—the next one will have more Eve in it, I promise—
It had started small, as these things often do. He was going to host a small holiday party for the family. But in an extended family like his, this took logistics skills far beyond ‘need moar sheelds’. He contacted family and extended family, in-laws and out-laws, arranged bail (in one case) and transport for them all. He looked for a facility that could hold the party and finally settled on the hanger deck. It was a good thing he was friends with the station manager.
“So who is on the list, now?”
He rubbed his hand through his hair and reminded himself, again, that he needed a haircut. “Well I was talking to the folks who are flying up the food and other supplies and I figured it seemed rude to have them come to the door of a party and not come in. Then there are the hanger crews, Scotties, Ev, you and your staff . . . ”
Dee laughed, a waterfall of merriment, and a thrill went up his spine. “Let me ask it another way . . . anybody not invited?”
“Not that is in the station, um, no. I have some of the family kids hanging posters, now. Seemed easier that way and it gets them out of the parents hair for a bit.”
“Posters?” Dee grabbed the comm and started entering data. “Luddite”
All comms in the station chimed at once. –Holiday party, hanger deck, 24th 1800 hrs + Food and drink provided.-
And so it grew . . . and grew.
Mike set the party sled open and arranged dance floors and old fashioned barbecues. Ovens and stoves and tables and chairs . . . on the 23rd he collapsed into a seat and watched Tanta sit opposite him, laughing. “Ok Tanta, what have I forgotten?”
She smiled and leaned forward and told him a story, for that is how she had always taught him.
A little boy asks his mother, “Do you think I can lift that large rock over there.”
“Yes,” says the mother, “I am certain you can lift it if you use all of your strength.”
The boy saunters over to the rock, attempts to lift it, but is unable.
“I couldn’t do it,” he reports to his mother.
“But you didn’t use all your strength,” the wise woman remarks.
He leans down, grunts, and still is unsuccessful.
“I used all my strength that time, but I still couldn’t,” he says.
“To use all your strength,” the mother says while leaning down to pick up the rock with him, “sometimes means asking for help.”
Mike looked at her and started to laugh, when she finished the story. “Tanta?”
“Could you help me with the party?”
“I will not help you . . .we will help you.” With that she opened a comm and said one word. “Now”
One day later he found what ‘now’ meant. Now was the fact that all the family had been waiting for him to let them help. Now meant that people far better at doing things had been patiently not interfering while he messed up the facilities. Now . . it meant he was not alone . . . not by any extent of the imagination.
On an active deck a small ship docked and the she stepped out of it and looked around. A quick check showed that a) he was in the station but (b) he was not in his suite. She stood, considering breaking into his apartment (again) when she saw the poster “A Cats’ Christmas” with the current date and a hanger deck named. His name was on the bottom of the poster as the host. She stepped back into her ship and put on something suitable for a party and followed the directions to the hanger.
The noise hit you first, the scents a close second. Music of at least three different types competed and blended or clashed. The oil and metal scents of the deck were now being replaced with that of exotic perfumes, foods, and the smell of spilled drinks. She stood at the entrance looking for where he might be. Music? Dance? No, he would be where the food was. She moved through the crowd like a tigress in the tall grass. Some noticed her, but fewer than she deserved.
There he was, turning a huge slab of meat and then coating it with a brush dipped in a dark sauce. “an you betcha that this be the best thing you eva had . . . dis be my killer ribs an I aint had no complaints ’bout them since one guy told me there was a taint to them. I nearly took ‘is ‘ead off before he explained that there taint enough” He spun in place and grabbed a bowl from a girl passing behind him who was singing something like ‘I’m a minmatart’ and was wearing a pastry shell for a hat, and tossed smaller meats next to the ribs. “I needs me somethin else, who gots a beer they can sacrifice to a greater cause?” Several were shoved in his direction and he laughingly took one and doused the flames shooting up around the new meats. “Tank ya tank ya. I sure someone find yas another to replace this poor ting.” He looked at the food cooking and then out at the dance floor. “Ah dat music . . . it makes me wants to be in motion.”
A small woman snorted. “You? You move like your shoes still be in boxes.” The crowd hooted and Mike turned to face her, his arms akimbo. “I spose you could do betta, Tanta?”
She squinted at him. “You challenging me, boy?”
“‘Spose I is. You gettin old, Tanta. You even remember steps anymore?” Laughter greeted his challenge and word spread, a small band moved closer and set up at the edge of an impromptu dance area.
“Steps are for those who be learnin to dance. I do not do steps . . . ” She moved out onto the dance floor and looked back at him. “Well? Find yourself a partner. You too easy to beat solo.”
Mike laughed and looked around and his eyes lit on Victoria. “Cher? Oooh la, cher. You just what a man needs at a time like this.”
She looked at him shocked as he jumped the grill and ran to her. “Don’t worry about the dance . . . no way we be winnin this one . . . but we gotta try.” He whispered to her as the band began to play.
The music was wild and they all danced, faster and faster as the beat sped up. Victoria’s training from her youth came back to her and she could leap higher, faster than the other two on the floor but she did not know the music, the subtleties of the rhythm. Mike was . . . well clumsy would be a polite term for it. But there was a rough joy in his movements. He laughed and spun her off her feet and nearly took out several bystanders. He was not a dancer but people enjoyed watching him, if only to feel better about how they danced, themselves.
The opening movements set her skirts spinning and her hair broke free of the kerchief she wore. A lot of the crowd were Gallente and it did not take them long to recognize her style as Mendre. It took a bit longer to realize that she was very well trained. (Those who knew Tanta explained to others nearby that she had taught the form for several decades) Sensuality oozed in her every movement and soon each man (and several women) was wishing this grandmotherly woman was dancing for them and them alone.
The tigress, the fool, and the matriarch. When the music ended there was no doubt who was the best at that dance but the winners were the audience who were mesmerized with awe, laughter, and arousal.
NOW it was a party.
The story of the boy came from http://rotb.org/
There was to be a recipe ,here. but instead of food this became about dance. There is a moment, when you are at a party or a club where you stop giving a damn and just dance. Laughter flows out of you and the music flows in.
Happy holidays continue and I still have two posts to go . . . yeesh