[center][h2]Hoedown at Hafez’s - Part 2[/h2][/center]

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

[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MivnxkuWth4]Stolen Dance - Milky Chance[/url]

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


Cal regarded her from a tilted neck, jaw working through his mouthful as he surveyed her open hand, then the dance floor. In mirroring sentiment, the Captain wiped his hands clean on his own napkin before tossing it onto the table beside his barely-eaten line of hors d'oeuvres. “You asked for it; let’s see how you glide,” he said, hat on his seat, taking her hand and leading her onto the empty dance floor.

The last song ended as if on cue, and Cal squared up with Penelope, a glance toward the disc spinner. The bated breath between the first few beats of the next song saw Cal raise an eyebrow toward his compatriot, his right hand placed on her waist, her right hand in his left. A few seminal pulses in his frame tested their connection; the pressure in her follow was constant. With a glint in his eye Cal said, “You’ve done this before, haven’t you, Pen? You been holdin’ back on me.”

At the captain’s lead, Penelope was able to step just where needed so they had a steady rhythm that befit the song playing. Her usual easy smile stretched as she answered easily given their surroundings. “Don’t get much use outta legs flyin’ the Doll, but I couldn’t’a been a guest of Hafez’s for as long as I was and not learn ta dance. I was just tryin’ to figure up when you got time in, Cap’n.”

“I’m gettin’ my miles in right now,” Cal said as the song materialized into the steady clap and bass beat of the spinner’s audio. He led Penelope into a turn, a tension push and pull with a sudden stop mid-tempo. A shimmy started in his head, traveling down to his hip, then finally to his toe, before sending the signal to Pen through their joined hand for her to show her stuff.

The last time he’d danced like this was before Londinium, in a club on Zephyr, packed with late night trysts. He’d stuck out like a sore thumb from his hat to his boots. It didn’t take long before he was noticed by the club’s regular follows ready to give a new lead a spin. Only when his cortex read 0245, and his sweat-soaked plaid clung to his skin, did he finally call it quits with waves and moans–given he was due at 0300 for that next transport pickup.

As the steps the pilot made were in conjunction with the ever-present bass beat at first, she was all arms and hips sashaying as they moved. Penelope’s usual easy stride blended away into the music that seemed meant for her as she moved along to it with ease. Once the rhythm faded for a quicker tempo to take as the chorus returned, her eyes met Cal’s in a final turn just before she reached out with an extended arm to her partner.

Cal’s eyes widened, nodding his head just as the chorus began. He pulled her in toward him for a side-by-side tandem kick, “Look at those moves, Freckles; whoever said a Barefoot can’t dance?” After an eight-count of kicks, Cal led Penelope into a twirl, his hand keeping contact with her waist, before he joined her in a twirl to face her at the end. His head still bobbed to the beat as a grin he couldn’t stifle faced his high-flying dance partner.

There was a grace with which Penelope handled herself, a slinking and confident twirl here, a poised and preposterous wink there. He hadn’t met many of her ilk; hell, he hadn’t met a soul that bore semblance to Penelope Randell. His sidelong glance watched the genuine merriment on her face. The ease of her movements, especially given the confessions she’d shared with him just days ago. About her home. About her fear and longing. But there wasn’t a wink of that to be seen on the face Pen beamed now.

It was easy to get lost in the moment music and a good dance partner could provide, not to mention the familiarity of a party thrown by Hafez Nadal - even as tame as this one was as it started to die out. Still, it had brought back how the events breathed life back into her once coaxed out into them, and look at her now. Not even a care as she and her captain took to the floor for a bit of much needed unwinding with delightfully surprising compatibility in their coordination on the floor.

All eyes were now upon the adventurous couple who whirled and moved in thrilling syncopation.  One pair studied the agile pilot in mixture of longing and resignation.  Hafez Nadal had taken station along a far wall.  His composure remained intact; nothing else would do.  Yet, as sight of Penelope came welcome as water in his desert, the syndicate leader couldn’t help the sad smile playing at his lips.

The beat crescendoed, and Captain Strand stepped toward Penelope, his sign-posted wrist tucked behind his back. In one deft movement Cal turned into her, ducked bending double, and reappeared on her other side with a grin on his face. As the song played out its final bars, Cal watched the disc spinner nod, the flabbergasted faces of teenagers torn away from their ‘texes, the lens of the photographer, and so it was with a whisper that he asked, “Looks like we’ve got an audience, ready to take your bow?” A nice dip could be in order, if she were keen.

The kaleidoscope of her loose skirt swirled into the turn, and Penelope laughed aloud at the flourish with the question. It had been quite some time since the tickled sound escaped so freely, and she nodded. "We can't disappoint 'em now, can we?"

The song had that perfect lingering slow beat fade out that met with the depth of the dip she fell back into, guidance from her partner a trust to not let her fall from the hold and slow, lingering rise back upright. It was quite the sell, if she said so herself as her lazy lashes opened back up to the face of her wonderful dance partner. The rush of the swing dance was a nice transition into the tapered off beat.