all the right moves

[holly braur]

For CADEN

A night she’d been dreading had turned out to be nowhere near as miserable as she had expected. The drinks were flowing with the conversation, the music was loud and the company was proving to be quite entertaining. Holly found herself in a significantly better mood then she’d been in hours before – also finding herself quite deserving of this happy mood after the day she’d had. There was something to be said for waking up on the wrong side of the bed – though that wasn’t exactly what Holly had done. It was more a case of waking up on the wrong side of the alarm clock – the one she’d forgotten to set that night before she’d fallen into the at-first restless sleep. She’d seen the early light of day before she’d managed to finally close her eyes and sleep peacefully. Of course, this was two hours before she had to be up anyway, and when her alarm had gone off that morning, instead of hitting snooze repeatedly until she awoke, as per usual, she’d hit the ‘off’ switch instead and slept through her first class. It had been a mandatory English lecture, one she was not loathe to miss, though it would probably have been beneficial for her to go. She had been half an hour late for a lab she’d been late for before, and was told promptly before being turned away that if she were tardy once more, she and her professor would have to sit down and discuss her future in his class.

A cup of coffee meant for her nervous system had found it’s way down the front of her top not long after that, and a miserable trudge home in the heat she usually enjoyed, she’d decided to take a turn to the shower – which had been kind enough to dispense only cold water. After a quick bout of hypothermia, it had taken her a half hour to warm her body before she’d been brave enough to unwrap herself from the cocoon of her fuzzy towel to change into her boxers and a tank top. That had been her…well…third mistake, of the day, I suppose. The fourth was curling back up in bed after she’d popped her Snatch DVD in. She’d fallen asleep again until she’d heard the familiar buzz of her phone go off, notifying her of a summoning text message from one of the guys in her program. Drinks 2nite babezzzzz u styll in? As if his inability to use any form of proper grammar or spelling didn’t make her queasy enough, the idea of leaving her bed again made her head spin. Tonight felt like a classic movies night. But she’d promised, time and time again. The guilt had won, in the end, and tonight she was glad.

She sat surrounded by a group of both familiar and unfamiliar faces. There were both males and females she recognized and knew from her classes and friends they’d brought along for the fun of it. The group of fifteen sat around a large table in the middle of the crowded bar, chatter blowing past Holly in a flurry of both French and English. As she had yet to master the art of the French language, her attention was turned to two gentlemen (one of which she knew, the other, a friend he’d brought along) who were discussing in great detail what made Batman more intense than Spiderman. “Naw mate, you’ve got it all wrong. Batman doesn’t have superpowers, he’s awesome enough that he doesn’t need them.” “No, he’s just that foul that he doesn’t deserve them.” Perhaps not the most inspiring conversation, but the banter between the two was making her laugh enough to stay tuned in until she lifted her beer mug to take another swallow of the liquid. The dredges at the bottom were warm and unsatisfying – though this drink had gone down far too easily to be lady-like. However, it did not go down quite as quickly as the first, which had slid down her throat without the chance of being tasted when she first got here. Liquid courage, we’d call it. Liquid courage in a glass that slid down the throat of a young girl, dressed in a pair of tights with a long white t-shirt serving as what could be considered a dress. She had slid the small, three-quarter-length-sleeve jacket off when she’d had to push through the large crowd to get to these familiar faces. She looked in the bottom of the glass and made a funny face as she swallowed the warm, foamy beer.

“Right, that’s me done. I’ll be back.” She uncurled her legs from under her and heard her knees crack as she straightened herself out, combat-booted feet flat on the floor. She reached for her wallet and spun, not quite delicately to face the bar. She walked over, and stood on her tip-toes, leaning over to catch the eye of the bartender, brandishing her empty glass at him with a friendly smile on her face. He made his way to her and she set the mug down in front of him, leaning her elbows instead on the edge of the bar comfortable. “Nother Stella, s’il vous plait, monsieur.” She still knew the basics, and though her accent was far from perfect, he got her point. Holly dropped down to the flats of her feet again, one elbow resting patiently on the bar while the other arm moved to pull her mass of thick, brown hair over her shoulder. She looked around the bar for another familiar face, one she could hopefully invite back to join the table with her. She, after all, had been the only one not to bring someone along, and, what was it, people said? A stranger is a friend you haven’t met yet.

Right.

[caden baynham]

Every problem in life could be solved with a sharp drink. A sharp drink and a sharp glare. A sharp drink, a sharp glare and a sharp knife, but unfortunately for Caden Baynham, he had none of the necessary tools for unproblematic living in his current position. Tonight, fulfilling his professional duties - what most people might classify simply as 'working' - was especially excruciating, with five requests that he do something fancy with Bad Romance - in compliance, he'd combined it with some classic jazz and sprinkled some Bach on top, to create something he was not entirely adverse to playing - and a full three requests for the Teletubby theme song - all three had been accidentally forgotten a second after they had been made - and still, his contract at his delightful place of employment - sarcasm - denied him the right to sneer, glare or insult. His boss, in fact, was hovering around him, passing with a wink and a lopsided smile every so often, and Caden was well-versed enough in the ways of Monsieur Firmin not to mistake this for a sign of friendliness. He was being watched, and closely so, because on a night like this, with the clientele that had pushed through the doors for a particularly early rush hour, he anticipated that his least personable pianist - but favoured, nonetheless, and Caden knew that it was a combination of like dispositions (behind closed doors, no one could insult or detest quite like Monsieur Firmin could) and an appreciation of talent (Caden's, that is) that had resulted in this position of regard - might be inclined to be a thorn in the side of more than one too happy patron.

So far, Caden had behaved himself, but the night was drawing long - despite being at a rather early hour, still, considering that he was used to sitting on his piano bench until the sun started rising again outside the smoky bar - and he was wearied, by now, by the slurred requests of various pop-songs incorporated into the jazz and classical he was supposed to be producing. It wasn't the incorporation itself he couldn't stand; in fact, he was quite fond of the musical slaughter he conducted on a daily basis, much to the chagrin of classical piano instructors who would frown, flinch and recoil from his hideous displays of musical anarchism. But the requests, and even worse, the people making the requests... It was enough to turn his stomach and make his head start spinning from sheer distaste. For the past hour, the only response he'd felt was safe to make was a tight-lipped 'mhm', with jaw lightly clenched to avoid the chance that he'd react to their idiocy with a much too tempting insult or snide remark. Monsieur Firmin was still hovering. It would be preferable to avoid rude remarks in his presence, and not simply because he wanted to keep his job - though, truth be told, he needed the money - but also because he, grudgingly, couldn't help but respect the greying man and the thick, rural French accent he refused to modify to suit the Parisian clientele.

He heard his whisper in his ear, a low rumble in rural French, accentuating words that weren't lexical and, in fact, did very little to convey his meaning, but it was a mode of communication Caden had learned to appreciate, even if he'd not yet adopted the way of speaking, himself. "Mon Petit Bâtard, vous pouvez partir maintenant. Ils ne remarqueront pas si je mets un CD."

He finished his set and didn't even try to hide that he was making haste to leave the place when he gathered up his things, clocked out and escaped through the back, picking a packet of fags out of his pocket and rummaging through his jacket pockets for a lighter as he walked down the sidewalk. He bumped shoulders with a stranger, but didn't acknowledge the impact made, too indifferent to pay it any heed, and too preoccupied with his search for a lighter to pay attention to anything outside his personal sphere. Eventually, he had to admit defeat, and he came to a sudden stop on the sidewalk. It was unavoidable. He had no lighter, and he'd no doubt that it had plain slipped out of his pocket while he was at work. Monsieur Firmin would no doubt keep it for himself, and Caden would have no choice but to nick a new one from an unsuspecting stranger. He tilted his head back and sighed, drawing a deep breath of exhaust-ridden, Parisian air, smiled faintly and looked around at the life that bustles along the sidewalks and into the bars and night-open cafés that littered the street. No cigarette, he'd have a drink, instead, in the nearest possible establishment. Only one, and then he'd be off to his family's flat, for a rest-up before he made the journey back to campus the next morning - if his sisters ever let him leave.

The place was arbitrarily chosen, though perhaps not entirely arbitrarily, as he clearly followed his one and only criterion: Close proximity. The door to the establishment was mere footsteps away when he started moving, and he easily gained access on account of knowing the man at the door, having shared a cigarette with him on several occasions on breaks from the bar. He had, however, never entered this specific bar, but had glanced through the doors at the life within plenty of times when he'd walked home - "home" - after his shift. This in no shape or form meant that he had his bearings after entering the place. No, he had to do what he always did; walk to the nearest empty spot on the floor and do a 360 while he got acquainted with the lay of the land, enough to identify the bar and set off towards it. He landed at a curve in the bar and leaned in to look down the line of people, identifying the bartender standing by a girl a little further down. She was an entirely uninteresting girl, a girl like any other, with dark hair and light skin - or at least he thought she was entirely uninteresting, a girl like any other, until his focus shifted in a moment of recognition from the locating of the bartender and instead settled on her. Holly.

He smirked and he moved, pushing away from the bar and continuing down the straight line of the bar, moving behind backs and past empty seats until he reached the open space beside her. It was a somewhat snug fit, but he wiggled his way into it nonetheless, seeing no problem with pressing his side against hers just a little bit. "You'll buy me a drink, then?" He didn't lift his eyes to look at her as he spoke, and in fact, he might as well have been talking to anyone else, as his focus shifted down to the black arms of his dress shirt - which matched very well with his black slacks, the combination of which landed him, visually, in the realm of 'bar staff' - and on the unbuttoning and slow rolling up of his sleeves. He began with the left, and then moved on to the right, and not until that had been rolled up past his wrist did he look at her, one brow cocked in a quizzical manner, while his left hand still worked on rolling up his sleeve.

[holly braur]

Holly was sorely disappointed with the results of a hunt for a familiar face. It wasn’t that she was growing tired of the faces surrounding her – they were all perfectly nice people making perfectly entertaining conversation. But Holly wasn’t the kind of girl that could sit still for hours in a place like this. She liked to move, she liked to walk around, talk to people. Which was seemingly impossible when the table was as crowded as it was. No, she was having fun where she was, but her long legs were full of energy tonight, and the thought of sitting again made them all the more twitchy, full of gumption and the urge to dance and find herself in various forms of trouble. True, Holly wasn’t one to get in trouble with the law, but the girl loved an investigation, the unwelcome tour of a new place she should perhaps stay away from. Mind you, she firmly believed in the Pirate-Code way of life. Rules weren’t actually rules…more of a set of guidelines, suggestions, if you would. Perhaps it was growing up with brothers, that gave her this little extra push for something interesting. They had always been the kind of boys to find themselves in unnecessary trouble, and she with them. There was always almost a good enough excuse, a good enough innocent smile from one of the three to get them out of it, but alas, not always and more than once they’d gone home to slightly irate parents.

She felt a brush against the left side of her body, a brush that pulled her out of her memory, and made an attempt to shift slightly to make room for the stranger. However, she was stuck between this man and a hard place – a perhaps 6’2” rugby player who she couldn’t shift if her life depended on it. Her nostrils flared, and for a moment she pondered ordering herself another pint so she could pour the first down the front of him. He seemed intent on standing RIGHT beside her – why, when there were plenty of other open spaces at the bar. She turned, irritated to face a chest as her mouth opened. “Alright mate, listen, do you think we could leave some room for the-“ As her face tilted to look into his, the irritated, possibly irate look on her face turned to an almost blinding smile as she recognized the man standing in front of her. She was happy for the recognition, because as far as Caden was concerned? There was no need (or particular want) for room for the Holy Spirit. She felt her entire body relax, at ease now knowing it was far from a stranger pressing just that little bit too closely to her. “So, you’re buying me a drink, then?” She snorted a laugh and kept her gaze on his for a moment, locking into the blue eyes that had so frequently and utterly amazed her. Cold, when he wanted them to be, indifferent most of the time, but always the kind of blue that made her stop dead in her tracks. There was something a friend had said once…along the lines of ‘you can’t trust a boy with blue eyes’. Holly, a girl that hadn’t been one to ‘put herself out there’ since Oliver, took no heed to this statement – she didn’t trust many people, regardless of the pigment they were born with.

For a moment she looked before she laid her elbows back on the bar. “And whatever this arsehole’s having, sweetheart.” She said with a wink, gesturing in the new addition’s direction. She turned her body to face him, leaning casually on the bar, hands locked together in front of her. It had been a while, if she recalled correctly, since she’d last seen him. Still devastatingly handsome, still with that cocky heir of self-righteousness. Irritating, for the most part, but wholly interesting to her. She could never tell what she was going to get with him. There was always an unspoken question involved in his arrival. His attire perhaps hinted to the need for a drink after a long night at work. Why shouldn’t she buy the boy a drink? Harmless, to be sure. She waited until he’d made his order and looked to the bartender with a nod before turning back to him. “Well, don’t you look quite the gentleman this evening.” She nodded her thanks when her pint was set down in front of her and took a sip before she set it down to continue with her inspection of the young man standing before her. Quite the gentleman indeed. Well spoken, worldly, and without a doubt carried with him something that intrigued her beyond words. Mind you, that much had been made obvious in times where things had gone farther, perhaps, than they should have. Mind you, as the pirate code stated…more guidelines than actual RULES…

“It’s a nice change.” Her grin turned into something of a smirk as she lifted her mug to her lips again, taking another sip from her mug before she set the heavy thing down on the bar. Before he had the chance to respond, she heard her name being called from the large table. Her head whipped around to see a waving hand, one of the people that had been brought along by a member of her program. He yelled something to her in French, something she didn’t QUITE catch. Instead of responding to his waving hand in lieu of her misunderstanding of the French language, she shrugged at him with an innocent smile on her face and looped her finger around her ear, holding her hand palm-up in a very “sorry!” gesture that no, she didn’t mean in the slightest. Her focus turned back to Caden, the smile still playing on her lips while she reached out and smoothed out the rolls in his sleeves meticulously. She had never been the kind of girl to worry herself with outward appearance too much, but if you were going to do it, you may as well do it right. When she was satisfied with her work, Holly’s gaze turned back up to her new partner in crime, eyebrow quipping the slightest bit in his direction. Her night had just gotten considerably, undeniably more interesting.

[caden baynham]

She made no attempt to mask her irritation when she turned to greet him, and Caden could almost - very nearly - complete the sentence she started. A brow arched as he considered the possibilities, but he didn't attempt to cut her off, didn't even attempt to offer a reaction while he waited for Holly to register that she wasn't being crowded by a middle-aged man with an appetite for strange, or even worse, some local jock who thought the world of himself and really couldn't fathom that anyone, anywhere, anytime, could be, in any way, superior to him or his nine-pound balls, the weight of which was most certainly a figment of his own imagination. No, Caden was not that guy - in fact, he was perfectly realistic about the proportions of his testicles - and a few seconds later, Holly realized that, too. He could see her smile from the corner of his eyes - a smile he knew from experience was always positively radiant, and had, on one or two occasions, made him wonder how it didn't split her face in half (he was quite sure that his lips couldn't reach that far to either side) - and knew that his arrival hadn't gone down too badly; quite the opposite, in fact. Somewhere deep down inside, he felt a pang of satisfaction at the realization, but it was shuffled to the back of his mind shortly after, and abandoned there to fend for itself against whatever demons he might have stored there in pressured situations.

The faintest of smiles tugged at the corners of his lips at the sound of the nickname she chose for him. Arsehole, definitely not an unfamiliar name for him, but with an unfamiliar touch of playfulness when it came from her. He lifted his eyes to the bartender, gave him a nod of greeting and halfway slurred a "Une pinte de bière de malt, s'il vous plaît." It was accepted with a nod of understanding before the bartender turned away, and Caden could shift his attention back to the rolling-up of his sleeves, and once they were both rolled up all the way to his elbows, to Holly. He turned to the side, leaning against the bar as she spoke, and he quirked a brow, remaining silent as the bartender returned with their drinks - apart from the quick merci he offered the somewhat familiar face (he'd no doubt shared a fag break with him, as well) - and remaining so while his hands closed around his pint of stout, lifted it to his lips and let him take the first sip of the dark brown liquid. It was always the first sip that was the most enjoyable, at least from a glass, like his was, and it was almost a shame that every sip couldn't be followed by the same experience. Alas, that was the unavoidable consequence of any beverage.

A layer of foam rested on his upper lip as he lowered the glass away and set it back down on the bar, and he licked it away with the flicker of a tongue, lifting a hand to run his thumb over the moistened surface of his upper lip. He shrugged a little. "My employer has made it very clear that I either look the part of obedient man-servant, ou votre emploi sera terminé." He quirked a brow, following what had no doubt been intended to be an intimidating threat of terminated employment with a slightly amused smirk. His eyes followed hers as someone called out for her, and lingered with the other man for a moment, trying to place him, and concluding that the little bugger must be someone from school, that hideous institution that propagated the practice of boring this, and other, nation's finest to tears - or even better, to death - with largely pointless information and requirements that you pay respect to people who had probably never done anything worth respecting in their entire lives, save seasoned a chicken just right that one time when they really wanted to impress a girl (and getting a leg over was always impressive, of course, regardless of position within an educational institution).

His focus shifted back after hers had, and as it did, he made sure to lean in to her, lowering his head a bit closer to hers as he did so, bringing his face nearly close enough to touch hers, but stopping before it had the chance. "Any day now, I expect the old bastard will order me onto my knees with my mouth wide open, using the same tactics of intimidation." He stood back up, lifting himself to full length and straightening his back, almost proudly. His hand found his pint again, closing almost delicately around it before he lifted it once more. Rubbing against her a little, he managed to turn almost all the way around, so parts of his back could lean back against the bar, barely making room for an elbow to be propped up on its counter. He looked out at the room, eyes trailing across a mass of heads and bodies, most of them appearing to be one of two or more participants of the modern-day mating ritual known as flirtation. "Of course, it should be the hope and dream of any young man to experience the taste of his employer's spunk, but personally, I can think of any number of more rewarding sensory experiences. Can't you?" He looked at her again, brow quirked quizzically, expression one of anticipation, and he held his breath for a moment, lifting his stout to his lips and taking a second, longer sip from it. He lowered it again, still keeping his eyes on her, and his brow furrowed in contemplation. "Shall we go for a walk?"

[holly braur]

It wasn’t often that Holly put on airs for anyone. She wasn’t the kind of girl to wear her heart on her sleeve, but god dammit did everyone with in a three mile radius know when she was irritated or upset about something. She no longer made an attempt to mask it for anyone – what was the point? How were people supposed to know you were irritated If you weren’t obvious about it? No indication that he’d be bothered whatsoever if she was irritated with him crossed Caden’s face, but he knew as well as she did that there was no room for the holy spirit required when it came to him invading her personal space. It was hardly invading, though he was rarely invited. Not with a verbal or written invitation, at least. No indeed, his arrival had not gone down too badly at all. Quite possibly in spite of the fact that he had assured her of her purchase of his drink before he even bothered to say hello – something he didn’t do anyway, she realized. Holly did, however, make not of the lazy yet seemingly effortless French that flowed through his lips. She had never been terribly good with languages. Her accent had only improved since her move to France, and she was still at the bare bones of Spanish, but she did try. Holly smiled and paid no mind to his lack of formal greeting and paid happily for the drinks as the bartender slipped them over the wood towards the expectant duo.

”Merci beacoup,” She offered the man a smile, though not quite as large as the one Caden had received and turned her attention back to her comrade. My employer has made it very clear that I either look the part of obedient man-servant, ou voutre emploi sera termaine. Holly snorted a laugh before she could force it to stop and bobbed an eyebrow at him playfully. “Well, if the shoe fits you may as well shine it.” The tease was an obvious one, followed by a playful wink registered in his direction. After all, wasn’t that kind of thing required to do by the obedient man-servant? Shoe shining, boot licking and the like? She chuckled quietly again and lifted her glass to her lips, swallowing delicately before she set it back down on the bar once more. “You’ll have to tell me how that goes, by the by. I’ll need weekly updates.” She had never been to visit at Caden’s place of business, but she had always wondered about it. She tried to picture the man standing in front of her seated at a piano, playing to a room full of half-interested people and smiled softly to herself through her gentle teasing. She couldn’t quite imagine it, but she decided then that at some point, she’d have to see it for herself.

She was taken by surprise by his sudden closeness, but didn’t move when it happened. Instead, she remained still and looked to the blue eyes that had made their way so close to hers, the lips that had stopped only inches from her face while he spoke next. Any day now, I expect the old bastard will order me onto my knees with my mouth wide open, using the same tactics of intimidation. Just as suddenly as he was there, he was gone again and she watched him move away without a flicker on her face despite the small rhythm skip in her chest. There was something about him that unnerved her, and though this was something she’d never tell him she wondered if he knew. She wouldn’t wonder too much though. Holly much preferred the world where she could be unnerved by no one, not even Caden Baynham. Her arm shifted around to pull her long brown hair over her shoulder again, allowing her fingers to run through it only once to smoothen it out before he spoke again.
Of course, it should be the hope and dream of any young man to experience the taste of his employer's spunk, but personally, I can think of any number of more rewarding sensory experiences. Can't you? Another laugh floated through her lips and she fought the desperate urge to shake her head at him. “I suppose that all depends on the taste of your employer’s spunk.” She replied pointedly. “Or, you know, how much you like your job. But yes, I can think of a number.” She couldn’t state this number off the top of her head, but she was sure it was a rather large one.

Never before had Holly thought to ponder the results of such a spunktastic experience, but this certain ponder now was cut short by the look of contemplation on his face. Shall we take a walk? Before she responded, Holly took a glance over at the contents of her glass. She COULD down it, she really could. But he’d probably end up carrying her home. Instead, she opted to take it on this walk that she would inevitably join him on and turned back to him. ”Sure, just give me a second. Watch that for me?” She motioned to her glass, hoping he wouldn’t terribly mind making sure it wasn’t spat in or ruffied and wiggled her way through the crowd with, at first polite and then a little more forceful ‘excuse me’s’. That was one of the disadvantages to being ‘fun-sized’ – crowds didn’t tend to make much room for one quite as little. In most situations it was relatively easy to plan ahead and sneak your way through the momentary gaps, but it was a trial tonight to find her way back to her chair for her coat. She managed somehow, however and offered a smile to the people seated around. She was quick in making her goodbyes, ignoring the look of disappointment from the boy that had called her back over when Caden had first arrived and shrugged her coat back over her shoulders so she didn’t have to bother carrying it. Again, she fought her way through the crowed and back to him, stopping to take a firm grasp of her pint glass before she looked back up to him expectantly. “Where are we walking to?”