The dancer, body painted in a motley of blacks, whites, and grays, stands barefoot and clad in silks with ash-blond hair now in braids and a coif.  She prepares to step forward into the room-- waits for the musical cue, her body tensed for motion and her breath causing her breasts to rise and fall steadily-- but none comes.  The noise upstairs catches her attention, though-- "What the fucking hells...?" she hisses as she walks the hall, skirting tables of antiquities and precious displays.  "I hope that wasn't the musician..."