It was Liv's idea to buy the paints for going clubbing with the guys. Orli, Dom, Elijah, Billy... Viggo. Viggo, Viggo. Liv's idea to stand outside of the men's room, listening to Orli and Dom snigger together alone, talking girls. Listen to them do whatever the hell men spend so much time in there for. Trading stories? But, oh. The walls are painted black with faint white stripes of electrical tape that glow in the black light that is flickering from the main dance floor. It makes Miranda's eyes swim and do lazy circles as she fiddles with the yellow paint crayon on her palm. The exposed paint melts with the sweat of her hand (boom boom boom, dancing, sweating... the rhythm of her heart), and she can feel it drip down her wrist and probably onto her clothing.
Liv shifts from where she stands nearby. She motions toward the door, mouthing a silent, 'they're coming.'
Miranda pulls herself with some difficulty away from the wall (with the... mm, things moving, the walls are moving, and she can steady herself, yeah, it's like riding a bicycle, right?), grinning what she hopes is a feral grin.
"Let's get this party started."
Dom and Orli wriggle in her hands, swatting at her arms saying, "Oy, stop it!" Liv coos in their ears and drags paint across their glowing faces. Miranda grins, her lips dry, her eyes shifty with energy. "Dance warriors," she proclaims, swiping a last yellow streak over Orli's strong cheekbone.
"You're daft," he laughs over the boom boom boom of the music. She laughs back.
"You," she counters. Kisses him. Leans forward, planting her lips at the area of skin nearest to them (throat, soft, silky). Salt-sweet sweat and Orli's cologne. Orli chuckles, and her feet aren't so steady, so she almost falls into him when he touches her waist with a steady hand.
He steps past her with a smile (private, just for her).
Liv is applying the black around Dom's eyes as Dom says something about a raccoon impression.
With a sly smile, Miranda wonders where Viggo is.
Viggo and Orli. Sitting at the table with the ladies' purses and the boys' jackets. Viggo looking forlorn and Orli looking like a war god; streaked and sweaty.
Beauty and splendor.
"I don't dance," Viggo insists, but Miranda dismisses it. She pulls him up, and they're walking, Viggo holding her up, holding her steady, and the beat goes on strong and loud through her bones, and Viggo could dance if he'd just loosen up, but once he does, yes, that's grand. Miranda touches him and smiles up at him and...
"Stay," she commands, leaving Viggo in the crowd. Stay.
"Look," Orli murmurs into her ear, and Miranda nods, watching. Viggo moves in the crowd with uncertain grace. He could dance without music. Beat unneeded.
"Yes," she says, tugging Orli toward the dance floor.
Things are steady. Viggo. Orli.
Miranda kisses Viggo as Orli laughs softly and touches them both.
The door shuts behind them, cutting off music from inside.
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