The Age of OH YES

Lights twisted in a helix of pure blue white through a room backlit bloody red. A staircase effect turned the savage quality of the usual rocker stage into a harsh cut futuristic scene. Curved shapes ended in jutted metal in the cast lights, easily overlooked as broken robots and torn streets. Electric sparks flared to the bottom right, then top left, a slightly nerve grinding creak of metal clashed behind.

“And…mist.” With a tap of tablet, the final element hissed to life.

“Have to say, you outdid yourself. Looks fantastic.”  Dorn looked down from her favored seat, far back, center, elevated just four inches to ensure untouched viewing.

The figure looked upon his creation, satisfied, giving a deep bow. “You mean brilliant. Of course! This premiere will top the last. It took just a bit of work, melted and sharded buckets and chairs, rebar, sound effect and lights, and we have the perfect Age of Ultron viewing party room. Of course, deserts and treats will on you.”

“I always deliver, Patrick. Never shall I fail such a glorious movie, or my fine keeper. Are the invitations sent entirely? Has every chair been filled?”

Lights raised in slow degrees warming the chill features of a man giving Dorn the hardest look ever mustered. In fact, it might have been the positively manliest moment of his life. Thick black rimmed glasses, tragically 70s plaid, off-white tight pants, and loafers. He might have been a hipster, if not for the superman cape.

“You are not inviting them are you?”

“And if I were?”

The seriousness cracked as fine china tossed from a window, nearly making a squeak of pleasure. “Make sure one is cute. Thank the gods of tiny liquor bottles! I have no way of passing the word. We can’t have epic battles between super heroes and nefarious machines without a few party crashers!”

Dorn stepped elegantly between the chairs of the newly minted Alamo. One strong hand raised to lie simply upon his shoulder, drawing him intimate close for a breath of time. “Trust me. You might even get someone for your lap. Or you may end up in their laps. But first, the drinks. Blondes or brunettes?”

“We need two scarlets. Seriously, Shane. Don’t you know anything?”