allbedestroyed | A black tie adventure with doesntsing

"Sure," is the easy answer. Really he could stand all night, but she's the one wearing heels. If she wants to sit, he's not going to stop her.

Muldoon lets Midge sit first before following, being careful not to sit on her dress. It's really very pretty and he doesn't want to ruin it. That would be a poor way of thanking her for coming along.

The atrium is a much more peaceful place, and it gets a sigh out of him. "You've been to this sort of thing before? Voluntarily?"

They’re seated together on a bench, close, though not close enough to be touching. She appreciates that he’s taking care with her dress, considering that it’s Dior. Not that that probably means anything to him.

“I have,” she confirms, biting her lip a little so as to keep a straight face. “Voluntarily.”

Poor thing. He seems miserable. Midge hopes that she’s able to at least bring some joy to him tonight.

“You go into cages with lions voluntarily,” she says teasingly.

That means nothing to him, but then it could be home made and he'd still be careful.

"Yes, but I can punch a lion in the jaw if he gets too cocky," he points out in a mumble. "You go somewhere where someone insults you to your face and you have to smile." Tilting his head at her he reiterates, "Voluntarily."

Midge’s martini glass stops halfway to her mouth.

“Have you punched a lion before?” Midge asks incredulously. He’s not the type of man to joke about something if hasn’t done it or wouldn’t do it.

“Yes,” she confirms. “I can’t punch them in the face, but I can insult them subtly. Or tell them to fuck off if they don’t get the message.”

Midge isn’t sure if she’s used that kind of language around him before. Surely the words themselves won’t shock him, but he may be shocked to hear them coming out of her.

The image of Midge telling someone outright to fuck off does get a smile out of him. He's been around women who've cursed before, but she manages to make it sound a lot sharper, even when not directing it at him (and that fact is the only reason he lets himself smile).

"I wouldn't mind seeing that. To get tips, of course." Then he can hide his smile behind a sip of his drink.

"And yes, I have punched a lion before. But I generally try not to let things get that close."

“Of course.”

She likes getting smiles out of him. Maybe eventually she’ll get a laugh.

Meanwhile, the fact that he’s punched a lion is really doing something for her. There are men and then there are men. And he does it without being a hypermasculine idiot. Can anyone really wonder why a woman might be attracted to a man like that? Midge feels her pulse pick up and a longing begin to form deep inside of her.

“I’m sure you only would do it as a last resort,” she says. “You carry a gun too, right?”

"Well the lion was trying to maul my friend so I feel it was justified." He can joke too, even if it is a lot drier than most people prefer. It's the British streak in him.

The question about the gun gets a bemused sort of smile. "Yes, I carry a gun. Usually a pistol just in case, or a rifle as well if things are more dangerous..." Then he has to know, "Why do you ask?"

Midge enjoys a dry sense of humor. “That does seem impolite, so yes, you were justified.” British humor is lovely.

She shrugs. “Just making sure that you’re staying safe out there,” she replies. “I’m sure that’s a last resort as well.”

Despite being an American, she’s not enamored by men with guns, though the idea of Robert carrying one around is also attractive to her. She’s probably making it a lot more romantic in her mind than it actually is. They can blame Hollywood for that.

Though he pretends to nod seriously, it doesn't smother his smile at all. Hopefully now she can rest easy knowing that she made his night more enjoyable.

"It is. I don't want to kill animals if I can help it. Sometimes a right hook saves both man and lion." There's a small smile and a shrug before he admits, "It was my father's great disappointment. He wanted me to shoot professionally. Got me into competitions. He'll tell anyone who'd listen that I could have gone to the Olympics." Before Midge can get the wrong idea he adds, "I couldn't have, but that doesn't stop him from saying so."

Midge grins at him, not able to hide it anymore. What’s the point? He probably already knows that he makes her smile.

“So you’re a good shot too.” It’s not a question, but a confirmation of facts. Midge rests her arm on the back of the bench and then props her head up with her hand. She leans in towards him. “A man who punches lions and is good with a gun. I’d say those are qualities that someone might find attractive, no?”

She knows that she’s probably going to have to spell it out for him, since he doesn’t seem to think that there’s any reason why someone like her would find him attractive.

"In the African bush, yes." With that bemused expression back, it's safe to say that Midge has got him down. The silly man is clueless.

It's not that he thinks he's entirely unattractive, or completely devoid of charm, but... just look at her, listen to her. She probably knows how to eat with more than one set of cutlery at the table. Not to mention how young and pretty she is. Men are most definitely clamouring to get a date with her. Richer, younger, more handsome men.

That doesn't mean he's scared off having fun with her. He leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Are you getting ready to defend my honour against the men we met earlier?"

He has a point, of course, and Midge isn’t blind to that fact. But it’s not as if he’s a bridge troll or a gargoyle. He’s a nice guy with attractive qualities. His stoicism gives him an air of mystery, something else that a lot of women find attractive. A man could be young and rich but a complete asshole. She wouldn’t want anything to do with a man like that.

Midge realizes that he thinks she’s trying to come up with reasons that she might find him attractive, not realizing that she does find him attractive. “I am,” she replies. She’s about to try to clarify herself when she notices Hammond approaching.

“There you two are,” he says. “I hope I’m not interrupting an intimate moment, but I wanted to let you know that the dancing has started.” Hammond pauses. “Well, I wanted to let Midge know, at least.”

“Perfect,” she says, eying Robert with a slightly devious smile. “Shall we?”

Muldoon is ready to continue out this hypothetical knight-Midge conversation when Hammond appears. The new of music and dancing is enough to wipe off his expression into one of concern again.

"I don't really dance very well..."

"Oh come on," Hammond insists, waving the two of them over to the ballroom. "You're on your feet all day every day, you just need to move them a little. It's easy, Midge will show you."

Uncertain as he is, the pressure is enough to get Muldoon to his feet and heading vaguely in the right direction. Once Hammond isn't talking over him he feels obliged to give Midge fair warning.

"I'm not a good dancer. I don't want to step on your toes."

Midge isn't terribly surprised that Robert doesn't dance. She's sure Hammond knows that, so maybe he's just trying to intercede on her behalf. Little does he know that Midge would try to make him dance with her if she wanted him to. She's not a shrinking violet.

She takes Robert's arm. "He's right. I'll show you."

Thankfully, when they get back into the ballroom, a slow jazz song is just starting. That's much easier to dance to than something upbeat. They pause at the edge of the dance floor and Midge leans in to speak to Robert quietly.

"When we're out there, you need to hold me," she says. "You're not dancing with your sister. You understand?"

If he doesn't, she'll show him that too.

"Alright." He thinks he understands, but given that he can't remember the last time he danced with a woman he's still making a bit of a guess.

Taking her hand, he leads her out into a space on the dance floor before taking her up in his arms. The hand on her back is a bit on the high side, but at least he doesn't have any problem holding her hand, or holding her close.

None of which stops him from asking, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"It's fine, unless you're really that bad of a dancer." Their bodies are pressed together, which is what she meant. A man wouldn't hold his girlfriend at arm's length. They have to look comfortable with each other. Midge hopes that any discomfort that might be portrayed will be chocked up to Robert's nervousness about dancing.

Their faces are close together, though he's taller than her, so her eyes reach about where his nose is. "Don't worry about steps," Midge says. "Just move with me." She's going to try to subtly lead without it being very noticeable.

It quickly becomes apparent to the warden that he needs to focus on Midge. Glancing around at the other people around them only manages to make him nervous and distracted, and after a few small stumbles he gets the hang of only looking at Midge.

Well, sort of looking at Midge.

He hadn't quite realised how close she would be, and how inescapable her gaze is with those big blue eyes. Trying to stare at her lips certainly doesn't help, and by the time he settles on keeping his eyes on her shoulder his ears are definitely burning. At least he's not stepping on her toes.

"Put your arm around my waist."

When Robert moves his arm, Midge is thrown off her game for the first time all evening. She hadn't thought about the fact that being close to him like this would mean that she could smell his aftershave. She hadn't considered that his arms would feel so strong and secure around her, or that his chest would feel as solid as it does. Her heart is pounding, and she wonders if he can feel that.

She swallows before speaking again, talking quietly into the ear that is nearest to her lips.

"See? You've got the hang of it."

Lowering his arm seems reasonable enough, since she's the one suggesting it. It's when she speaks again, lips so close to his ear, that it feels like her voice sends electricity down his spine.

"It's not as bad as I thought it would be," he admits. "The dancing, I mean. Mine, not yours. You're a great dancer."

He shuts his mouth then before he starts rambling any more.

"Thanks." She's not doing too much, all things considered. They're holding each other and moving slowly across the dance floor. "Just don't ask me to sing."

Gently, Midge rests her head on Robert's shoulder and lets out a slow breath. His arms feel warm and safe and she relaxes a little bit. "This is nice," she says. "You... feel nice."

It's easier to say things when she isn't looking right at him, when her eyes are focused on his lapel and the room beyond.

This isn't a date, he has to remind himself when she leans against him. This would be a terrible date. He wouldn't be impressing anyone if it were, and she agreed to come as a favour to him, that's all.

It would be so easy to hold her closer, to support her a little better so that she could rest her head on his shoulder for longer.

"It is nice," he agrees, because he's not sure what else to say at first. "Much, much nicer than being here alone. Thank you, again, for coming."

They had decided explicitly that this wasn’t going to be a date. It might not be a date, but definitions don’t stop Midge from feeling the way that she does. The thing is that he has impressed her tonight, and not by how he wears a tuxedo or how he dances. She’s impressed by how he’s handling all of this, despite being so far out of his element. She’s impressed by his knowledge and skills when it comes to wildlife. Midge doesn’t expect him to turn into a person that he’s not.

“Of course,” she replies, her head still on his chest. She can feel his heartbeat like this. “I couldn’t leave you to flounder all by yourself, could I?”

With a song this slow and a dance this gentle, and Midge relaxing against him, Muldoon finally starts to calm down. He could happily spend the evening like this, as long as the tempo doesn't pick up.

"You could have. But you didn't. You wouldn't. You're not that kind of person."

“I like to help, if I can,” she says.

Midge notices Hammond watching them, a smile on his face. It seems he’s happy for his friend. Midge hopes that this lie doesn’t cause any hard feelings later. She isn’t trying to hurt anyone. She just wanted Robert to feel more comfortable and confident at this party.

Midge picks her head up so that she can look at him. “You’re doing fine. When we talk to those guys again, just pretend that they’re hyenas or something. Just try to refrain from punching them.”

The older man has been Muldoon's longest employer, even beating out the warden's own father. They clash, as any long standing companions do, but they look out for each other too. That Midge is a particularly pretty woman certainly doesn't hurt.

"If they were hyenas they'd do whatever you told them," he grumbles before realising he should explain. "Hyenas are matriarchal. Women rule in their society."

Conceding to her advice, however, he sighs and nods his head. "I'll be good. I've had plenty of practice biting my tongue."

A black tie adventure with doesntsing

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