Coricopat Zimmerman was seated at his desk, pouring over his work. He glanced at his clock and seriously considered taking a break. After another few minutes he finally rose and made his way into the kitchen to fix something up for a late supper.

He paused at a knock on the door, but opted to ignore it. They could either come back later, or if it was who he thought they had a key. He returned to his desk and his work, nibbling at a sandwich and continuing to ignore the door.

Several moments later the door swung open, Macavity muttering under his breath. "You could be polite, you know," he called out, slamming the door shut with his foot.

"If I didn't answer the door it means I wished to be left alone," Coricopat replied, not looking up from the papers in front of him.

"You always want to be left alone," Macavity deadpanned in return.

"Why are you here, Mac?"

"Because! The night is young, life is afoot, and you're stuck in here again!" Macavity protested, hands out. "We're going out."

"I don't want to go out at the moment, Mac. I have work to do," Coricopat looked up from his work finally.

"You haven't gone out in a year and a half and," Macavity moved forward, lifting up the notes Coricopat was working on. "The work will be here tomorrow."

"Hey! Whether I want to go out or not is my business not yours, Macavity."

"I'm your best friend. Actually, only friend. As such, it is my duty to make sure you have a life," Macavity returned.

"Why are you my best friend again?"

"Cause I'm the only one that would ever have you. Now get up, we're going out."

"Why do I not go friendless?"

"Because even you aren't that masochistic," Macavity replied and clapped his hands. "Now, up."

Coricopat sighed, "Must I?"

"Yes," Macavity returned. "You really must. I'll even give you fifteen minutes to preen if you agree now. If not, I'll drag you out as you are."

"Fine..." he finally got up, "I'll be out in a bit. Where are you dragging me?"

"A club," Mac replied. "Where there is music and drinks and actual people!"

"Which club Mac?" Coricopat headed to his room to get changed.

"Would that matter?" Macavity asked, leaning against the desk and riffling through Coricopat's papers and fiddling with his paper weight. "I mean, do you even know the names of any clubs here?"

"Perhaps not," the other admitted. "I hardly think I should be going to one though, depending on its repute."

His best friend just rolled his eyes. "It'll be fine. No one will even know it's you."

"And how do you plan to accomplish that?"

"I have no plans to accomplish anything. Club policy will take care of that, now are you ready yet?"

His friend came out dressed in an outfit similar to what he'd been wearing-slacks, shirt, tie and vest-but looking far more pressed and his hair combed. He picked up his coat, "As I'll ever be I suppose."

"Good," Macavity said, glancing him over once. "You look almost presentable."

"Thanks for that. If we don't leave now, I'm staying here though," his friend returned.

"We're leaving, we're leaving," Macavity said, stepping back toward the door and into the chilly night air before heading for the nearest underground station.

Following the red head off the metro and back into the night air, Coricopat paused at the foot of the stairs which led up to the club, "Mac, I really don't think this is a good plan."

"You're saying that now?" Macavity demanded, already heading up the stairs where a couple people were standing and talking to the doormen.

"I said that back at my apartment, and I still think it's a bad idea."

"Cor, you've been moping in that apartment the last, what, year and a half? Get out and live already."

"I've hardly been moping," he protested, but followed Mac up the stairs.

"By everyone's definition except yours, yes you have," Macavity said, stopping in front of the doorman and saying something quietly before accepting two masks and handing one to Coricopat. "Here."

Coricopat considered the mask for a long moment and seriously thought about just turning around and heading home. The trip back would hardly be worth it at that point though. He sighed, putting the mask on, "Alright then, Mac. Lead on."

"Have I ever steered you wrong?" the taller man asked with a grin before slipping inside off the old fire escape stairs.

"Several times," came the response before Coricopat followed him inside.

The darkness outside abruptly switched into black light, highlighting all the white in the room and turning the other colors neon. Something techno pounded through the room as several people milled about, watching two female dancers and taking drinks, while in the corners of the club there were various tables set up, where it looked like card games were going. Behind the dancers, a man in a white shirt, tie, black pants and white oxford perched, watching the entire room from behind a white mask.

Coricopat's gaze flickered around and he shook his head. The techno beat was going to give him a headache by the end of the night, and the black light was doing nothing for his eyesight. He caught up to Macavity and leaned up next to the other's ear, "First night out for me in a year and a half and you bring me here? There are a dozen other clubs in the next few blocks."

"Sure," Macavity said. "You need to get out of your comfort zone."

"Right, of course. I forgot who I was talking to. Easing me back into social interaction is too much to ask."

"More inclined to toss you off a cliff than ease," Macavity replied, grin obvious even with the mask.

"And I'm far more inclined to attempt to knock your block off than to stay here."

Macavity rolled his eyes. "Oh please. Relax, Cor. Have a drink," and he swiped two off the nearest serving tray, handing one over.

Coricopat took the drink, considering it for a moment but not taking even a sip, "And how long are we here?"

"Until you enjoy yourself," Macavity replied, eyes tracking one of the dancers.

Rolling his eyes at his friend, the slender brunet turned his attention at least partially to the dancers, sipping at his drink. His gaze drifted away from them after a moment to focus on the dj, the way the black light lit up his clothes was eye catching in its simplicity. Compared to the way the rest of the room lit and the colors in evidence on the dancers, it added a touch of elegance to the figure.

The song ended, and the two female dancers retreated for a moment to the back of the room, where the man was sitting.

"So," Bombalurina drawled, pulling the white jacket she'd been wearing off and tossing it under a curtain at the back of the stage area. "Picked out the most awkward guy in the room yet?"

"I don't always do that," the dj replied.

Griddlebone shrugged out of her jacket as well, adjusting the rest of her clothes so they lay right, "Oh yes you do. And if you haven't spotted him, I have."

"Really?" he asked, glancing down at her with a grin. "And where, praytell, would that be?"

"See the tall redhead over there," She nodded toward Mac. "The brunet next to him, stiff as a board."

"Course you noticed him," Mistoffelees laughed. "He's standing right next to your type."

Griddlebone smirked, "Well of course. One would hardly notice him otherwise. He's handsome enough, but not much about him stands out I'd say."

"Besides the extreme awkwardness, of course," Mistoffelees agreed as Bomba just chuckled.

The middle eastern dancer laughed at that, "Something like that, yes."

Propping his chin on the palm of his hand, Mistoffelees considered. "I'll keep your suggestion in mind, now, both of you shoo back out there."

Grids rolled her eyes, but nodded, "Alright, alright. Let's go do as he says, Bomba."

"You mean actually work to earn our pay?" Bomba asked, fluffing her red hair and heading back out onto the smallish space that functioned as their stage.

Tossing her hair behind her shoulder, Grids followed Bomba onto the dance floor, starting into their next routine.

Mistoffelees watched them for several moments, eyes straying around the room and considering it all, stopping several times upon the tense looking man that Griddlebone had pointed out.

Coricopat tried to relax, he really did, but there was little to aid him, though the drink was helping somewhat. His gaze remained on the dj rather than on the dancers, he wasn't interested in being here, but he couldn't' very well leave. The dancers were more the sort he could see Mac going for, but either way certainly not his taste.

Macavity glanced over at his friend and nearly rolled his eyes. Well, the point of the evening had been to get Coricopat out of the house, enjoying it wasn't actually necessary. Spotting a rather short and rotund man enter the room, Macavity's shoulders straightened back. "Excuse me," he said, putting a hand on Coriopcat's shoulder and setting his drink down. "I'll be back shortly."

The brunet turned to his friend in confusion, "What? Where are you going?"

"I said I'll be back," Macavity said, already weaving through the crowd.

Coricopat gaped after him before spotting where he was headed, "Business. He brought me here so he could have a business meeting..." He shook his head and considered leaving then. If Mac wasn't there he couldn't stop him.

Just then the song changed, something less of an overwhelming sound and the dancers took a step back as the simply clad dj moved forward. "You sir," he said, gesturing with a flourish to Coricopat. "Would you care for a dance?"

Several of the old costumers who had been going there for a while, chuckled and moved out of the way.

Coricopat took a half step back, "I was just on my way out."

"Are you not enjoying your evening then?" the man asked, tilting his head. It was clear his body motions were practiced to be seen not only from a distance, but to convey emotion even through the black light and mask. "Have another drink at least."

The taller man glanced around, cursing Mac to every form of hell he could think of, "I really should be going."

"Do you have somewhere to be?"

He could lie. The only people who could normally call him on them were not present, but he felt compelled to answer honestly. Coricopat shook his head, still rocked back on his foot nearest the door, poised to leave.

"Then why are you running out so quickly?"

"I..." He had no excuse. The claim of work died on his lips, he had done so much work he could probably take a week off and still be ahead of where he was due to be.

"Then stay," Mistoffelees said, and Bomba helpfully handed him a drink which he held out.

Coricopat eyed him warily for a long moment before finally accepting the drink, "I can't stay long."

"Of course not," Mistoffelees replied, voice clearly remaining skeptical. "But for as long as you're here, what do you desire?"

The other drew back slightly, "What?"

"You're here, aren't you?" the shorter man offered, eyes tracking up to the other's face. "So you must desire something."

"I desire nothing more than to be left in peace. This was a way to accomplish that."

That actually startled a laugh from the dj. "You're looking for peace? Here?"

"I am looking to appease those who would disturb it," came the response. "If that means a night here then that means a night here."

"Still, a very interesting choice to find peace," Mistoffelees murmured, and took half a step back. "How would you feel then, for a dance?"

Coricopat considered for a long moment the pros and cons of that, still looking like he was ready to head for the door. He finally nodded, "I suppose I could handle one."

Mistoffelees took half a step back as the song changed again. He moved to the side of the stage area as Bomba and Grids moved forward to circle the angular man.

Coricopat tensed more if that was even possible, watching the two women as they danced around him, never quite touching him but often coming close to doing so as they guided him a bit further onto the stage. Girddlebone looked past him to Bombalurina, one eyebrow arching under her mask to ask the other to guide their next move.

Bomba rolled one of her shoulders back, showing she was unsure before glancing back to Mistoffelees and arching a brow. The smaller man paused a moment, before stepping forward again.

Coricopat didn't see him move, and missed the exchange. He'd relaxed almost imperceptibly when they hadn't touched him, though he rocked back away from contact from Griddlebone when the blond came fractionally closer than the two dancers had been initially.

Grids glanced between Mistoffelees and Bomba, locking eyes with the other woman and nodding toward the side of the stage, indicating that it was Mistoffelees' turn to try this one.

Still behind the other, Mistoffelees reached a hand out for his shoulder. As soon as Mistoffelees' hand made contact, Coricopat startled away as though he'd been burned, "Don't touch me!"

Starling back, Mistoffelees blinked.

The taller man's gaze darted frantically between the three before he shook his head, "I should not be here." With those words he turned and fled, maneuvering through the crowd as best he could while avoiding as much contact as possible. He handed the mask to the doorman and retreated to the bottom of the stairs. He hesitated, it would be best to wait for Macavity, but he couldn't stay there.

Macavity blinked at the sound, tensing when he saw who was at the middle of it. "Is there a problem?" the man he was talking to asked.

"Not at all," Macavity replied, turning back to him. "Now, I believe we were discussing payments?" He would deal with whatever just happened much later.

o-o-o-o

Several hours later, Mistoffelees left the green room, carrying his shoes and buttoning up the last few on his shirt collar.

Griddlebone was pulling on her coat and straightening her skirt. She glanced toward the young man, "Hey Misto. Looks like you had some luck?"

"Luck, yes," he said, making a face.

The dancer offered him a sympathetic smile, "How bad?"

"Bad," he said with a small shrug. "You think we can ban him from the club ever again? Except then I think Jones would just invite him into the VIP."

"We don't have a say in who's in or not, and if he's willing to pay you know he won't be banned," she sighed.

"Great," he said and shrugged. "Oh well. He wasn't as bad as that one guy from last year."

"I'm not sure anyone can be as bad as that one."

"I certainly hope not," he said, leaning against the wall to pull his shoes back on.

"You figured out a way out of this yet?"

"No," he said, attempting to smooth his hair back down.

Grids dug in her purse for a moment, finally locating a brush and offering it to him, "Well, something's gotta give."

"You remember who you work for, right?" he offered, taking the brush.

"Oh I am well aware," she sighed, leaning back against the wall. "A girl can dream, can't she?"

"Yeah, but it gets you nowhere, does it?" he said, handing back the brush.

"You have grown more and more bitter the longer I've known you. I'm still expecting a day when someone can afford to buy me off of Jones," she ran the brush over her black hair and then returned it to her purse.

"Yeah, but think about how often that's actually happened," Mistoffelees returned.

Grids looked him straight in the eye, "I know it's a long shot, but I don't plan to let go of what little hope I have. If I do that I risk becoming a broken shell, and I refuse to do that."

He gave her a long look, the mask dangling from one hand. "You mean like me?"

"That was not what I said."

"Not technically," he replied.

Just then, Bustopher Jones turned the corner, scowl on his face.

Grids had opened her mouth to respond but snapped it shut, drawing back slightly at the sight of Jones.

"Un-sir," Mistoffelees said, softly.

"You scared away a client today," Jones said, giving him a long look.

"He was already leaving," Mistoffelees protested.

Griddlebone glanced between them, trying to form a defense for Mistoffelees and get up the courage to actually speak it. "The man was poised to leave when he came in," she finally murmured.

Jones gave them both a long look, turning back to Mistoffelees. "Be sure to never do it again."

"Of course sir," Mistoffelees said, dropping his gaze, mask held up against his chest as if it could be used as a shield.

The dancer hesitated, knowing anything else she said would likely only make the situation worse.

With another huff, Jones continued down the hall, leaving his nephew looking like he wanted to do nothing more than sink into the wall. Finally, Mistoffelees looked up at Griddlebone, offering her a strained smile.

Grids returned the smile weakly, "I'm sorry. We tried, we all did. I shouldn't have pointed him out."

"It's hardly your fault," Mistoffelees said with a small shrug. "Are you going back out onto the floor at all?"

"I was rather planning to head out for drinks. I'm done with my shift. Why?"

"Just wondering," he said with a small shrug, lifting the mask back up. "Don't feel much like sleeping."

"Are you going back out on the floor? You could always join me at some other location where no one would recognize you for a while rather than deal with the customers any longer."

"Thanks, but," he shook his head, looking after where his uncle disappeared.

Alright, kits, welcome to another story.

The genesis of this one is a bit different than normal. It's taking some themes that we've wanted to explore, in a bit of a Moulin Rouge flavor, but the real basis for it is a 25 minute play we both were able to attend as part of one of VS' classes. The production was part of a linked class between a 400 level Oscar Wilde English class and a 400 level acting class. The acting class was to take a text, not usually preformed often anymore, and draw out of it certain themes and motifs to recreate a production for a modern audience. The play they worked off was Wilde's Salome.There were three different groups who made different plays, and all of them were stunning, but once we reached the third play, having been kicked outside and forced to go up the fire escape to get back into the theatre, we both took one look at the dj character and went "oh shit." Then Coricopat ended up grabbing the story, which this muse has not done in a while and this was born. It's at best, a very rough adaptation of a play we only got a chance to see once, with some other influences thrown in. Also, your soundtrack is going to be just about every version of "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)" you can find.

We're trying to work with a smaller cast off this story, but we'll see where it leads.

Your authors have both been having a very difficult time of life lately. It's like life has been turned upside down and shaken up a little. As such, writing has become more difficult, and more then ever, we appreciate reviews. They make our days better, especially to know people have been reading our stories and take the few moments to hit the little button down there to express they've read it. All feedback, such as alerts and favorites is fantastic, but there is really something wonderful about getting an actual review. Thank you all very much for reading.