ArchivedLogs:Overdue

Overdue
Dramatis Personae Jax, Steve	2017-02-26 "I'll try not t'step on your toes none."
Location <NYC> Mockingbird - TriBeCa
With blacked-out windows and a tasteful but plain facade, the Mockingbird doesn't look like much at all from the outside. You'd probably miss it if you weren't specifically searching for it, and once inside you'd be informed the establishment is members-only--on a technicality, since membership costs next to nothing. Inside, the cozy club is styled after an early 20th century lounge, complete with vintage furniture, an antique long bar, and live music nightly, and a cozy smoking room in the back. All of the employees and many of the regulars habitually dress in a melange of '30s and '40s fashion. The dance floor is not large, just an irregular space between tables and booths, but there's almost always someone cutting a rug. Saturday night is swing night, when they take down some of the tables and encourage dancing. Sunday evenings aren't the most bustling of times -- not for nightlife in general, and it doesn't seem like this place is an exception. Whatever 'this place' is, really -- as Jax leads Steve towards the door it's quite unremarkable from the outside, a plain doorway with no real signage and only a small stylized mockingbird carved on the lintel overhead. Inside it's -- "-- much more charmin', I promise," Jax is explaining as he slips off his long overcoat, slips in the door; underneath his suit is cheerfully yellow, high-waisted, pegged cuffed trousers, a long wide-lapeled coat, slightly sheeny black dress shirt, porkpie hat with a blue feather tucked into its black band. "I think you'll -- Oh, hi, Syd!" There's a faint blush to his cheeks as he stops by the entry, fishing out his wallet to get his membership card from it. "I brought a friend tonight." The young woman at the front table is waving away Jackson's wallet already when he starts to take it out, looking -- momentarily slightly wide-eyed at the sight of him and his companion. "Mr. Holland. Welcome -- back." Her moment of fluster is, at least, soon to pass. "We missed you," at least /sounds/ genuine. Steve's eyes widen as he follows Jax into the warm -- and warmly-lit -- interior of the Mockingbird. "Oh, gosh!" He's shrugging out of his greatcoat and shield-harness, doffing his gray fedora. Underneath, his suit is somewhat less colorful than Jax's, navy blue and conservative in design, his dress shirt white with a subtle weave chevron weave pattern, his tie a solid, primary red. "This is amazing! It looks -- well, not like the clubs around /our/ neighborhood -- but there were places like this up..." He chuckles, blushing a little. "...up this way." He gazes around the place mesmerized, as much by the vintage decor as at the patrons decked out in the fashion of his own time. "Oh," he repeats, more softly. "It's good to be back." /Jax/ sounds genuine, too. He tucks his wallet back into his pocket. "Can I take your coats?" The woman at the table is reaching for Jax's already, brows lifting. Jax hands it over with a signed thanks, a warm smile. "Enjoy your evening," Syd says. "And welcome, Captain Rogers." Jax's blush only deepens, with this. His teeth wiggle at one lip ring; there's a decided hesitation before he slips further into the lounge. "M'glad you like it. I mean, I thought you'd like it. I mean, I hoped you'd... um. I mean. D'you want a drink?" he asks Steve. "Or just --" His eyes track towards the small dance floor, sparsely populated as yet though there's lively swing music being played by the sax-and-singer duo performing tonight. Already there are a few eyes that turn their way -- kiiind of staring, kind of trying to pretend they're not. The receptionist's request drags Steve's attention back from wherever it had gone, and he blushes deeper. "Merci!" He hands her his coat and hat, then follows Jax, still moving sort of slow tenuous, as if in a dream. "This is wonderful, but...more surreal than I thought it would be. His head turns to track a young man in a vintage Army uniform, leaving the bar with more drinks than he has hands. "I -- I'll have a drink if you want one. It's not going affect my dancing!" He adds, struggling for light and reasurring. "I'll be just as clumsy either way." Jackson laughs, soft and warm. He tugs Steve over toward the bar, eye flicking up to the other man's face. "You? Clumsy? You ain't hardly. Unfamiliar with the steps, maybe." His smile is easy as he approaches the bar -- the bartender's, in return, is polite. "Hi! Um -- somethin' -- lime-y. An' -- whatever my friend wants." Jax gestures to Steve. "Can you open us a tab?" He hands his credit card over. Steve ducks his head, his smile sheepish. "Amounts to the same thing. But I'm a quick study." He nods at the bartender, smiles brighter. "I'd like a Jameson and ginger, {please.}" His eyes stray to the dance floor, and he leans close to whisper in Jax's ear, "Is it ridiculous that I'm nervous?" His blush is warm enough to feel across the space that separates their cheeks. Jax's blush flares deeper in mirror of Steve's. "About dancing?" he wants to know. "Or about dancing with me?" "About dancing." Steve doesn't sound at all certain. "Though now that you mention..." With more confidence. "Well, you /are/ incredibly handsome." "Flatterer." There's a very faint flutter of pink in the air around Jax, soon to subside. When their drinks come, he lifts his to Steve. "You'll do fine. I got faith in you. /I'm/ the one should be worried." He lifts his drink with a crooked smile. "I'm a terrible lightweight," he confides. "I'll try not t'step on your toes none." "What? It's distracting." Judge by the smile and the rapt gaze that Steve is fixing on Jax, though, he's not complaining. "Worry not. My toes are tougher than most." He touches the brim of his glass to Jax's. "Cheers, my love." "Good, then. Think every once in a while you need to get your mind off things." Jax's glass taps back against Steve's with a light clink. "Yeah," his voice is soft, as is his smile. "An' this been /long/ overdue. Cheers, honey-honey."