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Later that night, you find yourselves relaxing at a table. The Prince has just played his last encore for the night before retiring back stage. You are all well fed and watered by this point, just happy to be where you are and with your friends. (if you want a woman on your lap you have one)
A well-dressed young man appears at your table, his purple robes hugging a splendid specimen of a man. He bows smiling. “My master would like you to join him for drinks in his dressing room.”
I am pretty sure you all would just about fallout of your chairs at this moment, then begin scrambling to get up and follow the young man back around the expansive bar into a close hallway with draping strands of beads and silks along its length.
At a tee juncture the young man leads you to the left up a short flight of gilt stairs to a small landing, where two burly men stand arms crossed over ripped hairless chests. Biceps bulging at your approach and giving you the eye.
The effete young man waves hand imperially and the two hulks step aside to allow you to pass. Behind them is a large door of carved copper, spiraling dragons cavort on its surface with winged figures. The young man claps his hands and the door rolls aside into the wall, revealing a large room beyond, an intricately embroidered screen of flowing silk hangs neatly bisecting the room.
Large opulent couches and piles of silken throw pillows are strewn about this half of the room, with half a dozen finely crafted low dark wood tables, with gently glowing candles on them. Little spritely creatures move amongst the pillows and the tables. Adjusting the drape of the silk screen, or scraping candle wax from the table while replacing a candle that had burned out, another positioning the couch cushions to some exacting plan only it knows.
The young man steps aside at the threshold and motions for you to enter before him, “They await you within.” Gesturing to the area beyond the curtain.
Smiling your thanks you stroll through the room to the part in the curtain, Hrothgard in the lead. With one brawny arm Hroth parts the curtain and holds it up and aside. Revealing a purple lit room, with an immense black U shaped couch, the walls are covered with instruments, the end tables hold many bottles and cups, and the floor is a soft expertly woven rug with a design too big to take all in at once.
There is a single glass topped table sitting within the U of the couch, a pair of glasses, half full, with golden liqueur sit beside a fine crystalline decanter of the same liqueur, two fat red candles provide the magical violet light for the shadowy room. The Prince sitting casually in the center of the U, his bright white sequined suit brilliantly white in the dark room and against his dusky skin.
But all of these details escape you as you see Who the Prince is sitting hip to hip with, one of Prince’s delicate musician arms resting lightly, familiarly, across his guest’s willowy shoulder.
Grey smiles at you all and reaches forth to take up one of the glasses and offers you all a silent toast.