song_tra_bong | (no subject)

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The door opens onto a dimly lit bar. Two men in suits sit at a table by the wall, speaking in low voices; they don't look up when Mary Anne and Ramon walk in.

Four men at the pool table in the back do look up, then go back to their game. Their rolled up sleeves show off jailhouse tattoos--tattoos that mean murderers, time served, rank in their organization. Just because they aren't staring openly doesn't mean they aren't paying attention. The fact that no one makes a fuss just yet over Ramon's machine gun is telling.

A waitress in a short skirt goes by with a tray, delivering drinks to the suits by the wall. Mary Anne heads for the bar, taking a seat that's a few stools over from the next man. She beckons the bartender over.

"Vodka for me and my friend," she says in flawless Russian. "And keep them coming. We're out on the town tonight."

The bartender shakes his head. "You picked a hell of place to come," he says, but pours the drinks all the same then wanders down to the customer at the other end of the bar.

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'True. I don't think I can remember the last time we did this.'

He lights his cigar.

'My fault, I guess. I haven't been around all that much.'

He just figures she'll always be there.

She will be.

"Don't worry about it," she says, taking a sip of vodka.

"You're around now."

'Yeah.'

He throws back some more vodka because that's the point of this, right? He doesn't want to be sober much longer and is already feeling a nice warmth around the edges.

'Wanna dance?'

Mary Anne grins.

"You read my mind."

She slams back the last of her drink, then stands up. She stretches briefly, feeling pleasantly buzzed; it's harder for her to get drunk now, but not impossible, and she's been pouring herself generous drinks.

Hips swaying as she tries to find the beat, she heads out toward the dance floor.

Ramon grins something like a shark as he watches her move away. He waits a moment just so he can do that - then mentally shakes himself, and gets up to follow.

It's loud and fast and hot and he loves places like this. Mary Anne is grabbed as soon as he catches up with her and swirled round into the frenzy of people on the floor.

She spins, head thrown back and laughing.

Soon, she's swaying to the beat, eyes half-lidded--in part due to the booze, but mostly the music itself. It's loud enough to get lost in and she moves with the easy grace of dancers and killers.

Ramon likes to dance but he finds himself watching her more. She looks good like this - not that she doesn't look good at other times but he doesn't think he's ever seen her dance before.

She's getting attention from others too; there are about four guys that he can see eyeing her over. Ramon is amused and takes a step back, wondering whether they'll make a move and what she'll do if they do.

She arches an eyebrow when he moves back, debates following, and lets him go for now.

She hasn't been dancing for ages and is too busy enjoying it to focus on any spectators. It isn't until a hand brushes her hip a little to firmly to be an accident that she looks up. One of the four has finally gotten bold enough to try his chances. She gives him a friendly smile and leans back against him.

She stays with him until one of the other guys cuts in; this process repeats throughout the (thankfully long) song with the remaining two. She keeps her partner changes as smooth as she can, making it look less like boredom or personal preference than just another dance move.

At the end of the song, she moves back over to Ramon, leaning in close to be sure he can hear her over the music. "You didn't come out here just to watch, did you?"

He turns his head towards her slightly, bringing them a touch closer. He does it without really thinking about it.

'There's a lot to be said for watching, sometimes.'

He watches her for a few beats longer, then turns his head away again.

'Come on then. One more dance then I want to get seriously drunk.'

"Fair enough."
(I want to hold you close--soft breath, beating heart)
She catches his hand, lifting his arm enough to twirl herself under it before letting go.
(as I whisper in your ear, I want to fucking tear you apart)
If this is going to be her last dance for a little while, she's going to make the most of it. She doesn't bother with any partners this time, just keeps moving while now and then bits of the song's lyrics filter through the noise.

He moves too but still doesn't take his eyes off her shifting form. After a minute of this he moves in, placing one hand on her hip just above her ass and the other on her waist.

Hey, it's the last dance for a while, right? And he's never gone so long without touching another person in his life. It's harder for him that he'd like to admit.

She leans into him, because touching always seemed like the point of dancing with a partner to her.

She reaches up and rests one hand lightly against his neck, more because she wants to than out of any real need to steady herself. She can't remember the last time she danced with someone she knew, someone she liked. She'd forgotten how much she enjoys it.

He's suddenly very aware of her, even more than he was a moment ago. How could he not be, with her leaning against him like this?
I wanna fuck you like an animal...
'You're a good dancer,' he says, for something to say. It comes out a lot quieter than he meant it to.
I wanna feel you from the inside...

She tilts her head to look up at him, faintly surprised.
(my whole existence is flawed)
"You're not bad yourself."
(you get me closer to god)

'I know.'

He stays silent for the rest of the song and lets her go when it's over, both reluctant and relieved.

'Lets drink.'

Fuck yeah, he wants to drink.

"Sure thing."

She leads the way back to the booth and pours herself another heavy-handed measure of vodka. When she reaches for Ramon's glass, she pauses.

"This still good for you, or are you sick of it yet?"

He waves a hand at it, unconcerned.

'It'll do. We'll hit the tequila when we finish this one.'

He makes sure she's liberal when she pours.

'So, who's your friend in the infirmary at the bar? You never told me his name.'

She slides the (very full) glass over.

"Kit Marlowe. You met him?"

'No. Name's familiar though.'

Obviously. He swirls the drink in its glass before emptying half of it.

'He a boyfriend?'

Just curious.

"He wrote around the same time as Shakespeare, before he became an assassin."

She takes a sip of vodka.

"He's a friend."

With some benefits, though they haven't really talked about that aspect since he ended up in the infirmary.

Ramon snorts. There's only one kind of 'friend' that people have, in his mind.

'Sure. Writes you stuff, does he?'

He finishes his drink and pours another. He's definitely getting fuzzy around the edges now, especially as the adrenlaine from the killing has more or less worn off and he's just left with the alcohol.

She smirks faintly around the rim of her glass.

"Nothing yet. I'll have to see how inspired he's feeling once his hand heals."

'If he really cared, he'd dictate it.'

Suddenly her constant philandering irritates him. He couldn't put his finger on why, it just does.

'This shit never bothers your husband?'

He already knows the answer but whatever. He just has another drink and, as the vodka is nearing its end, motions to the waitress to come over.

Mary Anne empties out the bottle into her glass and takes a long drink before answering.

"Hasn't bothered him yet."

She decides not to mention that the only time Ruin had seemed...bothered was after she kissed Ramon.

He already knows that because Ruin had taken the trouble to talk to him about it. He hasn't forgotten either - which is why he now smirks.

'Yes it has, and you know it.'

He turns to the waitress and barks 'Tequila - a bottle' before looking at Mary Anne to see whether she'll deny it.