<USS Avalon> "Dancing the Mad Out" (Bobby Woodward)

Dancing the Mad Out
Bobby Woodward
2006:06:20



Bobby Woodward was angry.

Actually, he mused as he crossed the nearly-empty lounge to the small dance
floor, he had been angry since early in the day, when word had reached him
of the atmosphere in the main lounge.  Atmosphere probably wasn't the right
word, but then, service definitely wasn't either, if the young officer who
had told him about it was to be believed.  Technically it wasn't his
business, but then again, it was.  It reflected very badly on him, and could
well provide an explanation for his dearth of customers.  Part of one,
anyway.

It had been later in the day when the grapevine brought word of the death of
one of the Marines stationed aboard -- at the hand of his commanding
officer.  He'd been around the Marines some, as he'd been around Starfleet.
He knew there'd always been some friction, some rivalry, and that the
Marines prided themselves on doing things their own way.  But on the spot
executions hadn't been standard practice in most human military
organizations in over four hundred years.

He snorted audibly as he went to the first of the tables at the edge of the
dance floor and started upending the chairs around it, placing them upside
down on the tabletop.  An unwarranted attack on a vulnerable woman, her
self-defense, then revenge against her, and now people were dying.  What
for, really?

Then had come the shipwide announcement of the destruction of the *Avalon*-B,
the predecessor vessel to the one he was now on.  He knew they'd been moving
people's things and vital components off the ship for a couple of days
prior; and something about what the Captain had said in her announcement had
just rankled with him.  As he set to work on the second table, he finally
realized what:  At least she had the chance to choose when her old ship
died.  Not the same as having it shot to dust all around you.  He upended
this set of chairs with just a bit more force than was really necessary,
then sighed as he headed to the third table.  He'd made his peace with the
end of the *Rahal* -- and his old life.  Best to just let it go.

But he was still angry.  More than angry, he was fed up.  He looked around
the lounge that should have been far busier, even at this hour.  Didn't
these people know how to relax and have fun?  Didn't they want to?  What was
he doing here, anyway?

Geisha floated up as he finished with the last of the four tables bordering
the dance floor.  "You okay, boss?" she asked in her own electronic
language.

"No, I'm not," he said, stripping off his apron and tossing it across one of
the upended chairs.  "I'm pissed off."

"What are you going to do about it?"

He looked around.  It wasn't really closing yet, but in clearing the extra
space around the dance floor, he'd already started doing something about his
mood, without entirely realizing it.  "What I always do.  Been too long
anyway.  You and Monad can handle the customers, right?"

"No problem."

Bobby walked to the center of the dance floor.  "Computer.  Jukebox.
Artist: Cherry Poppin' Daddies.  Tracks:  'Master and Slave,' then 'Drunk
Daddy.'  Play."

Geisha whistled softly.  "You *are* mad," she said, as she floated off
toward the front of the lounge.
As the music began with trumpets and a fierce, rapid drumbeat, he pressed
his palms together, bowed to the partner in his mind's eye, and launched
into the dance.

               No pennies from heaven, no pennies in my hand
               Think your drinkin' wine dad it's blood of the lamb
               That's no way to treat your son now is it Abraham
               After he busted his ass for you

It could be argued they weren't the best of the turn of the 21st Century
swing revival bands, but there was no question whatsoever that the Daddies
were the angriest.  And angry was exactly what Bobby wanted.
               When will this tension be all over
               For fallen sons and fathers too

               I'm down to my last dime
               No faith in mankind
               C'mon let's swing into the groove...

In a very short time, the lounge, the startled officers watching, the Avalon
itself, the past, the future, all melted away.  There was nothing but the
emotion, and the dance.  It was a bit strange to do swing dancing without a
partner, but circumstances had compelled him to dance alone so often that
Bobby had turned it into an art all its own.  And he didn't really give a
damn what anyone else thought anyway.

As the second song began -- even faster and angrier than the first -- the
sweat was glistening off the top of Bobby's head.

               I haul the burden for the high and mighty
               But I'm the top hat devil's son
               I got the luck of the drunk, try an' nail me
               I'm the bullseye - aim your gun

As the music ended in a blare of trumpets and final flourish of drums, Bobby
ended up doing the splits on the floor, arms high and head flung back,
getting his wind back in deep, rapid breaths.

Monad floated up, carrying a towel.  "Feel better?"

Bobby took it and dried off his face and head.  "Getting there.  Think I'm
out of shape though."  He smiled at the exo-comp, stood up, and went to
fetch his apron.

"Master and Slave" and "Drunk Daddy" music and lyrics by Steve Perry.  (MC
Large Drink, not the Journey guy.)

Other related posts: