houseofcards_rp | It's Swing Time~

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It's Swing Time~

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out Elisha's motivation for organizing - or, honestly, delegating the organization of - a semi-formal dance party. Lucinda had suggested a ball, with stars in her eyes. She probably had already picked out ballgowns and themes in her head when Elisha had nixed the thing and - in a moment of desperation, with the memory of the swing-themed Fox wedding still in his head - suggest a Spring Swing, instead.

Everyone had run with it, and Elisha was pleased to say it had come out well. He was even more pleased to say that he didn't have to wear a suit, even if he stepped out into the lantern-lit gardens in everything but the tie. He paused near the raised dais provided for dancing and gave the small band the signal to start up the music before he attempted to fade back in the crowd. Not that that ever worked.

"Let the games begin," he murmured to no one in particular as he picked up a glass of champagne off a tray.

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Thankfully he'd stopped the overly complicated footwork when the band stopped playing. He's not braced for it, but he doesn't stumble over, so that's something. "Hey, man," he says a bit breathlessly as he loops an arm over Evan's shoulders.

"I thought I detected your fine touch in the bouncy castles." Which look really fun, and Alasdair is kind of sad that he's an adult.

Well-trained to receive a hug. That's always a good thing for friends to be. It's also a good thing to not be pushed away instantly--and to be known for one's crimes.

"To be fair, I had not just permission but blessings from my Face Cards." Sort of. Elani might have been joking. "Gonna go for an entire zoo next."

He might be joking. He might also only be asking the next question out of compunction, not to push any actual worry about the other man.

"You been surviving?"

It's too nice a night to dwell for long on dying fathers and heartbroken mothers, so the shadow that passes over his face is a brief one, and the smile that replaces it is almost as bright as it was before. "Oh, you know, there have been a few close shaves lately, but I'm resilient. I thought the end was near, though. We just finished Shakespeare in class."

Which was loved by the students more than by the teacher for once, so that was an odd thing to go through.

"You? Accounting hasn't slayed you yet?" He nudges an elbow in Evan's side. "Riley hasn't slayed you yet?"

That's a good sign. True, there may or may not need to be a conversation later, but at the moment, there just needs to be squeezing hugs and forehead-bumps.

"Got a whole 'nother year before you need to deal with Bill again. Promise." And, as the music starts up again, time is clearly to start bouncing, if not actually dancing. "Only when she tells me she wants t' cook me dinner and knit me socks. Dance?"

"At least. Ceiro's the new dean, and unfortunately not as easy to get around as the last one." Which meant he was probably stuck covering Shakespeare annually from here on out. Blargh.

"Has she knitted you socks? Are they bright colors? Have you ever known me to say no to swing dancing?" He only knows the answer to the last of those. That answer is clearly no. And it is clearly time to do some kind of modified Charleston.

Once a year wouldn't kill Alasdair. Probably. It might, but not necessarily, and not completely likely.

"Not yet, but 'm braced for it. And--" although clearly nothing in the world is stopping him from falling into opposite step "--'m bracing for you deciding you're too classy t' let me throw you."

Evan would absolutely volunteer to dance the girl's part if he thought Allie could lift him, but alas.

The joke was going to be on Evan if Alasdair keeled over one of these days from overexposure to the Bard.

"...I feel like I should be insulted." There's muscle tone under there, McCartney. You could ask your sister - which is something Alasdair would never say out loud, fortunately. "If you think your man enough, Evan, I wouldn't dream of stopping you."

He might be able to throw Evan. Just probably not all that far.

A sad joke it will be. And a happy never-having-that-conversation will work well for them. They work much better as friends who sleep with other people and don't talk about it.

"Now, see, we're getting into fightin' words. You ready to go there, DeWitt?"

"I get the feeling that I'd better be." Which is to say, yes, Evan. He's braced himself; let's do this thing.

He's increasingly glad he nixed the fedora that his sister wanted to put him in for this dance. It'd be toast.

"Just so you know, after this, it's my turn."

"You know I'll have t' kill you if you drop me."

But that's in a minute. Now is time to whoop and spin around properly for an over the back--because that's the sort of aerial that likely won't end in anyone cracking an ankle.

"It's a risk I'll just have to take." Which, of course, is all he can say before he's flipping over Evan's back and landing lightly on his feet. Alasdair hasn't ever broken an ankle dancing. Well.

Not for a long time.

"Bravo, bravo," he says when they're both upright again and dancing. But is Evan ready for a knickerbocker. Is he.

He was born ready. And he remains ready. He's perfectly happy to kick off the ground and trust that Alasdair isn't going to drop the arm guiding him up and around.

Just because he hasn't done this since he was a child doesn't mean it won't come naturally.

Or that literally everyone won't be giving wide berth now. Means they can try a Vegas flip, right?

The floor is theirs. They could probably breakdance at this point if the inspiration hit - except Alasdair's tried that and he mostly just gets a headache, honestly.

A Vegas flip seems like a better plan. Especially since he's pretty sure someone back there is taking video.

Breakdancing would be a waste of this wonderful music. It can come later.

Now is a far better time to see how many aerials they actually know. Yes or yes?

They'll do it at the next normal ball. Nothing's better than breakdancing in a monkey suit.

Alasdair's got a long list of them. Those years Evan spent roughhousing? Alasdair spent glued to classic dance movies. You pick up a thing or two.

When the music finally ends to thunderous applause, he pushes his damp hair out of his face. "Well, Elani should be happy. We put on a hell of a show."

Which makes them a good balance. Or something. Certainly they're a fabulous team for exactly this sort of endeavour, any which way.

And absolutely, once the tripping into a bow is done, sweaty disgusting hug-time is back in business. "Think we'll get paid? I feel like we musta earned at least a second helping of cake."

"I bet you anything that no one'll stop us if we go for it," Alasdair said as he looped his arm around Evan's shoulders. "They've got strawberry cream cake, you know."

Which was to say that Alasdair? Was having strawberry cream cake.

And maybe ice water and champagne, too. He had to rehydrate after that one.

"Solely on the basis of that performance, I imagine."

But, also, more importantly? Evan's got a light head-butt with Alasdair's name on it, somewhere in the one-armed hug and the wandering toward hydration (and cake--equally important).

"You're pretty okay, you know that?"

This is crucial. And hasn't been said in at least 24 hours.

"Damn straight. The cake police will probably stop everyone else from taking our cake." Something about dancing like that always loosens Alasdair's tongue - kind of like drinking does. He's not as serious and quiet after he's flipped someone over his back.

But then, who could be?

"Yeah?" He says, turning his head to look at Evan before giving him a noisy kiss on the cheek. "You're not half-bad yourself."

Also crucial. It's probably been at least 48 hours since he told Evan that.

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It's Swing Time~

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