<hr/><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/ac/600full-kenneth-branagh.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Tommy Flanagan (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9819558#msg9819558)<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>None<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 11, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Babel's Tower, Backstage<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Annabel Montgomery<br/><hr/><br/>Tommy ran down a simple scale on the keyboard, the stained ivory keys falling one after another, each note worse than the last. He winced and pulled back his hand like he'd grabbed a skillet left near the fire. The Babel's Tower had gone up incredibly quickly, and if you didn't look or listen too closely then you'd miss the things that had fallen through the cracks. Things like piano tuning. Tommy doubted there was a single professional piano tuner in all of Gomorra, unless maybe one of those eccentrics over at the Collegium happened to have that as a particular interest. Maybe in a couple of days he'd try to persuade Mr. Solomon to send off to Lost Angels for one. Or maybe he'd take a crack at it himself. Tommy wasn't ever what on would call 'mechanically inclined', but he could at least tell when two notes were a major third apart.<br/><br/>Anyway, this was just the backup piano now. She'd survived the fire but was no longer considered suitable for public presentation. So she sat in this cramped backroom, while out front in the main hall sat a brand new player piano, straight from Smith & Robards, all glossy cherrywood and brass fittings. Frankly Tommy liked this old one better. It had a darn sight less chance of putting him out of a job, and besides there was something about watching the keys on the other one go up and down by themselves that just sent a chill up his spine.<br/><br/>It didn't matter much anyway, new piano or old. None of the crowd standing out in the hot sun hankering to get inside were here to see the piano player, or the player piano. Drinks and other vices were the order of the day, just like every other night. And if anyone was coming for the music, they weren't gonna be looking at his back, no matter how fancy the suit he was wearing. Not with Annabel Montgomery up on stage.<br/><br/>He'd listened to her sing down at the New Moon Saloon a couple of times. She was a darn good act, and unlike some of the singers round these parts that lasted even if you closed your eyes. Not that someone would, with her up on stage. It was a little bit of a coup, Tommy figured, that Mr. Solomon had gotten her to help open the Tower. Guess you couldn't put a claim down on a singer like you did a patch of dirt, or maybe with enough money things just got flexible, like they most always did.<br/><br/>They hadn't had much of a chance to rehearse, having met only briefly, but again, he didn't expect anybody'd complain. Start with some of the standard folk songs, "Oh Susana", "Camptown Races" then maybe a couple of Jenny Lind tunes. Steer away from the Yankee and Dixie songs; never good to try those until you knew the sympathies of the house, especially if its divided. Maybe throw in a few of the old Irish ballads to give Miss Montgomery's voice a break.<br/><br/>Heck, she probably knew more than he did. He was better than average but no virtuoso. Whereas she sang like an angel. Best to give her all the rope she needed and just try to keep up. Entertaining in a house where free liquor was being served was less about art and more about crowd control. Hopefully between the two of them they could keep at least a couple of fights from breaking out. Though if they did, Tommy hoped Mr. Solomon had some of his best men ready to jump in.<br/><br/>It seemed like there was always a fight ready to break out in Gomorra. Gold and ghostrock tended to have that effect. Throw in half a dozen gangs of folks who all thought they should be in charge and it was like watching corn in a skillet, just betting on which one'd pop first. Small wonder he'd been sent here. Big wonder how the heck he was going to do anything about it.<br/><br/>As his thoughts wandered his fingers sought to occupy themselves with the keys, plinking out the notes of "Danny Boy" to the best of the abused instrument's abilities. He stopped when he heard the door open, putting his most gentlemanly smile on as he stood to greet Miss Montgomery.<br/><br/>Only to see instead the far less lovely face of one of the waitresses, a woman named Mabel. Nice enough woman in her own right; he seemed to recall that she had a husband and a passel of children, and that her duties at Babel's were strictly confined to the above-board.<br/><br/>"Begging your pardon, sir. But I'm told to tell you that Miss Montgomery will not be in attendance this evening. You're to perform instead with Miss Bella Capri. Curtain is in ten minutes." She curtsied and left, leaving Tommy to take quick stock of the new situation.<br/>