PGDO: Dinner and a Show

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 3 – Spindrift]

> That was, however, the only possibly steamy meme of the moment. Just
> now, the focus was more collegiate than erotic, everyone working
> together to help each other look their very best for the coming
> evening. That meant helping each other sponge away any dirt or grime
> from the day’s rummaging, followed by collective hair brushing and
> other collective group preparations. Into all of which a bemused
> Finfin was invited to participate, Mel and Mithi showing several of
> their pals just how the elf enjoyed having his own flowing tresses
> brushed as he in turn gently brushed Josie’s flaming locks.

Soon, despite the engaging scenery, it was time to start pulling on
their evening attire. Only Tramma had any firsthand experience with
evening gowns, and both the Pussycats and Mithi were giggling happily as
both bard and elf helped them to the sensuous feel of first silk
scanties followed by custom fitted lingerie. Eeling into fine evening
gowns was also beyond most of the ladies’ collective experiences. Here,
Tramma indulged herself in a moment of “teach the teacher”, and
carefully instructed Finfin on how to do the honours. The ladies in turn
then helped Finfin into his finest Dress Dorian Grays.

Several happy minutes later, all stood before the large polished mirror,
admiring both themselves and their friends.

“Now, Fin,” Tramma asked in a gently teasing voice, “can you honestly
say as a healthy male that we *all* look appealing?”

“I most certainly can,” the elf avowed.

Josie snorted in amusement. “Looks to me like Mel’s about to burst out
of her gown. I bet she’ll be catching the eyes of a lotta guys wondering
if or when that’ll happen.”

“D’you think so?” Mel asked Finfin, not at all displeased by the news.

“It is a most *certainly* captivating sight,” the elven officer admitted.

“Oh, good!” Mel enthused. She then gave her chest first a cautious, and
then a more pronounced shake, and Finfin was not the only one present
enjoying the sight. “Doesn’t *seem* like I’m gonna fall out,” the blonde
Pussycat cheerfully observed.

“That’s fanks ta custom fitting!” Mith laughed. “Oi wouldn’t do anyfing
*too* strenuous in these fine togs, but otherwise they oughtter ‘old
together.”

“Now,” Tramma interjected. “Everyone neat and pretty? Then on with the
show!” Not for the first time, only Mithi giggled at the quip,
suggesting that the silver haired bard was riffing on something specific
to Yelti or Numenorean culture, and unknown to the rest.

Soon afterwards, they were back in the dining salon, enjoying a variety
of pre-dinner drinks. Curiously enough, nobody was interested in any
serious intoxicants. Even Tramma, who had been known to overindulge in
recreational substances on occasion, preferred to keep a level head for
the up and coming evening. However, the bartender was a master of his
trade, and soon had an enticing array of fruity “virgin” drinks that
lacked alcohol, but held plenty of creativity. More than a few were
named after fabled distant Numenorean ports of call, each one exotic in
both name and taste.

A gentle gong then called the guests to the table. For just a moment,
there was just the slightest amount of confusion over the seating. The
Pussycats had naturally nudged Finfin towards one end of the table, and
Josie at the far end. Perhaps the notion was to recognize that as the
senior wizard and warrior present, the elf should occupy one head of the
table, while as bandleader Josie would occupy the other. However, Tramma
quickly pointed out the flaw in that notion. As a recognized couple,
Finfin and Mithi should properly be seated *across* from each other.
With a laugh, the quick rearrangement was made, Josie keeping her place
of honour at one end, and Tramma as their native guide at the other.

Dinner was top tier. A quiet discussion about the meal on their previous
visit had Tramma select a sumptuous five course meal designed to both
feed and entice the palettes of the guests, while tending to their
appetites. All while *not* overdoing it; the meal was both five star and
five courses, but each were carefully controlled dainty portions,
excelling not just in taste, but in presentation. And the courses built
upon each other, starting from a varied cheese and chutney plate to an
ethereally thin soup, followed by a dainty salad. The mains and desert
were similarly enticing. While a course by itself would have been no
more than a snack, taken as a whole they complemented each other,
collecting together into a wonderful meal that was more than just the
sum of its parts. All without leaving anyone feeling overstuffed or
drowsy. And to chase away any possible feeling of being overfed or
tired, the dessert course was rounded off by a fine selection of *very*
strong coffees from all over both the continent and beyond. All
carefully served *without* the usual brandies or other liqueurs.

And afterwards, at the guests’ request, the chef put in an appearance,
and smiled indulgently at their compliments. Not to mention the bottle
of wine they ordered with the waiter to be sent along to the kitchens.
Finally, Tramma pushed back from her chair. “Time for us to be moving
on, boys and girls,” she stated.

“*Boy* and girls,” Josie corrected.

“Boy and girls,” Tramma allowed. “We’ve got plenty of time before
showtime, but we’ve got to move a little bit down the Row to get to the
Casino Royale.”

“That’s where those tickets you scored are from?” Val asked curiously.

“Yup!” Tramma confirmed. And so after a brief return to the penthouse
suite’s living quarters, all were back in the main foyer about to leave
for the evening. Mithi was helping Finfin adjust the fit of his
swordbelt to his Dress Grays while Mel flicked an imaginary bit of dust
from the trio of bars on his lapels.

“Will there be any issues of me being obviously armed?” he asked their
native guide.

“*Shouldn’t* be,” Tramma mused. “Certainly not out on the Row. You’re an
officer and a gentleman, expected to *keep* The Peace. And if there’s
one thing that people on both sides of the law can agree on here is that
tourists are NOT to be messed with on the Row. That’s where the town’s
money comes in, and if anyone was idiotic enough to start trouble,
they’d best hope that the Whitehats get to them first, and not the Mob.
Maybe a *little* less true down on the far side of the Row, but I’m not
planning on taking us there.”

“And here in Ragnir’s, and this Casino Royale?” the elf prompted.

“Here, you’re fine enough,” Tramma mused. “Now, the Casino Royale
*might* be a little sticky; they absolutely will NOT put up with anyone
making a scene on their premises. But again, an allied military officer
is *expected* to be armed, and to be available to be called upon if
needed. So *maybe* they may hold us up for a bit until they can get a
bonetosser to confirm you’re on the up and up. Which is why we’d better
leave now in case we’re held up at the door.”

However, Tramma’s concern proved to be unfounded. Perhaps it was a
background channel between the casinos and the government, or perhaps
for reasons unimagined, but the door staff at the Casino Royale seemed
to be expecting the elf and his party. All it took was one hard look to
confirm Finfin’s identity, and the crew were ushered within and escorted
into the Grand Auditorium where tonight’s headline show would soon begin.

The experience was pleasant enough for both Mithi and Finfin. Neither
were particularly up on musical shows, but they knew what they liked…
and they liked the night’s concert a LOT. Tramma, too, looked dreamily
on. Unlike her two wizard pals, the bard could appreciate the artistry
on both a technical as well as visceral level. But understanding just
HOW the music was made only intensified Tramma’s appreciation.

The Pussycats, however, were simply transported. They were excellent
performers themselves, and routinely played to large audiences. Large
*Forest People* audiences, with more recent performances in and around
the settlers, and most recently out on the Kirith River Plains. But
nothing they had ever done compared with the size of a high energy
Spindrift evening show, placed on a thrust proscenium stage playing to a
full house. All three were staring in rapt wonder at the sight as the
sound transported them into musical bliss. Now, perhaps Val’s eyes were
more often fixed on the wonders of what modern and well funded Stage
Magic might provide rather than on the performers, but all three
Pussycats were well and truly captivated.