Tips: 0.00 INK
by Remæus on Mon Apr 17, 2006 5:07 pm
Club Sol
Sometime in the centuries long past, an elegant marble building was constructed for some equally elegant purpose. Wide enough to require five men to encircle, pillars made of creamy white marble lined the extruded front of the decidedly French Victorian structure, only to be accentuated by the darker yet equally extravagant gold trim splashed across the facade as if some supernatural sculptor himself had graced the building with blessed breath. This facade appeared to lean towards the cobblestone road, as it covered a sort of breezeway that crossed the faded green lawn of unnaturally kept foliage. Wrought iron knotwork rose to a giant's knee, taking the shape of a barricade to surround the premises, only to come to a lone gap patched by a doubly intricate instep of gates, folding inwards towards the breezeway only to be hinged in twin back outwards yet again. The building itself was the only overshadow to this fence of iron, quite nakedly as the only structure within, one might add. The entire structure lay trimmed with the gold and the equitably detailed marblework, painting elaborate scenes of mythical descent with light and shadow. Beautifally elegant forms with clothes that flew like currents in a mountain river with extended and seemingly exaggerated sets of feathered wings were offset by greusome figures with an equally disgusting lack of clothes, and skin for that matter. The towering roof of domed marble appeared to be contructed of a single stone, capped only by a cap of gold as the high point upon the structure, which accordingly took notice of all the ins and outs of the building in ageless years.
Stepping inside led one to an elaborate anteroom, filled with artifacts of renaissance glory all the way up the twin stairs that surrounded a single set of thickly planted oak in the form of two large french doors. She was the way in and out of the main ballroom downstairs, and was duly covered by four men in suits who would have been mistaken for clothed sculptures had they not been so occasionally jovial. Red carpet lined the entire way, from the front door and on up the stairs, to the oaken portal into the next room.
Into the passage they would go, and down a set of widening stairs to find a wholly different scene. The double high marble ceiling gave way to scaffolding housing hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of credits worth of sound, light, and effects equipment. The velvet carpet beneath split off to the left and to the right, to hide behind more marble pillars, to cater to those who headed to the seats and tables behind these pillars, which were also backed by a full-stock bar and grill. Black hoods drew air away from the open-platter grills, while what was left of the walls was lined to the ceiling in racks of alchoholic (and other drugged) beverages and foods. The occasional door would lead through this plethora of drink, presumably to some kitchen hidden away within this ancient building. Now one level underground, the center floor was free from solid interruption, only to be usually occupied by a sea of dancers and partyers. Finally, towards the back of the room, a large pallet rose above to floor to mount several more thousands of credits worth of computers and several chairs that had most likely seated some noble long past, but were now gracefully utilized as most comfortable seating arrangements for the disc jockeys on clock twenty four seven.
And the music played, and the night was made.
OOC: Sorry. Had a spasm. It's a club. Have fun.
Alvin Toffler wrote:The illiterates of the 21st century will not be those who cannot read and write but those who cannot learn, unlearn, and relearn.
Take a moment and consider joining
my Patreon group, where I share personal development updates and plans for the future...
Tip jar: the author of this post has received
0.00 INK
in return for their work.