[A well-dressed Aug is still a damned Aug, and unwelcome at anything but the seediest of dive bars – just one of the many charms of this city Adam knew so well (but Isha, still the recent INTERPOL transplant, had yet to fully realize.) But after getting turned away from two restaurants, what'd appeared to have been a failed evening out had turned into a spur of the moment decision, and several things had made themselves very clear.
One: crashing a wedding is, in fact, as easy as the movies make it seem. Almost annoyingly so.
Two: top-of-the-line leg replacements – no matter how advanced the design – are not and never will be a substitute for actual dancing ability.
And three: Isha's capacity for smooth-talking and bullshittery is practically boundless and, if he didn't know any better, he'd swear she has a CASIE mod she isn't telling him about. Not even because she'd talked him into the party in the first place – the fact that Adam's a soft touch when it comes to her had (unfortunately) stopped being a secret long ago – but witnessing her successfully convince several guests sober enough to be suspicious that a pair of wayward Augs belonged at a reception like that had been like watching an artist at work.
(Honestly– he could stand to take a few pointers.)
But as the evening had died to give way for the early hours of the morning, so too had the music and the laughter and their cover along with it, and eventually it became time for the two of them to slip back out into the cold – a little warmer, if only for all the complimentary wine – and find their way back to her place. The snowfall, though little more than a flurry when they'd ducked into the wedding hours ago, had quickly accumulated and blanketed everything in a layer of white. Prague winter nights at their most picturesque... At least if you can ignore the state police at every corner and the openly hostile looks from the non-augmented. Mercifully, however, the weather and the biting wind seem to have driven most people back into their homes, leaving the darkened streets empty and quiet save for the crunch of his and her footsteps on the fresh snow.]
Told you I couldn't dance.
[It's not like him to wear a fault like a badge of honor, but it might be enough to distract her from the fact that maybe – just maybe – Adam "No Fun Allowed" Jensen might've enjoyed himself a little tonight.
It also might be enough to distract her from the top hat – hot pink, sequined, and very not his style – that seems to have escaped on his head, a souvenir liberated from the wedding's photo booth.
Come to think of it, that may have accounted for some of the looks.]
no subject
One: crashing a wedding is, in fact, as easy as the movies make it seem. Almost annoyingly so.
Two: top-of-the-line leg replacements – no matter how advanced the design – are not and never will be a substitute for actual dancing ability.
And three: Isha's capacity for smooth-talking and bullshittery is practically boundless and, if he didn't know any better, he'd swear she has a CASIE mod she isn't telling him about. Not even because she'd talked him into the party in the first place – the fact that Adam's a soft touch when it comes to her had (unfortunately) stopped being a secret long ago – but witnessing her successfully convince several guests sober enough to be suspicious that a pair of wayward Augs belonged at a reception like that had been like watching an artist at work.
(Honestly– he could stand to take a few pointers.)
But as the evening had died to give way for the early hours of the morning, so too had the music and the laughter and their cover along with it, and eventually it became time for the two of them to slip back out into the cold – a little warmer, if only for all the complimentary wine – and find their way back to her place. The snowfall, though little more than a flurry when they'd ducked into the wedding hours ago, had quickly accumulated and blanketed everything in a layer of white. Prague winter nights at their most picturesque... At least if you can ignore the state police at every corner and the openly hostile looks from the non-augmented. Mercifully, however, the weather and the biting wind seem to have driven most people back into their homes, leaving the darkened streets empty and quiet save for the crunch of his and her footsteps on the fresh snow.]
Told you I couldn't dance.
[It's not like him to wear a fault like a badge of honor, but it might be enough to distract her from the fact that maybe – just maybe – Adam "No Fun Allowed" Jensen might've enjoyed himself a little tonight.
It also might be enough to distract her from the top hat – hot pink, sequined, and very not his style – that seems to have escaped on his head, a souvenir liberated from the wedding's photo booth.
Come to think of it, that may have accounted for some of the looks.]