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Lights. Curtains. Music.
“ Meine damen und herren, mesdames et messieurs, ladies… and gentlemen!”
…
The constant chatter enveloped the people that filled the dimly lit club. Cigarette smoke curled up in thin coils, joining the air that was already thick with heady perfume and alcohol.
Tonight, it was alive and thriving. Men and women alike mingled shamelessly with each other. The Emcee watched this all with a small smirk on his face. Occasionally someone would pass him with a kiss, a wink, a grab, or a touch; he was used to it, responding with a flirty move of his own.
The Kit Kat Club was in full swing.
Suddenly, a head of brassy curls popped into view, instantly recognisable as Frenchie.
"Em?" she tapped his arm, bobbing about anxiously. "Helga tore her new garter—she's awfully put out. I haven't seen the poor girl cry so much since Jonas," Frenchie mumbled, not bothering with quiet over the noise of the club.
There was a pause when he didn't respond.
"Max is quite upset."
At that, the Emcee frowned. Of course, that translated into 'Max is very angry'. His disproportionate bouts of anger were well known to the Kit Kat Club performers, and they were usually about money.
"Really, Em, he-"
"Alright, darling, keep your knickers on." The clink of glass against wood sounded as he placed his glass down, making a face of consideration, "or don't..." he muttered under his breath, taking the small of Frenchie's back and slipping out of the crowd.
__________
They made their way backstage, and already from the empty hall, Max's muffled shouting was audible. The Emcee narrowed his eyes. Frenchie glanced up at him before pushing open the dressing room door, and they were met by almost everyone gathered backstage, avoiding eye contact.
"And this is why I tell people to be fucking careful! Look at that! That tear is the size of my hand."
Helga was standing trembling in front of Max, tears running down her face. Her stockings were torn, and the offending garter was being waved wildly in her face.
Scattered around the dressing room were the other performers. Texas and Rosie stood behind the chair Lulu was sitting in, with Victor positioned in the corner, watching intently as Helga was chewed out.
Bobby seemed to be trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible, which was certainly unusual, while Hans and Fritzi examined the floor with such an interest that should not be reserved for some creaky old wood beneath your feet.
All of them shot occasional sympathetic glances at Helga, but most never dared to look at the frenzied Max.
"Some of you," he hissed, stepping closer to Helga, "seem to think that this club is made of money! Do you know how expensive it is to get all of you floozies dolled up every day? Huh? Huh?!"
Helga nodded hurriedly at him, making eye contact with the Emcee. Her eyes widened slightly with unspoken relief.
Max seemed to notice this and whirled around to target his anger at the idiot who had decided to walk in during his rant.
"You-"
"Lay off, Max," the Emcee cut him off dryly, folding his arms.
Max did not take kindly to this.
"Lay off? Lay off? Maybe she should have been more careful with the garters and stockings that I bought last week! Last. Week!" He exclaimed incredulously.
The Emcee frowned rather dismissively, ignoring him and looking over his shoulder. "Helga, I'll buy you a new pair. Stop crying, darling; your makeup is running," he said. Max whipped back around to Helga, snarling a sharp-
"Get out."
While the Emcee shot her a frustrated
"Sit down."
Helga stood there frozen, looking confused.
"Helga, you don't have to get out. Again, I'll buy you a new pair."
"I run this place, Helga, and I say, get out ."
The Emcee scoffed. Frenchie, who had previously been standing behind him, scampered off to the side next to Victor to escape being caught in the crossfire between the two men.
"This is everyone's dressing room, schatzi ; it's perfectly acceptable for one to reside in their dressing room," he commented, eyebrows raised, watching Max struggle between facing him or Helga.
Eventually, Max shot a final glare at Helga before turning to face the Emcee.
"Was I talking to you? You weren't involved in this conversation in the first place," he spat. "All I was doing was making sure that people—" he brandished the torn garter in his hand, "don't make stupid fucking mistakes like this! Money doesn't grow on trees!"
The Emcee was unperturbed, the smirk on his face only growing. "Darling, as the host here, I'm always involved in a conversation," he drawled. Max fumed at this response.
"And I agree, that was stupid. I'll buy her a new set. It's no bother, really; it's only a garter." He stepped past Max, walking up to Helga and pulling a crumpled handkerchief out of his pocket, wiping the mascara from her face.
Max followed him, stepping so he was standing next to the Emcee. "Don't treat her like she's a child! She damaged club property, and in return, I want her to-"
"Enough," the Emcee snapped back, giving Max a withering look. "I'm handling it. Why don't you go and be angry somewhere else? For the last time, liebling , I'll buy her another pair."
"That isn't the point; she needs to learn her lesson, and she needs to learn that she can't be spoiled all the time!" He said, accentuating his words with a threatening point at Helga, "And you cannot be so nonchalant about your money; none of us have enough to blow it all on stockings and garters."
"She made a mistake, Max," the Emcee responded simply, turning back to look at him. "She deserves a little leniency."
He raised his eyebrows, letting out a little sigh.
"Besides, it's certainly not as if I'll go broke from this singular purchase, darling. I have enough money to buy this club," he drawled.
Well, perhaps that was a little exaggeration, but he was never one to pass up on that.
"Well, well, well," Max held up his hands in imitation of surrender. "Em certainly 'has the bees'," he simpered mockingly before dropping the act with a sneer.
"No average German has that amount—we're all beat. We all know that they have all the money. The Jews," Max added with a glance around at the rest of the performers.
They stood, watching silently. Rosie aimed an alarmed glance at Texas, who shook her head subtly.
"Well," the club owner huffed in amusement, "the next thing he'll be telling us is that he's a Jew."
The electricity that was alive in the air sparked away, replaced by a tense silence.
The Emcee narrowed his eyes.
"Mm. To put it bluntly, I don't see what that would have to do with anything, schatzi ," he replied after a beat, keeping his voice detached.
Victor made eye contact with Max and frowned slightly. Max took this as fair encouragement to follow up.
"Everything. The Jews are stealing our money and jobs from underneath our noses," Max tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. "And I think we all noticed that wasn't a denial."
He looked around once more, searching for the slightest hint of encouragement. Lulu regarded the Emcee with a sudden suspicious distaste—an expression that rather matched Hans and Victor's ones.
Bobby was giving Max a rather uncharitable glare, and Rosie seemed to be glued to Texas' side, her eyes flicking between Max and the Emcee.
The Emcee's gaze turned cold, and he smiled in the same way he did when he was particularly dissatisfied.
"No response? Cat got your tongue?" Max leaned in, speaking in a decorated tone that mocked the Emcee's voice quite well.
"It wasn't a confirmation either," he replied idly after a small pause. "Why would I need to deny anything? It's ridiculous."
Someone piped up from the sidelines.
"Em," the voice was high and taut, recognisable as Lulu, "I think you really ought to tell us whether you're... Jewish or not. I think it'd put some members at ease," she said as she looked around, nodding at the others in encouragement.
Hans gave a short nod, as Victor and Frenchie made noncommittal noises of agreement.
A muscle ticked in his jaw, and the Emcee shifted his gaze to Lulu.
"It is not a question that I am required to answer," he answered curtly.
"You're completely missing the point and avoiding the question," Max once again rose to the occasion, stepping closer to the Emcee. "So it's true? You are-?"
"This is unbelievably idiotic."
"Answer the question."
"Is the question unrelated to the situation?"
"Don't get smart with me; you know what I mean."
"I am not obligated to."
"ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION"
The Emcee finally snapped, whirling around to glare full-force at Max.
"Fine," he snapped. "Yes, yes, I am Jewish. Does that make you happy, Herr Max?"
Lulu broke the ringing silence with a small gasp. Max stepped back, a look of prominent hatred in his eyes that had previously never been directed at the Emcee—or at least not this intensely.
The Emcee became acutely aware of the dull pressure in the room. Wrong thing to admit.
"Well," Max said tensely. It looked as though he was struggling between appearing smug or disgusted.
Victor finally spoke up. "This is true then, ja?"
When he got no answer, he continued.
"You've been a Jew this whole time, and you didn't think to tell us?" He eyed him from the corner.
"Why would he have needed to?" A voice came from the side. Rosie was the source; her face was neutral.
The Emcee stood there, watching them. He knew Max's eyes were steadily focused on him. Though he focused on a stray ginger curl on Rosie's cheek,.
"It wouldn't have affected his work."
"But he should have told us!" Lulu cut her off, standing up from the chair she was in.
Hans scoffed. "It is obvious why he did not, though. No one would admit they were Jews," he spat.
"Watch your tone," Texas countered immediately. "Let him be."
As tempting as the idea of slipping out to smoke alone while they spoke was, the Emcee interrupted.
"This conversation is unnecessary. I do not find these insinuations appropriate.
"It's simply our opinion, is it not?" Victor interjected. Hans nodded curtly, and Lulu pouted in agreement.
"An opinion that consists of harmful stereotypes," the Emcee snapped, "simply because that Nazi party raves about them doesn't mean—"
"Don't act all high and mighty." Max returned to the conversation, stepping towards him.
Texas moved forward at the same time, glaring at Max. "He's right. If you're all so infatuated with some political figure-"
"-You're a total bunch of sheep," Rosie finished, furrowing her eyebrows.
"You have no right to call me that!" Lulu squealed as the Emcee let out a short breath, stepping away from Max.
"She can say whatever she damn well pleases-"
The Emcee held up a hand, cutting Texas off. "The fact we are even having this conversation is pure absurdity-"
"It is!" Fritzi cut him off, "you can't all believe in this-"
"It's true," Victor then cut *her* off, "it is a known fact that there is an underground network of Jewish bankers and communists working to overthrow Germany-"
Bobby finally spoke up with a scoff, rolling his eyes.
"Victor, you-"
"-Don't interrupt me, Bobby, you know it is true."
"That rubbish you read in the paper? Couldn't be less accurate, liebling -"
"Oh couldn't it? What about-"
The Emcee watched their little back and forth, the sinking feeling in his chest deepening.
Max's voice rang out above Bobby and Victor's argument that was steadily increasing in volume.
"We all know what the Jews are really doing to this country! Everyone has just been too afraid to say it, until Hitler, and how could you-" he pointed to the Emcee, jabbing his finger into his chest, "-be one of those without ever managing to tell us?"
The Emcee slapped Max's hand away from his chest, and Max grabbed his wrist.
"Attacking me now? Ja? Ja ? Afraid that I'm right-"
And from the side, Victor's voice:
"Half of the people with any sense believe in Hitler's views!"
And once again, between the Emcee and Max-
"I am not so stupid as you so badly wish to believe Max, but you clearly fucking are!"
Bobby shoved Victor back at the same time that the Emcee yelled-
All hell broke loose.
The noise erupted to a deafening level almost immediately. Victor wasted no time punching Bobby in retaliation. Bobby slammed into a dressing table, while Texas landed a vicious kick to Hans' shin.
Rosie lunged at Lulu, who managed to duck back out of the way. The dressing room was already chaotic, and the Emcee was just barely able to keep everything in his line of sight.
Max made this even harder, grabbing him by the lapels.
"You're a lying bastard-"
"And you're an ignorant arschloch !"
"It is fact! You cannot deny fact-! I see now how you're a Jew, how could I have failed to notice?" Max jeered, voice nearly drowned out by a shriek that came from Fritzi as Lulu grabbed hold of her hair.
Helga managed to get caught in the crossfire between Texas and Hans, crashing hard into a mirror.
The glass shattered instantly, inducing screams and raining shards down on the three standing nearest.
Victor grabbed at a shard, aiming at almost anyone he could reach, before promptly getting kicked in the stomach by Bobby, whose limbs already bloomed with bruises from being pushed into the dresser.
"Victor! Verdammt ! Are you trying to slit someone's throat-?"
"If you're going to cut anyone cut that dirty Juden-"
"Watch your mouth-" the Emcee wrenched himself out of Max's grasp, dodging a fist.
He could hardly see who was where, the cacophony of angered shouts and firm blows being landed clouding out all else, bodies tangling together in front of him- and not in the way he was used to.
Amidst the chaos, there was a strangled yell.
"HEIL HITLER!"
This was met with several yells of support, notably from Hans and Max.
The Emcee felt nauseous. There was intelligible shouting, something about Hitler, something about Jews, something about Hitler again-
"-the right idea! Ridding this country of filthy parasites like the Jews-!"
"Shut up! Shut up!" Rosie screamed, but she was knocked aside by Max, stumbling into the Emcee.
This brought on a fresh wave of noise from Texas and Fritzi, yelling themselves hoarse at Max- but their anger went unheard. Max had joined Victor's side.
"It is our right to make Germany pure again!"
Again, shouts of agreement.
The Emcee glowered at Victor, his skin prickling with cold dread, nausea resting in his stomach.
"Pure? I am just as german as you are- and you, Max, Lulu, and-"
"German? Nein," Hans snapped.
Bobby had to physically stop Texas from lurching forwards at his words.
The Emcee barely spared them a glance, focused on the group before him.
"Quiet! Don't interrupt- you- I trusted you, I thought I knew you enough to believe you'd never give yourself over to those ridiculous Nazis-"
"The Juden talks of trust?" Lulu sneered, "we trusted you! And you lied! We never lied to you, Em," She squealed, the nickname now sounding mockingly unfamiliar on her tongue.
"Oh shut up." Emcee leaned down close to her, "You think we don't all lie, Lulu, especially to ourselves? To protect ourselves?" His gaze was stony, but there was a hurt sort of disbelief evident in his eyes.
“We all lie, Emcee,” Max jeered, “but not about our purity.” He glanced at the other performers, breathing deeply. “And you know what I think?”
A pause.
“Heil. Hitler.”
Max spat.
“You bastard -” The Emcee seethed, raising his fist before he was cut off by a sharp rap on the door.
They were met with Herman’s gruff voice.
“Beeil dich. Die Show beginnt, geh raus. Em, ich rede mit dir.”
Hurry up. The show begins, get out there. Em, I’m talking to you.
He lowered his hand, but the tension in the room remained. No one spoke.
Max smirked, slowly raising his arm in a mocking Nazi salute.
The Emcee swept past him, wiping away a speck of blood on his arm. Must have been from when the mirror shattered.
He’d have to clean that up later.
He had the feeling that it would take more than a cigarette to fix this.
No matter. It would pass. And…
Lights. Curtains. Music.
“ Meine damen und herren, mesdames et messieurs, ladies… and gentlemen!”