Club Hopping, Bridge Dancing
Rplog-icon Who: Fern Fiddlehead, Warren Worthington
Where: Metropolis
When: September 12, 2013
Tone: Social
What: Warren and Fern's planned night out at a club turns into something much more unexpected.


One dozen roses and a couple phone calls later, details have been set for a night out at a club some blocks away from The Dorilton. Having worked an early shift, Fern hurried home to get ready before Warren sends a car to pick her up. On her way to work earlier in the week, she stopped in at her favorite thrift shop, and found a new dress in a deep blue that compliments her eyes. It's simply cut, hitting just above her knees, the v of the sleeveless top baring an expanse of skin against which rests a silver locket on a chain. A touch of makeup, a pair of silver, heeled sandals and she's ready, heading out of the building to wait on the sidewalk. While her neighborhood isn't great, she feels safe in it.

Warren Worthington chose a relatively easygoing club...tasteful and fun without being too loud or raunchy. After all, he didn't think it was really Fern's thing to be grinding on a dance floor and getting stinking drunk on overpriced shots. The car arrives promptly to pick Fern up and bring her to the club where Warren is actually waiting outside for her. He doesn't have that could be awkward going into a club like this, but he also didn't want anyone to think that she shouldn't be coming in. Even as the car pulls up, Warren approaches to open the door. "You look great," he offers as he holds out a hand to help her out. He's dressed well...not quite in work clothes, but still formally enough.

Fern actually leaves the driver alone for a change, after a brief, pleasant exchange, and spends the ride lost in thought. By the time Warren is opening the door her smile has come, and she scoots out of the back with more grace than most starlets, settling her hand into his. "Thank you," she says as she smooths her skirt, slinging the slender strap of a small silver bag over her shoulder. "You look very handsome, as always." Before the door is swung shut, Fern leans to call inside to the driver, "Thank you!"

The driver gives Fern a wave and a grin, "Any time!" before he nods to Warren...understanding that he should still be on call for later. Offering his arm to Fern, Warren grins down at her, "Thank you. Ready to go inside? It's not a Rave in there...I didn't think you'd be into that." It's just what he sees and it's a little early in this 're-dating' to be doing something like that. "You sure you're not exhausted from work and all? I don't want you to crash tomorrow."

Linking her arm with his, Fern shakes her head, "Not a bit, I've been looking forward to this. Besides, I have tomorrow off, so it's ok if I crash anyway." Warren possibly actually knows her better than most, Fern is one of those people who tends to listen more than talk, and most people like to talk more than listen. "I think this will be perfect. Have you been here before?"

"Oh, well...good timing on me then for offering this night to go out!" Warren smiles. He's also not one to talk all the time...but that could be for a number of reasons, among which could be a bit of shyness. "This club? I have. Not in a while though...this one was the trendy one a couple of years ago, but others have surpassed it, so it's not as...overcrowded as the others. It also isn't about the dancing and loud music."

Turning her head, Fern looks at Warren as he responds, letting her eyes linger on his smile. "I like the dancing, but I like to be able to hear the person I'm with." And she's witnessed Warren dancing before, so he's running high risk of being drawn out onto the floor. Just before they step up to the doorman, Fern gives Warren's arm a light squeeze, leaning nearer to him as her voice lowers, "I like it when you smile." Then her eyes shift to the man they approach, and she offers a cheerful, "Hi there!"

"But do you like dancing on a crowded dance floor? I don't...I get in the way too much." Because of the wings, Warren does have to be careful of his movements, especially dance moves. He cheeks grow pink at the compliment and he offers in reply, "And I like it when you're smiling at me."

The greeting to the bouncer brings him back to the moment and he offers a nod, which is returned and the two are let inside. No waiting, no questions. It's one advantage of Warren being who he is.

The silent exchange between the two men is noticed, and Fern looks to Warren again as they go into the club, the volume of the music swelling as they move nearer to the source, her brows raised red arches on her forehead. She looks amused. "That was easy. I'm usually with people who have to talk their way into a club when we go out." A blonde with some scraps of black fabric somehow clinging to her curves brushes past on her way out, eyeing Warren, looking through Fern, and the little redhead ignores her, but does slide a little closer to her date as they move.

Warren Worthington glances back to Fern, "They know who I am. It's sometimes helpful to be a minor celebrity...and I also called ahead." He even smirks a little at that. "Some clubs aren't worth talking your way into it. Some, if you slip them a $50, they'll let you in. But if you ever want to get into a club, you let me know and I'll get you in." At least, he will while they're getting along.

He does notice the blonde as she passes them, but he doesn't hold her gaze for more than a moment and as Fern slides closer, he reaches to wrap an arm across her back. "I got a table not too near the music so we can hear ourselves. I hope that's all right."

Fern has been to one or two of those 'not worth talking your way into' clubs. "Thanks, Warren, that's nice of you." Probably not an offer she'll ever cash in on, but it's nice that he's made it. "That's great, I don't mind a table that isn't right in the middle of things." She walks as he guides, letting the arm around her steer them toward the right table.

There aren't too many tables that are out of the way, but this one is, with a little more room available for his wings. He gestures for Fern to take one of the seats while he takes the one where his wings won't be in anyone's way. "And you don't mind going to a club? I was kind of surprised, really, since you disapproved of me at the others before." That might be a glint of humor in his eyes...or it could be the gobos.

Fern slides into her chair, waiting for Warren to settle before she responds. "It's not where you were that I disapproved of." She was at one of them herself, after all. She doesn't elaborate on the statement, but looks around now that they're seated. "No, I don't mind going to a club. Although I admit, I like quiet places. But a little noise is a nice change." And she might be curious to see a little more of Warren letting go a bit.

"I like the attention," Warren admits, looking down at the table. There's a drink and food menu there, but he isn't really looking at it. "If I wasn't getting it, I needed to make it. Does that make sense? I don't like being...overlooked. I mean," here he looks back up and over to Fern, "It's great that I'm not attacked because of how I look. It is. But...I still want to stand out. If it's not for them, then I need to find another reason."

Again, Fern watches Warren, and while it's not obvious, her eyes are more intent than usual. She meets his gaze as he looks up, leaning forward and setting her small purse on the table's edge, keeping her hand lightly atop it. "You do stand out," she says, "Don't you notice people always looking at you? Geez, Warren, you're an amazing looking man who has wings. There's more than one thing in that statement that makes you stand out." Her lips, lightly glossed, curve in a smile.

Warren Worthington lifts a shoulder, "I don't really see it. I mean, maybe sometimes, but..." there's a wry sort of smile there. "I'm spoiled. I always have been. Oddly enough, I like being the center of attention, but...I don't like putting myself there." He just wants other people to do the work. "It's why I went to those clubs. To be seen." He looks at Fern's hand on top of her clutch and holds his own hand out, palm up. "But...I like just being with you and no one else. I don't need anyone else's attention right now."

Fern moves her hand over, settling it on Warren's, letting her fingers brush lightly on his skin. "You've got my attention. Are you sure that's enough? I could go out and flag down some photographers for you." The words are light, gently teasing. "They're the only ones I'm willing to share you with, though. That blonde is right out."

"That's enough," Warren smiles fully now. "I don't need photographers for this part of my life, thank you. There may be some cameras anyhow...but I don't need all of my life in the gossip rags." His fingers curl around Fern's, "What blonde?"

Those last words and the squeeze to her hand add a warmth to Fern's smile, "Good call." She extends her smile to the waitress that comes over, and Fern orders for herself, asking for something fruity and slushy, with pineapple and coconut, and a large glass of ice water. "Actually, I'd prefer just tap water," she says, when asked what kind of bottled water she'd like. There's a pause, the waitress almost looking surprised, but she nods. Both sets of eyes turn to Warren, Fern wondering what he'll order.

Warren Worthington just gets his usual, top shelf scotch. He also orders a couple of tapas plates for them to nosh on. The waitress gets a brief smile before she leaves to place the order and get the drinks. "Pineapple, huh? Getting the most out of the end of summer, are we?" But he seems amused by it at least.

Fern nods, not the least bit shy about her agreement, "And pretty soon it'll be pumpkin coffee, so I might as well get every bit of summer that I can. Although I can do without the super hot days we've had this year. I'm sort of happy it's going to get cool again." Her head tilts curiously as she asks, "What's your favorite season?"

Warren Worthington inclines his head at the question, "Favorite season? I don't really know. I never really considered what would be a 'favorite'. Maybe summer because it's nice out for so long and I can go flying later. Or maybe Spring and Fall because it's still nice but not so hot. I do kind of like flying up to New England during the Fall to see the leaves."

Fern leans back as the waitress brings their drinks, dutifully saying thank you, then leaning forward again, elbows on the table to either side of her glass, eyes intently on Warren. "My favorite is spring, because everything is coming back to life," she offers in return. Pausing, she brings the straw to her lips, drawing some of the sweet, fruity, slushy drink. "Mmmmm, that's good. Wanna try it?" She's ready to slide the glass over if he says yes, and her mind is right back on the topic at hand. "I never really thought of that," she admits, smiling at him. "That you could just fly anywhere you want, really." It's a concept she's not quite wrapped her head around, obviously.

Warren Worthington glances at the offered drink before he shrugs, "All right, sure." He nods a 'thanks' to the waitress when she sets his scotch down and he considers offering his. He...probably should. "Want to taste mine? I'm not too sure how it will mix with fruitiness." He leans forward some to take a quick sip, "That is...very fruity." And he's happy to hand it right back. At the mention of his flying, there's a grin at that, "Well, there are limits, of course. I mean, flying across an ocean would be...difficult, I think. Exhausting at best. Flying over poles...probably not possible."

A light flap of her hand waves off Warren's offer, and Fern grins, "I've tasted scotch." She doesn't actually say it, but one could get the impression of 'if you've had one, you've had them all'. Hey, she's no connoisseur, her preference for fruity drinks attests to that. She's clearly pleased that he at least has a taste and doesn't just say no to the sip of her drink, even if he returns it quickly. Taking another sip, she nods agreeably, "Oh yeah, there are limits, sure. But gosh, I've never really thought about all the things you can do with flying. Like flying to see the fall colors."

Good! More scotch for himself! Warren is happy to be selfish with his drink, "Well, it's a nice little weekend trip. It depends on how fast I want to get there, but I could probably get there...maybe not quite as fast as an airplane. But it's far more comfortable unless I get a private jet. Besides, it's a bit more fun." There's a smirk before he takes a sip of his own drink, "I mean, I do more than flying around the city."

"I've heard the colors are great," Fern says, stirring her straw around in her drink before taking another sip. Not being that much of a drinker, she doesn't tend to give it time to melt very much, treating it more like a plain slushy than one with alcohol. "I think they're pretty nice back home, we have lots of trees and they get all orange and red and gold. But everyone always says how nice it is in New England." She might sound just a touch skeptical.

"They are pretty spectacular," Warren says. "I mean, it's like a Norman Rockwell painting...or the very epitome of Autumn. There's cool air and the scent of burning leaves and then all before you are browns and golds and scarlet reds. I mean, New York is nice...other places are nice, but if you want to see Autumn, it's in New England."

Fern grins at Warren's statement, but still doesn't look entirely convinced. "Well, maybe I'll get up there and check them out this year." The song changes to one that was popular on the radio this summer, remixed to bring the thumping bass out, and Fern absently bobs her head in time with the music. Her drink is already half gone, and she glances toward the dance floor, packed even on a Thursday night.

Warren Worthington looks at his scotch briefly, "Well, let me know if you'd like to go up. I can get us a room in a Bed and Breakfast up there...there are some amazing places in the Berkshires or New Hampshire or Vermont." He's sort of insinuating that he'd be going too. As Fern sort of dances in her seat to the music, he watches her before glancing to the crowded dance floor. "Did you...want to dance?"

Blue eyes return to Warren, and Fern's wondering if he'd actually ask her to go up there with him is answered in the positive. "I'd like that. I think it would be fun to do something totally new like that with you." If there one thing Fern likes, it's sharing new experiences with people she cares about, whether it's new to her or to them. Her eyes shift back to the floor, then settle on Warren again, and she shrugs one shoulder. "I do want to dance, but it's awfully crowded up there. I don't want your wings to get jostled around." The words are sincere and come with an easy smile, as she adds, "I'll get you to dance with me sooner or later. I can be patient."

"Well, let's plan a weekend then! It's a little early still, but the beginning of October might be perfect. Can you get out of work for a long weekend?" Warren is willing to jump on that while she seems willing to go with him. "I think you'd like it. The leaves match your hair." It's meant to be a compliment, but he's actually unsure as to whether or not she'd see it as such so he hides behind taking a sip from his glass even as he watches her over the rim. Blue eyes flick to the dance floor, "I'm more worried about other people getting smacked by them."

The smile that comes at Warren's words proves that Fern does consider that a compliment. "Thank you. I love the warm colors that come when the weather gets colder. The yellow and red daisies, those are my favorite." She pauses to think a moment, her eyes rolling up as if she's looking for the answer on the ceiling as she takes another draw from her drink. "Yeah, I'm sure I can get Jerry to cover for me for a couple shifts so I can take the time off. Her eyes stay on him as Warren looks back to the dance floor. "Maybe we can find a place that's less crowded in a little while," she suggests as a compromise on the dancing. She's still more concerned about his comfort than others. "We can have another drink, maybe take a walk to another club?"

Warren Worthington there's a little breath of relief as she's not insulted. He makes a note about the yellow and red daisies even as he takes another sip. "Beginning of October then. Let me now what weekend and I'll make arrangements. I'd like to share that with you." When she mentions finding a less crowded club and suggests walking to another club, he offers, "I had a similar idea."

"You see what's available, make sure you can find a vacancy, and then we'll go by that?" Being mid-September already, she's a little concerned that everything is booked up and they won't be able to find a place to sleep. And while Fern has been dutifully sipping her water, she's still on the last bit of her first drink. "Or we could get a second somewhere else," she says agreeably.

"I can find us a place. Don't worry about that." He has connections that way. Warren's still sipping his scotch, but there isn't all that much as compared to the frozen drink so it's easy for him to finish up. "Get a second...drink? You don't strike me as a barhopper, Fern Fiddlehead..."

Fern nods, "Ok, the first weekend of October then." She pauses to consider his remark as she slurps up the last of the frosty rum drink, looking at Warren as she straightens. "I guess you could technically say that. I do kind of like to see different places, and I like having a walk between drinks. And I never really go to more than two places, cover charges around here are nuts."

"Cover charges..." Warren repeats. He never has to pay cover charges. After all, clubs want people like him in there. They buy lots of drinks and tip well...and it's good publicity for them. He considers a moment, pulls out his cell phone, taps something on it, and then finishes off his drink. A large bill is left on the table to cover the drinks, appetizers, and a generous tip before he tosses back the rest of his drink. "All right. Want to take that walk then?"

Appetizers that Fern totally forgot about and probably won't ever remember Warren having ordered. She watches him tap curiously, but doesn't ask, then nods at the question. "Sure," she chirps, standing and pausing a beat before holding her hand out for his.

The waitstaff will have two orders of appetizers to snack on...and Warren is totally fine with that. The phone is put away and Warren stands, his wings giving a flick to readjust before he takes Fern's offered hand. "All right. Onward and upward. Or...onward." He flashes her a smile before he walks with her towards the exit.

Fern shoulders her purse strap, then follows a half step behind Warren until they're outside, where she moves up beside him for the walk down the street. She lets him choose their direction, unfamiliar with the neighborhood herself, keeping her fingers twined with his. They've only gone a step or two before she asks curiously, "Did you take any of those girls you've hung out at clubs with flying?"

"Girls?" Warren asks, his thoughts obviously elsewhere. "Which girls? Oh!" There's a flicker of a frown before he wipes it away, "No. I never took them flying. They weren't...I don't just take any girl flying with me. It''s pretty intimate. I mean, I've flown with friends...ex-friends, but that was just a means for getting from point A to point B. I think you're the only girl I've really flown with." He definitely seems to have a direction in mind as he walks towards Central Park.

She tries to tame it, but there's still a curve to Fern's lips despite pressing them together, "Yeah, it is rather.... close." It wasn't an experience that one quickly forgets, for a number of reasons. She falls silent for a few more steps, her own thoughts wandering now, hand warm in his.

"I don't...I don't give myself away to just anyone, you know. They were..." Warren does pause mid-thought and glances down at Fern, "Should we really be talking about this? I mean...they didn't mean anything to me and I would much rather be spending my time with you."

There's a light squeeze to Warren's hand, and Fern turns her head to look at him. "I know that you don't," she says honestly. "And no, we don't ever need to talk about them again. Past is past." There's a finality to her tone, although it's still light, perhaps aided at least somewhat by the rum she downed rather quickly.

"Good. I'm...trying to put the past in the past. It's not good to be holding onto grudges like I do. It's...something I'm trying to improve upon with myself." Warren knows he's had issues in the past and it's lost him friends. "You sort of helped me figure out that it's easier to put the past away and move on. So, thank you for that."

"You're welcome?" Fern says, sounding unsure. There must be better ways to learn things like that than what happened between them, but maybe some good can come from it at least. She learned some lessons as well. "But I am glad that it's gotten us to where we are."

"It's a good thing," Warren tries to reassure. He walks a bit in quiet as he tries not to louse up a perfectly lovely evening so far. "I'm glad it has too." He sort of leaves it at that before attempting anything more for the time being. He takes her to a path that seems to be through Central Park, choosing one that seems to be relatively quiet this time of night. "Thank you for giving me a second chance."

Fern walks easily next to Warren, keeping up with his stride without having to hurry, not even complaining about the heels she's wearing. Still, they're modest heels, only giving her about two or three additional inches. She could have gone the fashionable six inch heels with a platform route, but really, so not her style. As she realizes they're going into the park she looks around, smiling again. She may go to clubs now and then, but the park is where she's far more prone to be found. Truth be told, and it may never be, she thought Warren would like going to clubs, since it seems to be what he's been doing a lot of lately. His hand gets another soft squeeze, her voice soft, "No. I'm the one who should be thanking you."

"Why would you need to be thanking me?" Because Warren still thinks he did something wrong to push Fern away. It's really his inexperience talking in that. He really isn't all that fond of the crowded, loud clubs, but he's fond of being seen. Sometimes. Right now though, he's not interested in showing off to anyone...except maybe Fern. He continues walking down the small path with her, just holding her hand comfortably.

There might be the sound of very faint music wafting through the air.

"For giving me a second chance," Fern answers. "You didn't have to. You could have never spoken to me again and I wouldn't have been surprised. I wasn't surprised that you never got in touch with me," is admitted, the rum loosening her tongue a bit, perhaps. "And I wouldn't have darkened your doorstep," yes, she actually said that, "Because I never thought you'd want to see me again." She swings their joined hands lightly, the music heard but not registering fully in her brain.

"And I thought you never wanted to see me. That I drove you away. But I still think you're amazing and I count myself very lucky that you want to spend time with me. I know that you're very popular and I know that you could have anyone you want." Warren smiles as she swings his hand with hers, "And you're still willing to spend time with me."

The music seems to be getting louder as they continue on the path.

Fern makes a face, wrinkling her nose at what Warren says, "That's just giving me far too much credit, anyone I want. I like spending time with you, and making you smile. You have such a nice smile, Warren, you should use it more." As she falls silent again the music finally registers fully, and Fern comments on it while they walk. "I wonder if there's another concert going on in the park somewhere." She's not had the best of luck at concerts lately, but she's still more curious than anxious about it.

"You're outgoing and friendly. People genuinely like you. I'm sure you could have whomever you wanted to have and I'm very flattered that you're letting me spend time with you." Warren doesn't comment on the music yet. As for his smile, "I feel like smiling more when I spend time with you." He's trying. He's really trying.

The path eventually leads them to the bridge where they actually met. Just off to the side is a small band, playing some standards and familiar slower songs.

As Fern shakes her head her hair shifts, and she has to reach her free hand up to push it back out of her eyes. "Now you're just being silly," she says lightly. She can tell that he's trying from the efforts he's made, trying things and humoring her, even if he's already sure it's not something he would like. Her steps slow as they get nearer the bridge, where they are not lost on her. He's not the only one who remembers this place. She stops just short of the bridge, looking at it for a moment, then at the band before looking to Warren. "You did this? Is this what you were doing before we left the club?"

"I've seen your charisma in action. I think you'd be magnetic on stage. You're magnetic off of it." Warren slows then as Fern takes in the little scene. It seems to have pulled together easily enough, thank goodness. At the question, he can't help a little smile, "I did. You said you wanted to dance...I thought this might be easier than trying to find a club with a less crowded floor. It's not club that all right?"

For a moment Fern just looks between Warren, the band and the bridge, letting it all process in her slightly tipsy brain. When her blue eyes settle, they're on Warren, the smile on her lips soft. "It's.... wonderful," she breathes. Her brows lift, "And you're going to dance with me?" She asks it almost like she doesn't quite believe it.

"Well, Fred Astaire wasn't available, so I'm afraid you'll have to settle for me," But Warren can't help but echo her smile. "I hope that's all right." She did mention that she wanted to be courted, so he's doing what he thinks is appropriate for that sort of romancing.

Fern nods, "It's more than alright. Fred's a little too old for me, but I think you'll do just fine." It's a soft tease, and she turns, not releasing his hand but twisting hers in his grip as she steps close to him, her other hand coming up to rest lightly on his shoulder.

Warren Worthington settles into 'dance form' rather easily, his other hand going to wrap about Fern's waist. This sort of dancing is far more suitable with his wings than bopping about on the dance floor. It's also dancing that he's sort of been 'trained' in. He knows how to lead and he knows his way around a classic dance floor.

While she didn't have an expensive instructor, Fern did have the best, having learned how to dance from her mother at a young age. With her brothers as practice partners, she learned well how to follow different leads, and employs that talent with Warren, following his lead easily, with no little grace. She can flail on a dance floor with the best of them, but she can also foxtrot, waltz, polka, two-step, jitterbug and several others, thanks to family weddings as she was growing up. After a few minutes of a rather formal style, Fern takes a step closer to Warren, letting her temple lightly brush his jaw.

She might know more dances than Warren. He'll lead her a bit around the space, but as it's not a big broadway musical, it's not necessarily about the dance steps. It's about the closeness. When Fern moves closer, he shifts his other hand so that both are wrapped about her waist, holding her close. The dance has become less about steps and more about moving in time with the music together and enjoying each other's presence.

As he releases her other hand to wrap his arms around her, Fern lets both hands come to rest lightly on Warren's shoulders, pressed comfortably to him, her contours nestling with his angles in a way that is familiar and warm. They hadn't danced before, when they dated, but had spent their share of time close. One hand drifts up, fingertips lightly brushing the back of his neck as she pulls her head back to look at him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome..." is murmured quietly, his fingers lightly caressing her back. "But for what? I just...listened and got the idea when the dance floor got crowded. I sort of planned on this anyhow, but moved the timing up." He seems to be enjoying how they seem to fit together, dancing in the middle of Central Park to their own private band.

Fern ducks her head forward again, letting her nose nuzzle lightly against Warren's neck, breathing in the not forgotten scent of his skin. "For being so thoughtful. For listening. For... this." She pulls back and looks up again, a playfulness to her smile, "It's more romantic than the most romantic movie John Cusack has ever been in." Yes, her mother did raise her on movies like Serendipity.

Warren Worthington can't help but burst out laughing at that comparison. "Well, thank you! At least it's not 'Better off Dead' or 'Grosse Point Blank'..." when it comes to John Cusack movies. But he still keeps his smile, "I like being able to romance you and I like that you appreciate it. If it's too much, just let me know, ok?"

Fern flashes Warren a comically indignant look, "Hey, there were romantic moments in Grosse Point Blank! He made sure she didn't get shot by putting her in the bath tub." Still, she can only hold that for a moment in the face of his laughter, and she nods, "If it's too much, I'll tell you. But this..." She pauses, looking toward the band, then back, "This is perfect. It's a moment I'll never forget."

"If you get shot, I'll heal you," Warren offers. "How's that for romantic? Do I have John Cusack beat?" He's also still grinning at this conversation. "Please do tell me...I don't want to scare you away. I won't be stalkerish...I promise." Although she will probably get some more flowers in the next couple of days -- yellow and red daisies, of course. "I won't forget it either. I've never done this for anyone."

Smiling, Fern brings her hand to trail softly along Warren's jawline, "Yes, you have him beat, hands down." She makes a mental note to take Warren, one of these days, to Serendipity 3 so they can share a frozen hot chocolate. She's enjoying the lightness of their banter as well, feeling more comfortable with Warren this second time around. "I think," she says slowly, speculating as she forms the words, "That in a movie this would be about the place that John Cusack kisses Kate Beckensale." Without moving her head her eyes shift, looking up to his reaction.

Warren Worthington has been trying to loosen up and relax as they discussed -- it probably helps that he isn't out until all hours clubbing it up and then trying to work during the day. He hasn't even been drinking much; he only had the one drink at the club. "Oh, is that where we are in the script? Should there be fireworks or a swell of music or something before that happens?" He's trying to tease but before he gets to an awkward place, he just leans in for that kiss. It's predictable now though.

The tease is delightful to Fern, showing a side of him that she feels he keeps well protected. "Did you arrange fireworks too?" she asks, looking up to the sky briefly. But they make their own as she tips her head so her lips meet his, soft and warm. It's familiar but entirely new, perhaps expected but far from predictable. Maybe it's the rum, maybe it's the fact that it's one of the last warm summer nights that she expects, maybe it's simply the fact that it's Warren, but the kiss brings it's own fireworks, and Fern pushes up onto her toes, the dance stopped in favor of the moment. It's not hurried, the kiss lingering until Fern finally settles back onto her heels, opening her eyes slowly to look up at Warren. "I think this is where everything works out perfectly in the movies. But I'm far from perfect."

"No, no fireworks..." is said before their lips touch and he just forgets what else they were talking about. It's more than the kiss he remembered -- this one seems more real and there are indeed those fireworks. He certainly contributes to the kiss, holding Fern close even as she rises onto her toes. He lets out a slow breath once she breaks away and it takes him a moment to find his voice again. "I'm far from perfect too. I wouldn't want you to be otherwise."

From the stillness of the kiss, Fern gets them moving again, swaying to the band that plays for no one but them, on the bridge that always makes Fern think of the day they met for the first time. The Angel in Central Park that turned out to be much more as they got to know each other. She'd actively avoided this bridge in the months they weren't talking, so this is a renewal in many ways for the young waitress. "If you were perfect, you'd terrify me," Fern says, the words light but sincere. "I think we're ok being imperfect."

"I think that if you're perfect, you aren't human. Or...mutant. Or either." But he would be rather terrifying if he was...he would be a real Angel then and not just look like one. Warren is happy to continue moving with the music...he hasn't forgotten the bridge either but he didn't avoid it completely. There was some mourning going on here on the bridge for a time. "Imperfect is more fun. Perfect is dull...there's never any change or growth or excitement."

And now the bridge has been returned to them both as a place they can enjoy and remember without the same pain they'd felt. "You aren't perfect," she states without fear of being contradicted, "but there's something kind of wonderful about you. And it doesn't have much to do with your wings." Ok, so it has a little bit to do with the wings, but come on.... wings. But mostly, it's all Warren. If she was asked to name exactly why she wanted to make amends with Warren, Fern would likely not be able to give a straight answer. She just wanted to, right or wrong. There's a grin as she adds, "You and I will never be dull."

There's definitely a reason why Warren chose this spot. Who knows, it might come into play more as their relationship continues. "Thank you...I think? I don't think I want to be perfect. I'm also glad that you're not perfect...but I like all your imperfections and there aren't that many." He's really just taken aback that she still likes him and she wants to know him more and was concerned about his well-being. It's far beyond his looks and money. The red hair doesn't hurt. Grinning widely, he offers, "I have enough dullness in my life. I think I'm ready for excitement."

There's a giggle at his uncertain response. "If you were perfect you'd scare the hell out of me." There's a pause before Fern goes on. "I'm plenty imperfect," she says softly, "and I think you know that darned well. Even I'm not always happy with everything I do, but Mama always said that hindsight is 20/20. It's foresight that gives us fits." There's a pause, before Fern says, her voice soft, "Kiss me again."

"Maybe that's why people call psychics all the time?" Warren quips, grinning as she repeats herself somewhat. At the order, however, he offers an amused, "Yes, ma'am," before leaning in for another kiss. This one is much less tentative.

Sliding her arms up and around Warren's neck, Fern responds as any red-blooded girl would when confronted with a man who confounds and intrigues her in ways that she can't even define properly. A kiss that starts softly increases in ardor as she warms to him and the comfort and security of the known. She doesn't rush the kiss, enjoying the rediscovery, but she does finally let it taper, looking up at him with her familiar, open eyes, and asking, "Can I sleep at your place tonight? I promise, I don't want anything more than to be close to you."

Warren Worthington didn't drink all that much, but he's definitely beginning to feel quite warm as the kiss progresses. It's probably a good thing that Fern cuts it off when she does but his mind is already swimming. "Huh?" is asked rather eloquently before her words get through that floating haze in his mind, "Oh! Of course you can. I'll...even do my best to behave." He glances over to the band before turning back to Fern, "Do you want to fly there?"

There's a half smile that Fern can't stop, and the words slip out too, "Well, you don't have to try that hard." She blushes lightly at her own boldness, but she trusts Warren more than she would most to be a gentleman. The question gets a nod, "Yes. I'd like to fly there with you." She knows what she's inviting, and steps into the closeness, the intimacy, of the flight with eyes wide open.

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