AN: Sorry for the delay. I've been a bit preoccupied these days. Hope everyone is well!
"We really cut it close," Scatty observed, glancing at her watch. "Bet you thought I'd be quicker, clothes shopping and all."
"I knew we'd get out of there in good time. All we have to do is go home, change, and we'll be ready."
"Your faith is astounding," she said drily.
"I can't believe you bought heels," he told her.
She shrugged. "I figured you're going to be my main dance partner tonight. We had to do something to bridge the foot difference in our heights."
He laughed. "I'm sorry. We're at opposite sides of the spectrum. Do you like to dance?" he asked, turning onto their road.
"No, not really," Scatty admitted. She swung the box with her dress back and forth. "It makes me feel foolish cause I'm never so uninhibited that I relax."
"I like dancing, but I wouldn't call what they do in clubs dancing," Machiavelli commented. He pointed halfway down the road. "That's the club Billy and I went to."
"That's the night you both got drunk?"
"Yeah. We only went to a club once before Billy went away. I find the clubs a little overwhelming," he added. "Too many people, too dark, you can't tell what's happening around you."
"So why are we going?" Scatty joked feebly.
"Well, I'm going because I'm trying to learn how to have fun like a typical twenty year old does. You're going because let your foolish sense of friendship and loyalty overcome your good reason."
"So I should ditch you and stay home, eating ice cream?" She raised an eyebrow, looking at him.
"It's what I'd do if I was in your situation." He grinned. "Only kidding, of course. Hey, stop for a minute."
The Italian dashed into the flower shop before she could protest. He came back with a bouquet of larkspur, roses, and hydrangeas. "For you, mia signora."
"I bet you could get away with anything, with that accent of yours," she said, smiling when she didn't think he was looking.
"I find I have more power with it over here, then when I'm in Europe," he stated thoughtfully. A grin tugged at his lips. It had been a long time since he'd been in the regular company of a woman and he found that it was still instinctual for him to shower his loved ones with gifts. His daughters and wife, he'd always managed to bring them back some sort of treasure. Being with Scatty made him feel the same wave of happiness. "I'm very fond of you, Scatty."
"Why, though?" she laughed.
"I don't know. I just do."
Scatty's phone buzzed. She flipped it open and read the text. "Billie texted me."
"My Billy?"
"No, sorry." She patted his back. "The other one. Lady Day. She has two bars she'd like to go to," she said, scrolling through the text. "Howl at the Moon and then one called Forbidden Fruit?" She raised her eyebrow and looked up at him. He shrugged, having never heard of either. "Well, I'll tell her yes then, if you're okay with it."
"Sure…" Finding himself at their door, he fumbled with his keys. "When does she want to meet?" he asked, heading upstairs.
She trailed after him. "In an hour. At Howl at the Moon."
"See, we've got plenty of time. I'm going to put on a different suit."
"Yeah, I'll put my dress on." Scatty said the word dress like it was poison. He chuffed.
Shutting his door, he hung up the suit he was wearing, reflecting that it was a little too dressy for what he'd witnessed the last time he went out. He selected a more casual cut, though he still wore his suspenders and garters. He'd just finished pulling on his suit jacket when he heard a tap at the door.
Scathach was standing there, loosely hanging on to her heels. "You look so pretty, Scatty," he told her lovingly.
She ducked her head. "Sure," she agreed, not sounding like she believed him. "I, uh, need your help." He waited, knowing she didn't easily ask for assistance. "I need you to do up the zipper in the back.
"Oh. Certainly." She held up her hair and turned around. He paused, the intimacy of the moment not lost on him. Not wanting to seem like a creep, he quickly zippered her into the dress, fastening the clasp at the top of the zipper. Turning around, she smiled at him, a little shy. "You should wear the dress when Billy comes back," he told her.
"Why?"
"He'll tell you how pretty you are too." And he would, Machiavelli knew he would. He felt a rush of gratitude once more, knowing that Billy viewed Scatty as a friend, a sister, but not a potential lover. He felt, watching her hop around ridiculously, trying to get her shoes on, that both American immortals could have found happiness with each other.
"Ready to go?" she called over to him. Rousing himself from his reverie, he nodded.
~MB~
He was relieved to find out that this bar was actually nicer than the club Billy and he had gone to the other week. He looked around at their setting.
Exposed brickwork met the wooden beams of a high ceiling. A long bar ran the length of the back wall, bottles gleaming in the semi-darkness. It had been brighter when they'd first gone- without noticing it the lights had been dimmed as the hour progressed.
Machiavelli thought it must have been the live band that had attracted Lady Day to this particular establishment. Continuous jazz numbers seemed to fill the crowded space with a heartbeat.
Despite the pleasant surroundings, the Italian immortal couldn't help but feel that he'd made a misstep in agreeing to come out here tonight. Surrounded by all these young people, carefully ensconsed in all the pleasures and tribulations of the truly young, he felt himself a fraud.
Upon voicing this sentiment to his companions, he was handed a drink that he would have never ordered himself. Lady Day seemed to think that most life problems could be solved with a bottle, but the look of sympathy on Scatty's face told him that he was not totally alone in feeling like a fish out of water.
"Make the best of the situation," Scatty suggested. And he tried, not wholly unsuccessfully either- it was fun to be out dancing; the activity was always something he'd enjoyed and the movement helped occupy his mind sufficiently enough that he felt some of his doubts slip away.
He danced every dance with Scatty, his sobriety enabling his sudden bout of shyness. The Shadow too, seemed pleased with this arrangement- she confessed to him that being among large crowds of humans made her inexplicably uneasy.
Billie shared neither their shyness nor their loyalty. A social butterfly with damaged wings, she encouraged the affections of both men and women, seeming to derive the most pleasure from denying her partners what they demanded.
"Her confidence might be for show, but it's a convincing one," he murmured in his dance partner's ear.
Scatty casted a glance at the jazz singer. She was disappearing with one of the guitar players, moving out of their range of sight. "At the end of the day, she's no more fulfilled than any of us."
He laughed a short laugh. "That's sad to think."
"Are there any people here that catch your eye?" Scatty asked, changing the subject abruptly.
Machiavelli scanned the room. "I don't typically fall in love on sight. No," he answered, looking back at her. "I'm sure these are good people, most of them at least, but to love them I'd have to get to know them. I don't see that happening."
"Good."
"Good? You don't want me finding love?" he asked lightly, a smile gracing his handsome features.
"I didn't want you giving up because of Billie's bad advice."
The song ended. "I'm a little tired. Want to sit out for a song or two?" He jerked his head at the tall tables by the windows. She nodded. "Whew," he sighed, pulling out a chair for her.
Scatty sighed too. She rubbed her feet. "Why would anyone ever subject themselves to heels?" she asked, her nose wrinkling in disgust.
"It does help with our height difference," Niccolo offered wryly.
"Psh. We still look ridiculously mismatched." He grinned and shrugged. "How much taller than Billy are you?" she asked, curious.
"The Kid? About four inches taller, if I remember correctly. I wasn't at my full height when he left, but I remember being only a little taller than him when we first met…"
"Well, that's not so bad," Scatty muttered.
Machiavelli felt the first tendrils of melancholy seep over him; he hadn't felt any trace of sadness all summer and the sudden onset of this feeling was startling and rather upsetting. Surrounded by people, he felt terribly alone all in one instant. Even the nearby presence of Scatty and Billie didn't seem to be able to undo the churning feeling in his stomach.
He felt a hand on his. Scatty was looking at him. "Mac, you okay?"
He nodded tightly. "I just… just feel kind of funny," he murmured. "I don't know what's happening Scatty, I just feel… sad suddenly? I'm not usually prone to depression…"
"Why don't we get out of here?" she suggested, grabbing his arm.
He shook his head. "You two are having fun. I'm just going to walk back to the house." She looked like she was going to argue, but he kissed her cheek. "Really, I'm fine. I think it's just the atmosphere." He held up his phone. "I think I'll call Billy. Maybe you should have that Billie stay the night at our place? So we know she's safe."
"Okay, but she's coming back to the table now. Why don't you make that suggestion and see how far it gets you?"
Machiavelli glanced up. Billie was coming back to the table, three beers held in her hands. He gave her a swift smile.
She gave him a once over. "Hey, pizzabagel, you look down in the mouth."
His mouth twitched in slight amusement. "Pizzabagel? That's the second time you've called me that."
"It's what we called the people that came around after the Italian neighborhoods starting mixing with the Jews."
"Well, I'm just a little tired, so I'm going to head for home. But I was telling Scatty I'd like it if you stayed with us tonight. I'd feel better."
"I know how to take care of myself, dollface."
"I don't doubt it," Niccolò commented lightly. "Still, I don't like the idea of you wandering through the city alone, at night. Will you stay?"
She softened, only fractionally. "What would I do at your place? It's not mine."
"It would just be for the night."
She thought about it. "I'll stay over," she promised, "but only on one condition. You come to one more place with me."
"Where?"
"A place I know."
"Scatty said it was called Forbidden Fruit? I googled it on my phone and couldn't find any mention of it…"
"That's because it's a hidden club. Moves around. You need a password to get in."
"And you have this password, I suppose?" Scatty asked archly, leaning on Machiavelli slightly as they followed the jazz singer. She winced.
"Of course," Lady Day retorted frostily. Reaching a door painted black, she rapped her knuckles against the wood briskly. A little panel slid open. Through this, the dark immortal conversed. Moments later, the door clicked open.
This place was much more what Machiavelli had assumed the jazz singer would bring them to. The walls were painted black, bright lights flashed across the crowd, and there was a cage in the center of the room which club goers voluntarily climbed into and were generally made a fool of.
He halted where he was, strangely transfixed on a short girl wearing shorts and two bandaids across her nipples, but not much else. She twirled inside the cage, her eyes fixated on a girl sitting not far away. He heard Scatty's impatient cough behind him. "Sorry," he apologized immediately, blushing profusely. "I just- I didn't…"
"It's okay, boo," she said, pulling the stammering man away from the entrance. "She's quite the spectacle.
"No, I wasn't looking at her- not that way- I just… never imagined people would leave their homes with bandages as their main outfit…"
"It certainly makes me feel overdressed," Scatty said sarcastically. She pulled him into the crowd, beginning to dance with the rhythm.
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a glassy eyed man. He leered at Scathach. "Want to dance?" It sounded like a threat.
"Beat it. I'm having a conversation with my friend," she said dismissively.
He glanced at Machiavelli. Seeming to decide that the skinny immortal in three-piece suit was no competition, he moved closer, invading their personal space. "Lose the stiff. My friends and I, we'll show you a good time."
"I'd rather chew glass," she tossed back at him.
His friends, a few feet away, laughed at this. The drunkard in front of them got red in the face though- clearly he was used to getting his way. He grabbed her arm. "You're going to dance with me."
Her fingers closed around his arm. His face twisted in pain and surprise when she twisted the arm, flipping him around. "No, I said I did not want to," she said slowly and deliberately. "You remember me the next time you try to force yourself on someone else." With an almost delicate movement, she twitched her grip. He was thrown backwards, landing on a table which toppled over. He practically flew out the door of the bar, howling a string of swears as he left.
Machiavelli looked at her impassively. "Scatty…"
"What? You disapprove?"
"No… I just think we could have maimed him in a less populated area."
"Guys like that never learn."
Billie appeared suddenly, leaning on their table. "What's going on? Why aren't the two of you dancing?"
"Scatty just threw some jackass's across the room," Niccolo informed her.
Billie looked at the Shadow with something akin to newfound respect. "Did he deserve it?"
"Yes."
"Aw, well, good for you then. You're more alright than I thought you were." She grabbed Niccolo's arm. "Come on sugar lips, we're dancing this song."
"You're doing the same thing to me that the guy just did to Scatty," he protested, following her out on the floor.
"He was sexually objectifying her. Whereas I," she stopped, looking him up and down. "Never mind, pizzabagel, I am doing that to you too. You don't want to know what I'm thinking right now," she told him conversationally.
He didn't doubt it at all. "Yeah, no, I'm good. Are you going to continue to call me pizzabagel?"
"Yes."
He floundered a little, wondering how he'd gotten to this point in the night where casual violence was rewarded with a dance.
The jazz singer grabbed his face, directing it towards hers. "Eyes on me, not on things happening outside of this room." She released him when the song died down, somehow matching him up with a thin blond before the next song had even begun. Again, she disappeared into the crowd.
"Hi!" he called, looking at his companion. From the corner of his eye, he could see Scatty dancing with a younger looking man; the expression on his face seemed to connote that he couldn't believe his luck.
"Hi. Wow, you're tall," she said back. She seems nice. "Are you with the red head?" she asked, following his glance.
"She's just a friend. Sorry, I just wanted to make sure she wasn't alone," he apologized.
She smiled. "I think that's sweet," she told him. "So are you single?"
"I am… but I have someone I'd like to be with, to be honest," he admitted, feeling that he should be honest and avoid leading her on. "I'd understand if you wanted to find someone else to dance with."
She surprised him by shaking her head. "My name's Julie. My friends wanted me to come with them here, but most guys are jerks." She grinned and spun around a little, ruffling her dress playfully. "I like the idea of not having to impress you."
"My other friend dragged us here, too."
"Is she the-?"
"Yeah, that's her," Machiavelli agreed, knowing that whatever Billie had done to make herself distinct, it would be what Julie was referring to.
The song slowed and Julie put her arms lightly on his shoulders. "Sorry. But got to make it look good for the friends." They slow danced. "So, who's the lucky girl? Tell me about her."
Niccolo smiled wistfully. "Actually," he said, wondering if he had the nerve to be honest, "you should be asking who the lucky man is."
She blinked, processing, then smiled. "Oh, sorry. I just assumed…"
"It's okay. I didn't think I was gay either until I met him," he confessed, wondering why he was telling this perfect stranger his secrets. Maybe because I'll never see her again. There's a certain safety in that, he decided.
"So, why aren't you with him?" she asked curiously. She rushed to cover her question. "You don't have to answer that."
"It's okay." He smiled at her. "He's just not gay. I didn't think I was either."
"Oh. Sorry," she said, faint frown lines forming on her forehead. He didn't want to see her frown, didn't want to make her sad at all when she was in the prime of her life. "Julie, it's been really nice getting to know you."
"You too. Can I ask you to do something for me? It's going to be weird," she cautioned him, "since we just met. Can you give me a kiss? Just on the cheek? I think it would get my friends off my back for the rest of the night."
He couldn't help but grin. "I can do that," he agreed. Leaning down, he kissed her gently and drew back.
She stepped back, giving him a little smile. "Going to see where your friend is?" she asked, giving him an out. He nodded and with a little flick of a wave, she melted into the crowd, joining a group of girls who bunched around her.
"Did you make a friend? Fall in love?" Billie asked him, when he joined her and Scatty.
"A friend? Maybe. Fall in love? No." He laughed. Seeing the questioning glance on Scatty's face, he explained himself. "Her friends were pressuring her to come tonight and she felt that if she left with an intriguing story, they'd leave her alone."
"And you were happy to be the subject of this story."
He grinned. "I've been a fifty year old man for four hundred years. It's kind of nice to be considered attractive."
"Well, I guess you should use it while it- hey kid," she said, interrupting herself suddenly, "isn't that our friendly neighborhood stalker?"
Machiavelli ducked, chancing a quick look where the Shadow was looking and saw that it was indeed their neighbor. She hadn't noticed him yet, but they weren't that far off and he could only imagine it wouldn't be long. "Merda! Ah," he groaned, looking around. "Maybe she won't see us. Where's Julie's group?"
"They just left, but I think she's seen us. Why do you-" Scatty began to ask, confused. He cut her off, kissing her suddenly, unexpectedly, and much more passionately than he'd kissed the lithe blonde. Her eyes flew open in surprise, particularly with how much he used his body to dominate her.
He lifted her up, setting her on the chair where she was far more level with him. One hand, he kept on her thigh, the other holding her face.
Breaking away, he glanced at the reflection of the room in the window behind Scatty. He was relieved to see that wherever she had been, Missy was gone for now. "Sorry," he apologized, realizing that he probably could have handled the situation in another way. He ran a hand through his hair nervously. "Sorry, I panicked and…" He shrugged.
"Well," the Shadow said slowly. "I guess this is why I came down. Reason was to help you." She actually seemed flustered. "Did I help?"
"Yes, thank you. Someday I'm going to make this all up to you."
"Is he a good kisser?" Billie asked Scatty interestedly.
The warrior was touching her lips. "He is."
Machiavelli felt that the tone of surprise was hardly necessary, but didn't want to engage too deeply in this conversation. "I think that this time, I am going to head back home."
"Okay," Billie sighed as if he'd mortally wounded her. "But you have to admit, you had a lot of fun tonight."
"There were certain enjoyable parts," Machiavelli conceded. "The two of you are going to stay here?"
Billie looked at Scatty, actually looking rather pleading. The Shadow sighed, but nodded. "But only for an hour more. Then we go home. It's nearly two o'clock."
"And are you sure you're both going to be alright walking back on your own?" Machiavelli asked anxiously.
"Of course, I'm more powerful than you are," Scatty answered, somewhat impatiently. "Go ahead home, Niccolo. We'll be there soon."
Now that it was time to go, Machiavelli didn't want to leave them. He wanted them to come with him instead. "I could stay."
"Go," they both said.
He sighed, feeling that he'd lost the battle. "Okay, see you in a little while." He made his way out of the bar. Looking up at the street signs, he figured that he had to go over one road, and up five to make his way back home. He picked his way through the streets, one hand tucked carefully in his pocket. There wasn't a lot of traffic at this time of the night.
He was rather surprised at how uneventful the walk back was. Perhaps to test his luck, he cut through the park to make his way home. A few unfortunate homeless gazed back at him in the darkness, but he felt a rush of compassion, not fear, fill him. The night was very cold; he wondered what they would do when it got even colder.
Crossing the street, he made his way up the stairs to his brownstone, hoping fervently that Scatty had remembered her own key. He felt a little better already, being inside their home. Less people, less noise, he thought idly. Loosening his tie, he made his way up the stairs.
I wonder if Billy is still up? And why he hasn't called? These questions he thought before slumping over in bed, feeling all the different emotions wash over him. It had been exhausting, exercising emotions he hadn't felt in years, all in one night. Reaching over, he snagged his phone and typed out a short message before falling asleep. 'Billy?' he'd typed and sent to the American immortal, hoping to hear back from his friend.
