Gutter ballet.

When he settled into a new corner, Ergot looked around. No one met eyes with him. It seemed as though the large crowd that had previously swooned with him and breathed with him had forgotten to swoon. They had forgotten to breathe. He winced as the colors swirled faster and faster as the party attendants got drunker and drunker. And he had no liquor to drink. Ergot licked his lips, tasting the sweet flavor of himself, and he stood up.

His lute was filthy... And so was his mind. Alcohol and some calmness were in order.

Standing up and cracking a toe in and out of place, Ergot watched the crowd twirling in and out of focus of their own accord. They walked, they walked so oddly, as though they has something to prove by stepping 6 inches towards another, 8 inches back, dancing to the band that didn't seem to be harmonized or organized, in any way ‘ized as Ergot was with his lone instrument and his cracked, deranged inner voices and his soft futile outer. They played the popular music, not the music Ergot played. Ergot played the melodies he made up. What he made up... Nothing like what is expected.

Ergot shook the narrative out of his mind, and mimed the walk that entranced the rest of the ball room. Sliding as though one were stealthily on ice, looking for a glass. A servant hustled by, and Ergot seemed invisible. The voices screamed as Ergot suddenly lashed outward from himself, and grabbing one arm whirled the servant lightly. The servant had not expected that at all, and though he didn't gasp. His mind sent out an alert so all his limbs were tense and not in any way casual. Ergot eerily smiled, his voices guiding him to lifting his arm and silkily grabbing a dark maroon filled glass with just his finger's tips. Then lifting it gently but tightly, he touched the servant's elbow lightly and flicked his wrist, sending the young man away.

Ergot stared at himself. His boots were in need of a good cleaning... Then raising his eyes into the eyes of a stranger, the reflection of his own self in the rich liquid he had obtained. He smelled it, rich flavors invading his nose and raising hell throughout his sinuses to his nerves.

Then he drank.

Just a small drink. Not a great deal. Ergot swilled the liquid in his mouth, his tongue screaming as the voices smiled and their lips parted. They all got their deserved sip.

Setting the glass down, looking up to the windows. Seeing eyes, but not noticing like Ergot had done, should, would have done just seconds ago.

The fungus sat himself back down, and dipping two fingers into the drink, wiped his lute. Streaking it with soft red lines and markings.

All was clean again.