Work Text:
A party.
When Faust had come to them with the announcement, she said that the company was rewarding the Sinners for a job well done on their most recent Distortion mission.
Most of them had been skeptical. The company, rewarding them properly for their work? No strings attached? It seemed to good to be true.
But sure enough, when they’d gotten back to their rooms that night, each of them found a box on their beds with a set of formal wear, and a card inviting them to an event on behalf of Limbus Company, scheduled for the very next night.
They spent the following day cleaning up and getting ready. Lots of cracks were exchanged, mostly about how the ‘party’ was probably just going to be a few sad snacks and a punchbowl and a few boring speeches from Effie or Vergilius or something. Maybe a pizza if the company was *really* feeling generous.
And then, that night, all of them were herded through the backdoor.
The best way to describe the place they were led to was ‘opulent.’
It was two floors, done up in dark wood fixtures with intricate gold accents. A fancy shrubbery centerpiece spilled down from its ornate container over by the stairs, and plush sofas and furniture were polished and cleaned to gleaming status. Near an open space clearly intended for dancing, pleasant jazz music piped in over hidden speakers. There was a full buffet *and* hors d'oeuvres, and a tower of what seemed to be all the champagne they could possibly drink.
…that shut a lot of the snarky commentary up, real fast.
Gregor exhaled smoke from the cigarette currently in his mouth, as he surveyed the room from the darker corner he’d posted himself up in. Some of the other Sinners were laughing, others were squabbling, but overall, the mood in the room was riding pretty high.
He wasn’t an idiot. This wasn’t so much a reward as a bribe. An attempt to keep their morale in check and keep them just on this side of cooperative. Old G Corp used to do something similar, offering better rations and perks to certain units, before turning them loose on what amounted to suicide missions.
Like giving steak to a dog before you had to put it down…
He took another drag.
Honestly, he’d never really been one for parties. He’d been forced to attend some of the ones at his old office job, and the result was the same there as it was here. Him standing off in the corner, desperately trying not to draw attention to himself. Watching everyone else socialize.
Though, at least it was nice enough of the company to provide them with proper clothes for this event, especially clothes that could accommodate for their personal…quirks.
There was an outburst of cheers as Don Quixote climbed up onto a table, followed by Outis immediately yelling at her to get down before she dirtied it up with her wretched horse-shoes.
Gregor grunted as he adjusted the green suit jacket he had to resort to draping over his shoulders, rolling his stiffer, *other* shoulder as he did.
Well. Most of their quirks, anyway.
Just as he was thinking about trying to slink over to the buffet table to grab something to eat, his gaze was drawn to someone that stood next to it, talking to Meursault (as much as anyone talked to Meursault, anyway). Someone tall, in a backless black-and-red ruffled dress that ran down to the floor, who had their hair pulled up in an impressive high ponytail.
He squinted. Wait. Who was that? If he didn’t know any better, he could swear it almost looked like-
The tall woman turned around, two glasses of champagne in hand.
“Oh! There you are, Greg! I was wondering where you’d slipped off to!”
Gregor’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head.
The seemingly floor-length style of the dress from behind…was an illusion. The front was an open window and showed off Rodya’s long muscled legs in ruby-red heels, the ruffles ending at around her mid-thigh.
To say nothing of her…more typically accented assets. My, but that ruby necklace was doing the absolute most for drawing attention to them.
He forced himself to crane his head up as she approached him, to keep his eyes on hers.
The knowing glimmer in them, however, told him that she’d noticed exactly where his gaze had originally been wandering.
She strode over, passing him one of the champagne glasses as she leaned up against the wall next to him.
“What are you doing over here all by your lonesome, anyway? I mean, c’mon, it’s a party!”
“Yeah…that’s kind of the problem. I don’t really do parties.”
“Aww, why not? They keep you up too late past your old man bedtime?” Rodya teased.
In spite of himself, Gregor does smile. Just a little bit.
“Hey now, I’m not completely decrepit just yet. I’ve just…never been big on these kinds of social things.”
Because people tend to stare at you when you’re out in the open, in public like this. A nasty voice in the back of his mind hissed. Wondering if you have control of yourself, or if you’re going to hurt them, like the other vets who were too far gone in their mutations.
Because who would ever want a disgusting *thing* like you, ruining their good time?
His smile faded just as quickly as it appeared and he took a swig of his champagne. Fizzing warmth bloomed in his chest on its way down to his stomach; helped to quiet some of the gnawing anxiety in it.
Luckily it didn’t seem like she noticed as he grappled with that intrusive thought. Instead, she sipped on her own drink and sighed, almost wistfully.
“Well, don’t feel bad, I didn’t get to go to many parties either, and those that I did were usually because someone either got married or died.”
For a moment, her own smile vanished.
She thought of the Rudkis family, holding a reception for their son Jurgis after he got married, their door open to all to come and partake, even if they weren’t relatives. She thought of Sonya’s father, a wretched drunk that they had both watched die, and the miserable wake that was had for him after the two had scraped up the Ahn to do it…
Life and death, constantly chasing each other like a couple of scrapping dogs…such was the way of life in the Backstreets.
But just like Gregor, she forced the mask back up before it could be caught.
“Still! I’d be stupid to turn my nose up at free food.”
“I figured as much. Is that why they put you in this dress, then? ‘Cause I don’t think I see any place on this ruffly thing for those secret snack pockets you like so much.”
She scowled at him and swatted his shoulder, and he feels the corner of his mouth twitch.
“…while it isn’t *as* easy to hide snacks in this dress…it’s not *impossible.* And I’ll just leave it to your imagination to figure out what I mean by that.”
“Oh, I’m imagining it, alright.”
That got another swat, and that time, he actually chuckled.
“Speaking of outfits though…I’m impressed by your suit. Green’s a really good color on you, you should wear it more. Makes you look real dapper.”
“Oh- really? Thanks. Unfortunately, I don’t think either of us has got much choice when it comes to our uniforms.”
“S’pose not, but. If they need to dress us up classy for another event like this, you should totally ask if they’ll let you wear it again.”
They lapsed into a mostly comfortable silence after that.
Mostly. Gregor kept shifting and fidgeting where he stood. As much as he and Rodya were normally at ease with each other, it was another thing entirely when she looked…like *that.* So stunning. And he looked…as he always did. Despite her compliments otherwise.
He felt an uncomfortable prickling run up and down his carapace arm as his anxiety mounted again.
Wings, why did he agree to come to this thing? He should have tried to stay back on the bus, do something helpful for one of the other teams. Effie would probably have loved the assistance. Or maybe he could have just slept in his seat or his room while everyone else had a good time.
“Hm.” Rodya made a noise that caught his attention, and Gregor felt her eyes surveying him from over the rim of her glass as she swirled the liquid still within.
Oh no. He knew that look. She was plotting something, definitely.
“…what?”
“Well…I didn’t want to say anything, but it’s just, you look like one of those fancy T Corp watches.”
“Wh- huh?”
“You know, wound up so tight that one more twist is just gonna make you go - *pop!* - and all your gears and innards are gonna come spilling out.”
“Look, I told you, I don’t really do parties-“
“I know, which is why I’ve got an idea. This place has got music, and it’s got space. Wanna dance?”
Gregor stared at her.
Was she serious? No, no, this had to be another one of her jokes.
“You mean like…you. And me?”
“Well, yeah? Who’d you think I was gonna ask?”
“I mean, you were real intent on chatting up Meursault over there, and he mentioned he was into clubbing and stuff that one time before…so…”
“Aww, Greg, is that a little note of jealousy I hear~?”
“No.”
(…Yes.)
“Look, if you don’t wanna, that’s okay. I just figured you might want to blow off some steam somehow, and I hear physical activity stuff is good for that kind of thing. I mean, I know I find it harder to think about something bothering me after I’ve done something strenuous.”
At the mention of strenuous physical activity, his mind naturally scuttled somewhere else and he nearly choked on his drink.
“Guh- I, I mean, even if I did want to, I’m not much of a dancer, y’know? I got two left feet-“
“Well that doesn’t surprise me, I mean you’re all left as it is already.”
He shot her a deeply annoyed look as she tried to stifle a giggle.
“Alright, alright, I’m sorry, I know that was mean, but I couldn’t resist that one. But Greg, hey. Seriously. Do you really want to be moping here in the corner all night? At least this way you’d have a little fun, I promise.”
“I don’t mope- gah.”
Gregor’s fingers drummed against his now-empty glass. Rodya had a point, though. He didn’t want to be at this thing…but how much more of a loser would he look like if he just skulked over here all night?
And that had sounded like genuine concern in her voice. Or maybe he was just convincing himself it was.
He sighed. Worst that would happen is he’d just make an idiot of himself and then creep back off to the corner, so it’s not like much would really change, right?
“…Okay. I’ll do it. Just, can we maybe do it somewhere…I dunno, less out in the open?”
Her face lit up like fireworks over Hongyuan.
“Yeah! I know the perfect spot, c’mon-“
Rodya took the glass from him with one hand, grabbed his good hand with the other, and Gregor felt his insides twist again, albeit for very different reasons this time.
They slipped past Meursault, who merely watched them go with his eternally neutral expression, and up the stairs. Rodya stashed their empty champagne flutes into that fancy shrub at the top. Gregor was sure that someone was going to complain about that, but then again, given the rancor going on-
(A shout went up as Heathcliff and Ishmael were fighting with each other, both of them half-hanging over the railing of the other stairwell; in danger of falling right on top of a panicked Sinclair who sat on a sofa beneath them.)
-there were probably far more important things to worry about.
“See? No one’s around, there’s space to move, and we can hear the music and watch everyone else from up here. And even if someone looks up, they won’t see us if we stay behind the bush. Will that work for you, babe?”
“That- yeah, actually, that works really well.”
From the speaker above them, a low, steady drumbeat and the lighter plinking of a piano started up.
“Oh! Perfect timing, I love this song! C’mon, let’s dance!“
“Uh, okay, where do I-…?”
He looked her over helplessly, his hand hovering vaguely in front of himself as he tried to figure out where to put it on her.
“Here-“
Rodya took it again, guided it up to her bare shoulder. Gregor was surprised to find her skin much cooler than he expected. Was she cold in this dress? Or did she just run naturally this way, as part of her District 25 heritage?
And then, to his even greater surprise, she patted her waist.
His eyes darted from the gesture and then back up to her.
“Are…are you sure?”
“Sure. Just try not to tear this dress with it, okay? I don’t wanna get yelled at for messing up their fancy clothes.”
“No promises. But I’ll try.”
Delicately, gingerly, he rested his claw on her hip, flexed it in just the right way so that it curled around the small of her back. It was to her credit that she didn’t flinch - Gregor knew for a fact that he could probably bisect her with it if he so desired. Was she finally starting to get better about her hatred of bugs? Or was this in spite of that hatred?
He wasn’t sure which prospect spiked his nerves more.
Once he seemed to have an acceptable grip on her, she rested her toned arms on his shoulders, and gently pushed his ponytail aside so she could lace her mesh-gloved fingers around the back of his neck. The material tickled his skin, though not…unpleasantly.
The song swelled into a more brassy, jazzy overture, and then a woman’s voice began to sing:
Hey handsome, have you got the time?
I've been watching you since the moment you arrived~
Rodya led the two of them, slowly at first - guiding him in the steps back and forth on the landing.
As he got the basics down (turns out, dancing wasn’t *that* much different from military marching drills), she began to pick up speed, until her heels made sharp little clicks in time with the drums as they turned.
Since he hadn’t just immediately and catastrophically messed this up (at least, not yet), Gregor decided to chance making conversation again.
“…I didn’t know you knew how to dance.”
“Learned in the casino circuit. Real easy way to distract the high roller fatcats and put them off their game.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And then lemme guess. Once they were distracted, you took them for everything they had?”
She grinned back at him. “Hey, they could spare it, and a girl’s gotta eat somehow, right? Also, you’re not too bad yourself. Thought you said you had two left feet?”
“I’m a quick learner. Though it helps that I got a good teacher, too.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, you know, babe.”
They didn’t do anything too fancy. The wildest it really got was when she taught him how to spin her out, keeping his grip on her hand steady as she twirled out and then back to him in one smooth, fluid motion.
Still, Gregor had to admit, Rodya had been right about the physical activity thing. By having to focus on keeping up the steps and the rhythm, it was actually a really good distraction from his own racing and intrusive thoughts.
The brass faded out for a moment, leaving just the drums and piano as the singer built up to a final verse.
“Hey Greg, you ready?”
“Huh? Ready for what-?”
And that’s when he felt Rodya’s arm around *his* waist as she bent forward towards him, and Gregor’s eyes widened.
“Rodya-?!”
His feet went out from under him, and he braced himself - this was it, this was the moment when he would fall on his ass and becomes the biggest buffoon in the room, the moment when everyone will hear the thump and turn and look and start laughing at him-
…But it never happens.
Because of course, Rodya’s got him. Her grip is sure and gentle as she dips him low to the floor, without dropping him.
Sometimes, he forgets just how strong she has to be to wield an axe like she does.
Gregor chanced looking up at her, and it was a good thing his cig had gone out a little while ago, because he was sure he’d have choked on the smoke as his breath caught in his throat.
Even with her hair pulled back and up, there was still so much of it that it cascaded down her shoulders to frame her face and hide everything outside of the two of them. The golden crown-like headpiece that held the rest of it back caught the light, and it reflected it in such a way that it almost made her look like some sort of haloed saint.
I’m like the smoke on your fire
Smoldering endless desire
How long
Will your
Flame burn~?
Those deep blue eyes of hers sparkled. A pair of sapphires to go with all the rubies that already adorned her.
“Yeah, Greg? What is it?”
He found himself…dazzled.
“Uh-…I forgot.”
Her painted lips quirked up in a smile as she straightened, bringing him back up with her. His feet were once again planted and stable.
“You know, if I wasn’t worried I’d accidentally knock your head on the lights, I would have lifted you instead. Sorry for the scare, I just thought it’d be fun to show off.”
The idea of being physically lifted by Rodya made him feel dizzy. Or maybe that was just the way his heart was still racing from the dip.
“Yeah, well. Maybe next time.”
I'll take your hand and then your worries too
In just one dance I'll make your dreams come true…
With one last little bit of horn fanfare, the song faded out, and Rodya finally let go of his hand, stretching and shaking out her hair.
“Whew! That was fun. How do you feel?”
“Honestly? I feel…good. Better than I did, at least.”
“You wanna do another? Or do your bones want a break already?”
“…hey, my knees didn’t creak once during that whole thing. But uh…why don’t you grab us another couple of glasses of champagne, and then I’ll have made up my mind by the time you get back?”
“Okay, but I’m gonna hold you to that. Don’t just sneak back off to your little moping corner while I’m gone~”
As if to give him an incentive, Rodya pressed a quick, playful kiss to his cheek, before she sauntered back off towards the stairs.
As he watched her go, Gregor leaned on the railing and fished his pack of smokes out of his pocket to light up a fresh cigarette.
He could feel her lipstick on his cheek. No doubt it was going to attract looks and questions from the others later. And yet, for once, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to worry about it.
…On second thought, maybe he *could* learn to like parties.