A low sonorous sound quieted the crowd as it droned and built into a slow pulsating phase-shifted beat, slower than breath.  The room thrummed with sound rising to a crescendo and dropping off to utter stillness, before a steady deep drumbeat began overlaid with a single four-note flute line, repeated at odd intervals, like a birdcall. Two figures, neither of them Cass or Marcy, walked onto the ends of the stage and set down a pair of burning braziers.  The stage was now lit by the flicker of flames, throwing eerie shadows against the back curtainwall. 

Frankie raised her eyebrows.  They hadn’t said anything about having fire onstage.  “I sure as shit hope Jenny knows what she’s doing,” she thought, praying there were no code people or cops in the house, and looked around in the gloom behind the bar for a fire extinguisher.  She knew there was a pair of them just off stage.

The drumbeats doubled and doubled again as two dancers in feathered cloaks and masks appeared, walking slowly, suggestively toward the middle of the stage. Each carried what appeared to be a small bundle of long reeds, slapping their legs and beginning to sway enticingly with the beat, arms moving in unison, hips gyrating beneath the cloaks. 

The domme leaned over and whispered something to the butch, who smiled and pulled something out of her pocket and held it up.  The domme nodded.

More drums entered the mix, appearing to come from speakers mounted above the bar, so the room was now cocooned in a swirl of percussion and flute, gathering momentum and intensity, and a wordless tonal chant began as the two dancers slipped off their cloaks and stood naked, covered head to toe with silver body paint that made their brightly colored feathered masks stand out even more.  Their movements looked ancient, even primitive, matching the mood evoked by the music itself.

The music became frenzied, and the dancers with it, slapping their bodies with the long reeds and writhing across the stage, side to side, front to back, the chant building louder and louder and louder until¼

Dead silence.  The dancers stood stock still, their breasts heaving with each labored breath.  A third figure walked onstage, small, almost frail beneath a floor length crimson cloak with hood hiding her face.  The silvered dancers took her by the arms, led her to the front of the stage.  One dancer—Jozy was sure it was Cass—reached up and tugged at a rope, and began to lower a thick wooden dowel, with hemp rope at either end.