callipygos | holiday party post

holiday party post

Aphrodite's New York loft is done up to the nines.

The first good look as one enters is of twinkling Manhattan through the big windows, lights bright against a dark winter sky. The windows take up most of two walls; the rest of the space is largely empty, the star of the show a glowingly polished hardwood floor perfect for dancing.

There's a cluster of low-slung couches and chairs at one end of the room, velvet and leather and very inviting. They're situated by the fireplace, which lends them a cozy glow-- though it isn't cold anywhere in here, despite the windows.

Aphrodite is very proud of a few things about tonight:

1) The music, which spans a decent range of time periods and tempos, and will be playing for most of the evening.
2) The decorations, understated but quite lovely: softly glowing lights, silver and gold ribbons wound around columns and draped from the ceiling ... the occasional strategically placed bit of mistletoe.
3) Her dress.

And yes, darlings, there is a very well stocked bar and counter full of snacks.

That's what happens when you enlist the Three Graces to help you plan your shindigs.

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"Barlow," she supplies, and after a brief pause, "but you can call me Kate."

There's another pause, as she considers an entirely new thought.

"Now, we've discussed music, but perhaps it'd be wise t'ask what manner of dancing you enjoy?"

"Kate it is.

"I like any kind of dancing that gets into the flow of the music. But I doubt you know any of the dances I do. We invent a lot in my day." More than he can name, in fact. "Since you asked me, maybe you should choose the step.

"But I get to lead." As befits any man of his era.

"But of course. I wouldn't suggest otherwise. Though, I am a fast learner, if you got the patience t'show me a step or two."

She smiles with an unreservedness you can blame on the alcohol.

"D'you know the two-step?"

"I think I've encountered it." Though not for a long while. It's the sort of dance they don't do at the Rainbow Room. "Now all we need is the right song."

She smiles wryly as the pop music plays on. There have been a few songs not entirely foreign to her, but how long will they have to wait?

"Or we could make our own music."

It's not as licentious as it may sound; she's listening to the beat of each song, trying to find one familiar enough for a comfortable dance. If Howard's eye is sharp, he might pick up on the tapping of her foot as she counts beats.

His eye is ever sharp.

"It would be a challenge.

"I like challenges."

"So do I."

She's as friendly as she is mischievous.

Soon, a decent song starts playing, and Kate nods.

"I think this'll do."

She'll wait for him to lead her to the floor, though, if he is agreeable. And he might find it's suitable enough for a slow swing, if the two-step doesn't suit.

"Yes. That is much better." Not of his era, but recognizable as music. And he gets the references.

Howard takes Kate by the hand and finds a nice spot on the floor, and then begins the dance.

He'll find she's not only light on her feet, but that she also has sharp eyes. She's quick to learn and follow his lead.

"D'you dance often, Mr. Stark?"

"Not as often as I like these days." Pause. "There's a war on. And it keeps me busy.

"Also, Miss Carter doesn't go dancing as often now." He knows where her interests lie. Which is fine. But he misses their dates.

"I'm sorry t'hear that. War is such a villain."

She always wonders, too, which are destined for her future.

"An' wicked enough without addin' the loss of a sweetheart to it."

Howard finds something resembling a rhythm.

"Miss Carter was never quite a sweetheart. We...it might be a bit hard to explain." He can't really explain it to himself, come to think of it.

"There's no need to."

She laughs slightly as settling into the rhythm causes a slight fumble, but she recovers promptly.

"I'm your dance partner, not your Mother Superior. I won't wheedle information from you."

Unless he likes wheedling.

"I am not the least bit Catholic, Kate, so that is a relief." People in his day tend to pry. He's glad they didn't in her day. "I assume you haven't met Miss Carter, since you would probably remember her if you did."

"I'm afraid I haven't. I know so few from your time, an' if you're not acquainted with Mrs. Carlotta, then it's likely we don't have friends in common."

Not from the 40s, anyhow.

"We could compare notes. Later."

For now, he gets into what later generations might call a groove.

She laughs brightly.

"I'd be delighted to."

If Tommy is feeling particularly generous in letting his 'date' mingle, of course.

"So I would guess," he says as they move about the small dance floor, "that you're from Texas or whereabouts?"

"Jus' outside of Green Lake, born an' raised. I'm afraid I never traveled much 'fore I found Milliways."

Did this song just mention 'Superman'? She knows him.

"And you? I reckon y'must travel a lot with the war."

Howard is vaguely aware there's a character named Superman. An influence, no doubt, on that silly outfit Steve wore doing the bond drive.

"I build airplanes so I travel a lot as it is. You know what planes are?"

Her eyes widen.

"I do. I've been t'the Musée de l'Air et de l'Espace."

Her French is a little rusty, but she's put a lot of practice into the accent. She's very clearly fond of the memory, as well as the topic.

"What kind of planes d'you build?"

"I don't they've built that yet. But right now, I can't get to France anyway." No need to elaborate. Either she's heard about this war in her future, or doesn't need to yet.

"We specialize at the moment in military craft. Fighter planes, cargo, custom built passenger planes. But once the war is over, I hope to move back to general aviation. Planes for all uses."

"Oh, that's an awful shame. France is lovely, an' the museum is quite interestin'. They say it's one of the oldest aviation museums in the world; it even has the only remaining piece of the L'Oiseau Blanc, which they say attempted t'make the first transatlantic crossin' in nineteen-twenty-seven. That translates t'The White Bird. Lovely name for an airplane, don't y'think?"

She finds herself a little breathless, as the steps are quickly paced, and laughs at herself when she realizes she was rambling.

"Beggin' your pardon, it's — I'm interested in flight. A friend of mine flies fighter planes, in fact. You'll hafta excuse my enthusiasm."

"No, I don't mind at all. It's a nice change to find a woman who has any knowledge or interest in anything beyond booking a flight to New York.

"Where did they find that piece of wreckage? I've read about that flight." Though he doesn't remember it, especially since that jackass Lindbergh overshadowed the White Bird's fate.

"It was the landin' gear the plane jettisoned after takin' off. The rest of it jus' disappeared, somewhere over the ocean."

The thing about flying is it terrifies her as much as it interests her. Her world's nowhere close to any of the things she's seen since coming to Milliways.

"An' my interests don't exclude flyin' t'New York, I'm sorry t'inform you. I've never actually been inside an airplane."

holiday party post

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