Strung Out Chapter 8

[miri1984]

Title: I don't usually wear these shoes
Words: 1900
Characters: OH SO MANY OF THEM
Summary: Ginger Spice is not who everyone expected.
Title art by the amazing YamiSnuffles

The first thing we see as we approach the tiny footbridge across to Manning is about six girls in short black dresses. A couple of them have guitars slung over their shoulders - all of them are perfectly made up - their red lipstick glinting in the lamplight. It takes me a few moments to make the connection and then I start sniggering. Robert Palmer is sitting at the flimsy fold out desk ready to take our money and stamp our hands. "Thank you for supporting SUDS!" he says in his liquid voice and I grin. Varric exudes sex appeal, leaning back in his chair and waggling his eyebrows at us, and I can't help but laugh. "Did you know you're missing a spice?"

"Apparently Ginger is meeting us here," I say, giving Isabela a look. She grins and smiles.

"Oh, Hawke, you have no idea."

We hand over our money and get our wrists stamped. Manning is remarkably packed, dress up nights are always popular and Pop Idol as a theme has dragged some excellent costumes out of the woodwork.

Leto is there, dressed like Sid Vicious. I laugh, wondering if he'll do us the honour of spitting at us later. Velanna is Stevie Nicks, which is kind of appropriate given her hippie tendencies - to be honest she looks a bit like Stevie normally. It takes me a few minutes to work out that underneath all his make-up and fake braids, Boy George is actually Nathaniel, after which I spend a good five minutes sniggering. He scowls at me, which looks totally wrong with Boy George's face.

Pat Benatar bounces up and gives me a kiss and a wolf whistle before running back to Ozzie Ozborne with drinks (Ogrhen does NOT need more drinks, but Sigrun is a soft touch when it comes to the old bastard), and The Proclaimers are propping up the bar, looking far cooler than they ever have in real life. Or at least, Cailan is looking cool, and Alistair is looking like he wants to go home. He catches my eye and raises an eyebrow, grinning, but my attention is captured by a union jack tunic and ridiculously high heeled red boots.

Ah, I think. There's our Ginger.

Then my brain catches up to me. She's…. very tall. And those boots… are very big.

I gape.

Then I stare a bit.

Then I gape a bit more.

The first thought I have is… where in the name of all that is holy did he find shoes that fit him…?

This is a thought unworthy of someone who went to school within walking distance of Oxford Street, and I delete it before going onto the next thought which is, pretty much…

Guh.

Because I've started at the feet, it takes a while for my whited out brain to fully appreciate what I'm seeing. Right now, it's just…. legs.

Hairy legs.

When I get to the junction of thigh and hip I stop and swallow.

This is Andy.

In drag.

Why am I finding it sexy?

I feel a finger on my chin. "You've got a little bit of drool there, Hawke," Isabela says, grinning.

"Oh fuck off you."

Andy twirls in red platform boots and I blink. He's far, far to comfortable in heels, and he towers over all of us. "Well," Aveline says, "when you said you'd found someone for Ginger I thought you meant someone…. female."

Iz just grins. "Oh, Andy has worn this sort of thing before," she says, waggling her eyebrows.

"And how do you know that Isabela?"

"The same way she knows most things," Andy says, smirking.

"Flatterer," Iz says, winking at him.

"Oh Andy!" Merrill squeaks. "Ah… um… you have very nice knees! Did you know that? And I'm glad you didn't bother to shave your legs, do you know how long it takes when you haven't done it before? I know I never expected to have to go through so many razors…" Andy's grin widens as he listens, waiting for a pause long enough in the tirade of cute-babble. I roll my eyes.

"Why thank you, Merrill," he says, finally and Merrill blushes prettily.

"I need a drink," I manage to choke out after a few more moments of helpless mind-flailing. Andy winks at me. "First round on me?" the others seem happy enough with this, and Andy hooks an arm through mine, smiling down at me.

"I'll come," he says. "Can't leave Posh walking around by herself, now, she might get snagged by a Becks."

"Ha!" I say. "I'm early career Posh, thank you very much. Back when girlpower was worth more than World Cups."

We manage to saunter to the bar, neither of us as comfortable as normal in heels, although I have to admit Andy is better at it than me. "How the fuck can you walk in those things?" I ask him when we finally get there and wait for the bartender to notice us.

He's leaning forward, trying to catch Lucy's attention, but she's busy serving David Byrne. Andy lifts one foot up behind him rather girlishly and lets me examine the heels. "They're mostly flat, actually. The beauty of platforms."

I glance down at my strappy things and curse them. He laughs. "You're beautiful," he says, as though it's the easiest thing to say in the world. As though they're not words I only usually hear from my girlfriends or my mum, or that drunk guy on Oxford Street I always give money to because he's hilarious and reminds me, just a little bit, of my dad...

It doesn't even feel like a pick up line. Just a fact. You're beautiful. I don't think I've ever been called beautiful by someone like that before. It's as though he doesn't have an internal editor, doesn't understand that sometimes you need to weigh the things you say before you say them and realise that they're going to make the person blush like a fire truck.

"Iz managed to find the one costume that I would never think of wearing in a pink fit," I finally manage to say, indicating the bikini-like top. He puts one hand gently on my bare shoulder and turns me away from him so he can look at my scar. For some reason it doesn't bother me, and not just because his hand is warm and the pads of his fingers are slightly calloused and…

His fingers splay out across my back until his palm is pressed between my shoulder blades. The blush has moved from just my face to my entire body by now.

I must be the amazing pink woman.

"It's bigger than I thought it would be," he says, after a moment, and his eyes are very warm, "but it's definitely not the first thing I was looking at."

I stammer as I order our drinks. Andy's hand drops from my back and I have to stop myself from leaning towards him. "It would have been even bigger if I hadn't…."

"Oh my god what happened to her?" The voice is high and slightly shrill and right behind us.

"Lai, please that's my…friend you know, I told you about her don't…" the second voice has a strong accent and I swallow. God. What's he doing here?

Andy is giving me a look. I shake my head slightly and shrug. It's not as though I wasn't expecting something like this, from the moment I first saw the top Iz expected me to wear. I turn around to see…(its hard not to immediately snigger) Rick Astley and Kylie Minogue. Rick's got his arm around Kylie's shoulder, her blond hair frizzed out in a cloud around her perfectly made up face. I don't think I've ever seen eyes that big or that particular shade of baby blue.

"Hi Sebastian," I say. Rick gives me a pained smile and I turn my gaze to Kylie, who is, to give her credit, looking a bit shocked and ashamed, with one perfectly manicured hand planted over her pink lips.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Kylie says. "I thought it was part of your costume at first and then Sebby said… Oh I'm so embarrassed, really what a horrible thing to say to someone I wish I could just…"

I blink and laugh a bit. "It's ok, don't worry," I say, trying to stem the torrent of words spilling from her mouth - fast and thick enough to drown a person.

"Ah, Sorcha this is Laika," Sebastian says. "We ah…" I cock an eyebrow before giving Laika my best smile.

"Nice to meet you Laika," I say and she titters. She actually fucking titters. I didn't think that was a thing people did. I blink. Sebastian is looking at Andy expectantly and with the slightest hint of disapproval.

Subtle, Seb. Really subtle.

I repress a sigh. "Andy, this is Sebastian, an old friend of mine. Sebastian, Andy."

"Oh we've met," Andy says, grinning and I blink.

"We have?" Sebastian says.

"Don't worry, you probably don't remember me," Andy says. "I don't usually wear these shoes."

Sebastian looks even more confused and I use the opportunity to pay for our drinks and pass Andy the tray. He's more stable on his feet than me and Merrill's cosmopolitan is looking like it's going to spill.

"Sorry Seb, bit busy here," I say. "Catch up later?" Andy smiles and ducks his head, as unobtrusive as a six foot two man in one foot platforms can be.

Which isn't very.

"Oh, uh.. sure, Sorcha. Nice to see you by the way."

"You too Sebastian."

I'm kind of smugly happy that he's so much taller than Seb. And Seb has stupid boofy hair.

We make our way back to our table to find Cailan and Alistair have joined, no doubt attracted by Merrill enthusiastically demonstrating one of the Spice Girl dances, trying in vain to get Aveline to join in.

I think she actually did research for this.

Words cannot express how much I love her.

As we settle down into chairs and start sipping drinks I glance back towards the bar and see Sebastian and Kylie… no… Laika, up against a wall enthusiastically trying to eat each other's faces. Huh. Well. There's a thing.

I wonder if she knows about his little… personal issue.

I wonder if she has the same issue.

I start to grin. I'm beginning to think she does. No over the age of sixteen does that in public unless they're not getting any.

I look across at Andy, to find him grinning at me. I laugh and toast him with my beer.

Ok, let the crack fest begin!

Laika (Laica) belongs to sagacious_rage  although I have taken several liberties with her here. I hope she doesn’t mind.

Many thanks to Pockets, OYD, Twist-Shimmy, Tasmen and Cave-Fatuam for the all the popstar ideas - matching DA characters to popstars is an extremely FUN way to pass… way too many hours.

Title art by the completely and utterly awesome Yamisnuffles. She took this idea and made it HER OWN like a BOSS.

Fun fact about Australia number… 8? Kylie Minogue is extremely short. Like freakishly so. Not even five feet tall. I know, I served her coffee once.