spin_kick_snap | Koreoke, Washington DC, Saturday Night

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Koreoke, Washington DC, Saturday Night

Sure, some people were busy fighting rampaging snow monsters and stuff today. But for those who were friends with Kathy ~~and Dante~~, they had another option available to them: Kathy's 21st birthday party!

Their venue for the evening was Koreoke, a Korean barbeque restaurant that doubled as a karaoke bar. Kathy had rented out the back room for her party, which included three long barbeque tables, a stage with up to four microphones (in case of boy bands and group numbers), and a bartender along the far wall to serve drinks all night until last call.

Because if turning twenty-one wasn't a good reason to stuff yourself full of grilled meat (well, veggies and tofu in Kathy's case), get drunk, and sing your heart out to the largest selection of karaoke tracks Kathy had ever seen in one place, then what was?!

[Up VERY early for SP because holidays are a THING (and so are BDEs). Open to pretty much anyone who is/was Kathy's friend (or Dante's friends that Kathy also knows)!]

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"You know, I don't have to sit here and be insulted," Kathy said, her nose in the air. "I can go sing songs about my no good man and devote them all to you instead."

"Sing your heart out, babe," Dante said practically. "I got food. And booze. And our boyfriend's shitty jokes. I'm good."

Kathy rolled her eyes at him. "I'm asking Santa for a nice Nephilim boyfriend for Christmas," she declared, standing up.

"Pfffft, you don't really like nice," Dante returned. "You'd go nuts."

"It might be worth the experiment," Kathy declared. "Just for the novelty."

"You wouldn't know what to do with it," Dante said, shaking his head. "Trust me."

"I'm sure I would be sweet and appreciative," Kathy said. "Nice doesn't automatically mean boring. I'm nice!"

"You're a troll," Dante pointed out sensibly. "That's not nice."

"Maybe I'm only a troll due to the company I keep," Kathy pointed out. "And didn't feel the need to keep up."

Dante tilted his head, pretending to think about it. "Nah," he said finally.

"I bring you a strawberry margarita because I know it will make you happy and you give me insults," Kathy tsked. "So you're probably not the best person to believe."

Dante picked up the margarita. It had been sitting there for far too long, after all. "Pretty sure you started it," he said. "But hey, I'll bring you a drink later when you're done insulting me through song."

Strawberry and tequila! His favorites!

Because she was nice.

"Nuh unh," she said. Maturely. And stuck out her tongue.

"Nuh uh, you're not gonna curse me out on stage?" Dante said, taking a sip of his drink. Mmm. Strawberry and tequila.

"Oh no, that's totally gonna happen," Kathy assured him. "But 'nuh-unh, you started it' was what I meant."

"You super did," Dante told her. "Man, I can't believe I thought about being nice to you on your birthday."

"Man, and I can't believe I thought you might be nice to me on my birthday," Kathy retorted right back. "Must be all the soju."

"Super silly of you," Dante agreed, reaching for her waist to tug her in.

"Should have known better," she agreed, looking up at him with a very pouty expression.

...If you didn't notice the amusement in her eyes anyway.

Dante grinned.

And... held up his glass. "Try the strawberry, damn, it's good."

Kathy didn't even look surprised. Her boyfriend was a brat. "I'll go get my own," she decided, slipping out from his arms. "I like raspberry better anyway."

"You hurt me a little more every day," Dante called after her.

"You don't deserve me anyway," Kathy called back, making sure her tiny little whisper of a skirt swished around her thighs with every step over to the bar.

Where hell yes she ordered a raspberry margarita.

And hell yes, Dante was watching her do it while he sipped his own.

Mm, that whisper of her skirt was quickly becoming his new favorite.

Kathy continued to ignore him, chatting and laughing with the cute bartender, leaning slightly over the bar, just enough to ride the back hem of her skirt up to the very tops of her thighs.

A fraction of an inch more and she'd be showing the room what color her underwear were. Assuming she was wearing them.

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