#quite...... interesting stuff...... LOL i am just such a metalcore/djent/mathrock baby that i cannot jump into the pool with the big kids

[in-the-pocket]

[ sling ] sender slings an arm around receiver's shoulder

Evening. St. Vitus bar (rip, it lives on in my heart), at the far end of Greenpoint. The bill's a horror story in and of itself: MIDNIGHT, JESUS PIECE, ESCUELA GRIND, 200 STAB WOUNDS. The place is a total dive, dimly lit and packed to the gills. Stickers adorn stray surfaces, largely from acts who have played here before.

There, milling in the crowd, up front and to the right ("Trust me, it's the safest spot to be.") against a barricade-free stage, Lance tries and fails to be cool about it. It being taking a drink and gently slinging an arm about her shoulders, tattooed knuckles relaxing once he's done so.

"You nervous?"

The question takes her by surprise. Not only because she was starting to drown in the noise, but because it's an oddly tender question for him.

Lance had texted her approximately eight minutes before he was in the lobby of her apartment. She cursed and immediately called him. She asked him what to wear. He'd said "anything." She hated him for that. He always made sure she was comfortable and true to herself. It irritated her to no end. She huffed and puffed and elbowed him several times while they were gently rocked on the E train into Brooklyn.

She went with a black short-sleeved button down and high waisted black jeans to at least not attract attention with color. The orange and red curls were enough. Her shoes were a pair of her dance sneakers. Unassuming. Normal. Not a dead giveaway. When they'd walked in, she took a mental note of the slipperiness of the floors under her smooth soles. This would make a great dance floor...

But this was not a swing dancing venue with big band horns blaring and pairs of dancers crowding the floor. Folks here stand shoulder to shoulder chatting and murmuring about all sorts of things she doesn't understand. Growls, screams, squeals. What is this, a zoo?

The young woman tilts her head up and to the side, the little curious dog thing she does. She laughs quietly in the hopes that the chatter snuffs it out. It wavers a bit. She wavers a bit.

"Don't think so," she quips. Her brown eyes are even darker than usual in this dim lighting and they quickly scan the characters standing around them. They dart from face to face with the same quickness they had when she was on stage. It was a necessary skill to gauge the crowd.

"I like the energy in here. Very different from stuff I usually go to. I can feel the electricity building between everybody." She's thoughtful, aware, in tune. She feels that same electricity in the hairs on her uncharacteristically toned forearms.

It's only after her comment that she notices how comfortably his arm hangs over her shoulder. Even if the volts increase in her skin, he's grounded with his rubber soles. Pippa can tell he's not putting his full weight on her. Again with the making sure she's comfortable. Ugh.

And tonight will be another night she doesn't call attention to the physical connection. Like other days and nights where they hold onto one another and connect lazily, she'll let it linger, breathe it in, then exhale and let it pass naturally when it ends.

She's not uncomfortable. Not in this place, not next to him, not under his arm. Saying that wasn't necessary though.

Pippa wiggles her foot again. It slides easily. She scoots a bit closer to him, pressing half of her back against his chest now. If someone falls into her a bit too hard, she's got no traction. Might as well get herself stable and situated before the chaos starts. Hopefully he says nothing- lets it linger and pass.

She says nothing for a few moments, silently observing his warmth against her. This place was already getting warm, but his heat was less oppressive. More reassuring.

Suddenly, she jerks forward and her eyes widen.

"Shit! Almost forgot," she shoves a manicured hand into her front pocket and digs out two little rubber cases. They both read Vic Firth on the front. She opens one of them and pulls out two earplugs attached together with a string and shoves one immediately into her right ear canal. He may be someone she can count on to keep her off the floor and safe from being punched, but he can't stop tinnitus ringing.

She holds out the other case up to him with a cheeky grin. "Figured you don't wanna use one of my gross pairs. So I gotcha some new ones for yourself."

And there it is. The tacit acknowledgment of proximity of heart, body and musical interest.