mylegacy | ic inbox / drift fleet

It looks nice! It's clean, and there aren't a lot of rough-looking people in it. The bouncer is nice, too! He's tall and has a bald head and a tattoo on his arm.

[And it appears that someone fitting that description is, in fact, milling around just inside the doors.]

See! There he is.

[She waves, eagerly, and after a minute or two, the distant figure takes notice and offers a nod-and-raised-hand acknowledgement back.]

[Caesar watches this individual with Suspicion for a moment, then nods in apparent approval. He will allow this man to exist in Suzie's proximity. He guesses.]

And where's your stage?

[Her stage. Just like this is her club. Fight him about it.]

This way! Come on, we'll go past it on the way to the dressing room.

[Zooooooooooom.]

[Oh fuck we're zooming. HERE HE GOES, ZOOMING AFTER]

Wait up!

[his giant man legs are No Match for tiny zooming suzie]

[HYPE TRAIN CAN'T BE STOPPED okay but no, seriously, she does slow down long enough to show him the main part of the club, and the little stage where she'll be singing. It's one of those intimate sorts of places with a little runway that extends out from the stage itself and into the seating area.

It's also apparent that the red dress was a masterful choice, given that most of the interior seems to be done in black and silver with accents in crystal.]

There, isn't it nice? They call it the Diamond for a reason, I guess!

[He considers, as he observes the decor, that he is a fucking genius at dresses. Good job, Caesar. Way to be. Then he nods again, smiles down at Suzie approvingly.]

It's very tasteful. And you'll look perfect up there.

I decided while you were on your way to get me — I'm going to do my hair like Ginger Rogers. ...Or do you think that'd be too much?

[She throws him a look positively teeming with supplication. One can practically see the visions of being a glamorous movie star dancing around in the air around her head.]

[And still, he thinks, long-suffering, his arms are full. All he can do is just look at her and hope that that communicates enough how hnngh he is feeling right now.]

Nessuno sarà in grado di prendere i loro occhi fuori di voi.

Caesar...

[Oh, she sees it, all right. She sees it, and she looks at him, and she gives their surroundings a quick and surreptitious once-over before stepping smoothly to stand in front of him.]

Smettere di soffrire e mi danno l'abito, amichetto.

[. . . Well.]

Sì, signorina.

[He hands it over and then immediately presses a light, lingering kiss to her lips.]

Molto misericordioso.

You're so silly.

[But she still gravitates after him a little when he draws away, so it's clear he hasn't been the only one eager for that kiss, either.]

Will you be able to make it through a whole set tonight, not being able to kiss me?

Mmm . . . I don't know. I might not.

[He does not say I might die, because he's learning, but that's fairly close to the truth, all told.]

You're going to be so perfect and singing to me. I'll have to be good and not interrupt you for kisses. But it will be very difficult.

Mm, well. No matter who looks at me and listens to my songs, there's only one handsome man I'm going to go home with at the end.

[And up she goes onto her tiptoes to chase him for a kiss again.]

I know you can be strong, if you keep that much in mind.

[Let it never be said that Caesar refused a pretty girl a kiss. He meets her obediently, cupping her face with both hands and only not getting his fingers in her hair because he knows she wants to look nice in her dress. Admire his restraint.]

I'll try to remember and not be too jealous. Even though I think maybe you want me to be a little jealous.

Weeeeeeell...it's a little romantic, isn't it? Being someone that handsome men act that way about...

[She smiles at him, cheeks flushing a little pink.]

Like a glamorous movie star. It's not so bad, to want to feel like that just a little, is it?

It's not so bad, dolcezza. I think you should get to feel like that.

[He runs his thumbs over her cheeks, kisses her again. If he can make her feel like that, damn right he's going to.]

You look so amazing right now . . . maybe I'll be more than a little jealous. But I promise I won't do anything bad. I'll just save up my kisses for the end of the night.

I know you will. It'll be worth the wait, I promise.

[Her eyelashes flutter, feathered against her cheek; he kisses her and it's hard to keep her eyes open, hard to concentrate on anything but this.]

...Mmmmmlet me go change. And then kiss me on the stage, for good luck.

Mmhmm. Okay.

[With extreme reluctance, he pushes her lightly away by the shoulders.]

Go on. Hurry up. Don't keep me waiting too long.

You need the practice!

[But with that, she takes up her bag and zooms off purposefully into the backstage area, where she remains gone for a reasonable amount of time — the last thing she's about to do is rush herself and run the risk of something happening to this dress, after all.

When she does make her reappearance, though, it's not from one of the doors that connects to the floor, but from stage left itself; as promised, she's let down her hair and fluffed it up into a cloud of old Hollywood waves and curls, with red, red lipstick and a diamond-studded dress to match.

And here she comes, down the little runway, in what would be a fantastic imitation of Jessica Rabbit, if it weren't for the anachronism of about fifty years in the wrong direction.]

[Just as Caesar is very sure he's about to die of anticipation (despite every outward appearance of calm collectedness, because he actually is very good at waiting, even though it's usually girls waiting for him and not the other way around), Suzie makes her reappearance. He doesn't quite see all of her at first, just movement out of the corner of his eye, and he turns from where he's leaned back against the stage and--]

[Hm. Yes. He is, in fact, going to die here. At the very least he's going to pass out, looking up at her like she's absolutely the most perfect thing he's ever seen, which in fact he is, and like he doesn't have words, which in fact he doesn't. Not in English or in Italian. He's just. Well. Very hnngh again, honestly, and seems perfectly content to stand here and worship her from this distance for as long as she'd like him to.]

[The trick, really, is not to fidget. She wants to; the impulse is always to fuss, to touch the ends of her hair or smooth invisible wrinkles out of her skirt, to find something and decide that it isn't quite perfect and then fixate on it to mentally undermine the whole image. It'd be easy to decide she doesn't know what to do with her hands, or get self-conscious about the angle of her shoulders, or to press her lips together to feel the color smoothed across them in perfect lines.

And the temptation to do any or all of those things, it all stems from the notion that this isn't right for her somehow, that she's playing dress-up or make-believe and pretending at something that she knows full well is a fantasy.

But Caesar's looking at her like he might fall over, and there's nothing feigned about that. It's entirely genuine, and that means she must be entirely genuine, too.

What an amazing feeling that is.

So her voice comes soft, but sweet, with a smile creeping at the artful corners of her pretty red mouth.]

...So di essere bella, quando si guarda a me in quel modo.

[Honestly, even if she did fidget, he probably wouldn't notice. That is, he'd see it, because he pays careful attention to everything she does - everything she does is important and valuable to notice - but it wouldn't take away a single thing.]

[She's perfect - for him, but not just for him, perfect in general. What few brain cells are still actually working are telling him maybe he shouldn't be staring so much, but they're also telling him that maybe he should, because look at her looking at him back, loving all the looking, basking in it . . . maybe that's a good thing.]

[He turns it over in the back of his mind and decides it is. Anyway - he doesn't think he could look away even if he tried.]

[His mouth is, frankly, a little dry. But he is trying.]

Sei troppo bella. Non so cosa guardare prima. Non so cosa baciare prima. Troppo perfetta . . .

[Call that her cue to turn in a slow circle, the hems of her dress sweeping dangerously close to the platform beneath her feet as she makes a slow, easy revolution for him.]

Non voglio cantare per chiunque, ma voi. Quindi non lo farò. Sarà...solo per voi.

[She whispers, soft and maybe just a little bit overcome herself.]

Suzie . . .

[Jesus Christ. Okay, fuck this. He leans up towards her on his tiptoes, his eyes raking over her.]

Si desidera che il brano sia un segreto, non è vero? Fino a stasera. Ma non ho ancora di baciarti?

You'd better.

[She moves her hands at last, using the height the little stage affords her to her best advantage, and catching his face in them like he'd held hers before.]

That's the price, for looking at me like that.

ic inbox / drift fleet

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