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entrippy is dead. long live entrippy.
Smoke drifts through the club, wafting gently over the nearly empty tables. The crowd is small and devoted, here not because they want to be cool, or even because they want to be here. Everyone sitting, with the gentle easy light of satisfaction in thier eyes is here because they need to be. See the girl over there in the corner? She's new here - you can tell by the look of confusion in her eyes. Drawn here by need more biological than intellectual, pulled toward something she knows she's been looking for, with no idea of what it is now she's found it.
She'll find out soon.
The lights fade slowly down, leaving a dark room even darker, the shadows clawing at the small pools of candlelight, begging entrance, demanding sanctuary. The irony of the shadow, it's own need, like the need of those here - pulling toward the light it can never touch, but forced to hug the edges of whats real. The lights get dimmer and a man steps forward. No-one looks up, except the new girl. Everyone else understands that you don't spend any energy except for whats important. You don't do anything except listen.
Seven people begin to listen to the silence, as Shadow raises his hands.
The lightest touch on the edge of the desk, the beginnings of a sweet melody - a light tune to match the light touch. Nothing but a flute playing in a meadow. Yet you know as you hear that the flute alone is not what you're hearing. You know, just know that behind the flautist is a full band, ready to play. Ready to bring thier vision to you through glorious sound. A moments melody carries the anticipation of a crescendo.
That would be too easy for the Shadow however, he pulls away the flute, replacing it almost unoticably with a bass, building slowly as he beings to work his magic.