Make Me Move, Make Me Sway, Part I
Posted on Tue Feb 17th, 2026 @ 2:40pm by Ensign Garabed "Garo" Hakobyan & Ensign Tenzi Sh'reyva & Master Chief Petty Officer Vashti Rao & Petty Officer 2nd Class Zal Rixi & Josef Forstinger & Lieutenant JG Jason Williams III & Petty Officer 3rd Class Dallas Reese
Edited on on Sun Mar 15th, 2026 @ 3:45pm
1,991 words; about a 10 minute read
Mission:
Shadow in the Static
Location: The Silk Slipper, Los Angeles, California
Timeline: April 1944
With the party's arrival, the Club sprung to life. As staff got to work a voice suddenly cut through all the hassle.
"Vinny! Kid!" The voice was rough and smoky, almost hacking up the words like they were tar stuck in the lungs with an East-Coast Accent. It was Cesare "Stache" Fiorentino. A Capo of the Marcone's, The other owner of the Club....and Tony's Superior.
The rather fat man must have been pushing his 60s. He walked with a slight hunch as he walked aided by an embroided cane. A huge fat lit cigar in the corner of his mouth occasionally sparking up with a drag--and occasionally followed by a wheezing cough. His hair was slightly balding and the mustache that had given him his nickname had definitely seen better days. Though his amber coloured suit jacket and tie completed the look--even as said tie seemed to try to choke the life out of his thick neck.
"Girls," the man gave a not so graceful bow to the dancers before pinching Frankie on his cheek like he was his grandchild... or a child to begin with.
This facade quickly gave way as a slight scowl formed on Cesare's face behind his thick-rimmed square glasses. Jabbing Vinny with the handle of his cane twice as he sat down to order his drink. The old man's voice dropped to a whisper.
"You'll be having none of that. Where the hell did you slink off with the kid?! Nevermind. I've got some work for the two of youze--something that needs to be done right away, capiche?"
Jason, as Vinny, focused on the required part. "Yeah?" He asked with interest as he gave the older man his full attention. "What's up?"
Cesare's Cane poked Jason in the chest as he talked, taking a fat drag of his cigarette beforehand as he blew-or rather belched out rings of smoke. "We's got crate waiting to be picked up down at the Docks. I need you and the kid to bring it over and put it into our storage. Or rather ensure it gets there. Get some dockhands to move it-I don't really care. Just get it done." He emphasized the last part with one last poke followed by a hacking cough. "And no messing around with it !"
Jason nodded and scowled a bit at the poking of the cane, but played the part of a loyal made man perfectly. "A'right, I'll get on it pronto, Boss." He paused, then asked, "How big's the crate? Do i need to get a truck fer it, or will it fit in a trunk?"
Cesare turned around and was about to walk off as Jason voiced his question. Letting out a sigh and bridging his nose, he turned to face his goons once more. "Vinny, I said crate, not box. Take the truck out back." His response was rather blunt. Dropping any facade, before turning his head and shooting a look at Frankie that practically yelled 'No more questions,' before starting to walk back towards his office. Raising his cane, he yelled "AND DOT, GET ME A NEGRONI TO MY OFFICE, TOUT SUITE! Or whatever those frogmunchers say...." was the last thing he mumbled before getting out of earshot.
Garo--Frankie--was seated at the bar with his elbows close together, as though he were a man trying not to claim more room than was owed.
The suit fit him beautifully, and so far, it was easily the best part of the program. He liked the blue-and-white pinstripes which ran straight and honest, his midnight tie perfectly knotted and tucked under a snug vest. His shoes were perfect, too. Two-toned wingtips polished to a near-mirror shine. The hat he'd selected rested easy on his head and he almost wondered why they didn't wear them in the twenty-fourth century.
He watched as Vinny sat where he was supposed to, taking the pokes of the cane from Cesare, the placating laughs at the old man's jokes. He knew it wasn't his business--it was organization business only. Vinny would tell him what he needed to know and when he needed to know it. Those were the rules.
Frankie turned back to the bar, lifting his glass of syntheholic gin and ice. The ice had melted a bit by now and the drink was rendered softer for it. He took a breath of smoky air and tried not to cough.
Dot shuffled around Frankie, dropping her tray on the bar before ducking under the wooden bar flap.
"I wish that old coot would hurry up and kick the bucket," she muttered under her breath while she shoveled some crushed ice into a fat tumbler.
Frankie leaned in close, his elbows on the bar. "What's his problem?" he whispered to her.
Dot fixed him with a wry look while she tilted a bottle of Cocchi into a shot glass. "You bump your noggin on the steering wheel today, Frankie?"
Garo realized he was venturing into territory he should already be familiar with. Clearly, Cesare was someone who he should already know. He attempted to backpedal slightly, watching Dot dance around while mixing the boss' drink in the shaker.
"I meant--what's his problem today?"
She shrugged and rolled her eyes. "I dunno. Ain't everyone from New Jersey like that?" She winked at him. "He's old and I don't know if anyone has ever told him 'no' before.'" She almost mindlessly poured the contents of the shaker into the tumbler and over the ice. If Garo had any doubts about Dorothy's expertise at mixing drinks, it was now quickly put to rest.
Frankie smiled at her. "You're pretty proficient behind the bar."
"I can do everything Johnny can," she said proudly, adding: "And I do it with a pair of cumbersome Mae Wests."
"Mae Wests?"
Dot popped an orange peel onto the negroni as a garnish before moving the drink to her tray. As she ducked under the bar flap, she stood directly in front of Frankie, pressing her chest forward. "These," she said, motioning to her large breasts with a lascivious grin.
Frankie felt heat rise through his face at Dorothy's reference to her own anatomy, not sure if he should look directly at her bosom. What is this program? he wondered. He chanced a look, centering his gaze on her cleavage before quickly lifting his eyes back to hers.
"Don't be so shy, Frankie," she said, almost tut-tutting him. "I've caught you dozens of times perusing my merchandise."
Before Frankie could muster a reply, she lifted her tray high, turned, and moved back to the booth where Vinny and Cesare held their meeting.
Feeling appropriately put in his place, for his character, Jason (Vinny) dusted a few imaginary crumbs from his left sleeve, then donned his fedora, canting it slightly to the right. He then turned and made his way to the bar,reached behind it and grabbed the keys to the truck that they used for deliveries. "Let's go Harvey," he said to the Slipper's teenaged stockboy/runner in a tone that meant he wasn't expecting any dispute. The two exited the rear door of the bar and climbed into the ten year old Ford cargo truck that was parked in the alley.
A moment later, the sound of the engine being fired up could be heard inside, then the lumbering machine was driven away. Thankfully, Jason had an interest in older vehicles like this, so he was able to work the manual transmission.
From behind the stage curtain, Vashti could see the club in various slices of life: ankles, shoes, the shine of the bar rail, and clouds of smoke being pulled by the overhead fans.
She saw the old man cross the bar and take a seat in the corner booth opposite Vinny.
"Who is he?" she whispered to herself.
"That's Cesare," came a voice from behind.
Vashti turned to see the fiery redhead, Dorothy. According to the program's breakdown, Dorothy--or Dot--was one of the waitresses. She had an hourglass waist, a short skirt that knew exactly how far it should go, fishnets climbing long legs like they were proud of the job. Her red hair fell to her shoulders in loose and slightly unruly ringlets. Dot's breasts were on near-full display with the low-cut of her black blouse, but it was often her full lips and cat-like green eyes that captured many a gentleman's attention.
"A big shot?" Vashti asked, raising an eyebrow.
"That's Cesare Fiorentino," she said, like she was reciting the weather. "Calls himself part owner. Acts like he owns the air, too." She shifted her weight; tray tucked carefully against one hip. "Old man Marcone sent him in from Chicago. But the way he smokes, oof. He'll be lucky to see Christmas."
Vashti watched the booth. The cane. The cigar. But she couldn't see Vinny's face or his expression.
Dot followed her gaze and gave her a small, humourless smile. "He's harmless, Daph. His eyes like to wander but he keeps his hands to himself."
Dallas -Johnny- had made two cocktails, one a gin-based Pink Lady and the other a whiskey-based Sour and had somehow known to scan the room for his favourite waitress, Dorothy to get her to serve them up. Something in the programming was telling him she knew just as much as he did about everyone and everything in this place.
He spotted her just as she slipped behind the stage curtain where he assumed Vashti was as well, possibly getting ready before her performance. Throwing the tea towel over his shoulder, Johnny picked up the drinks and took them behind the stage.
A winning grin crossed his face as he put on the charismatic persona, "Daphne, a Pink Lady for you before you go on stage. I hope you like it." He handed her the drink before turning to Dorothy, "I've got a whiskey Sour for Mr Fiorentino over there, if you could please take it to him? And be careful around him, yes?"
Daphne took the glass, its pale pink catching the backstage ghost light. She lifted it in a tiny ceremonial way, then smiled at Johnny over the rim. "You know," she said, "you make a dashing bartender, Johnny. If working with slipstream engines doesn't work out, you've got a future slinging drinks and breaking hearts."
~To Be Continued in: Make Me Move, Make Me Sway, Part II~
Josef Forstinger
Civillian
USS Astrea
Lieutenant JG Jason Williams III
Squadron Leader
USS Astrea
(NPC of Maxun Spello)
Master Chief Petty Officer Vashti Rao
Chief of the Boat
USS Astrea
(NPC of JB Dorsainvil)
Ensign Garabed "Garo" Hakobyan
Transporter Specialist
USS Astrea
(NPC of JB Dorsainvil)
Ensign Tenzi Sh'reyva
Engineering Officer
USS Astrea
(NPC of JB Dorsainvil)
Petty Officer 2nd Class Zal Rixi
Engineering Officer
USS Astrea
(NPC of JB Dorsainvil)
Petty Officer 3rd Class Dallas Reese
Slipstream Specialist
USS Astrea
(NPC of Eirly Andersen)
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