By Jason Schneiderman (jason@sable.adelphi.edu) (28 March 1995)
A Sub-Tradition of the Hollow Ones
"Rain. Why did it have to rain tonight?"
Ashe leaned against the plate glass window of Polly Ester's, trying to keep his eyeliner-of-Horus from running down his powdered cheek. His leathers were soaked, his boots were muddied, his hair sagging under the water's weight. And it was a Thursday, for God's sake! He should have been resting up for the weekend's club crawl; instead, he was stuck loitering outside this bar - a mundane bar, no less - attracting stares not even his arcane nature could suppress.
Still, he'd never be able to show his face back at the chantry if he didn't manage to touch base with the Adept. There weren't many Hollow Ones in this city to begin with - this was a Cultist town; happiness was mandatory - and he'd never live down letting an elder slip through his fingers without at least getting a proper introduction. And he knew that the one who called herself Brandy frequented this club often - although he couldn't see why. The music seemed annoyingly... upbeat. Bouncy, even. There must be a secret alcove in the basement. Yes, that was it. A secret basement alcove with soothing blacklights and bass that would echo in his belly and make him want to move. He closed his eyes and began to sway to the music in his head - the sphere of Mind made each nuance clear. It was Joy Division. "Love, love will tear us apart again. Love, love will....keep us together."
Keep us together?
"....I will! I will! I will!"
Ashe opened his eyes with a gasp, to meet those of a woman in her late twenties. Eyes covered in blue eyeshadow and golden glitter.
"W-what?"
"The Captain and Tenille. Cool, huh?"
Ashe peered at her through lowered eyelids.
"Yeah, well, turn it down, will you? I'm waiting for someone, and I want -"
" - to hear them coming. Did a lousy job of it, too. Is the rest of your chantry as uptight as you are?"
"You're Brandy?"
She nodded, shaking a few loose spangles from her hair onto the sidewalk, next to her six-inch platform heels. Her candy-apple-red flared jeans shimmered under the streetlamp, which began to flicker like a strobe. She tossed her hair back and smiled. "And ain't I a fine girl?"
Ashe snorted. "I was expecting...expecting...."
"Someone more like you? As if we all had to take the same path - Christ, we may as well be Hermaphrodites if regularity's what you crave."
Brandy looked him over - dejected, confused, sopping wet. "Okay. So maybe I'm not what you counted on. But we both know you haven't anything else to do tonight. So you may as well come on in - besides, when was the last time you had a chance to boogie?"
"Boogie?"
Ashe's attempts at a protest were drowned out by the sound of the music escaping the bar. Brandy grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him through the opening doors, slipping him through the mass of people dancing and singing and movin' to the groovin'. From the street, though, all was silent except for one phrase that managed to slip through to the outside...
"...and play that funky music till you die."
Saturday's Children - named for the 1976 movie, "Saturday Night Fever" - are those who were awakened under the light of a mirror ball rather than blacklight. Rather than embracing the darker aspects of the gothic-punk world, the Children search for a lost glamour, a shimmering polish to a decaying paradigm. Like the Hollow Ones, they turn a blind eye to Ascension, prefering to fiddle while Rome burns...and, oh, what wonderful light it gives.
Concepts: Unlike the Hollow Ones, who seem to be predominantly Caucasian, Saturday's Children come from a wide range of racial and sexual backgrounds. Although the movement has its roots in classic 70s disco, the recent resurgence of nostalgia among ravers and clubgoers has caused more and more of the Saturday's Children to awaken. Bon Vivant is the most common nature, with a Deviant demeanor, with Child and Caregiver following.
Acolytes: Clubgoers, critics, club owners, memorabilia store management
Chantries: Often found in antique clothing stores and closed-down discotheques. Studio 54 in New York used to house one of the better known chantries - now, they tend to spring up in the less prominent parts of town.
Foci: Like all orphan groups, A Saturday's Child may choose her own foci. Many choose things appropriate to their lifestyle: dancing, music, drugs, etc.
Akashic Brotherhood: "Everybody was kung-fu fighting...ha!" Pretty funky to watch, but they have this high horse that they just won't come down from.
Celestial Chorus: They're still pissed about the Limelight - hey, it was a deconsecrated church, right? how were we supposed to know the node was still active? - and they just can't groove.
Cultists Of Ecstasy:
Dreamspeakers: They've got the right idea - you can't find your center without keeping the beat. Of course, they can't get to 120 bpm like we can.
Euthanatos: Ew.
Hollow Ones: Headed in the complete opposite direction from us... but we'll eventually meet again on the other side, if you know what I mean.
Order of Hermes: "Like, what's your sign?" Is this magic or a model airplane? Throw away the instruction booklet, already.
Sons of Ether: "He blinded me....with SCIENCE!" Whacked out to the max, but know how to groove. Hey, wasn't George Clinton one of these guys?
Verbena: We saw these guys back when they were saving the whales and eating granola. They're not so cool.
Virtual Adepts: Used to think they were nerds, but after seeing what one of them did to my mixing board, they're okay in my book.
Iteration X: Scary. But without their help, I guess we wouldn't be here.
New World Order: "The politicians....are now deejays." The politics of dancing, indeed. When these guys get involved, liquour licenses fall through and clubs close. Give 'em a wide berth.
Progenitors: They invented E and Special K. What else do you need to know?
Syndicate: Fickle: seemed behind us at the beginning, then turned on us. Now they're pushing us again. who knows?
Void Engineers: Who?