|2046-09-16 Friday Night|
|Location||The Sloppy Pony - Mutant Town|
|Summary||It's, like, sort of a date, except totally not.|
| There used to be glass in the heavy old frame of the door, but now several boards serve to keep the vermin out -- or, do they? You made it in.
An old hitching post greets patrons along the wall by the door, right next to a broken old jukebox that's just for show. The room itself is narrow and long, with mismatched chairs crowded around a couple (literally, two) small tables and a few crates dispersed elsewhere to sit on, but mostly it's all dancefloor, baby. The bar itself must be original, because despite it's dilapidated condition it's actually fairly well-kitted. There's a couple beers on tap, even. A sink, with shoddy plumbing, but it's a sink, coupled with a fridge whose light is always flickering, but keeps bottles icy cold. Thanks to the kid behind the bar, the collection of poisons to pick from is growing, too.There's a dartboard at the back, with darts available from the bar staff upon request, and tacks to pin up your choice of photograph to toss at. Right next to it is the door leading upstairs to the proprietor's office/living quarters, pockmarcked by stray dart-holes. The peeling paint and mold seeping through the ceiling are barely even noticeable in the dim light from the hanging, singular string bulbs around the place. Less so after a drink or three, so bottoms up!
| It is a summer evening. The weather is warm and fair.|
The Pony is busy. It's Friday night, and it's so full the temperature of the room rises, warmer than the air of the dying summer. Laughter and clinking of glasses vie with the music for mastery, and the dance floor is packed.
Rohan isn't dancing. Nor is he sitting somewhere glumly staring into his drink. He's leaning on the bar, one elbow resting on the wooden surface, one hip cocked, surveying the room with an air there is somewhere between patience and confidence. Wonder of wonders, he's not wearing a worn t-shirt tonight, but a button-down shirt of deep red, and snug dark-coloured jeans that have absolutely no holes in them.
Valerie appears in the doorway to the Pony with a dramatic pause, bracing one hand up against the doorframe as she takes in the busy bar with a sweep of her eyes, as if she owns the place. Her figure is outlined briefly by the passing of headlights on the street beyond. Tonight she's all lean lines and slight curves in vivid pink leggings and a black cropped shirt tied behind her neck in a halter. She spots Rohan almost instantly, and she lowers her hand to saunter forward a few steps with a smile quirked in his direction.
Rohan spots Valerie in the same instant. Almost as if he's been waiting for her. His grin flashes, brilliant, his eyes bright, and he swaggers toward her. "Hey there, Trouble," he greets her, voice low, reaching out to put a hand on her hip as he looks her slowly up and down, expression approving.
"Look at you," Valerie says with a quick grin. Her hand draws up, and her fingers twist at one of his buttons in lazy place. "All dressed up for something?"
"Weeeell," replies Rohan, drawing out the vowel in the rumble of his accent. "It's Friday night. It's been a while since I had a proper Friday night, but I was feeling lucky. I thought perhaps I might make an effort, in case a really hot girl walked into a bar and wanted to go dancing with me."
"Damn," Valerie says, leaning backward with a hand braced at his hip to steady her. Her gaze sweeps across the crowded bar, searching. "Should I find you one, then?"
"Well, you can look," says Rohan, with both hands on her hips now. "But I think the chances of you finding anyone hotter than you are slight."
"Oooh, flattery," Valerie says with a laugh as she crashes back into him with a hand flat against his chest. "I remember why I like you."
Rohan pulls her a little closer still, and grins down at her. He smells faintly of leather and spices and a tinge of the woodsy soap he keeps in his shower. "So what do you think, Lollipop? Some dancing, a few drinks, little bit of mischief?"
"/Mischief/," Valerie echoes, tucking close as her hips find the rhythm of the music pounding through the Pony. "That sounds intriguing. I might be convinced."
"It seems to come naturally to you," murmurs Rohan, his hips moving with hers, his hands slipping to the small of her back. "We can stay here, or go club-hopping, or see if we can con our way into a swanky place. Explore shadows and back alleys and bathrooms. The night's young."
"Your call, sugar," Valerie says. Her hand lingers flat against his chest, and a finger slides through a gap to brush light against his skin. "You're the one waiting on a hot girl. I'm just along for the ride."
"Could take you riding, too," says Rohan with a wicked grin, with the faintest hitch in his breath at the touch of her finger. He watches her, and then laughs softly. "Come on. Let's go up to the Vault and see where the night goes from there. You are way too gorgeous for this place."
"Later, Rocky Road," Valerie tells him with a grinning wink. She steps back, twisting around to take his hand in hers, and leads him out into the night.
Rohan tangles his fingers with hers, his hand warm and strong, and moves with a long stride, in a hurry to get her to where the room is darker, there is no mould on the ceiling, and the drinks are more expensive. As they near the club, he pulls her close and gives her a quick kiss, breathless and light.
Valerie twists into him as easy as a dance, pressing her leg between his as she tilts her head to meet his kiss. Her hands trail down, exploring the line of his spine before settling on the curve of his ass. "Are you voting mischief first, R?" she wonders with a laughing smile.
Even outside, they can feel the pulse of the music from the club, rumbling through the pavement and up through the soles of their feet. "It wasn't my plan," Rohan tells her, his face very close, his breath warm against her cheek. "I thought we'd dance until we couldn't resist any more." He brushes a kiss along her jawline, his stubble bristling against her skin.
"Oooh, a /challenge/," Valerie says. Her leg shifts, just so, and she draws her hands up to trail her fingers along the line of his jaw before she twirls and pulls away with an easy bounce in her step. "Let's go then, tiger."
For the briefest moment, there's a cloud across Rohan's face, his grin wavering, but it passes, and he smiles at her as he hurries to follow, gaze dipping to the sway of her hips. "I knew you were the sort of girl who liked challenges," he murmurs, tone teasing.
Valerie misses the moment entirely, busy as she is sauntering away toward the club and its pounding bass. It's probably for the best. This is a lame close.Rohan leaves it behind him with sudden determination, following her in. He won't think about it. His head's (and other things) are only on Valerie tonight.