xp_logs | Forge and Marie-Ange: A Conspiracy of Dances

In accordance with Marie-Ange's request, Forge takes her out dancing. An observation is made, leading to a confession, and then to a conspiracy.

"Let me get this straight," Forge quipped, looking around at the dance
floor, brightly lit and garishly decorated in a throwback style, a
sharp contrast to the pounding music and flashing lights of clubs like
Silver. "Now am I supposed to jump, jive, and wail, or can we
settle for two out of three? I'm not sure I'm completely clear on the
whole 'jive' concept. Jumping and wailing I can handle. Do they have
to be done in that order?"

The live band up on the raised stage kicked up with a loud opening to
a six-beat tune, led by the trumpets and trombone before the stand-up
bass and the drums broke in to keep time. The band members, all clad
in powder-blue sport coats and slacks, could have been pulled directly
out of the middle of the last century.

With a small bit of coercing, Forge had managed to at least attempt to
dress the part for a night of swing dancing, finding a nice pair of
chinos and a subdued bowling shirt. He had drawn the line at the
hairstyle, however. No matter what the occasion, a pompadour was
never appropriate.

Marie-Ange smiled and shook her head, laughing a little. "I think
under the circumstances, that if you can handle the wailing, that they
will forgive a lack of jiving. I am not sure I have mastered the
'jive' piece, and I took Kurt's dance class for two semesters. I feel
silly even saying jive."

She watched the crowd for a moment, gauging the dancers. While the
flashier ones were out on the middle of the floor, it seemed as if
there was an unoffical group of more sedate dancers, and a small group
of couples who were listening and watching a pair of slender men
explain dance moves. "It looks as if there are beginner lessons in
the back..." Marie-Ange said carefully.

"Beginner lessons..." Forge said slowly, a grin creeping onto his
face. There is something to be said for the element of
surprise, he thought briefly before turning to take Marie-Ange's
hands in his own.

Grinning at her mild yelp of surprise, Forge stepped onto the dance
floor, extending his left arm to spin the French redhead in a
swingout, his feet already moving to the beat.

"Beginner lessons?" he laughed, falling almost effortlessly
into step with the music.

If her hands had been free, she'd have shaken her fist in mock
outrage. But Marie-Ange too busy recovering from the surprise to do
more than follow along until she caught her breath.

"When did you learn how to dance?" She asked, once they'd fallen into
a rhythm. "I know you did not take dance class. There would have been
protesting." And when would he have had time. And his classmates would
have commented on it.

"The first dance when I came to the school, you were down in New
Orleans," Forge explained, sliding on one foot and back to the other.
"I didn't want to look like a goober, so I had Wanda teach me a few
moves. I picked up a few steps here and there from Kurt, and kind of
learned by experience, you know?"

He smiled, secure in the knowledge that unlike Catseye, Marie-Ange
wasn't likely to send him flying through the air with a simple
turn-out. He recognized the distinct advantage of having a dance
partner relatively close to his own height as well.

"So, be honest," he asked, "did you think I couldn't dance for social
reasons, or physical ones?" Forge accentuated the question by sliding
effortlessly around the floor on his left foot, turning in place and
holding his metal hand out to Angie with a questioning look.

Marie-Ange laughed, shaking her head at Forge's explanation. Of course
it had been Wanda. "I think, lack of opportunity? Two years ago, I
would have said social, but people change, no?" She took Forge's
hand, as the band began a slightly faster-paced song. "You have
also... upgraded, yes? Upgraded your leg. You do not move as
unevenly. Before there was.. I am not sure how to describe it."

"Form and function," Forge said between steps as he and Marie-Ange
moved around the floor to the beat. "I might not be able to run laps
or slam dunk a basketball," he stepped in and out, raising one arm for
Marie-Ange to twirl under it and back again. "But I can keep up when I
need to. I've been learning my limitations, but learning not to let
them control me. It's been... interesting."

"You -are- full of secrets today..." Marie-Ange said, still laughing.
"The next thing we know, you will be joining the X-men and going
forth to save the world." That she knew it was fairly unlikely to
come out just like that wasn't the point. It -sounded- implausible.
"Are there any other secrets you would like to share today, John Henry
Forge?"

Missing half a step in his dance, Forge took a deep breath. There was
only so much of a facade he could put up. "There... is one. Maybe we
ought to, uh..." he motioned with his head to the edge of the dance
floor. As he and Marie-Ange walked over to lean against a table, he
steeled himself, then took another deep breath and let it out slowly
before looking the redhead in the eyes.

"I need to be honest with you. About the real reason I'm here. We're
here. This... date... thing." He stammered for a moment, then paused
to grab a glass of water.

"This is not some kind of -dare- is it?" Marie-Ange asked slowly, and
then let out a breath and shook her head. "No, it would not be. And I
have spent too much time at the office if I am getting this paranoid."
She frowned, and put a hand over her eyes. "I .. should confess
something similar, I have not been entirely honest with you."

"Doug's still in love with you," Forge blurted out. "I thought that if
he saw you going out with me, of all people, then he'd get up
the courage to actually act on it."

Much to Forge's surprise, Marie-Ange began to laugh, bowing her head
and shaking at the shoulders. Once she managed to recover, and had
'borrowed' Forge's glass of water, she looked up, brushing her hair
out of her face. "I... " She waved a hand in the air. "The same
thing. Exactly the same thing."

Forge paused, finger wagging in the air. "Wait, you... this isn't...
you're just doing this to make Doug jealous?" He let out an overly
dramatic sigh and shook his head. "Web of lies..."

"So, now what do we do?" Marie-Ange asked. "It is obviously not
working. Either he has not noticed, or he has decided -again-" She
paused to roll her eyes. "That it is not 'his place' to say anything
at all to me about it."

Pondering, Forge's eyes suddenly lit up with an idea. "You know how
they say 'nothing succeeds like excess'? We turn it up a notch. It's
not like it's a secret how Doug feels. I mean, if I figured it
out, you know Amanda has, and if Amanda knows, then Angelo knows. And
if we get the two of THEM talking, then you know Wanda's going to
talk, and that means pressure on Doug from all sides. Besides, he
might not have budged when you were dating Garrison - which, I may
add, says nothing for your taste and I'm just believing that
you were emotionally needy and unstable - but if we make him think
you're taking up with me?"

Forge smiled ferally. "It'll drive him insane. He'll have to be
honest about how he feels. Feelings which, if I am interpolating
correctly, you return?"

Marie-Ange stared for a moment, took in what Forge said, ignored the
quip about Garrison - and then blinked. "What size dress shirt do you
wear?" She asked, seemingly non-plussed at Forge's ability to say so
much without breathing, and also that her question was a complete
non-sequitur.

"Men's small, why?" Forge responded, before slowly smiling. "Oh. Oh,
yes indeed. You, Mademoiselle Colbert, are wickedly brilliant. Oh yes,
we're doing this. We are going to make Doug into an absolute nervous
wreck until he has no choice left but to win you back."

"Or implodes from outrage..." Marie-Ange said. "But I doubt that he
would do that." She looked around the dance hall at the crowd where
the band was returning for a new set. "We should discuss the details
of this later, over dinner?"

Forge smirked, extending a hand to Marie-Ange as he moved back towards
the dance floor. "I accept your offer of conspiracy, Mademoiselle.
Well played. Well played, indeed."