Kala J. was the teacher's assistant for, as well as some of her colleagues and professors with whom she had developed some trace of what might be considered friendship. The mix of communities and cultures would be impressive; Kala regularly drew in denizens of subcultural movements that would usually be impossible to bring in. It was because of her eclectic sets and play lists, which ranged from remixed inspirational chanting and citar music, as well as music that tapped into the darker recesses of the human psyche and heart. To say the least, there were flocks of black leather boots and corsets, as well as long flowing skirts and peasant's blouses, and crisp suits on men and women who bee-lined for Club Shanti from the financial district the moment they clocked out.
People liked Shanti. People liked Kala. She was infectious. They felt safe in her music and her establishment, and they left no longer worrying about their harrowing week at work or whatever other trivial things about their week bothered them. She, for the five to eight hours she held them within her grasp, would reach within their minds and hearts and destroy what sense of "self" and "ego" they apparently held within themselves. She was not a drug. She was not a demon. She was not of heaven, and not of hell. She was nothing, and she was everything. She was the darkness to Shiva's light, she destroyed and then, she created. Her dance was infinite, and it is said, when she stops, the world would end. And that night, it would, for some people. For the world is always ending, for someone. Their minds, their hearts, would be sacrificed on the altar that was Club Shanti, and they would be hers, forever. In such was a feverish protection and solace, unwavering.
In Kali's presence, they, whoever they thought they were, no longer existed. They only danced. They only moved. And in such, was bliss.
Uma just liked her. The Norwegian didn't know why she had such a fondness for her employer. She was nice, she was incredibly funny and ultimately, the best friend and employer a girl like Uma could hope for. Uma did not ask questions about Kala's past or true identity - and it was impossible for the girl not to know Kala for who she truly was. She did not ask why Club Shanti's decor was the way it was: for such a place of peace, the color and lighting on some nights made it feel as if Uma had stepped into a shrine of death. Tonight, however, the club was beautifully lit in reds and violets, with yellow silks draping from the high ceiling and light filtering through them to create stunning, exquisite colors that elsewhere would likely be impossible.
Club Shanti itself was composed of a sprawling ground floor and three unique terraced levels above it: the ground floor, where the bar was, was sprawling and expansive and almost circular. The bar itself was in the center and circular as well, serving anything a guest might want and then some. Above the dance floor was a small platform on which DJ Kala herself was currently perched, beginning her dance and sway into the set she'd put together for this particular event. Across the room, stairs led up to the second floor, which was a wide, crescent shaped balcony that overlooked the dance floor, bar, and DJ. Here, there were tables for groups to rest at, as well as some shelves to place their belongings in. A shimmering onyx spiral staircase lead up to the third terrace, which was another dance floor, elevated and on an entirely different plane than the dance floor below, where the music was softer, smoother, and more sensual. Cushions lined the wall here, and there was a small bar as well. Opposite these two terraces was a wide screen that lined the wall and stopped just behind where DJ Kala played below. Projected onto it this evening were various scenes from popular Bollywood movies, put on silent and instead played to whatever music DJ Kala spun, or whatever music she left playing while mingling with the throng below.
Uma sighed, watching Kala begin. She leaned against the bar, waiting for the bartender to get the drinks she'd just called ready, and would enjoy the evening, regardless of how much it was already making her feet hurt, her head pulse, and her skin sweat. She wiped one of her golden braids over her shoulder, and smiled at some regulars who passed by.
Because, she found, when in Kala's presence, none of these things mattered, so long as she remembered to breathe.
It was eight thirty now. Kala's flashing black eyes lifted from her notes and her music, meeting Uma's gaze. Uma waved and smiled like a kid drunk on cotton candy, and moved toward the main entrance, which was a grand red door with "SHANTI" scrawled in Sanskrit upon it. Uma mouthed something to the man there, a big guy with pomade-slicked black hair and dark eyeliner decorating his enormous blue eyes. He was a "bouncer", but it was likely he would not be needed tonight. Uma slipped him a small piece of paper as he let some young 20-somethings through, on which read certain names or descriptions of people - of beings - to allow to enter without a cover. The man nodded gruffly. Uma knew what it meant, of course.
It meant that tonight was going to be different.
Possibly.