Darcy hung around just inside the doors of the Warehouse, pacing in the slightly impatient circles of a dog waiting to be taken out for a walk. He was watching the entrances eagerly, his amber eyes unusually bright in the weird lights of the club. He'd run some gel through his hair to spike it a little, but it mostly just looked rumpled and wet, in heavy pointed strands.

He chewed nervously on his lip. What if she was already here and had gone? What if he'd missed her on her way in? He hoped not. Absently, he began playing with the artfully-torn hem of his white t-shirt. This wasn't going to be any fun until Jetta arrived...

And here's Jetta.

She's wearing a tight leather corset that shows off the tan, taut skin of her stomach--yes, it is real leather--and equally tight leather pants, with stiletto sandals that could probably kill a man if she wielded them right.

She's got lots of make up on the eyes and even more on her lips...

She's aiming for a knockout, can you tell?

She waits in the doorway for Darcy to come to her.

His eyes lit up when he spotted her, but he had to pause for a second to make himself recognize her. He'd only seen her once before, and it's always a little shock to see someone in their clubbing gear. He grinned, and meandered over to her- not bounding over, exactly, but moving quick as he could through the number of people clustered around.

" 'Ey, there," he said, grinning that charming little grin. "T'es,... wow. On peut -... er, we are going to 'ave a good time, oui? ...T'as l'air bien belle..."

He trailed off near the end of his greeting,... he was pretty free with compliments, but somehow she made him feel almost too shy to say it.



((trans: t'as l'air bien belle= you look very pretty))

Compliments are compliments in any language. And the fact that he's delivering them in that sweet, shy voice and in French pleases Jetta greatly. She smiles that wonderful smile.

You know, the one that says that the person receiving it is very dear to the heart of the person giving it. (The one that Jetta has mastered and gives to all of her boy toys...)

"Well, thank you, darlin'," she purred, leaning over and kissing him lightly on the cheek.

This was almost too easy.

"Pas de probleme do tout, cherie," he said, with a light chuckle. His grin grew wider at receiving a kiss - not embarrassed at all, but quite pleased. He glanced away briefly, certain that if he smiled any more, his face would crack.

"So," he said, pausing a moment to clear his throat, "We will get drinks first? Or wait until we 'ave tired ourselves out enough to need them?"

"Let's tire ourselves out."

There's a hint of mischievous--or is it malicious--fun in her eyes; she wants to see how much stamina he's got.

"Come on."

She started to pull him into the crush of writhing bodies.

"Je te suis," he said cheerily, though not loud enough to be heard over the music.

Jetta might, possibly, be pleased to know that Darcy had quite a lot of stamina. He didn't do any real exercise, like going to a gym, or lifting weights. Nothing like that. His frequent runs as a wolf did a lot for his energy levels,... it seemed to seep into him, after a while. The wolf was stronger than he was.

And he was also a pretty damn good dancer, if he did say so himself.

((trans: I'm following you))

Well, large canines are usually stronger than humans. Lucky dogs. (Pun intended.)

Jetta is very pleased; Darcy dances well. Good dancers last longer with her, you see. (And we mean that in more ways than one.)

And we needn't really describe the gyrations that Jetta puts him through; dancing is much the same in all places like this.

... isn't she hot in that leather?

Like many dancers at such clubs, Darcy went into something of a trance once he was immsersed in the sea of people with the pounding music filling his ears. The only thing he disliked about being crammed into a crowd of people was that there was no room to pull any really spectacular moves. His brain had gone a little mushy, since seeing Jetta enter. He was ready to do all those unconscious silly little show-offy things guys will do to impress the girls they're with.

After a while - not that he was tired yet - he stopped dancing. As well as he could stop, anyway - it was difficult when everyone was still moving around him.
"You want to go get drinks? Or you want me to get you one?" he offered.

"Sure, honey. Margarita."

And while he's gone, she'll probably dance with at least five other guys; Jetta isn't particular about remaining true to her date at any one time. (Though she's less obvious about flirting with other people when it's a less crowded setting...)

A kiss on his cheek.

"No rush."

"D'accord," he said, giving her the thumbs-up because he wasn't sure she could hear him. "I will be back soon."

He disappeared in the mass of people. It might take him a few minutes to get to the bar, and a few minutes to get back. And as long as there was no unfortunate spillage, he ought to be back with her in a matter of minutes. She'd said not to rush,... but he wasn't one to keep a girl waiting.

He had struggle his way through,... wait in line,... fight his way back,... and he did manage to keep Jetta's margarita safe and unspilled.

When Darcy came back, Jetta was dancing with someone else, a well muscled and well moneyed guy who apparently had a taste for risks. (Much like Jetta herself, only minus the muscles.) She was also not paying attention to the fact that her date would be coming back any moment, and patently enjoying dancing with this other guy as much as she had with Darcy.

Oops.

" 'Ey, Jetta, I brought your-"

He paused, looking in confusion from Jetta to her new dance partner. He looked puzzled for a moment, and then he just looked hurt. The resemblance between himself and a kicked puppy (though without the gelled hair) was almost uncanny. He frowned.

"C'est qui, lui?" he asked, trying to keep his tone level. He'd been taking her out, hadn't he? Who was this guy?



((trans: who is he?))

She turned around at her name and gave Darcy a little smile. (What an adorable look, but really, guilting her doesn't work. You have to have a heart to feel guilty.)

"A girl has to keep busy somehow... Besides. He wouldn't let me say no."

There could be more than one meaning to that, you know.

"Ah, je vois,..." he said. He didn't bother to translate for her. The smile didn't help him to feel better about it. He gave the other guy a good, long look that was partly a glare, but partly sizing him up. His frown deepened, as he turned back to Jetta to hand her her drink.

"'Ere is your margarita." he said. He wasn't stupid, but he was more inclined to pay attention to the latter half of her explanation. He cast a sharp look at the newcomer from the corner of his eye. "She is 'ere with me. No need for you to stick around."

"Thanks, honey." Sip.

Aw, he was possessive. How cute.

(He had better not try that on any of her slightly-less-temporary flings, though. Jetta would not be amused, she would be annoyed.)

"Yeah? What're you gonna do about it?"

The gentleman with the muscles didn't appear inclined to give up the sexy babe who'd begun dancing with him. (Despite her apparent attempt to implicate him as the instigator, Jetta had started it, not this fellow.)

Darcy crossed his arms, and moved in between Jetta and the stranger.
Yes, he could be possessive,... on occasion.

"Depends, mon ami," he said coolly, with just a touch of a growl in his tone, "It depends on whether you will leave us alone. Bref, if you do not - I will 'ave to make you. Comprenez, cher?"

"Make me? I'd like to see you try."

He didn't sound impressed.

Jetta hid a grin. It's ever so much fun when she has boys actually fighting over her. Never mind that it's quite possible for one or both of them to get hurt, and possibly badly. Never mind that it tends to get the boys tossed out of the bars.

Never mind that they're fighting over someone who isn't worth it. (She'd never agree with that one, by the by.)

It was so very flattering...

"You want to see? You got it," Darcy said simply, not one to back down from a challenge. He flung both hands out and gave him an I-mean-business shove, which unfortunately incovenienced a few poeple who had been standing behind him. "One last chance - you leave us alone, oui? Ou je te fais avaler les dents."

He moved forwards as he spoke, trying to keep this violent situation away from Jetta - he wouldn't want her to get hurt after all.


((trans: ou je te fais avaler les dents = or I'll make you eat/swallow your teeth.))

That, of course, was the signal for Muscles to shove back. Or, actually, hit. With a closed fist.

This could get ugly.

Jetta, of course, had no intention of stepping in on the actual fight, and drew back a bit, out of the range of flying fists and/or bodies. Wouldn't want to mess her perfect face up, of course.

He took the blow to his right eye. He reeled back for a moment, stunned - then launched himself at his opponent, headfirst. The move was sudden enough to be effective, but the element of surprise didn't count for very much when he was fighting someone stronger than himself. Still, the momentum gave him time to headbutt the guy, sending them both into the ring of people that had formed around them.
"Ma grande-mère pourrait lancer un coup de poing meilleure que ca!" he laughed tauntingly, unaware that the person he was fighting had no idea what he'd just said.


((trans: my grandmother can throw a better punch than that.))

Sooner or later, all things must come to an end, even bar fights. (Or should I say club fights? Either way.)

That, of course, happened when the bouncers caught sight of the two young men--or is Muscles all that young? Don't answer that--and threw them both outside. Muscles stormed off in a huff.

There were plenty of other clubs and the night was still young, after all.

Jetta followed after a minute or two. (She had to ditch her drink, and drop her number in the ear of one of the others who'd wanted to dance with her.)

Darcy was leaning shakily against the wall, frowning at the ground and gingerly feeling the swelling around his eye with his fingertips. Damn,... can barely see out of it, he thought grimly, Better ice it when I get home. It'd hadn't exactly been a fair fight, but he'd tried to make up for the difference in strength with an almost animal-like fury.
It was probably lucky that the bouncers had broken it up.

He kicked at the ground. Made a real fool out of myself,.. fighting like that. Jetta must now think I'm an idiot, he thought, disregarding that, unconsciously, he'd been doing it to impress her. When she came out of the club, he hardly dared look at her. Finally, he managed a weak grin.

"Sorry," he said.

"No problem, honey." As we've noted, she likes it when her boys fight over her. Even when one of those boys is as temporary as Muscles. Then again, they're all temporary, aren't they.

"Let me see that eye?"

She can be gentle when she wants to be. Also it's an excuse to touch him. Not that she really needs an excuse--see her encounters with Keye. And any other man, come to think of it--but it's nice to have a nominal one.

"Euh,... bien..." he said, looking puzzled as he took his hand away from his eye. It wasn't a pleasant sight. There was going to be a heck of a bruise there, soon. He bit the inside of his cheek, still looking as guilty as he felt. "...I really am sorry, though,... shouldn't 'ave started a fight. Got myself thrown out. I'm an idiot."

She's really just letting it go? Just like that?

Just like that.

She winced in sympathy--what do you wanna bet me it's false sympathy?--and touched the purpling skin around his eye very, very lightly.

"Looks like you need some ice for that, honey..."

Watch. She's going to invite him home with her.

Bet you didn't see that coming.

He flinched at her touch, out of apprehensiveness rather than actual pain. He shook his head. "Sorry. Still a bit twitchy."

"...Ice? ..No, no," Darcy said, with a grin that looked a little more normal, "It is nothing. I can deal with it later."

"You sure, darlin'? It looks nasty..."

Honey-sweet sympathy is practically dripping off her tongue. (And, on the flip side, when she's displeased, her words are like bees. Stinging and painful and not something you want to encounter more than once.)

"C'mon home with me; we'll do something about your eye, hm?"

"Well,..."
It was very tempting. He couldn't fail to be pulled in by that sweet tone she was using. He grinned bashfully, running a hand back through his hair. "Bien, euh,... if,... only if it is not too much trouble. I would not want to wreck your evening more than I already 'ave."

"No trouble at all, hon. Besides." She grinned a sly little grin. "What else's a girl to do for her knight in shining armor?"

Not that she's going to say anything about the fact that she very much did not need rescuing; it's still cute that he did. And possessiveness, on the part of the guys, can be used against them.

Darcy's grin brightened, - it was still a charming grin, it just made him look a little lopsided at the moment. "Eh, bien - je suis un cavalier, alors toi, t'es ma princesse?" he said, not at all ashamed of the utter cheesiness of what he'd just said. In fact, he even repeated and translated it for her.
"If I am a knight, that makes you my princess, oui?"

She laughed. Not a maliciously amused laugh--although she was capable of those; she used them more with her female friends, when they were gossiping and picking apart the less fortunate--but a merry, pleased little laugh.

And, believe it or not, she blushed a little. (The girl should go into acting. She's so good at pretending to be sweet...)

"I guess it does, Sir Darcy."

She'll play along, for now. He's cute.

He chuckled a little, and made an exaggerated, sweeping bow - he could act, too, though he was doing it to please her. "At your service, ma princesse," he smiled, amber eyes bright (well, one of them was. The other was somewhat obscured), "Your wish is my command."

"At the moment, my wish is that we head over to my apartment, so that I can tend the wounds of my gallant knight."

She's seen the movies and read (some of) the stories, too. She knows what princesses and knights are supposed to do... Though, admittedly, she's likely to introduce some activities slightly less 'pure' than the general conception of fairy tale maidens. But that's Jetta.

"As you wish, princesse," he nodded, "On y va."

Gallant knight?.. 'Gallant'...? I will look it up later.
'Gallant' wasn't a word he'd run into before, and it had him confused,... but with the way she said it, surely it had to mean something good. That must mean she liked him. Which made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, because he liked her too.

((trans: let's go.))

Gallant means something good, yes. Though, with Jetta, it does not necessarily mean she likes him in any particular way. He's cute enough, but he probably won't last much longer than any of her other boys.

And to her car. It's a nice car, isn't it. Looks like money. (Don't you love spoiled rich girls?)

He followed her like the obedient puppy he was, still grinning in a bit of a silly way.

"Nice," he said, referring to her car. If he was a total dolt, he might have added 'like you', but there are some things you just don't do. Comparing a girl to a car was one of them. It was a stupid thing to do, and Darcy was fortunate that he knew that.

Very fortunate. (Or maybe not so much.) Jetta would have given him one icy look and driven off without him. And she wouldn't have talked to him again, either.

But as it was...

She grinned and opened the driver's side door. "Hop in."

"D'accord," he said, letting himself in with ease (and being very careful, lest he accidentally damage something). He put on his seatbelt, jiggled it to make sure it was going to hold, then spent a moment adjusting it.

"Where do you live?" he inquired, secretly hoping that her answer was going to be someplace close to his home. Maybe even the same street, if he was very very lucky.

Probably not.

She named her address and started the car.

Jetta is a good driver. I wouldn't call her exactly a careful driver, but she stays on the road and prides herself on the fact that she has yet to have a wreck or a ticket. (Part of that's probably luck, and part a pretty face and good acting ability.)

"You?"