Dance Central: The Beginning

MacCoy - Your Boy, DJ MacCoy

"Wiki-Wiki-Whaaaat! Who's having an outrageous time tonight?" The crowd roared in approval as Maccoy hyped up the energetic flock of party-goers. "Let's give it up for the owner of this club!" he exclaimed. MacCoy had just arrived at one of his many gigs at the Sweet Seventeen Delux Nightclub, one of his favorites to spin records at. The crowd was massive and very rowdy. Vibrant, colorful lights flashed everywhere. He scratched and rewound his latest remix to excite the crowd even more. Life was never boring as a DJ at that club; DJing had it's perks- free drinks, free food, and 'free' poker. Unfortunately, there were a couple of certain individuals who weren't very enthusiastic about his 'mad skillz'. He took of his headphones as the long-sleeved, white suited, salmon-shirt, fedora monster approached the booth. 

"I can DJ better than you," he quietly insulted, with a smirk. "Al menos soy profesional...tú no." (At least I'm professional... you're not.)

"Aw, come on, Angel, go back with the ladies," he said, his distinctive New Jersey accent showing a little more than he wanted. MacCoy knew that almost no one took him seriously just because of that. MacCoy continued. "Or keep playing poker...or something. Just leave me alone, Holmes."

Angel turned his head when he saw one of the ladies pass by his usual poker table. "Eh, alright. I have better things to do." MacCoy watched Angel talk to the woman, and probably flirt with her because she rolled her eyes and dismissively walked away. Then, a brilliant idea popped into his head. What if, both him and Angel, had a DJ war? Whoever won would man the DJ station from now on and earn bragging rights between each other as 'best DJ'. A little risky? Yes, but MacCoy could always line up other gigs at other places. And maybe he could man the booth when Angel wanted to um, heat things up with the ladies.

"Ay, everyone," MacCoy called to the mob in front of him. Everything seemed to freeze in time. Even Angel froze. "I have a fun little challenge. As you all know, there's another DJ in our midst. Yeah, that guy over there." He pointed at Angel. "He says he's a professional DJ, homies. We'll see about that. Anyways, but I thinks it would be a crazy-cool idea if we had a competition. Whoever gets you party people excited the most wins... and the loser don't come back to this club and DJ." Cheers arose from all directions. "I guess you have to now, Angel." 

Angel scowled. "Te voy a ganar tanto que la multitud no te recordará. Te apprentirás de haber hecho esto cuando llores en casa con tu abuela," he remarked. (I'm going to beat you by so much, the crowd won't remember you. You're going to regret ever doing this when you cry home to your grandma."

"My grandma loves me no matter what I do," MacCoy defensively retaliated. "Your abuela...I don't know."

"Oooooooh! Oh snap!" The mob responded.

"Let the Battle of the DJs Begin," he declared. "By popularity, I go first," MacCoy huffed.

He took a couple of records and remixes and started spinning away. He concentrated and didn't pay attention to the crowd, letting his fingers control the settings on the booth and the records. The rest of his thoughts fluffed off like cottonballs. When he felt satisfied, he stopped, so did the crowd. He didn't know how loud they cheered, but they stared at him with upmost admiration, crying 'We love you, MacCoy'!'

"That's how you do it," he proudly said as he dusted off his  favorite teal short sleeved T-shirt. "Fresher than organic produce." Angel rolled his eyes.

"My turn, B-boy." Angel smiled, selected a couple of MacCoy's records, and started spinning in the booth. MacCoy was shocked at the crowd's reaction to Angel they started cheering and dancing along. Angel was good. Even though MacCoy previosuly thought  that Angel's claim was part of his inflated ego, he was talented. For real. It would be a close one. MacCoy nervously sweated while Angel continued, a light, anxious smile on his lips. Angel finished, and addressed the entire flock. "I told him I could spin. He just didn't believe me." He paused andcleared his throat. "So, everyone, who do you think won," he asked. 

"Angel! Angel! Angel!"

"It looks like you're out of the gig, lo siento, buddy." MacCoy gathered his records and headphones, stuffed them into his duffel bag, and walked home to his grandma's house.