Fat Tony... wasn't. He'd earned the nickname a long time ago, and as is the way with such things, he was stuck with it for the rest of his life. The
idea of that didn't bother him -- at a subconscious level he considered it right and just and the only way things could possibly be, a man's nickname
was his identity, after all -- but when someone referred to him that way, after all the hassle he'd gone to and the dieting and the working out in the gym
and the freakin' Weight Watchers meetings and all of that CRAP... well, he got a bit irritated.
Yeah, he was Fat Tony, but he was Fat Tony to people who'd earned the right to call him Fat Tony. And this worm didn't qualify. Mister DiAmazzio
would do, or just Tony if the guy was feeling informal, he didn't care.
With a minor twitch of his head he forced himself to pay attention to the union rep. The oily character was, in Tony's opinion, more deserving of the
nickname than he himself currently was, by a good eighty pounds if he was any judge, but -- bah.
"So let me get this straight," he said, picking up a pen from his desk and fiddling with it. "You want me to kick out my best headliner?
She's positioned, Jerry. You know what that means, right? Within the next month, maybe two, she'll hit it big, and that'll all trickle right back
down here 'cause good ol' Tony's the one who gave her her big break. You get it?" He snorted and leaned back in his seat. "I don't
give a rat's left nut about how she pulls it off. The crowds love her, my boys love her, hell, I might like her a little myself. So what if she's too
good at the biz to suit you?" He nodded slowly. "That's it, isn't it? Your other performers getting jealous?" He snorted
contemptously.
"It's not that, F-T." Tony winced as Jerry continued. "See, she's different. Her tricks are -real-, get it?" The union rep
settled back in his seat and glowered at Tony. "The insurance guys are going nuts. She's not covered by the union anymore, and you're a union
shop. So if you know what's good for you, you'll dump her before any customer gets the idea that maybe their head is really being messed with, and not
by stage magic."
"Half the damn shows in Vegas are real these days, Jerry!" Tony exploded, rattling the office windows. "People -want- real magic shit!
They're lining up by the hundreds to pay for it!"
"At the big-name places, yeah. The big names that can afford the big-name lawyers and the big-name bank account and the big-name insurance to settle
lawsuits, Tony. You ain't a big-name place, and the union doesn't support metahuman performers anyway. They've got their own group." Jerry
scowled. "Your choice, F-T. Pull her, or we pull everyone else, 'cause we sure as hell ain't goin' down on behalf of your little hole in the
wall. You wanna face the lawsuits once word of what she's been doin' gets around, you're doin' it on your own."
"I don't take well to threats, Jerry."
"Ain't a threat, or a promise. It's just the way things are." Jerry rose and straightened his suit. "I'll give you a day to make
up your mind, so long as she don't perform tonight. After that, well, we'll see, right?"
The door closed quietly behind Jerry, leaving Tony to stare, fuming, at the visitors chair. Finally he sighed and stabbed at his desk buzzer. "Find
Rebecca and send her in to me. And get me the checkbook."
"So that's it, then."
"I'm sorry, kid, God knows I really am. You were gonna be my ticket outta this dump; think I want you to go?" Tony looked miserable. "But
it's all I got, and I can't risk it, you know? Only fools gamble in Vegas."
Rebecca chuckled at the old saying. She'd known it couldn't last, and despite her tricks and illusions and decent-but-not-stellar singing voice, she
hadn't yet managed to break in to any of the big shows. Tony's dive was the best she'd managed, and while she had a loyal, and growing, following,
it wasn't enough. Not yet.
And now it wouldn't be. She looked down at the check in her hand. Tony had been generous, for him -- an amount equal to a full month of her usual
earnings. Which wasn't all that much, yet, but it meant she had money to live on, for a little while. But not here, not if she wanted time to find a job.
This and the paltry sum in her savings account would last maybe another month after her next rent payment in three days.
She looked up at Tony. "I appreciate this, Tony. You've been a lot nicer to me than... well, some other places have."
"What're you gonna do now?"
Rebecca hoisted her duffel -- she'd been on her way to the dressing rooms when Tony's secretary, flushed and breathless, had found her -- and regarded
the check again.
"I always wanted to be a vet, you know," she said thoughtfully. "I think I'll find someplace where I can do something useful, and go back
to school at the same time. I'm tired of showbiz. It's all... an illusion." She winked and waved her hand through the air, causing a glittering
trail to form and snake around her body. "Nothing but smoke and mirrors, Tony. And the stuff that dreams are crushed with." The glitter trail bled
into her body, and with the smallest of efforts she changed the appearance of her worn sweats to her stage costume.
She was Illusionestra, the Mistress of Light and Illusion. It was a hard-earned title, and if she had to go, then she was going to go out in -style-.
"Good luck, Tony. You're one of the good ones in this town. I'll see you around... but you won't see me."
The glow surrounding her flared, laser-like bands of light blazing outwards and dazzling her audience, and with a pop like a soap bubble, it burst... leaving
nothing in its wake. She had vanished.
"... damn, she's good." Tony chuckled in the empty room. He got up and headed outside, fumbling in his pocket for his cigarettes as he went.
Grinning to herself, Rebecca slipped through the door on his heels, her power reaching out and causing him to forget the slight bump he felt when she nudged
him as soon as it occurred. She breezed through the office and out the delivery entrance, which stood blocked open to bring some fresh air into the old
building. A block away she popped back into view, giggling. She'd miss this place, in a way... but maybe it was time to move on.
"If life is a stage," she murmured to herself as she plotted what to pack and what to leave to her roommate, "then I've just started the
second act."
Illusionestra is one of my favorite characters to play in some ways, even though she's been stagnating for the past few
months. But she came back out for the Cavern trial last night and I realized that most people haven't 'met' her yet, and... well, this
happened.
I blame Ankh, but that's always a safe move anyway.
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
idea of that didn't bother him -- at a subconscious level he considered it right and just and the only way things could possibly be, a man's nickname
was his identity, after all -- but when someone referred to him that way, after all the hassle he'd gone to and the dieting and the working out in the gym
and the freakin' Weight Watchers meetings and all of that CRAP... well, he got a bit irritated.
Yeah, he was Fat Tony, but he was Fat Tony to people who'd earned the right to call him Fat Tony. And this worm didn't qualify. Mister DiAmazzio
would do, or just Tony if the guy was feeling informal, he didn't care.
With a minor twitch of his head he forced himself to pay attention to the union rep. The oily character was, in Tony's opinion, more deserving of the
nickname than he himself currently was, by a good eighty pounds if he was any judge, but -- bah.
"So let me get this straight," he said, picking up a pen from his desk and fiddling with it. "You want me to kick out my best headliner?
She's positioned, Jerry. You know what that means, right? Within the next month, maybe two, she'll hit it big, and that'll all trickle right back
down here 'cause good ol' Tony's the one who gave her her big break. You get it?" He snorted and leaned back in his seat. "I don't
give a rat's left nut about how she pulls it off. The crowds love her, my boys love her, hell, I might like her a little myself. So what if she's too
good at the biz to suit you?" He nodded slowly. "That's it, isn't it? Your other performers getting jealous?" He snorted
contemptously.
"It's not that, F-T." Tony winced as Jerry continued. "See, she's different. Her tricks are -real-, get it?" The union rep
settled back in his seat and glowered at Tony. "The insurance guys are going nuts. She's not covered by the union anymore, and you're a union
shop. So if you know what's good for you, you'll dump her before any customer gets the idea that maybe their head is really being messed with, and not
by stage magic."
"Half the damn shows in Vegas are real these days, Jerry!" Tony exploded, rattling the office windows. "People -want- real magic shit!
They're lining up by the hundreds to pay for it!"
"At the big-name places, yeah. The big names that can afford the big-name lawyers and the big-name bank account and the big-name insurance to settle
lawsuits, Tony. You ain't a big-name place, and the union doesn't support metahuman performers anyway. They've got their own group." Jerry
scowled. "Your choice, F-T. Pull her, or we pull everyone else, 'cause we sure as hell ain't goin' down on behalf of your little hole in the
wall. You wanna face the lawsuits once word of what she's been doin' gets around, you're doin' it on your own."
"I don't take well to threats, Jerry."
"Ain't a threat, or a promise. It's just the way things are." Jerry rose and straightened his suit. "I'll give you a day to make
up your mind, so long as she don't perform tonight. After that, well, we'll see, right?"
The door closed quietly behind Jerry, leaving Tony to stare, fuming, at the visitors chair. Finally he sighed and stabbed at his desk buzzer. "Find
Rebecca and send her in to me. And get me the checkbook."
"So that's it, then."
"I'm sorry, kid, God knows I really am. You were gonna be my ticket outta this dump; think I want you to go?" Tony looked miserable. "But
it's all I got, and I can't risk it, you know? Only fools gamble in Vegas."
Rebecca chuckled at the old saying. She'd known it couldn't last, and despite her tricks and illusions and decent-but-not-stellar singing voice, she
hadn't yet managed to break in to any of the big shows. Tony's dive was the best she'd managed, and while she had a loyal, and growing, following,
it wasn't enough. Not yet.
And now it wouldn't be. She looked down at the check in her hand. Tony had been generous, for him -- an amount equal to a full month of her usual
earnings. Which wasn't all that much, yet, but it meant she had money to live on, for a little while. But not here, not if she wanted time to find a job.
This and the paltry sum in her savings account would last maybe another month after her next rent payment in three days.
She looked up at Tony. "I appreciate this, Tony. You've been a lot nicer to me than... well, some other places have."
"What're you gonna do now?"
Rebecca hoisted her duffel -- she'd been on her way to the dressing rooms when Tony's secretary, flushed and breathless, had found her -- and regarded
the check again.
"I always wanted to be a vet, you know," she said thoughtfully. "I think I'll find someplace where I can do something useful, and go back
to school at the same time. I'm tired of showbiz. It's all... an illusion." She winked and waved her hand through the air, causing a glittering
trail to form and snake around her body. "Nothing but smoke and mirrors, Tony. And the stuff that dreams are crushed with." The glitter trail bled
into her body, and with the smallest of efforts she changed the appearance of her worn sweats to her stage costume.
She was Illusionestra, the Mistress of Light and Illusion. It was a hard-earned title, and if she had to go, then she was going to go out in -style-.
"Good luck, Tony. You're one of the good ones in this town. I'll see you around... but you won't see me."
The glow surrounding her flared, laser-like bands of light blazing outwards and dazzling her audience, and with a pop like a soap bubble, it burst... leaving
nothing in its wake. She had vanished.
"... damn, she's good." Tony chuckled in the empty room. He got up and headed outside, fumbling in his pocket for his cigarettes as he went.
Grinning to herself, Rebecca slipped through the door on his heels, her power reaching out and causing him to forget the slight bump he felt when she nudged
him as soon as it occurred. She breezed through the office and out the delivery entrance, which stood blocked open to bring some fresh air into the old
building. A block away she popped back into view, giggling. She'd miss this place, in a way... but maybe it was time to move on.
"If life is a stage," she murmured to herself as she plotted what to pack and what to leave to her roommate, "then I've just started the
second act."
Illusionestra is one of my favorite characters to play in some ways, even though she's been stagnating for the past few
months. But she came back out for the Cavern trial last night and I realized that most people haven't 'met' her yet, and... well, this
happened.
I blame Ankh, but that's always a safe move anyway.
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
