Title: Three French Hens
Feedback address: email@example.com
Date in Calendar: 16 December 2007
Fandom: CSI, ER, L&O: SVU
Pairing: Catherine/Kerry/Olivia friendship
Word Count: 934
Summary: On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, three french hens.
Advertisement: Part of the FSAC:DW07
Author's Notes: Per Deb's suggestions of: A girl's night out to a Burlesque show I tell you! Or to a lap dance club
Beta: mrswoman & ariestess
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, three French hens.
++ Kerry ++
For a change of pace, I've been working with Al Robbins in the morgue at LVPD. This is the opposite end of the medicine that I've practiced for so long. However, the hours are just as long, I'm still on my feet for all of it, and the bodies feel even heavier.
The door to the morgue thumps open and Al and I are surprised to see Olivia step in, yawning and stretching like a little kid. "Can I hang out with you guys? Greg is hounding me again."
Al only chortles quietly to himself, but I can't resist a chance to tease. "Aw, the poor boy's only got a harmless crush, Dobie."
Her sour look speaks volumes and I laugh in delight. "Harmless and obnoxious," Liv grouses and slouches down an equipment locker.
We carpooled in together, but it's usually me that waits for her, so this is an interesting change. While we girls banter, Al mostly listens, but occasionally tosses in his two cents.
We all jump when the door bangs open again, revealing Catherine, with a weird look in her eye. "I'm not going home yet," she announces in a no-nonsense voice that leaves us all uncertain how to answer. "Dace is being a pain in my ass and I refuse to deal with it. So! That leaves us to go find entertainment."
Famous last words...
++ Olivia ++
"Y'know Willows," I raise my voice over the thrum of the music. "I didn't even do this kind of shit when I was in New York. And I worked with all guys!" Catherine only laughs and signals the bartender for another round.
It's a strip club and a classy one, carefully dulled down to fake that sordid splendor of Vegas yesteryears, but a strip club nonetheless. Catherine is savvy enough to have staked out a corner table so that we can keep an eye out for troublemakers. Already, I've threatened two drunk assholes and I'm actually enjoying myself. I don't get to pull out my New York badass cop persona here as often as would be my custom. It's applied more judiciously and, frankly, all I normally need to do is glare.
There have been some girls on the catwalk that all I can bring myself to do is eyeball them to guess if they're legal. Honestly, this is silly. At least I have good companionship and Kerry catches my attention by bursting out into peals of laughter over something. Since Cath's smirking smugly, I'll guess she's the source of the merriment. Before she can bring me in on the joke, the houselights start to fade and the crowd gets noisier.
The MC's voice is loud in the sudden hush. "Here she is, the one you've all been waiting for. Put your hands together for... Sweet Ginger!"
It's a cheesy stage name, but the woman that strides aggressively from the shadows is striking enough to deserve the intro. Hair a deep, auburn red, flowing in waves past the base of her spine, she's wearing something you'd expect to see at a renaissance faire. With that supermodel swish, she sashays to the remixed strains of 'Baba O'Reiley' thundering through the club. I love this song and sit up to pay closer attention.
Writhing sinuously, the woman starts to peel off the laced bodice and billowing white shirt and voluminous skirt.
And I can't look away.
++ Kerry ++
The dancer is good, I'll give her that, but she can't hold a candle to my Zo. Though I approve heartily of the choice of song, even if it is a heavy-beat remix by some DJ. Since Zo loves to do that too, I can appreciate the effort. It's quite humorous to me to watch my companions, Catherine's somewhat cynical and appraising stare, judging technique and the music more than ogling the goodies. Not so with Olivia, who's not quite drooling, but close. We'll just keep this night to ourselves, for the sake of Alex's insatiable jealous streak.
I know the exact moment the dancer spots us. There's the faintest falter in her movements and the pale eyes don't drift away, even as she writhes for the men and their dollars. Then we get a shock as this Sweet Ginger abruptly steps from the catwalk, nearly castrating a patron, and stalks over to our isolated table.
Catherine is crowing with amusement, heightened when Ginger straddles a very startled Olivia's thighs, still moving to the music. I join in on the appreciative laughter, not merely for the sinuous display of nearly-naked female flesh, but the look on Liv's face.
None of the men dare get closer, but they sure as hell have turned to watch with delight. The girl seems determined to get some kind of reaction from Liv in all her butch aloofness, knuckles white where her fists are clenched at her sides.
Still laughing, I notice Cath going for her purse and I do the same. Each of us make Liv jump as we lean in to press bills into her hands. Ginger smiles like a cat as Liv swallows hard and tucks the pair of twenties into the ginger yellow g-string. Smugly satisfied, the dancer presses the most fleeting of chaste kisses to Liv's mouth and blows a pair to Cath and I where we still howl with laughter.
It's a great night.