Happy Thursday! We're back! My son is all better and back at daycare (YAY!), my husband is still hacking up a lung but whatever, and I… am still completely fine. Thank you all for your kind wishes in the reviews. Y'all are the best.
Anyway, tonight is the night… for some roaring 20s absurdity. (Thank you for requesting this, Aroband and BlazingBlue202!)
Gee whiz, mac. Oooooooorder up!
Being the mayor's daughter was mostly tiresom, but Zelda did have to admit: her father's political connections sure did get her into the best milk joints. Unfortunately, most of the time Zelda went to the clubs, it was with Papa, and it was to Do Business.
Zelda hated business.
"Now, Mister Mayor, sir," said one fast-talking slick with entirely too much pomade in his hair and a ridiculous, sinister little mustache, "I know you like a good deal, and boy do I ever have a good deal for you and the very fine businesspeople of this city."
"Go on, go on." Papa was puffing on a cigar, and he gestured one of his big, fat hands in a lazy sort of way. Zelda resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Papa was doing his best 'benevolent folksy sort' routine, when Zelda knew for a fact he planned to apply the thumbscrews to this absurd lobbyist.
"Pardon me, Papa," Zelda said before the wretched fellow could get started. "I think I'll go get a drink."
"Yes, yes, go," Papa said. The wretched fellow in question looked like he might like to smack Zelda's bottom in passing, but he thankfully abstained; it was just as well. Zelda could pack a mean right hook, and her dear old Papa had been the one to teach her.
Rhoam Bosphoramus did not take kindly to people manhandling his precious daughter.
Zelda edged away from the VIP tables and out into the crowd of the milk joint, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. Pumpkin Landing was a pretty good scene as far as Zelda was concerned. Excepting the unpleasant company that her dear Papa had chosen to keep tonight— pro-monopoly lobbyists, really, Papa, she thought with disgust— the Pumpkin was nice. There were stained-glass lanterns hanging high above, and the walls were sculpted and painted with all sorts of fiddly art nouveau ornamentation, and her feet didn't stick to the floor when she walked. Most milk joints had nasty floors. Zelda was delighted that this wasn't one of them.
Zelda made her way to the bar— or the nearest bar, there were a few, all set back behind arched overhangs against the walls— and stood on the tips of her toes, waving to get the bartender's attention. He bustled over, his stout belly poking over his apron. A pom of dark hair fizzed up from the top of his head, and he had an elaborately waxed and curlicued mustache.
"What'll it be, doll?"
"What's the special?" She leaned on the bar with her elbows, surveying the rainbow of unlabeled glass bottles displayed on a high shelf behind the bar.
"House special is Kina's Cocktail," the man said. "You can only get it here. Secret recipe." He leaned in, conspiratorial. "I'll give you a real nice edge."
Zelda hummed thoughtfully. She wasn't in the mood to get zozzled, but then again, perhaps a little lubrication would make it easier to tolerate Papa's business partner of the evening.
"Sure," she said after a moment, dragging out the word so it sounded like 'shooore.' "I'll do a Kina's."
"One Kina's, coming right up," the man said. He bustled off, pom of hair and belly both swaying, and got to mixing. Zelda watched him pouring ingredients into a tumbler one after another, and hoped she wasn't about to get knocked flat on her face.
On the stage, the band lit into their next song— a cheerful, springing number— and Zelda turned to watch them. Here was the real reason why she ever agreed to accompany Papa out to speakeasies. Zelda loved jazz. Couldn't get enough of it. And really, her only chance to hear it was when she came out with Papa to act as a little eye candy and a second set of ears.
Unconsciously, Zelda began tapping her toe in time with the music. A banner behind the band read, "THE INDIGO GO'S." They were good, alright: The lead singer had a real knockout voice, the guitarist was slick as all get-out, and the dance floor was hopping.
Zelda wanted to dance.
As though she'd spoken her wish aloud, someone sidled up to her.
"Pardon, Miss," the man said. "But you're lookin' a little lonely."
Zelda turned to see who was talking to her and her jaw dropped open. The most gorgeous man she'd ever seen in her life was standing next to her. He was a little scruffy: His thick blonde hair didn't seem to want to stay slicked back, and a bit of it had fallen into his ice-blue eyes. He had a pointed chin, smiling mouth, and cheekbones that could've been chiseled by a master sculptor. His face was saved from too much perfection by a nose that was almost pert, and heavy, slashing eyebrows— but still.
Yum.
He wore his gray, pinstripe suit well, although it'd sure seen better days. It hadn't been tailored to him: Zelda thought the thick muscles of his arms and shoulders were threatening to pop some seams.
She made herself stop eating him up with her eyes, picked her jaw up off the floor, and summoned a smile. The answering smile she got in return was almost enough to knock her for another loop. Goddess almighty but the fellow was handsome.
And, judging by the look on his face, he was waiting for her to say something.
"Hi," she shouted lamely over the music.
The smile on his face flickered a little wider. "Hi. Wanna dance?"
Boy, did she ever— But just then, the barkeep came back with her drink. Zelda took it, shot a look of regret at the man, and turned to stand on the tips of her toes and shout over the bar to be heard.
"Put it on my pop's tab," she said, jerking a thumb in the direction of the VIP table where (even now) her dear old pops was pretending to be charmed by that snake-oil peddler.
"Got a group to get back to?" The handsome man asked, looking disappointed.
"Not urgently," Zelda said. "I'd love to dance, but…" She shook her drink at him. It was a colorful concoction served in a coupe glass and garnished with a little pink flower. "It'd be a shame to waste a perfectly good drink. And besides." She pulled a face. "I'm here to help with some family business."
The man's handsome face went carefully neutral, and she realized she'd misspoken.
"I'm not with the mob," she added hastily. "No, no. My old man's off negotiating some sort of deal or other. Politics." And she pulled a face, hoping to put this incredibly good looking fellow at ease. She stuck her hand out. "Zelda."
"Link," the man responded, taking her hand and shaking it firmly. "You got a last name, Miss Zelda?"
"Sure do, but you'll have to ask me later," she said.
Link looked intrigued.
"Later when?"
"Oh, I don't know." She shrugged. "Maybe after we've danced. Come find me when I'm free." She winked, then turned and moseyed away, made sure he saw her going into the VIP section, and glided (or, at least, it felt like she was gliding) back over to the table.
Papa and the slick still had their heads together, and gave no indication of being aware of Zelda's return. She felt a little of her good cheer fading as she forced herself to listen to what was being said. She was good at listening and remembering, and even better at figuring out what was really motivating the people who thought they were shaking Papa down. Papa called her his secret weapon more often than not, and while it felt good and important to be helpful to her father, she wished (not for the first time) that she could just go to a speakeasy, have fun, dance with a handsome stranger…
Well, she would dance with a handsome stranger, she promised herself. And if she was clever about it, she'd do more than just chat with Link by the time the night was over, and Papa would never twig to her mischief.
The conversation wore on and Zelda's drink slowly disappeared. She paced herself: The speakeasy needed to fill up a bit more before she got up for a refill, that way she'd have a plausible excuse for being gone awhile.
But it wound up not being necessary. As Papa and the man began to talk details, the slick got pushy. Papa didn't handle pushy well. (Nor did Zelda, for that matter.) As the fellow got ruder, Papa got more and more stubborn, until finally the slick stood up in a huff.
"Well, Mister Bosphoramus, sir, I thought you were a sensible sort of fellow, but I'm s'posin' I was wrong," the slick said. "And it's a shame, too, on account of another deal this good never comin' cross your doorstep again."
"What you're offering me and mine is a pittance and we both know it," Papa said. "Get on out of here, Mister Cannon."
Mister Cannon stood, huffing, and stomped out of the VIP area. Papa sat back with a sigh, shaking his head.
"I'll have your assessment in the car," Papa said as Zelda opened her mouth. "Not here."
Zelda nodded. "Fair enough, Papa. Only, I was going to ask… Can we not leave right away? This band sure is swell, and I was hoping…" She trailed off. How did one tell one's widowed father that one wanted to dance with a real beefcake of a stranger?
But Papa chortled.
"Ah, to be young," he said. "Go find some handsome young hothead to dance with. I'll enjoy the music and the cocktails from back here."
"I sure will, Papa, thank you," Zelda said. She swooped over and gave her dear old dad a peck on the cheek, then very nearly bounced out of the VIP section.
As she was hotfooting it back to the bar, Link slid into her path. She grinned.
"Were you spying on me, Mister Link?"
"Been waiting for a chance to learn your last name, that's all," he said. He arched one of those thick brows. "VIP section, huh?"
"Yeah, my papa's a political muckety-muck," Zelda said, which wasn't exactly a lie. Her papa was technically the political muckety-muck and had been for going on twenty years now, but this fellow didn't need to know that. Yet.
"Dance with me?" Link said, holding out his hand.
"Ab-so-lutely," Zelda agreed, placing her hand in his.
The band was playing a fast ditty, but as they edged onto the crowded dance floor, the band wound the song down and transitioned into something slower, more sultry. Zelda looked at Link. Link looked at Zelda.
"I'm game if you're game," she said in answer to his unspoken question.
He pulled her in, one hand on her waist, and they began to dance. It was nice, dancing like this. Zelda didn't slow dance with many people— strangers or otherwise. It felt good to be held, although she thought a big part of the reason why it must've been so nice was because Link smelled like pine trees and felt like heaven.
"Come here often?" He asked after a moment. His voice was low and sultry in her ear, and Zelda shivered from the top of her perfectly coiffed head down to the tips of her sensibly shod toes.
"First time at this milk joint," she said, and was a little disgusted to hear how breathy she sounded. "You?"
"The same." He guided her through a lazy spin. "I don't get out much."
"Why not?"
"Usually work evenings." They finished the spin and he pulled her close again. In her ear, he whispered, "I'm a detective."
"Oooh," Zelda whispered. "Are you here investigating a crime, detective?"
"It's my night off," he said. "How about you? You said you're working?"
"Papa was trying to cut a deal with a business fellow," Zelda said. She was definitely coming over all breathy, she thought, half giddy, half annoyed with herself. "It fell through."
Link hummed.
"Nothing illegal, I hope?"
"Not at all," Zelda said. She pulled back and fluttered her eyelashes, not even caring that she had to look like the most ridiculous flirt on this side of the ocean. "I sure would hate to get in trouble with the law."
Link grinned. She was seized by a desire to back him into a corner and kiss him senseless, but kept her wits about her: Even though Papa was done working, he was still here, and she sure didn't want to get caught acting like a randy teenager.
"You lived in Akkala City long?" Link asked her as they danced some more.
"All my life," Zelda responded. "You?"
"About a year," Link said. "Moved up from Faron. I grew up in Dracozu City."
Zelda tilted her head. "Is it true there's dragons there?"
"Stone ones, sure," Link said. "Live ones? I've never seen one, though my sister swears she did once."
Zelda shook her head, smiling at his conspiratory tone. "Pull the other one, then."
"Honest!" He had a really lovely smile, Zelda thought: All warm and genuine and boyish. "Or, at least, honest she says so. Whether she's lying…" He shrugged. "You know how sisters are."
"Sure," Zelda agreed, even though she didn't. "So you came here for work?"
"Yeah. I wanted to see the big city. Nowhere's bigger than Akkala. It's where dreams are made."
"Sometimes," Zelda said. She couldn't help herself: She walked two fingers up the back of Link's neck, gratified by the way he shivered. "And tell me, Link the detective. Are your dreams being made?"
His gaze darkened, his eyes smoky as he looked at her lips. "One of 'em sure is," he said.
She thought— hoped!— that he was going to kiss her, right there on the dance floor where the Goddesses and everyone could see, but the song ended, and the applause broke the spell between them. After a regretful moment, Link stepped away. Zelda was sorry to see him go.
So she cleared her throat.
"Bosphoramus," she said. Link tilted his head. She could see the confusion— Could see him about to ask her what she meant— So she laid a finger on the side of her nose and winked. "You can reach me at City Hall. Ask for Zelda Bosphoramus. I'll be waiting." And then, because she just couldn't resist, she stepped forward and kissed his cheek. "Let's dance again sometime," she whispered in his ear. And while he collected his wits, she pulled away, walking with a spring in her step back to the VIP section.
Papa was still lounging at the table, finishing up what looked like a Death Mountain Mule. When Zelda appeared in his line of sight, grinning, he straightened up, smiling a little.
"Have a nice dance?"
"Sure did," Zelda agreed.
"Would you like to stay a little longer?" Papa asked her. Chortling, Zelda shook her head.
"And where would the fun be in that? The chase is half the game," she said.
"Alright," Papa said. He made a motion to a nearby attendant to fetch their coats and alert the valet to bring their car around. "We'll call it an evening, then."
Zelda smiled. "Thank you, Papa."
She looked over at the dance floor. She couldn't see where she and Link had been standing, but she faintly caught a flash of him striding through the crowd, not towards her. He looked dazed, and had his fingers pressed to his cheek. There was an expression in his eyes that was very like wonder.
Then the crowd swallowed him up again, and Zelda couldn't help but grin again. She'd probably set herself up for a few agonizing days of jumping every time the phone rang in the little office where she did her secretarial work for Papa, but oh, it would be worth it.
And feeling very cheerful indeed, she allowed Papa to lead her out of the club.
Aaaaaand DONE. I had way, way too much fun looking up 20's slang for this. As always, not sorry.
Tomorrow, I'll be granting a wish for my one and darlingest CrazygurlMadness, so y'all have that to look forward to. Until then, stay safe, stay inside, and WASH YOUR HANDS! Air smoochies to all, and to all a good night.
