"Donald."

"Wanna dance, Don? They're playing my song."

"Really?"

She gave a throaty chuckle. "Any song is my song. Come on." She ran one finger along the bottom of his bill. "One dance with Gabey."

Steelbeak's jaw dropped as Donald practically turned to mush before his eyes. Aw, maaan! He thought. Poor guy's worthless now.

"Okay . . ." Donald nodded, as Gabriel stood from her seat.

Suddenly, the music stopped, and the sound of thunder rumbled across the Goldeneye.

Gabriel raised an unconcerned eyebrow at the woman who'd suddenly arrived in the room. She was wearing a floor-length red dress that, in Gabriel's eyes, was downright bizarre, and her hair in a Bride-of-Frankenstein beehive was absolutely atrocious.

"Dark! Just what do you think you're doing?"

Gabriel's dancing partner looked around, nervously. "Um, who's Dark?" He asked, before ducking behind Gabriel for protection.

"I -- er..." The woman looked momentarily confused, then turned to the bartender. "Have you seen where my date went? About half my height, wears a green sweater-vest? I don't suppose you could miss him easily! I sure don't."

"Well, he left about twenty minutes ago with some tall guy in a flight helmet," Mitch replied. He chuckled to himself, then added with a smirk, "I think you were in there powdering your bill for a long time."

"Look, Goth-girl." Gabriel replied smoothly, "why don't you just take your freak show back on the road to Transylvania, huh?"

The woman's eyes seemed to turn bright red, and she pointed a finger at the F.O.W.L. agent. "I think you just expressed a death wish."

Gabriel scoffed, then slapped the woman's hand aside. "It's not polite to point, Goth."

"My name is Morgana Macawber."

Steelbeak gasped. "Dat's who I t'ought it was!" He ran over and grabbed Gabriel by the arm. "Now would be a good time to split, Gabe. Yer way outta yer league, here!" He hissed.