Who: Kali & Saraswati Where: Shanti When: 04/21, Wednesday evening, an hour and a half before the club opens. Warnings: None/TBA
Kali did not follow the state of affairs in the city through the various online blogs and journals, and she didn't need to on Wednesday. She'd run errands earlier in the morning at the market, strolled through the side streets, visited one of her favorite Indian food-carts in Queens, and the air was rife with... something. It was faint for Kali, but she could feel it, an acrid taste in her mouth, like she'd just eaten something too old to be eaten. She was acutely aware, however, that her own presence was fraying the edges of reality more than it would have on any given day, as if something, somewhere, was tearing a hole in it. Or trying to. She smelled something burning, tasted ash on her tongue, and she itched to make it so. Nothing some work at Shanti couldn't scratch.
She happened to glance at the journals over Uma's shoulder while the girl was studying for her Hindu religion and philosophy class. Or was supposed to be studying. She saw Saraswati's post, responded, was momentarily intrigued.
So now, as the doors to the club would open for business in a little under two hours, she was perched on the bar's top, glancing over her set list for the evening, while Uma and the cooks ran around readying everything, preparing the lights, and so on. The big screen that stretched from floor to high ceiling behind the DJ stand was already playing remixed/bizarrely edited Indian film clips. Her guest would be there shortly, for she could feel Saraswati's presence in the city far more than she could feel that of any chaotic gods of dead and dying faiths.