"I like mine too, and I paid way too much for them to get ruined." Boots you could always just buff out. These heels were not so durable.

Amelia replied that the someone who was checking Rianne out not cute. He was handsome, and past that sounded like what she was in the market for. Tall and strong. Hopefully his personality was something she could stand. And he had a wingman, who Amelia just left out. To be fair, Rianne didn't care about what he looked like so not hearing his description was perfectly fine.

"I'm liking what I'm hearing."

Rianne drank her margarita and straightened up in her seat while waiting to see if the men did anything. The men being interested enough to come over would save her the trouble of having to find a dance partner. She wasn’t looking for anything more tonight, but she would see how the night went.

It wasn’t long before someone slid into the seat beside Rianne. She nonchalantly looked over to see the man next to her. Not the man Amelia had described. And a metal hand. Now that is something different. There was an, “evening,” and a drink order placed before he asked,

"Is it okay if I sit here?

Playing it off like they were just taking seats at the bar. Smooth. Having the wingman approach first to test the waters. Not normally a bad play. Rianne was on the fence about it. On one hand it was a cute, dividing the two women and testing the waters. On the other hand, man up. Easy for Rianne to say being willing to make them approach, but if you are going to do something. Do it. Maybe even say that it was your chair.

She decided not to hold it against him. It clearly just meant she was intimidating enough.

"Is it okay if I sit here?"

Rianne smiled back. ”Go ahead.”

Time to see how good the metal-wing man was.

As he lifted his drink and gave her a slight nod of gratitude for not kicking him out of it the seat, the sleeve of his white button up shirt slid down a hair on his right arm, revealing more silvery skin. Not metal hand, then. Metal arm.

"Thanks," the man with the metal arm said.

He took a sip of his drink, biding his time. One of his duties as wing man was to learn about his buddy's woman of interest. She dressed smartly, took care of her appearance, and as he'd seated himself, he had noted there was no wedding ring on the woman's left hand. These were all easy things to notice. It wasn't as if he'd peered at her, checking her out. He'd just noticed at a glance. When one is a police officer, it really is an acquired skill. A required skill.

His right foot tapped slightly to the beat. Or rather, just out of time with the beat. "Nice song." The man said, smiling briefly at her. "I imagine it'd be easy to dance to."

Laughter from the other side drifted to his ears. His buddy had told the lady a joke, and it had gone over well.

He nodded to the man who was currently talking to the woman's friend. The woman's friend was leaning forward intently, holding her drink as she rested her chin on the heel of her hand, listening.

"I don't have much rhythm, myself." He smiled goofily. "I'm mooching off my partner over there. Dance lessons. He brought me out here to give me some real world field experience." He lowered his voice level an octave, and leaned forward to speak to her conspiratorially. "Don't tell Ollie I said this, but really, I'm just giving him an excuses to get out of the station and have some fun. The guy's a bit of a workaholic. In the most flattering and endearing way possible, of course." There's only so much midnight oil to burn, after all. Then you're just burning yourself.

The man thanked Rianne for letting him sit next to her. And it turned out is was more than just a metal hand that this man had. He sipped his drink, Rianne let him remain silent. He had that right after all. In reply she nodded back and returned to her drink.

She didn't catch the man sizing her up, but knew he must be. What good of a wingman would he be otherwise? Though he did have a strike against himself, he was tapping his foot and couldn't find the beat.

Finally the man commented on the song and that'd it would be easy to dance to.

"It would be." If you had rhythm.

Almost as if he knew she was thinking it the man commented that he didn't have much rhythm. Which was interesting, most people who had poor rhythm thought they were at least okay. It also seemed the fella he was wingmaning for had brought metal arm out to get him some experience.

But what was really interesting was that Ollie, what metal arm had called the man, was someone that metal arm had to get out of the station. Police, fire, or EMS? Based on how metal arm was wingmaning without making his scoping out Rianne obvious she put her money on police.

"Sounds like you're a good friend." She replied back quietly. Then at a conversational level she said, "The first step is finding the beat." She tapped her hand on the counter and every time the first beat rolled around she said, "One."

He drummed his hand on the counter along with her. The flesh one, not the metal. And as he did so, he remembered the metronome his grandma had always brought out when she'd tried teaching him to play the piano as a child.

"One." He said. "Two. Three." One, two, three, one two three. He actually kept time for a bit. The man smiled at her, stopping. "Hey, that's pretty good. Maybe if I keep time in my head like some sort of metronome, I'll have more luck dancing." 'Course, carrying a tune was another matter. Not quite the same as dancing. "Care to test the theory?"

"Ridley," the man leaned forward on the bar, looking past Amelia at his supposed wingman. He had a mild Southern accent. "Wasn't I supposed to be teaching you? Maybe I should cut in? And you can watch and get a feel for it. Club dancing isn't the same as ballroom dancing." He turned his friendly smile towards Rianne. "If that's okay with you, ma'am." He added.

"Ah yeah," Ridley nodded. "Probably save her shoes the trauma." He agreed.

"Or I guess I could dance with you," Amelia suggested. "If you actually wanted to." She shrugged one shoulder.

Amelia had the feeling maybe he had just been leading into the whole 'other guy swoops in to protect shoe wear' trope.

Ridley glanced at her, and smiled. "Yeah." He said. The man plopped some money down on the bar, finished his drink, then stepped away from it. He moved to offer Amelia his hand. "Care to dance?"

A song played in a club in 3/4 time was definitely odd. Most of the time it was in 4/4 but there were exceptions. A waltz or a polka as 3/4s would be much more common in a dancehall than a club.

Test the theory? Metal arm had a theory that he could dance as long as he kept time like a metronome. Rianne was not so keen on that idea. She really didn’t want someone on top of her feet and if you can’t feel the beat an internal metronome might wind up like a broken clock.

She opened her mouth, to answer but was cut off by Ollie. He had leaned over the bar and was speaking to metal arm, Ridley. The teacher was saving her from the student. She had come out looking to dance, and this was likely the best of the two most available options. Rianne smiled to Ollie, ”Fine with me.” Good looking, polite, and a southern boy from his accent. That would work.

The four of them paired off for dancing. Amelia with Ridley and Rianne with Ollie. To Ollie she said, ”Your wingman talked up your dancing. I have high expectations.”

She smiled and turned to head to the dance floor.

Sometimes, Amelia considered, she was just too good a person. Suggesting she dance with wingy mcwingman had been more about wanting to make sure Rianne got to dance with the man Rianne was interested in, and less about Amelia wanting to dance with the man she was interested in.

This guy, Ridley, seemed nice enough, but he really wasn't the kind she'd typically go for. Clean shaven pretty boy with a dorky air. Her type was more rugged, tall, dark, and handsome. Maybe when she'd been sixteen, she'd have gone for clean-shaven squirrelly guys with near-permanent smirks and a prankster air. Now, if anything, she'd matured into... Amelia stopped herself before realization struck her with the finishing blow of a competed thought. A full-blown Electra complex. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Being around police officer mentor/father figure types too long must have done weird things to her head. But she most certainly did not have that.

The thought she'd dismissed was ridiculous. She could prove it wrong. And as the man, Ollie, smiled at Rianne, offering the woman his hand after she'd accepted his offer, Amelia turned to "Ridley" and smiled politely. "Sure," she said.

Ollie wasn't full of himself. He didn't brag, or tell the woman he'd prove all glowing praise right. As they headed towards the dance floor, he answered her comment with one of his own.

"Rianne, is it? Your friend speaks well of you, too." Actions speak louder than words. He'd just show his dancing skill. No need to talk about it.

The woman had spoken well of her friend. She hadn't been flirting with him, though she had been charming.

The music was not a 1, 2, 3 beat, like Ridley had supposed, though the part of the song he'd kept in tune with had been that way, for a minute... strange. But then, this club occasionally had interesting music picks. The song Ollie and Rianne danced to was definitely a 4 beat song, and he danced to it well.

Ridley, of course, danced less well. Though surprisingly, there was something there to form the foundation on which actual dancing could be built upon. Amelia actually found herself enjoying it, despite his slight lack of rhythm and moves. In spite of her own personal objections to the man. The man's metal hand occasionally caught the glint of the lights.

Ollie offered his hand to Rianne. Quite the gentlemen was he. Rianne took it and let him lead her out onto the dance floor. He made no attempt to talk up his own dancing ability. Rianne liked this, a man of action. He would show not tell.

He did answer a question with a question... and a statement. "That's right." And Amelia had spoken well of her? Amelia had only known her for less than an hour. "Well, let’s hope I can live up to it.”

The music made its way back to a 4/4 time. This was good for all the people out dancing that had never learned to dance. Much easier to dance to something with four beats per measure than three.

And Rianne was not disappointed. Ollie could in fact dance. He danced quite well in fact. Someone that could keep up with Rianne for a change. She was thoroughly enjoying herself. On a couple occasions she had a chance to see Amelia and Ridley dancing. She seemed to be enjoying herself despite Ridley’s lack of skill. He wasn’t bad necessarily, more untrained.

”Consider my expectations exceeded.” She smiled to Ollie.

Ollie smiled right back. "I try," he said.

The song ended, and he nodded to her as another song started. He stayed on the dance floor, ready to keep dancing on the first visual of verbal cue she gave him. The woman could dance as well. She easily kept up. Definitely an interesting woman. He struck up some conversation as they danced.

"So I hear you're in the habit of helping people?" Ollie smiled at Rianne. From her friend's commentary, he'd gathered her job. Didnd't need to ask that. "Sounds like we're in the same line of work."

For Amelia, dancing continued. Ridley was growing on her. For the most part, she ignored Rianne and Ollie's situation. Ridley made smalltalk, and the two of them danced off in their own little world, away from Ollie and Rianne. A little privacy for all.

That song ended and another bagan. Ollie stayed on the dancefloor. Rianne danced with him for the next song. When you find a good dancer you shouldn’t let them go, lest all the bad dancers ask you to dance with them.

It seemed Amelia had told Ollie what Rianne did for a living. Saved Rianne the trouble… And they were in the same line of work? Ollie did have the look of a fellow officer. ”They say to find what you love and find a way to have someone pay you to do it.” Rianne smiled. ”Seemed a good way to do that. Though, as a sniper I train more than I actually get to help people. Still have a patrol car though so I get to do some help day-to-day.”

Ollie grinned at the comment about doing what you love, and getting paid. "They do say that," he agreed.

His smile did not diminish in the slightest, at the talk of her sniping. He didn't even mentally add quotation marks around the word to diminish it. She was a good shot, if they'd given her a position like that. SWAT team? Some related force?

"Impressive," he drawled. "SRT?" Here, he felt a little left out as a simple lieutenant. He didn't brag, though. If she asked, he'd say, but otherwise-- it kind of felt like that would again diminish her achievements in some way. Nobody wanted that.

---

"So, what do you do for a living?" The brown-haired man asked. Amelia considered Ridley for all of a second, then lied.

"I'm a secretary for a local law firm." She said.

It wasn't a complete lie. She had, at one point, fielder calls for a law firm. But her brother was the D.A. now. He didn't need little old her.

"Nice," Ridley intoned. "Which one? Might've had to deal with them at one point."

She listed off some random firm that wouldn't be too important. Now that, that was a lie. She'd learned from her brother. "You?" She asked.

He told her what he did.