fandomtownies | Caritas, Saturday Evening

Entry tags:

$caritas,
mike lane

Caritas, Saturday Evening

The zombie band was playing some pretty morbid tunes tonight. A lot of tunes about death and flesh - but also the occasional ditty about yearning for stardom. Mike kinda wished he could've pretended not to understand what the hell was going on but, oh, he did. He'd already sung at his only employee over the phone early this morning. About next week's deliveries.

Monday was going to be fantastic and not at all awkward.

TONIGHT'S SPECIAL
Same Old Song

Caritas was open. Beware the singing.

[ooc: No OCD!]

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Verity was having a great day. Breaking into song lyrics wasn't exactly random for her. Part of being a dancer was living a life full of music. The mice had been singing a lot today, too, but again, not that surprising.

Dancing the foxtrot with a little old man on her way to the bar had been weirder, but it wasn't her taps running green or waking up a guy, so Verity was willing to let it go.

Singing when she grooved into Caritas was definitely unexpected. The slow bump 'n grind was nice--good to know she still had it--but still, definitely a hello she hadn't intended.

"Stacks on deck. Patron on ice.
We can pop bottles all night
Baby you can have whatever you like
I said you can have whatever you like.
Yeah."

It was perhaps unexpected for her, but it was not for him. Well, not at a level of no knowing what was going on, anyway.

Because that was kind of an Entrance with a capital E.

"So it got you too, huh?"

"There's another thing going on?" Verity asked, doing a quick shimmy on her way to the bar. "Well, that explains that, I guess. So, we sing and dance like extras in a musical today or something?"

She'd been lucky enough not to sing about feelings yet. Give her time.

Mike meant to explain that there was almost a tradition with this happening once every year or so, with random bursts of singing throughout a day, but what actually came out was, "There is this thing that's like talking except you don't talk; you sing."

He shrugged. It was enough of an explanation, really.

"You sing."

"How delightfully literal," Verity said, watching him with a bit of amusement there. "This must be a fun little diversion for everybody."

She hadn't realized yet just how little choice someone had in their choice of song. She'd revise her opinion soon enough.

"You've got a decent voice. Sing in the shower often?"

"Sometimes," he admitted lightly, leaning against the bar. "But it's not really my thing, you know? Except when the island decides it definitely should be, like today."

But shit, he'd had so many far more frightening things thrown his way over his stay on the island that this was just a regular day.

"Gonna have to hope Salvador doesn't wanna know what the fuck our phone convo this morning was about, though, when I see him on Monday."

"Salvador?" Verity asked, ordering a Dirty Shirley from Tino so she could keep monopolizing Mike's conversation. "But good point. Remind me not to answer my phone today. What did you end up singing about?"

"Sal's this guy from the mainland who works for me," Mike explained, shrugging as he scratched the back of his head. "He got an earful about next week's deliveries. It was weird as fuck, I'm sure."

"If you've been on this island for...how many years?...and he's only now just getting weirded out, you're probably doing okay," Verity assured him. "People are remarkably quick to ignore weird stuff in their lives. A little bit of quick talking and..."

And then she was getting up apparently, to do a bit of impromptu soft-shoe.

"Give 'em the old razzle dazzle
Razzle Dazzle 'em
Give 'em an act with lots of flash in it
And the reaction will be passionate
Give 'em the old hocus pocus
Bead and feather 'em
How can they see with sequins in their eyes?"

Mike could've pointed out that Salvador had only worked for him for a couple of months, so not weirding him out before today wasn't really an accomplishment.

But sure, countering with "Give 'em the old three ring circus, stun and stagger 'em; when you're in trouble, go into your dance." worked just as well.

Verity was still dancing along with a series of chorus-girl kicks that a Rockette would envy. She crooked her finger at Mike, singing "Though you are stiffer than a girder, they'll let you get away with murder..."

And that 'stiffer than a girder' line got him a saucy wink as well. Okay then.

Made Mike laugh, so nothing wrong with it.

And the thing about Mike was –– okay, one of the several things about Mike was that he didn't take himself very seriously. So he was a prime target for the island when it pulled these kind of stunts, because he didn't resist a musical number if one happened to happen.

So his feet were moving, and he was holding out his hand for her over the bar. (And yes, someone was bound to make an obscenely graceful jump over the bar, sooner or later.) "Razzle dazzle 'em, and you've got a romance."

Verity grabbed his hands, mirroring his moves on her side of the bar, even though she couldn't see his feet. But with the knowledge born from years of choreography, she knew they were moving in perfect tandem.

"Give 'em the old Razzle Dazzle...Razzle dazzle 'em!" she sang and, as expected, vaulted over the bar and--hopefully!--into Mike's arms.

Fandom whimsy don't fail her now.

Please, like Mike would let it? He caught her just fine, going right into a 360 degree twirl with her in his arms.

"Show 'em the first rate sorceror you are; long as you keep 'em way off balance, how can they spot you've got no talent??"

"Razzle Dazzle 'em...Razzle Dazzle 'em...And they'll make you a star!" Verity sang, shifting into a cha-cha with him that took them around the bar and into the main room proper.

Funnily enough, Mike could do that just fine with her. Though sure, with a lot of help from the island – cha-cha wasn't really in his normal repertoire.

It made him laugh a little, though.

"Well, that was a thing that sure just did happen," Verity said, once the song was over. "I don't think my form's ever been that flawless on a cha-cha."

Which didn't stop sounding silly the more times you said it.

"Shit, I've never had any kind of form with cha-cha," Mike replied with a wide grin, chuckling softly. "Gotta give props to Fandom for that one. Big help."

"I learned, because you can't do ballroom without it," Verity said. "But it's been years since I tried anything with it. I stick to the tango these days."

She turned to smile at him, not yet moving to let go and take a step back like a normal person. "You think if I ask nicely, the island will give us a demonstration of the kind of dancing you're used to?"

Hey, wasn't as if he was running away from her, either.

"Oh, for that," he said, raising his eyebrows, "the island's not the one you gotta ask nicely."

She'd been mostly teasing--but not so teasing that she wasn't going to take the opportunity given.

"Hey Mike," Verity said, batting her eyes up at him. "Can I have a demonstration of the dancing you do, pretty please with sugar on to?"

"Maybe," Mike said, with kind of a cocky little smirk. Because it couldn't be that easy.

And, besides, it was a stripper's job to tease.

"What's in it for me?"

"A most appreciative audience," Verity said, leaning into his personal space just a bit. She smelled like honey and chocolate--with the occasional hint of gun oil. "And a tango lesson if you want one?"

"That's actually not a bad bid," Mike decided. The leaning had nothing to do with it, and parts of his brain were also definitely not concerned with what it would be like to wake up to his bed smelling like she was smelling like right now. "It'd better be really appreciative, though."

Verity looked up into his eyes and smiled. "Think about it," she said, hand somehow making its way to glide over his shirt. "I'm someone who can appreciate both the work that went into those moves and the end result that comes out of it."

Mike smirked at her. "That's an excellent point."

Her hand wasn't on his shirt anymore, but that was probably okay, since it was now grasped in his. He was leading her towards the stage. Some of the steps he was taking matched a music that was coming from nowhere in particular and everywhere at once, faint for now.

He was just going with the flow. It was what he did best.

And Verity was very good at following someone else's lead; it was part of dancing after all. And there was something very, very good about having her hand in his. He felt very warm--or maybe that was just her? She was pretty sure she was flushed anyway as she followed him to the stage. Funny, since she hadn't had a drink yet.

Mike was pretty used to people having that reaction in his presence. It was only natural! At least when he was gearing up to a show.

In front of the stage, he pulled a conveniently placed chair over, setting it right in the middle for an audience of one. Another smooth movement, and he'd maneuvered her so that she could sit her down with a gentle push.

The music was picking up, a vaguely ominous, industrial buzz that made Mike shake his head and chuckle softly as he recognized it. Island's choice. Guess it wanted him to go back to a pretty specific time.

Sure. He could roll with it.

He only let go of her hand once it was time for him to hop onto the stage, landing on his knees, back towards his audience. From there, it was easy to get into the music. Drop onto his back, then get his feet against the floor so he could grind his hips up. Finding the beats to hit.

Verity guessed that Mike was probably used to a loud, cheering audience as he danced. She'd never been to a strip club, but who wouldn't want to cheer when Mike's hips were doing that? She should have gotten that drink before she'd come up to the stage because damn he made a girl thirsty.

Still, she wasn't loud or boisterous while she watched him. Her eyes stayed glued to his body as he moved it, marveling over the sheer athleticism of some of those moves. The most impressive part? He made them look good, made them look easy, when they were anything but, requiring remarkable control.

She wanted to dance with him.

She wanted to drag him into a coat closet and do more than just dance.

Funnily enough, that was also a reaction Mike was used to causing. In fact, he'd found himself in coat closets (or an equivalent, he wasn't picky) more than once.

The music was loud enough that he didn't need the cheers. He knew he had her. Or, until the choreography brought him back around to face his audience of one, he at least hoped he had her. After that point, he knew.

He still kept on impressing her for a little while longer, though. The song demanded it from him. And once the song demanded him to hop off the stage and stalk to her so he could do a few finishing moves right up close and personal? Well, he did that too.

Who was he to deny the music what so rightfully belonged to it?

Verity hoped the music was as appreciative of his commitment to it as she was. Because she was very appreciative right now. Her hands reached for him as he danced up close and personal for her, but they hung in the air, several inches above his body. There were rules about this sort of thing, right?

Look, this dance was far too hot to mess it up by accident. Even if she did just want to lean over and lick her way down his throat.

Edited 2017-04-16 20:48 (UTC)

Mike doubted this dance could be messed up by outside forces when so much of it was coming from the island, but he appreciated the sentiment.

He also recognized that look in her eyes.

It was probably only the public setting that kept him from acting on it. Sure, he teased lifting up his shirt but the song was ending. He wasn't going to go there. And after a few more suggestive moves, he was done, pulling away from her with a smirk while the music faded away.

"And that's what I do," he said. "Or did."

"You," Verity said fervently, "are a damn good dancer."

Like, in case he was wondering.

"I would love to teach you to tango," she added, trying not to think of a couple of the moved he'd be able to do as easy as breathing with that kind of muscle control. "By god, you'd light the stage on fire. An old friend said that every tango should end with the audience certain that the dancers were leaving the stage to fuck somewhere or it wasn't worth the effort of dancing to it."

And Mike already had the ability to make his every move look like sex.

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Caritas, Saturday Evening

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