The guy they call death

a limo ride with a demon

Micro-ice clipped the metallic gold utility belt into place. Running his hand along the cold metal, his mind groaning to him about how gaudy it was. He sighed and turned to look at the only mirror in the room.

The suit was tuxedo style with a no tie-white silk shirt, a black coat, long black trousers and black shoes. He'd found a pair of simple ovals in a coat-pocket, carefully wrapped in purple tissue paper, he identified them as onyx cufflinks and whistled softly at how expensive they looked. The cuffs of the black coat itself were rimmed at the very ends with a thin line of gold, the small bit of gold stood out against the strong night time black of the rest of the outfit, complimenting each other. It wasn't gaudy at all, it was even refined! Before you put the utility belt on that is.

Why the people at the party had felt the need to ruin it all with the garish belt was a total mystery, the outfit as a whole was sharply cut, beautifully designed and exceptionally well-tailored. Micro-ice guessed that D'jok had ordered one specifically in his size before bothering to ask him to actually attend the party, it fit him so perfectly.

Briefly he wondered if the cost of his entire wardrobe was worth as much as the suit.

Micro-ice had never had much interest in clothes, always throwing on the first pants, t-shirt and hoodie he could lay his hands on every morning (or midday, depending on whether it was the weekend or not) before going out with the guys.

But even he could tell the simple fact that, before he clipped the utility belt on, he looked good.

His hair didn't match the suit though, it was the usual way he had it: Simple; cut off in a tapered-neck at the back and easy going quasi-bangs at the top, basically just a general boyish haircut. But, with an outfit like this, the hair just looked out of place, like his Mom had combed it for him.

He didn't process it like that though; he just felt some mild surprise that he looked so 'smart'.

He clipped off the utility belt and strutted about in front of the mirror, before suddenly stopping and throwing an attempt at a gentlemanly bow and holding out a hand.

'Care for a dance lady?' he said in the suavest voice he could muster 'wait, that's wrong' he muttered, balanced precariously, hand still outstretched towards the mirror and to no lady in particular 'care for a dance your… grace? No, um…your elegance? Your… diligence? Care for a dance Ma'am? Madame? Milady?' Still fumbling with invitations to an imaginary dance floor Micro-ice was understandably startled when the door to the room was suddenly opened. Micro-ice froze mid-pose, he and Rocket's gaze met.

'Ah heh.' an awkward grin pasted on his face 'Uh Rocket I-'

But the striker and ex-captain was already turning around and shutting the door behind him.

Micro-ice exhaled heavily and was about to stand up when the door was flung open a Second time.

Off balance, Micro-ice suddenly veered forward and wildly flailing his arms in frantic windmill motions, toppled forward doing one sideways tumble as he hit the ground, barely missing the mirror.

D'jok raised a bemused eyebrow over his crooked grin before he cracked up laughing.

Micro-ice uncurled himself from the lopsided ball he'd formed during the tumble, lying on his side he glanced at D'jok, currently holding his sides as if they were about to run off in opposite directions and leave him there gasping from lack of oxygen. Micro-ice started to laugh as well.

The two in the room giggled together like little kids, unable to put a stopper on themselves.

It's not this funny some voice in the back of their heads seemed to say, but for whatever reason despite the voice of common sense telling them to get a grip, the two continued to laugh as one. Maybe they had a feeling they'd need this memory to get them through the coming weeks.