She laughs. No New York exclusive party is complete with a few blue-collar Jersey style party crashers. Time to sip more soda and watch the show, because there was going to be one now.
"Hey there, hot stuff, couldn't help but notice your nice and pearlies enjoyin' the show, but I don't think we've officially made our acquanties. Name's O'Brien, and I'm a crazy Irishman that doesn't rely on the accent to impress chicks."
"New here, mostly. I was in the med bay though. Thanks for the coffee, man. you saved our butts so we could save everyone else's."
::Extends hand::
"Tara, and thanks for bringing the floor show, O' Brien." The smirk is growing. "And Irish, huh? How to you explain this stuff in Confession, assuming you're not an Orange?"
"Aw, honey, I'm not just a lapsed Catholic, I'm a collapsed Catholic. Never gave it much cred in the first place, baby. I'm not into the institutionalized guilt factories, y'know? Even for a 3000 year old chump like me, I know life's too short to waste on genuflecting and Ash Wednesdays. Get your kicks, but don't hurt anybody while doin' it, or the League'll bring the pain. Nice li'l philosophy, gets things cookin'."
"Oh for the love of pete," Power Girl said with a roll of her eyes as the party picked up in volume and style. With a wink, she added to Kilowog, "I'll be back for that taste," before slowly making her way to the boom boxed man's demands.
A shift of her hips, she folded her arms under her chest and smirks, "Alright, big man. You gotta do a lot more than that to knock my socks off."
Oh my god I get to dance with Power Girl. I get to dance with Power Girl.
Be cool.
I'll knock 'em into next week anna half, babe! Bring it!
He dances backwards as the bass starts thumping, making "c'mere" gestures with his hands, and everybody is surprised as they discover something previously unknown - Paul Booker is a very good dancer.
he's certainly got rhythm, an unexpected development. normally, it was just enought o stand there, let the guy make a fool of himself and move on but now... now the gauntlet was thrown.
And Power Girl never backed down from a challenge.
Eyeing him with the same smirk, possibly a little wider now, those baby blues never leave him as she starts in with him, all arms and hips to the beat, just waiting for this guy to get it wrong.
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Booker heads into the room.
This is supposed ta be a party? Dammit, people, we just saved the friggin' world again, I want noise violations dammit!
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"PLAZ!! Booker!" Courtney was quick to greet them, grinning broadly. Well, heck, they had the right idea!
She leaned over to Booker, whispering, "Psst. I don't think Dinah or Hal are gonna let me have anything to drink. Would you get me something?"
To add, she batted her eyelashes real nice. And stuck out her bottom lip.
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One drink, kid, and you promise me right now that you don't hit anybody else up for booze tonight or all you get is Shirley Temples, capice?
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"Hey there, hot stuff, couldn't help but notice your nice and pearlies enjoyin' the show, but I don't think we've officially made our acquanties. Name's O'Brien, and I'm a crazy Irishman that doesn't rely on the accent to impress chicks."
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::Extends hand::
"Tara, and thanks for bringing the floor show, O' Brien." The smirk is growing. "And Irish, huh? How to you explain this stuff in Confession, assuming you're not an Orange?"
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As the bringer a tunes I officially demand sacrifice! I require a pretty girl to dance with me! Who comes forth?
He starts busting a few minor moves as the tune picks up - and surprisingly, they're pretty good...
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A shift of her hips, she folded her arms under her chest and smirks, "Alright, big man. You gotta do a lot more than that to knock my socks off."
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Be cool.
I'll knock 'em into next week anna half, babe! Bring it!
He dances backwards as the bass starts thumping, making "c'mere" gestures with his hands, and everybody is surprised as they discover something previously unknown - Paul Booker is a very good dancer.
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And Power Girl never backed down from a challenge.
Eyeing him with the same smirk, possibly a little wider now, those baby blues never leave him as she starts in with him, all arms and hips to the beat, just waiting for this guy to get it wrong.
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"It's not a party without gatecrashers, right?"
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"Guess not," he smirks back, deciding not to mention that he kinda feels like one anyway.
"How's it hangin', Hal?"
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"Just glad I'm still welcome. Wouldn't miss the chili-fest for the world. If only to root for Kilowog for the upset victory."
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He sighs and goes for the small envelope next to the Tums. Industrial-strength earplugs. The kind that can take the edge off Dinah's scream.
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