Holding Out for a Hero (avec Henry)

[Cynthia DeMato]

Cynthia was sitting in a wooden chair just a few feet from the stage along with her stagehands. The small group had been watching a round of auditions and were now discussing what they liked - and, more often, what they didn't like - about each of the singers and dancers who had tried out onstage for them. None of them were standouts, really, although some of the dancers certainly had what it took to at least be in the background. The middle-aged woman was starting to worry, however, that she would never find exactly what she was looking for. Where was the spunk? Where was the pizazz? She had it, but these younger things didn't seem to. They'd also had some interviews for waiter and bartender positions which went a bit better - although most of them seemed to be fairly young, just over the age eighteen minimum. She supposed Pilot Ridge was a younger crowd, anyway, so that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. And besides, who didn't want to be served a drink from a cute young guy half your age? Okay, so most of the clientele was male because of the all-female performances, but still...

Watching all of that dancing was making Cynthia antsy. She didn't like watching: she liked being the one watched. Knowing that she had a few minutes until the next interviewee showed up, she hopped up off her chair and stepped up onto the stage, giving a knowing look to the band which had been accompanying some of the auditions. "Take me back to the eighties, boys," she said simply, and lowered her head as the music started playing. "And keep it low and slow." After a few beats, she began to sing.

"Where have all the good men gone,
And where are all the Gods?
Where's the street-wise Hercules
To fight the rising odds..."

Suddenly, the music picked up, and the woman began to dance. She was light on her feet for someone her age, but the steps were pointed and deliberate.

"Racing on the thunder,
And rising with the heat,
It's gonna take a Superman
To sweep me off my feet!
I need a hero!"

And so she danced, kicking, swaying, and twirling across the stage to the beat of the music as she sang the powerful Bonnie Tyler words. She continued until the song was over and struck a powerful pose on the last note before, panting somewhat, strutted off the stage to the applause of the little assembled group. "Now that's what I'm looking for," she said as she retook her seat, reaching for the glass of water situated on the little table beside her. "Who's next?"

[Henry Ballo]

Henry was not here for auditions. He doubted he would ever be anywhere for auditions. He could dance—except they were traditional dances from Africa—but he doubted that counted. His voice was low and pleasant enough but hardly rock star quality, and he couldn’t play a single instrument at all. He was just here looking for another job. School wasn’t that difficult. He liked Riley, but he needed labor that wasn’t so weather-dependent. And he didn’t know much about Burlesque, but he figured he had a few good points going for him. One, he could be scary if he needed to be. Two, he was pretty good at mixing drinks. Three, he had pretty good balance and could manage being a waiter. And four and five, he spoke lots of languages and was polite. Good with people was a different story, but for a job he was totally willing to learn to smile more.

He’d stepped in as Cynthia began to sing, and hung back. He was dressed simply in a white collared shirt and slacks and didn’t lurk very well, having reached what he HOPED was his full height of six-seven in the last few months. He liked her. She seemed very capable as a singer and as a dancer, although Henry knew he wasn’t one to judge, not being particularly acquainted with American forms of dancing or singing. But the song was good, although he objected to the message—because in all honesty, he thought there were good men around, and it was terrible to compare them to Hercules, because it struck an unfair standard—and when she’d finished, he applauded with the rest of the crowd. And then she came and sit down, and he realized that he was next.

Ah, hell. He meant…oh, good! That was exactly what he wanted to hear, right? Sort of. He sighed and pasted a smile onto his face, then stepped forward. “I believe that is me,” he offered, in his best American accent. It didn’t quite work, but he was working on it. “My name is Henry Ballo, and I am interested in a position here. Ah, preferably not a musical one. You are very good, by the way.”

((I am sorry this took so long and I am sorry this is so bad and shortttt!))

[Cynthia DeMato]

Cynthia reveled in the applause - she was, after all, the type of gal who craved attention and simply loved being in the spotlight - as she took her seat and fished through her paperwork. No sooner had she asked who was next than a tall young man approached the table. She couldn't quite place the accent, but her assumption was that he was not from around here, at least not initially. "Henry Ballo..." she repeated, thumbing through the applications to pull his. "Ah yes, you're here for a position on the House Staff." She put the application down on the little table, standing up and floating over to where the young man was standing not far from her. "My, but you are a tall glass of water," she said as her feet hit the ground. She grinned as Henry complimented her. "Oh, did you catch my little performance?" She asked with pseudo-modesty. "That was nothing, you should come on a Saturday night," she added with a bit of a laugh. "Now come, sit down," she beckoned as she returned to her chair, and one of the stagehands pulled out another for Henry to sit. "What sort of experience do you have?" She asked as she looked over his application. "Where would you fit in on my staff?" These were just some of the initial questions that she would be remiss if she didn't ask; based on what he had experience in and what he wanted to do, she would ask more specific questions and make him go through a couple of dry runs in order to find out whether he "had what it took," so to speak. He was certainly tall and, if she were to be completely honest, somewhat intimidating (mostly due to his frame) - hmm, did they need a new bouncer?

[Henry Ballo]

((Sorry this took so long!))


Henry watched her curiously, and his brows climbed as she floated toward him. Then his lips twitched into a faint smile at the address, although it might’ve been a little hesitant, and his shoulders lifted in a shrug. “A very tall one,” he agreed. “Thank you. You can fly as well? Ah, I can, but I am not as skilled as you are.” Oh he could float for small amounts, but he didn’t look so graceful. After all, there was only so much you could do with being well over six feet, because when you flew you tended to hit your head on something. He nodded to her statement. “I see. I will have to keep that in mind, thank you.” This was half to her and to the stage hand who had pulled out a chair for him. A little nonplussed by the treatment, he sank down into it and folded his hands in his lap.

“I am a hard worker,” he began, a little slowly. “I am used to carrying heavy objects and I can deal with many different people. I have some experience mixing drinks—and I have been told that I am good, although here in America I am no longer allowed to taste anything I make—” Uh, probably too bitter there. He cleared his throat and managed a smile. “And I have some experiences working in a store and with customer service and I am learning self-defense strategies. It is really where you need me. I try to be flexible. But as some might find me, ah, intimidating…” He shrugged. “I do not know. Do you need a bouncer?”