[NYE Party] happy new year and lots of fun

[nascensibility]

Who: EVERYONE, but especially you!
Where: Wonderland Ballroom
When: New Year's Eve
Rating: PG - PG13 (will change if applicable)
Summary: New Year's Eve Party
The Story:

[ Previously in the month all residents received an invitation to a formal event: a black tie affair to ring in the New Year. The ballroom and adjacent areas are decked out for the party starting at eight o'clock sharp, meticulously planned and executed, glittering décor to match the no doubt glittering attire as music pours into the halls from the dance floor.

Bars flank each side, service for all manner of alcohol unless a minor requests something, and the primary setting stage features an enormous clock for the countdown. ]




[ Where will you be when the clock strikes midnight? ]

Comments

[mucked]

[ old gambits rebound between them. they swap arguments like someone might swap war-stories. it's a sweet kind of disagreement -- sweet even though she frowns -- because it demonstrates that the content of the arguments never mattered quite so much as the arguing did. even now, she knows he's not wrong. whatever this indiscretion might amount to, there's no doubt that she feels it with a magnitude exponential to what the casual observer in the crowd might infer.

-- although convincing herself to consider the entire crowd to be made up of only casual observers is something of a feat.

but then rip suggests she not make a fuss and, much like his warning, the effect is predictable even if the outcome might not be. her next flare of indignation receives its fair share of oxygen; peggy doesn't even try to douse it as she tugs their intimate dance to a sudden and very fussy stop.

what follows happens next with plenty of speed and hardly any mercy. peggy shakes her palm out from under his and anchors it instead against the small of his back. in the same moment, she grabs his arm from where it reaches 'round her and draws it outward. in just under a breath, she's reversed their positions with barely a third of the song remaining. on the next beat, she takes the leading step -- urging him backward.

peggy doesn't speak a word while she takes ownership of their dance. it's an indelicate strategy, maybe, but it deprives him of his low-wandering hand. ]

[directed]

[It's almost an entirely new dance unto itself, the set of steps and maneuvers she makes as she positions Rip how she would have him, rather than letting him continue to take the lead. It's a combination of surprise and curiosity that has him going along, not to mention her confidence in what she's doing. A role reversal indeed, fitting given that they've each seen fit to take up the other's old arms, words used as weapons not to wound, but merely to agitate in the past.

Given the haughty look in Peggy's eye when she guides him back, Rip expects she thinks she's wormed her way rather beautifully under his skin.

Yet there are secrets he still keeps, even from her, even still. Aspects of his experience unintroduced either in the privacy of his bedroom, or the public dance floors they've moved together on. It's really a simple matter for Rip to fall into the role of the guided rather than the lead; he'd been taught to prepare for all manner of dances, and besides--

He's long appreciated such gestures from strong and capable women.

The silence remains unbroken still; Peggy's put herself in this role, and now Rip is curious to see just where she might take it. Let her be the one dictating the dance; all the more reason then for his attentions to be fixed solely on her, rather than any other person who might be in the room or at the bar--or wandering away to send nasty messages to their estranged spouses.]

[mucked]

[ quick and early, peggy proves herself perfectly capable of taking (and holding) the lead. being led has never been an excuse to carry on ignorant of the steps required and the grace encouraged to keep a pair of dancers steady and artful on the floor. and she's never been the sort to follow blindly. so despite a difference in stature and despite the fact that their dance certainly hadn't started this way, she handles herself (and she handles him) with aplomb.

-- doesn't hurt, really, that he seems to chosen not to resist her take-over but instead cede to it. her touch is maybe a little hard at first, as though she'd anticipated a bit of physical resistance in the process. but the very moment she senses its absence, her posture eases. peggy is as quick and responsive as though in a brawl, but instead of throwing a punch she uses the hand she's flattened against rip's back to pull him in at the hips. ]

...Good Heavens, you didn't miss a beat.

[ disappointment threads with surprise threads with awe. hers is a complicated jumble of reactions. she inhales and she's kept them close enough that she can feel her body expanding against his with each breath. peggy's head tilts. she searches his eyes. the dance is second nature -- she continues to lead him with only a passing second thought. the better attraction is in an attempt to read his face. she half-suspects he's doing it to get the better of her, but-- ]

Not even a stumble.

[directed]

[She expects him to resist, or perhaps to at least falter; it's made clear in the strength behind those first steps once the switch has happened, a more forceful push rather than the elegant glide of one who trusts their partner to play along. And certainly it would be amusing to put up a fight, to make Peggy earn his cooperation rather than merely hand it over—yet when she breathes out those words of surprise Rip knows his choice had been the right one. A far better play, in the end, than what might be considered predictable.]

It's our first dance of the night, Miss Carter. [He turns his hand on her shoulder inward; the difference in their heights makes it all too easy to rest his palm against the side of her neck instead, fingers curled lightly in her hair.] I'd hate to disappoint by stepping on your toes.

[And following her lead is more than a mere simple thing; it's an enjoyable one. He's not possessed by so much unfounded pride that he won't yield to a woman's guidance—rather, there's equal pleasure in it for him, from the confusion he can see written in her features to the way their bodies still press together, despite how she'd taken the lead to seemingly keep Rip himself in check.

He is doing it to get the better of her, yes. But at the same time, his reasons run far deeper; far more selfish than a game of one-upmanship.]

[mucked]

[ it's becoming a pattern -- this stratagem of surrendering at just the right moment to turn a loss, alchemy-like, into a win. she can feel it happen just beneath her fingertips; she can sense it in his willingness to follow, although she doesn't quite identify it additionally as eagerness. if she assumes anything, then it's only his smug delight at having landed a blow beneath her guard.

she lets that surprise linger. funnily enough, it becomes a new kind of shield because what he says -- what he utters -- cuts her to the quick. hurts her in a way she doesn't want to share, not least of all because he'd had no way of knowing it would. i'd hate to disappoint by stepping on your toes, rip says: nine words that sound so deceptively close another seven, heard tinny and crackling over a radio frequency. at the time, peggy had thought to herself she would have liked nothing more than to have that particular someone tread on her feet.

so much has changed.

prompting herself to focus instead on the here and now, peggy's breath catches with the slight and delicate touch of his hand against her neck. a few nights ago, he'd come dangerously close to rephrasing their relationship as something with longevity. with -- expectations, really, beyond the narrow path they'd outlined for themselves. she decides that night ought to be about seizing back that path and the strict line it cuts between sex and sentiment. they can be important to one another, she insists, without also being consumed by one another. after all, fools rush in where wise men never go.

speaking of! she can feel the final swell of the song approaching -- like a magnet tug on her heart and pulse. it's her turn to lean in (lean up) and tip her mouth against his cheek. ]

'First' dance, hm? [ all at once, she's a firecracker again. she has her eyes on a prize, that distinction she wants so much to maintain, and she finds herself forgetting her other duty for the evening. ] Surely, one's enough. Let's not get greedy.

[directed]

[There is a moment when he wonders if perhaps her surprise hasn't lasted a note too long. That shell-shocked stare lingers even after his retort, nine words of a common enough expression—at least in Rip's mind. But like Peggy he has not forgotten where the Wednesday prior had nearly led. Equally, Rip has not forgiven himself for the mistakes made, even in the context of his grief. He's well aware of just how he might act when some piece of his heart has been stripped away, and equally, of all the good reasons why Peggy Carter should not come to occupy any part of it so strongly.

The challenge makes it easier; the surrender and the movement, the coda of song promising an ending, and a beginning to follow. He feels her breath when Peggy takes her turn to lean against him, and more—the steady timbre of her voice serves as an anchor, and equally, temptation.]

And if I were to be greedy? [It's easier for him, being the one to lean down. Cheek to cheek they dance now, with Rip still being led backwards in time to the music. So much of him wants to push the line further, to give himself over to the notion that no one might see, no one might care were he to angle his head just so, to steal a taste of her lips or her skin right there in the middle of them all. But restraint has not abandoned him entirely; not yet, at least, and he continues on with his observations.]

It's nearly midnight, you know—and there are traditions to be upheld.

[mucked]

[ it's a sin how charming she finds him when he's playing the contrarian. peggy warns against greed; rip leans in and tears her warning to shreds when he instead paints in the outer-borders of his desire. he wants to be greedy. more than that, she realizes, he wants a kiss.

-- but not just any kiss.

she'll give credit where credit is due. unlike wednesday night, he announces his intentions with more clarity. there's less mud in the mix. and peggy is effectively reassured that what's happening now isn't some sort of fated relapse into sentimentality. such reassurance brings a peace into her bones and, dancing with her temple leaned against his cheek, she turns them in an elegant, sultry kind of circle as one song ends and the next begins. she enforces no break. ]

I don't know if you've noticed, Mister Hunter, [ she talks to the shell of his ear, lifting her chin so the whisper remains directed just so, ] but I can't always be relied upon to uphold tradition.

[ take their current circumstances, for one. her palm is braced sturdy against his back; her opposite hand curls an equally steady grip around his wrist. it's nearly midnight, he says, and she's not exactly gentle when she turns his hand to check the hour on his watch. truth is, she also wants a kiss. but not here, not under so much scrutiny, and certainly not without making him work for it.

revenge, perhaps, for wednesday night. ]

[directed]

[He's learned certain lessons from that Wednesday prior; something quite different drives him this night than the grief and uncertainty he meant to banish with her before. The lines have been redrawn, the reminders written that what they have engaged in is meant to be a release, yes, but only of a certain sort. The pain of loss still aches within him, but Rip knows well how time still drives them to stand and move forward. There's more wisdom to her words than perhaps Peggy realizes: don't be greedy and seek out one certain salve when circumstance as a whole prescribes the use of another.

He enjoys her; she enjoys him. That can indeed be enough.]

I had perhaps picked up on that along the way, yes. [But not always isn't the same as never. She busies himself with looking at his watch, gauging just how many minutes to midnight still remain--and perhaps in doing so, misses the ways his eyes darken and narrow in on her at the slight spark of pain caused by fingers digging into his wrist.

Such a small thing really, and yet so are all sparks before they find some piece of tinder to burn.

The song ends; so many couples around them stop dancing but do not abandon the dance floor, instead opting to wait for the notes of whatever song comes next. And while Peggy has her hand on his back still, the other on his wrist, Rip is quick to turn his arm and catch hers with a firm enough grip. She is not the only one who can employ force, and indeed--in defiance of tradition, of how a polite and proper man might act, Rip once more seeks to shift the balance of power between them.]

I think a slight change in venue might be in order, Miss Carter.

[mucked]

[ midnight is nearing. just shy of quarter-to, actually. she taps a red fingernail against the watch face, barely hearing the dull clink under the din of the crowd and the pleasant rush of her own blood pumping. she's too busy with a half-dozen other games to notice the look on his face -- or recognize that her careless manipulation of his hand, his wrist, might have sparked anything.

she's too busy fighting with herself over whether she should or shouldn't encourage another dance. too busy paying attention to the scratch of his beard against her jaw. too busy guiding him between one couple and another -- avoiding obstacles and landmines and pitfalls aplenty. there seem to be a lot of them, tonight. if they're nimble enough, they just might make it to the new year while remaining intact.

-- well, as intact as they'll ever be.

but there's rip hunter giving her the fight she'd been anticipating. late, but certainly not too little. her shoulders square; she doesn't break step, although her wrist certainly twists in his hold. no matter her composure, peggy carter's first instinct is to resist. ]

So soon? [ just shy of quarter-to. she's got time to be difficult. ] About half-a-song ago you were set on enjoying multiple dances. And here's me, trying to give you exactly what you want.

[ the words are soft, aloof, and careful above all. ]

[directed]

[She resists, but not truly--not in anyway that shows her disinterest. The principle, the notion of Rip once more taking control, that Peggy fights as she always will. That entices, intoxicates him even as she sounds out her protests, carried on a much warmer breath than the words themselves would betray. As if he has not so much as sparked her interest already, but still needs to set light to even the tinder, rather than suggest they steal away to feed full and roaring flames.

Oh, but he does enjoy this game of theirs: the back and forth struggle that always demands that Rip meet her measure.]

There are quite a number of ways to dance, Miss Carter. [And so many far less appropriate for public consumption than the one they engage in now. She leads them both still, and that falls to Rip's advantage; he need only follow her careful step, freeing him to lay down more of those landmines she wishes to avoid.

Such as the way he turns his head just then, dares to plant a kiss just at the edge beneath her temple where skin shows before her hairline. And not just a kiss, but one with lips parted only just, the tiniest flicker of tongue dewing flesh before he withdraws again, only not so far as to abandon ground. He's gotten his first taste of her, tonight. He's eager to have more--to tempt her into giving over to the same.]

[mucked]

[ he takes liberties. big ones, at that. the sort that catches her on the inhale and suddenly -- painfully -- she forgets to keep breathing. it's such a quiet gesture. it's the kind of escalation that's hardly an escalation at all. except that they're surrounded by people who know them and many of them altogether too clever for their own good. peggy doesn't know it yet, but it will be liberties and gestures and moments like these that lead to her ward for the evening, jane, puzzling out this relationship in hindsight.

her grip fists in the back of his suit jacket. a clumsy, telling motion. and when she finally releases the breath she'd been holding hard in her lungs, it hints at a bittersweet defeat. she could argue with him over his ever-expanding definition of dancing, but that would only remind her of other conversations and other flirtations.

no, she would much rather gather up all that spoiled potential into one tightly coiled spring and spend it all on him -- away from this venue. no matter how much she might ordinarily enjoy the barter and the play and the act of twisting that spring tighter and tighter and tighter.

peggy shuts her eyes. for one brief moment she pulls him close, flush against her body, and makes a rather selfish calculation. perhaps not the best way to start a new year, but the decision is already made when she whispers against his cheek: ]

-- Wait a few minutes before you follow.

[ peggy tells him. and maybe another song has already started, but she frees him from her careful lead with a gentle nudge and a retreating step. she doesn't tell him where she's going, but he's also too clever for his own good. she has every faith that he will figure it out even before she ducks back into the crowd -- escaping the ballroom ten minutes shy of midnight. ]

[directed]

[Such liberties, small gestures that none the less resound through her as surely as a shot. They are close enough still that he feels each of them against his body: the way she sucks in her breath and cannot quite manage to release it for the span of heartbeats. Rather she clutches at him, and against her skin still Rip's lips curve upward. The tinge of bitterness only lingers in Peggy's perception of the defeat; for Rip, it is pure and sweet indeed.

He follows where she leads, just as before. First in those moments when Peggy would draw him near, and then, oh then! She need not spell out the path for him to know where it leads, and indeed, even after Rip watches her vanish from the dance floor, he can well imagine the twists of halls and stairs that will frame the journey they'll each of them walk.

First her, and then him. After the span of another song, a few sips of a final drink. In truth even his patience is tested by this duration, but he has better honed the skill than Peggy. What he expects is a hardship of eagerness for him might well stretch into torture for her, and he wonders just how she might pass those few minutes that seem to stretch out far too long while they're parted.

Six, all told, before he takes his leave of the ballroom that night. Six minutes and some seconds to spare, measured out by the steady ticking of a watch. They still have time before midnight to find each other again—for Rip to catch up to wherever Peggy has decided to wait for midnight to chime and the year to end, and their bodies to crash together once more.]