[center][h2]Hoedown at Hafez’s - Part 1[/h2][/center][center][h3]Afternoon, Greenleaf Day 2[/h3][/center]

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/MnNm83T.jpg[/img][/center]

JP/collab from [@Aalakrys], [@wanderingwolf], and [@sail3695]

Cafe Al-Baz was situated in the heart of Khao Yai’s trendy shopping and entertainment district.  The exterior facade offered breezy patio dining along both adjoining streets, watched over by a prominent neon sign which hung proudly over the street corner.   Today, that sign’s art deco fittings were dark, a mystery solved when curious passersby noted a placard at the main entrance.

[b]Closed for Private Function.  Reopening at Seven ‘O’clock.[/b]

“This looks like the place,” Cal said to his companion as he interrogated the easel. “Ladies first,” he said, with a turn of the handle, holding the door open for Penelope to pass. Whatever fun festivities lay ahead of them, he knew he’d at least make a good impression with the bottle of non-synthetic guava wine he’d been told was in high demand this year, according to the hawker he picked it up from.

Since Penelope had been Hafez Nadal's extended guest at one time in the past, she knew to expect a flair of lavishness here. Though her old friend had seen her quite wild from the jungle before, she was glad she'd made it back to the ship in time for a shower and fresh clothes after her accidental night back in the trees at the very least. As an added measure of consideration, she actually bothered the doctor a little for help with her hair. Now as she entered, she felt grateful to Alana's help keeping her locks from frizzing out and instead stayed as smooth befit such a snazzy place.

The doors swept open before them, permitting a refreshing burst of cool air. Two guardsmen, bedecked in traditional clothing with decorative scimitars at their waists, beckoned the captain and his pilot into the festivities.   “Mr. Nadal welcomes the [i]sayidi[/i] and [i]sayidaty[/i] to this celebration.  Most have dined, but there is abundance of food and drink.  Please make yourselves comfortable and he will come to personally attend you.”

Captain Strand raised an eyebrow at the formalities paid to the pair, still cradling the bottle in his arm. “Thank you,” he replied to the men, a nod paid to each. He caught sight of a table replete with an all-you-can-eat buffet of meats and other treats and turned to his pilot. “Well, don’t mind if I do,” he said with a pitched brow in the direction of the smorgasbord.

True to form, Penelope's smile widened a little at all the extravagances as she walked along with her captain to the table. Here, her reservations slipped only in delight at seeing so many delicacies from Greenleaf spread out. She pointed out a few to Cal, helping herself to others, and telling her captain where they'd come from locally or how they were prepared. It was mostly genuine, though she also knew how to be less interesting to anyone with prying eyes. Boring, idle chatter. Too bad she sounded more than happy to share in her soft voice so long as her captain put up with it. She had gotten used to talking to Sam, after all.

Nodding along all the while Penelope articulated the finer points of each finger food immaculately dressed in banana leaves or other wrapped trifles, the Captain watched as his partner’s eyes lit up, the crinkle at her cheek right on the corner of her eyelid. There was a certain whirlwind about Penelope that caused one to stop and watch for a moment, but only for a moment before getting caught up in whatever caused her such joy. “Oh,” he’d exclaim in expectant delight at a fried plantain here, or a thinly sliced carne slathered in chimichurri. Moments later that sour face might return, bucking hard against the glisten in his eye.

One glance about the ornate room made it obvious that this party was on the wane.  The attendees had all divided into their social groups.  The men were gathered about the bar, or headed to smoke outside.  Their wives and mothers were clustered near the dance floor, watchful of small children who darted recklessly about.  Judging by the bored expression on the face of a hired disc spinner, none appeared interested in any dancing, beyond an old woman and a tiny girl.  The child’s feet were atop her grandmother’s, and the pair held hands as the elder steered her charge about the floor.  A photog hovered nearby, his lens starving for any subject that might birth a memory worthy of his pay.

A brief study of the young people showed that a dance of sorts was indeed taking place. The guest of honor was huddled with a gaggle of his friends.  All the boys were slumped over, heads hung low as thumbs busily worked their cortex readers.  Sitting across the way was a flock of young teenaged girls, similarly enthralled with their little devices.

Seeing all this splendid decorum and extravagance winding down had Penelope idly recalling a lifetime ago. She leaned over to the captain and nudged him with a glance to the dance floor. "If we'd come earlier, you coulda showed your moves, Cap'n"

He balked, “You haven’t been talkin’ to Abigail have you? You’re startin’ to sound like her: ‘moves,’ ‘clothes shoppin’,’ and the like.” Cal had just sidled into a chair across from his pilot, the hors d'oeuvres lined up across his plate like a battalion. “Tell you what, though, you ain’t wrong.” He removed his hat to place it across his knee. “Was a time I cut a rug across the ‘Verse in just about every cantina I could get into.” Taking in Penelope’s incredulous arched brow, he commented, “Somethin’ in your eye, Freckles? See, way I see it is ‘footwork’ ‘s ‘footwork,’ whether your squarin’ off at noon or for a waltz, get my meanin’?” He lifted his fork with a grin.

At that declaration, Penelope had no choice but to lower the beseeching brow that’d popped up in her clearly amused curiosity and wipe her hands clean on the napkin in her lap before offering one out to the captain. Her eyes danced freely as she made the suggestion to do the real thing. “I’d be remiss to let this fine opportunity to pass without experiencin’ it first hand, huh? Gotta warn ya, it’s been a while since I had need to put on my dancin’ shoes.”

She wiggled her strappy flat number bound around her ankle to note, the grin on her lips at her own expense. She weren’t the sort to go feeling silly, even if they were about to take to nearly empty dance floor. In fact, Penelope eyed the kids in hopes they’d join in on what she considered far more fun than the cortexes they seemed locked on. “Time to bring some life to the party, Cap’n?”