[ the next time she sees him, she's forgotten about him.
convinced herself she has, anyway. because she'd gone home, showered, slept, gone out to lunch with allison the next morning, gone shopping, gotten her hair done, studied, had sex with jackson on top of their kitchen table, taken prada to the vet, and very easily fallen into her regular routine in which random memories of random prostitutes (sorry, escorts) from random parties had no business popping up and distracting her. when she doesn't notice any familiar smoking room buddies at the next charity event she attends, the whole 'forgetting' idea is finalized, stamped, and approved by all parties lydia and she moves on with her life.
which is very easy. she's very busy; narrowly manages to rearrange her schedule to squeeze her uncle's cooperate christmas party between the days of her paid internship, buy a dress, and talk danny mahealani into being her date when jackson can't. they make it, however, and even though he color coordinated his suit to match the maroon of her dress, danny doesn't spend much of the evening by her side. he's pretty, which makes him instantly popular with everyone, and lydia doesn't much mind until later that night. she gets to talk about herself, gets to brag, and people listen and seem to genuinely care - at least until they're completely drunk and unintelligent. she's too smart for even smart company, it would seem, and while there's no convenient smoking room to escape to, there's vacated meeting rooms with leather spinny chairs she'd discovered when she was seven and is seriously considering seeking out again now.
but not without food, and something to drink for herself. she has a little paper plate laden with chocolate strawberries and and over balanced with festive cookies in one hand, a thin flute of champagne in the other, and when the rebellious fruits start to roll this way and that, she momentarily engages in a juggling act which just leads to a harsh shoulder collision with another body. two strawberries fall - two of the thousand of foodstuff casualties that will be meshed into the carpet by the end of the night - and lydia squarely steps on one, snapping a rather unapologetic apology without looking at whoever she collided with. ]
Sorry.
[ lydia lifts her shoe and peers at the underside. gross, that's going to make her heel sticky. ]
[ stiles recognizes her immediately, of course. maybe she'd forgotten about him, but he's been thinking about her. lately business has been booming, because his passion is in hot demand, and the need that's swamped him, the flirtation that draws men and women to him, it's all about her. he dreams of strawberry-blonde hair and condescending pouts. but none of that shows on his face, beyond the fact that his eyes go a little hot for her. ]
I can get that.
[ stiles goes to a knee. for a moment she might think he's going to pick up the other dropped strawberry, but no: he's got napkins. he places a hand firmly on her ankle and swipes them across the sole of her shoe to clean it before getting back to his feet again, coltishly graceful. ]
Sorry.
[ it's much more genuine than her little brush off was. he doesn't have any food of his own, and his hand cups under her plate just in time to catch the third falling strawberry — which he pops in his mouth with a smirk. ]
[ she recognizes him - completely - the second he touches her. perhaps it's the vantage, maybe the angle, maybe just the subconscious reminded of how he'd knelt in front of her and cradled her heels last time they'd conversed. and perhaps it's none of those, or all of them, but it's sudden and shocking; unreal in the sense she had never expected to see him again and had told herself it was okay to forget.
but that had been stupid. there would always be lonely people in the world and so long as they had money, there would always be escorts in the world - and at supposedly high class business functions. her mouth conforms to the shape of soft 'oh' as he wipes the strawberry and chocolate mess from the bottom of her shoe, but by the time he stands and is smirking at her, she's composed herself an excellent, blank facade. faux confusion furrows her brow and suspicion purses her lips, but she nods at him cordially all the same. ]
Fine, [ she drawls smoothly. there's a perfectly timed pause after the drawn out word, and then lydia's cocking her head and clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, all superiority and vibrato. ] Who are you again?
[ that hurts. stiles suppresses an actual wince, but his face does fall a little, just for a moment, before he turns self-deprecatory, like this is pretty standard for him. ]
Oh, yeah, we really only met once. At some party. You probably don't, uh, remember me.
[ probably, more like definitely, given that blank look. he doesn't really want to get into specifics out loud, remind her how he'd touched her feet — worshiped them, actually, not that he's into that. he scratches the short hair at the back of his neck. ]
It's Stiles. Stilinski.
[ the name he uses for cam-porn and escorting is, he knows, pretty stupid — he'd gotten the idea from that michael j fox movie. he had a friend named scott, so he should be stiles, right? and it means googling him doesn't always get porn. ]
[ a nod. ]
Thanks for the strawberry, Strawberry.
[ get it? because she has strawberry blonde hair. ]
[ well, she'd gotten something out of lying, at least. his last name, and even though it sounds just as ridiculous as his first (even more ridiculous when coupled with his first) and she's not sure it's real, it means easier conducted background checks - which are going to be a must if they keep running into each other. twice is just a coincidence, of course, and she shouldn't be hoping for more coincidences, but now it's at least an option.
the politely interested expressions stays fixed as she nods at his words. right, yes, we met at a party, nod nod; and right, yes, enjoy the strawberry nod nod nod and a pinched, internally screaming sort of smile.
lydia readjusts, ruffles herself, and when her plate of snacks and bubbly champagne are well balanced, she makes to brush past him. but not without a flick of aforementioned strawberry blond hair, and a chiding; ] That's no better than 'Red'.
[ her hair smells really good. but more importantly: ]
You do remember me!
[ delighted, he grabs her wrist, slops champagne all over both their hands and immediately backs off, looking pained, digging out the last of the napkins in his pocket. ]
Oh my god. Here, here.
[ he cringes, takes her flute and through some sleight of hand known only to guys who have been casual function waitstaff for spare cash, balances it in the crook of an elbow so he can help wipe over her hand. ]
Hey! [ lydia objects loudly and shrilly. but it's more surprise than anger fueling her exclaim, and though her hand is goin to be sticky and gross as soon as the champagne dried, she's less disgusted and more interested in the frantic way he tried to clean her.
that was stupidly cute. so cute it was stupid and so stupid it was cute; like high school when very one snuggled hard liquor into the dances and got so flustered when they spilled on their dates that they almost cried. given, she's three years out of high school and doesn't scream at him or hit him with her handbag. she's not even glaring at him, just quietly observing with wide green eyes flicking between their hands and his concerned face.
the condescending part of her assumed him to be acting, playing the flustered, concerned, adorable idiot. but while entertaining his game seems like a bad idea when she has no idea what his motives are, she likes being fussed over. it feels nice, especially after being so royally abandoned by her date. ]
Okay, [ she says in regards to the drink. but lydia'd had a destination in mind, and pulls her hand from his grasp to continue on her way. ] Bring a couple.
[ stiles grins at that, but she's not looking at him anymore. ]
[ he's a pretty smart guy, has a good problem-solving brain, so while the idea of trying to follow after her quickly with his hands full of champagne flutes is the first one that comes to mind, it's not what he does. he's worked catering gigs before, temporary waitstaff, so he knows the tricks of the trade, and sure enough the refills for the mineral water and champagne are crated below the heavy tablecloth over the trestle tables rather than all the way in the kitchen. ]
[ he steals a whole bottle without remorse, and a plate of strawberries, and it's appalling behaviour but right now he gives no fucks, he's robin freaking hood. and his maid marion awaits: stiles chases after her, following her away from the party. ]
[ the big boardroom is just a hallway down from where everyone else is partying, but it's soundproof. probably to avoid any disturbances from the outside working place during big meetings, and it's just a bonus that it's also going to keep lydia from getting an awful headache and provide her the privacy to entertain herself.
there's big floor to ceiling windows along the far wall that overlook the blinking city life and positively scream pretentious, and equally big windows on the wall with the door, but those come with shutter blinds. lydia occupies herself with drawing the shades until her new friend finds her.
with an entire bottle of champagne. way to exceed her expectations. ] Are you trying to get me drunk? [ she teases, giving the shade controls one last spin to ensure little visibility before sashaying over to meet him, and plucking one of the strawberries off the plate. ] Shame on you.
[ she's also been sipping on various drinks all throughout the evening, and while she still walks like a queen in those sticky shoes of hers, her inhibitions are lowered enough to hang out in an abandoned room instead of going home.
but at home she doesn't have leather swivel chairs. ]
Somehow I doubt they're gonna be serving the second-rate stuff.
[ once he's put down the food and drink, stiles hops up on the boardroom table like it's one big chair, leans back on his hands and kicks his legs boyishly. ]
[ she claims a seat somewhere to the left of him, and twists the chair in leisurely semi circles. she eats the strawberry like she's spent the last three hours enticing it to come close to her mouth, and takes her own sweet time answer his question. ]
No, my uncle does. [ legs crossed conversationally, and the slightest bit of chocolate smeared across her lip, lydia leans on the chair arm and uses her free hand to gesture around the room. ]
This is his building, actually. He throws these things every year. Fun, right?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ex_question191) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lashings2013-07-07 12:00 am
yeeeeees fucking timeskip~
convinced herself she has, anyway. because she'd gone home, showered, slept, gone out to lunch with allison the next morning, gone shopping, gotten her hair done, studied, had sex with jackson on top of their kitchen table, taken prada to the vet, and very easily fallen into her regular routine in which random memories of random prostitutes (sorry, escorts) from random parties had no business popping up and distracting her. when she doesn't notice any familiar smoking room buddies at the next charity event she attends, the whole 'forgetting' idea is finalized, stamped, and approved by all parties lydia and she moves on with her life.
which is very easy. she's very busy; narrowly manages to rearrange her schedule to squeeze her uncle's cooperate christmas party between the days of her paid internship, buy a dress, and talk danny mahealani into being her date when jackson can't. they make it, however, and even though he color coordinated his suit to match the maroon of her dress, danny doesn't spend much of the evening by her side. he's pretty, which makes him instantly popular with everyone, and lydia doesn't much mind until later that night. she gets to talk about herself, gets to brag, and people listen and seem to genuinely care - at least until they're completely drunk and unintelligent. she's too smart for even smart company, it would seem, and while there's no convenient smoking room to escape to, there's vacated meeting rooms with leather spinny chairs she'd discovered when she was seven and is seriously considering seeking out again now.
but not without food, and something to drink for herself. she has a little paper plate laden with chocolate strawberries and and over balanced with festive cookies in one hand, a thin flute of champagne in the other, and when the rebellious fruits start to roll this way and that, she momentarily engages in a juggling act which just leads to a harsh shoulder collision with another body. two strawberries fall - two of the thousand of foodstuff casualties that will be meshed into the carpet by the end of the night - and lydia squarely steps on one, snapping a rather unapologetic apology without looking at whoever she collided with. ]
Sorry.
[ lydia lifts her shoe and peers at the underside. gross, that's going to make her heel sticky. ]
no subject
I can get that.
[ stiles goes to a knee. for a moment she might think he's going to pick up the other dropped strawberry, but no: he's got napkins. he places a hand firmly on her ankle and swipes them across the sole of her shoe to clean it before getting back to his feet again, coltishly graceful. ]
Sorry.
[ it's much more genuine than her little brush off was. he doesn't have any food of his own, and his hand cups under her plate just in time to catch the third falling strawberry — which he pops in his mouth with a smirk. ]
How've you been?
no subject
but that had been stupid. there would always be lonely people in the world and so long as they had money, there would always be escorts in the world - and at supposedly high class business functions. her mouth conforms to the shape of soft 'oh' as he wipes the strawberry and chocolate mess from the bottom of her shoe, but by the time he stands and is smirking at her, she's composed herself an excellent, blank facade. faux confusion furrows her brow and suspicion purses her lips, but she nods at him cordially all the same. ]
Fine, [ she drawls smoothly. there's a perfectly timed pause after the drawn out word, and then lydia's cocking her head and clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, all superiority and vibrato. ] Who are you again?
no subject
Oh, yeah, we really only met once. At some party. You probably don't, uh, remember me.
[ probably, more like definitely, given that blank look. he doesn't really want to get into specifics out loud, remind her how he'd touched her feet — worshiped them, actually, not that he's into that. he scratches the short hair at the back of his neck. ]
It's Stiles. Stilinski.
[ the name he uses for cam-porn and escorting is, he knows, pretty stupid — he'd gotten the idea from that michael j fox movie. he had a friend named scott, so he should be stiles, right? and it means googling him doesn't always get porn. ]
[ a nod. ]
Thanks for the strawberry, Strawberry.
[ get it? because she has strawberry blonde hair. ]
no subject
the politely interested expressions stays fixed as she nods at his words. right, yes, we met at a party, nod nod; and right, yes, enjoy the strawberry nod nod nod and a pinched, internally screaming sort of smile.
lydia readjusts, ruffles herself, and when her plate of snacks and bubbly champagne are well balanced, she makes to brush past him. but not without a flick of aforementioned strawberry blond hair, and a chiding; ] That's no better than 'Red'.
no subject
You do remember me!
[ delighted, he grabs her wrist, slops champagne all over both their hands and immediately backs off, looking pained, digging out the last of the napkins in his pocket. ]
Oh my god. Here, here.
[ he cringes, takes her flute and through some sleight of hand known only to guys who have been casual function waitstaff for spare cash, balances it in the crook of an elbow so he can help wipe over her hand. ]
I'm the worst. Lemme get you a fresh drink, okay?
no subject
that was stupidly cute. so cute it was stupid and so stupid it was cute; like high school when very one snuggled hard liquor into the dances and got so flustered when they spilled on their dates that they almost cried. given, she's three years out of high school and doesn't scream at him or hit him with her handbag. she's not even glaring at him, just quietly observing with wide green eyes flicking between their hands and his concerned face.
the condescending part of her assumed him to be acting, playing the flustered, concerned, adorable idiot. but while entertaining his game seems like a bad idea when she has no idea what his motives are, she likes being fussed over. it feels nice, especially after being so royally abandoned by her date. ]
Okay, [ she says in regards to the drink. but lydia'd had a destination in mind, and pulls her hand from his grasp to continue on her way. ] Bring a couple.
no subject
[ he's a pretty smart guy, has a good problem-solving brain, so while the idea of trying to follow after her quickly with his hands full of champagne flutes is the first one that comes to mind, it's not what he does. he's worked catering gigs before, temporary waitstaff, so he knows the tricks of the trade, and sure enough the refills for the mineral water and champagne are crated below the heavy tablecloth over the trestle tables rather than all the way in the kitchen. ]
[ he steals a whole bottle without remorse, and a plate of strawberries, and it's appalling behaviour but right now he gives no fucks, he's robin freaking hood. and his maid marion awaits: stiles chases after her, following her away from the party. ]
no subject
there's big floor to ceiling windows along the far wall that overlook the blinking city life and positively scream pretentious, and equally big windows on the wall with the door, but those come with shutter blinds. lydia occupies herself with drawing the shades until her new friend finds her.
with an entire bottle of champagne. way to exceed her expectations. ] Are you trying to get me drunk? [ she teases, giving the shade controls one last spin to ensure little visibility before sashaying over to meet him, and plucking one of the strawberries off the plate. ] Shame on you.
no subject
[ stiles asks, also a little teasing, though he's still kind of affected by the sheer presence of her. ]
no subject
[ she's also been sipping on various drinks all throughout the evening, and while she still walks like a queen in those sticky shoes of hers, her inhibitions are lowered enough to hang out in an abandoned room instead of going home.
but at home she doesn't have leather swivel chairs. ]
no subject
[ once he's put down the food and drink, stiles hops up on the boardroom table like it's one big chair, leans back on his hands and kicks his legs boyishly. ]
So do you like, work here?
no subject
No, my uncle does. [ legs crossed conversationally, and the slightest bit of chocolate smeared across her lip, lydia leans on the chair arm and uses her free hand to gesture around the room. ]
This is his building, actually. He throws these things every year. Fun, right?