on_va_voir (on_va_voir) wrote in districtmarvel, @ 2015-08-28 00:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | clint barton, natasha romanoff, steve rogers, thor odinson, wanda maximoff |
Who: Steve, Clint, Natasha, Thor, whoever else wants to stop by and get their party on
What: Damage control.
Where: Some swanky Capitol nightclub
When: A few nights after dinner with Tony and venting with Clint
It had taken a couple of days, but Clint had finally talked Steve around to the necessity of spending some time out and about in the Capitol, following his outburst at the Victor's Ball and his disastrous dinner with Stark. It was a toss-up as to whether or not Stane actually knew about either incident, but when in doubt, it was usually safest to bet on Stane knowing. Which meant that Steve had some damage control to do.
'Damage control' apparently meant drinking, dancing, and schmoozing with the Capitol's elite. On Natasha's recommendation, Clint had chosen Geyser, a sea-themed club that had risen in popularity in the wake of last year's District 4 victor. Huge aquariums lined the walls of Geyser, filled to the brim with showy, tropical fish. Some even contained people who wore shimmery tails in lurid blues and greens, half-person and half-fish. Tubs of steamy, roiling water were tucked into nooks and crannies along the main room's perimeter, and the dance floor itself was covered with fine, white sand. The sand was probably there to counteract the effects of the water fountains that burst to life every thirty minutes or so, ensuring that everyone nearby got soaked. Steve could only imagine what kind of havoc all that water might cause if it were spraying onto a normal dance floor, made of smooth, slick vinyl.
Like everything in the Capitol, it was a spectacle, and Steve had done his best to steel himself for the opulence and waste, for the inevitable crush of people. What he hadn't been prepared for was the clothing.
More specifically, the lack thereof.
Wearing as little as possible seemed to be the name of the game. In shorts and a tight t-shirt, Steve stuck out like a clothed thumb in a sea of bare skin. While many of the clubgoers were wearing bathing suits, others were draped in daringly revealing ensembles, most of which played on the club's theme. Steve saw more than one person wearing only fishing nets with strategically placed knots, and there was a group of four or five women who had short, flimsy skirts made of seashells and seaweed, long, wavy hair, and nothing else.
Steve's face had been a bright, embarrassed red from the moment he'd stepped inside; it was probably a blessing in disguise, since his embarrassment had completely overridden the anger he'd been carrying around the last few days. Despite Clint's best efforts, he'd kept to the edges of the dance floor, busying himself with sipping at his drink whenever he thought someone might be headed his way. He knew it went against the entire point of this venture, but he couldn't quite bring himself to join the throng of people on the dance floor. Not yet.
As he finished his drink - was it his fourth or his fifth? He couldn't quite remember - he caught sight of one of the long-haired, seaweed-skirted women heading determinedly in his direction. The way her eyes were locked on him made him a target, and Steve hurriedly ducked behind a burly man, whose shiny, scaly swimsuit would hopefully prove a suitable distraction for the woman who'd set her sights on Steve. He continued to duck and weave on slightly unsteady feet, and once he was safely on the other side of the room, he headed straight for the bar to order another drink. He'd abandoned his usual no-alcohol policy for the evening, in the hopes that a few drinks might make this evening tolerable, if not enjoyable. So far they hadn't done a damn thing but make the room just a bit spinny, but the evening, unfortunately, was still young, and there was time yet for the drinks to kick in and help him paste a smile on his face.