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John says, "Trust me, you'll fit in just fine," and it is not so much that Ronon doesn't trust John as that he senses John often misses the ways in which Ronon never quite fits in wholly with Earthians. Still, if John thinks he'll fit in at this club place he wants to go, Ronon supposes it can't be any more awkward than the fair grounds or the college football game. He'd been three times the size of the girl he was sitting next to at that last. Literally.

But Ronon just shrugs, because those weren't bad experiences and John seems pretty excited about wherever it is he has plans to go tonight and he won't leave Ronon alone to explore. Any planet in the Pegasus? Sure. Earth? Not so much.

Ronon wouldn't mind being left to explore, but he also doesn't mind tagging along with John, seeing why it is that John misses this place. He would do the same for John, if there were anywhere left to do it.

The club is dark and it takes Ronon a second to adjust, his now-automatic prey instincts kicking in. Then the dim lights allow his eyes to focus and he looks without much interest at the mass of intertwined bodies at the center of the place. John hands him a beer and he takes it. They really do taste better on Earth.

The first thing Ronon notices is that it is not so much that he fits in here as that nobody fits in, so there is nothing to fit into.

The second thing is that he likes the music, loud and angry and--at the same time--intentionally fun.

He glances over to see who's controlling the chosen songs and his eyes catch on the man--just, just--behind what Ronon identifies as the playing mechanism. His hair falls soft but clearly shaped around his face and he has glasses on that should hide him, but mostly just sharpen everything into greater clarity.

John sees where he's looking and says, "Yeah, I'd heard he was DJing tonight. He's actually in a band, but occasionally he comes and does guest spots."

Ronon is only partially listen. The guy is moving with with beat, one hand the headphone he's got to his ear, the other on the soundboard.

"Mikey Way."


"That's his name. Mikey Way. Try not to kill his security detail, if he brought him with."

"I'll do my best," Ronon tells him and slips off. He's large, but he's learned to move in ways that allow him not to be much bothered by the crowd. He takes up a position in one of the alcoves near to the DJ stand, but also off a bit, where he can wait for Mikey Way to slip down, get himself something to drink, take a few, whatever.


Mikey does at around half past midnight, announces that he'll be right back and makes his way out to the back of the club. When he's determined that the security is simply blocking access, not following, Ronon disables him--nothing serious, John will understand--and follows Mikey out.

Mikey doesn't look around when the door closes, just asks, "Already? I thought--" he looks at his watch and then turns around. "Um. You're not Worm."

"No," Ronon agrees. Worms, so far as he knows, are the creatures that squirm on the ground and grow second heads.

"Did you maybe see a big guy--"

"He'll wake up in a few minutes."

Mikey's eyes widened. "Wake up?"

"You were playing good music."

Mikey shakes his head, clearly not following. "I'm sorry, did you-- What did you say?"

"The music you were playing, I liked it."

Mikey blinks.

"My friend says you're in a band. Does it sound like that?"

That gets a reaction. "I don't mean to sound like a dick, but you're hanging out at the punk goth club and you haven't heard of My Chemical Romance?"

"I'm in from out of town."

"Like Madagascar?"

"Sure," Ronon says, hoping Madagascar is Earth-based.

"Because you sound pretty American."

Ronon shrugs. "Does your band sound like that?"

Mikey seems to think about continuing to argue for a moment, then decides he'd rather talk music. "Well, you can tell where our influences are, that's for certain."

Without knowing why, Ronon asks, "Where's the rest of your band?"

"Out. Other clubs, movies, whatever. We don't get time off all that often."

"They left you alone?"

Mikey is silent for a second. "Only for a night."

Ronon nods slowly. That's all right, then. He takes a step forward, just slightly into Mikey's space. Not too much. "Were you going to go back to them after this?"

Mikey takes a step toward him. "I could probably be persuaded to leave them to their own devices for a few additional hours."

Ronon slides his hand around the back of Mikey's neck, pulls him gently the step or two more they need, and gets to persuading for all he's worth.

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Skin by egelantier, photo by microbophile