icecoldfrost | The Hellfire Club, Emma's New York, Friday Evening.

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The Hellfire Club, Emma's New York, Friday Evening.

The message had only said that Jack required distraction, and so Emma had gotten them seats for the most distracting thing available: The Annual New York After-Dark Burlesque Review, hosted at - of course - The Hellfire Club. Because if you were going for decadence, you needed the perfect backdrop.

This wasn't the usual 'gentleman's club' section of the Club, either. New York's finest burlesque artists (and visual artists) were the ones throwing this party; meaning it was utterly gorgeous and equal oggle-tunity for everyone, no matter your personal tastes.

[OOC: For one & SP]

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"No," Emma agreed, "Never."

"...and nibbling dancers is only for dessert, if you're lucky." And would pick one that Emma liked, too, because hogging the dessert was tacky. Her gaze drifted towards his avian-entertainment out of curiosity. "Not appetizers."

Jack stifled his grin at that behind his hand and smiled angelically up at the waiter, who seemed appropriately discomfited by it. He placed an order for a steak salad, hold the blue cheese, and then glanced back to Emma.

"But who says dessert can't be first?"

It was just banter; he was more interested in looking at the dancer than at touching.

Emma told the waiter to just add Jack's cheese on top of her salad - mmmmdoublecheeeeeeese - and ordered a mineral water to rehydrate before her next scotch.

"Because I say so," she decided, and this was totally going down in the list of Emma's Best Ideas Ever, because these people were amazing. "And if you have dessert before and after the show, you might get a cavity from all the sweets."

"But maybe I like cavities," Jack said, and reached to squeeze her knee under the table. "I know I like yours."

In news that will surprise no one ever: Jack had a filthy mind.

"Fiiiiiiiiilthy," Emma scolded affectionately. "You terrible boy. I can't take you anywhere, can I?"

Jack feigned astonishment. "As I recall, I was not the one who suggested a perfect Friday evening was spent at a burlesque show. You're as terrible as I am."

"You wanted distraction!" Emma answered, laughing. What else was I supposed to pick?"

"Ice skating?" Jack suggested playfully. "An absurdly expensive restaurant meal? The symphony?"

"Absurdly expensive meal is tomorrow, when we can probably get rush tickets for the opera," Emma informed him cheerfully. "But for the one night a year extravaganza? I didn't think we could pass it up."

"...nevermind that the Club will be hosting something equally entertaining next moth, if not as colorful." Or obviously flexible.

"Should I plan on coming up again in a month?" Jack wondered aloud. "I should stay au courant with who my girlfriend's little friends are and what tricksy games they're up to."

Especially when said 'little friends' were dangling from a trapeze in little more than a strip of satn and a handful of body glitter, but he figured that went without saying.

"They aren't my friends!" Emma protested, all wide-eyed innocence. "...Yet?"

They were busy hanging from trapezes and doing fan-dances and things! There hadn't been a chance for meaningful conversation!

Jack eyed her over the rim of his glass. "And you weren't going to volunteer to join the festivities?"

Emma made a face and shook her head. "I can manage ballroom dancing because it's set-steps, similar to fencing, and was beaten into my head as a child," she answered wryly. "Something like this? I'd have to telepathically convince everyone watching that I don't have two left feet."

.....

"...Now I'm wondering if I could..."

Jack considered it. "See, I almost want give you the 'buck up, try harder, anyone can dance,' speech," he said. "But ... maybe I'd rather not share you with the rest of the room."

"A private dance later, to judge my talent, before I go out for one of the local burlesque troops, then?" Emma asked. "Although I can just see how that extracurricular activity would go over on a resume. I'd have to come up with some brilliant stage-name to disguise my secret life."

"Isn't there some formula?" Jack wondered aloud. "First pet's name and the street you grew up in, or something like that?"

"Never had a pet," Emma pointed out, "--and no street, really. I'm sure there may have been an actual street address, but most things just came addressed to 'Frost House.'"

Jack eyed her. "So perhaps you're too terribly posh for burlesque," he said, his accent crisping into something more distinctly upper-class. "Or you could call yourself Fifi."

"Fifi la Rue? That sounds drag," she mused. "I could just do 'Grace Snow,' or something horribly pun-y. To de-posh."

"Or I become the posh-est, most expensive purveyor of burlesque in town." Emma was going to consider this seriously as she watched the girl on the trapeze. "You did suggest dominatrix at one point, too."

It was entirely possible Emma was a bad person and enjoyed putting these images in Jack's head.

"Flip it and say part of it in another language," Jack advised. "Winter Charis, something like that."

He looked sheepish. "Er. I promise, I don't spend all my time thinking of types of sex work you could go into. It's just, there are only so many ways to make money off the books and I don't see you selling drugs."

"And selling drugs is for losers," Emma agreed. "I'm just teasing you, darling. I did put out applications for actual, 'honest' work."

And gotten fired on her second day as a restaurant hostess for throwing out people wearing flip-flops to a black-tie event, but details. Jack didn't need to know that.

"What happened with those?" Jack asked vaguely, as he tried to see if there was some trick to it or if the dancer currently performing really was putting her leg up at that angle.

"I'm too pretty for customer service, it makes the shoppers feel inferior," she deadpanned as the waiter came by to refill their drinks. "Or so I've been told."

"You could be the kind of salesgirl who makes the customers feel lucky you deign to wait on them," Jack suggested. "Or you could come back to Fandom for the summer, get Eric to overpay you, and come back to New York with enough savings to get you through the school year."

"Well, now that you mention it..." Smug Emma was smug, yes, and going to fish about in her tiny purse for a second to pull out a key with a paper tag saying "Dite's" on it. "I'll ~~handwavily~~ text Eric, too, but I've found someone to sublet the apartment for the summer."

"Of course, I'm charging her slightly more than what the rent actually is for the space, but I am leaving her all the pots & pans and such to use." Since Emma didn't need them. "Surprise?"

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