The Battle of Who Could Care Less (crossposted to ![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
non_plot)
This week's challenge: unintended consequenses. Can I jut say that I hate being sick?
It occured to Tieunis as he wrestled with the windsor knot around his neck that he was really, really far too much of a softie.
He could understand not wanting to meet up with your ex. There were a few women floating around that he'd defintely walk six or seven blocks out of his way to avoid running into. But avoiding your ex was one thing - avoiding free shrimp was an entirely different matter. Obviously a sign of incipient insanity, passing up free shrimp just to avoid a moment of awkwardness and a potential catty comment or two about the size of your bag of Krugerrands.
Tieunis straightened his shoulders and stared into the mirror; Sander stared back at him - three-piece suit, sparkling watch chain, Waterman pen, snub-nosed techtoys poking out of each pocket. He allowed himself a quick, glittering grin, and Tieunis shone through for a moment before fading again beneath the calm water of Sander's smile.
Time to go. Walking down the front hallway, he dimmed the lights, slammed the front door and walked sedately through the New York night into the waiting car.
"Where to, Mr. Vail?"
"Young and Barclay." he replied, skimming the little screen on his PDA as the darkened streets whisked by, pulling up headlines.
It would never do, of course, for Sander to be caught napping about current events.
* * *
The wine was surprisingly good, which made him feel better about the state of the world. As long as Sander's company wasn't reduced to serving plonk and American caviar it meant he probably still had a place to crash for the next six months. Circulate, circulate, circulate - and make sure to snork up a few shrimp cocktails between the bland Yale-accented laughs.
And there was the ex; Brandonbury Martin himself, long-nosed and long-faced and undoubtedly short-dicked. What the hell kind of a name was Brandonbury anyway? It sounded like a line of commemorative china. And that laugh. He had a laugh that sounded like the starting gates at the Kentucky fucking Derby.
"Sander."
Aw, shit, he'd been spotted. Time to put on the show. Tieunis flicked his braid over his shoulders and tried to look as bored as humanly possible. "Bran."
"Enjoying the party?"
"It's not bad."
"I thought so too. I'd really rather be down on the Cape with the Kennedys. You did know that I finally finished the renovations on the house?"
Tieunis mumbled noncommittally.
"Yeeeeeesss, well, you know how it is with builders, it's so terrible ... not to mention the decorators ... should we do French Provinical or American Gothic ... and there's always Danish Modern, naturally."
"Naturally." This horse-faced goon was starting to grate on his nerves. "Isn't that your phone, old boy?"
Bran turned toward the source of the twittering chirp in his back pocket. Tieunis put a hand up to his face, faking a cough and leaning forward - accidentally jogging Bran's elbow in the process and ducking out of the way just barely in time to avoid the splattering of red wine.
"Oh, I'm so terribly sorry." he fawned, dabbing at Bran's sleeve ineffectually with a napkin. "You should really put some club soda on that - before it stains."
Bran's eyes flashed at him, an angry blue, before he disappeared toward the bathroom. Tieunis sat down on the overstuffed sofa, forcing his usual laugh into Sander's dry chuckle. Minor revenge, but sweet all the same. Time to send Sander a celebratory SMS.
Somewhere around the third word, his world turned upside down - literally; someone, or something, fell across him, sending the phone skittering across the floor like a plastic beetle as his lap filled with soft curves and copper curls.
"I'm sorry!" she tried to get to her feet again and fell back into his lap, struggling to stand up on her spike heels. "Oh, I'm so terribly sorry ... I'm just not used to these shoes ... are you alright? Let me get your phone."
"No, no, I'll get it." Tieunis smiled. "All the better to -" look at your legs ... shit.
"All the better to what?"
After nearly twenty years of doing this he was obviously doomed to meet some hot chick while playing Sander at some point. But did it have to happen tonight? And did it have to be such a hot chick?
Damn, damn, damn, damnit.
"Get my phone." Tieunis coughed, stuffing it back into his jacket pocket and getting to his feet. "All the better to get my phone. I'm Sander ... Sander Vail."
She had an absolutely fantastic smile. "Alyson Andrews - I'm in bonds. Here, let me help you with that."
It occured to Tieunis as he wrestled with the windsor knot around his neck that he was really, really far too much of a softie.
He could understand not wanting to meet up with your ex. There were a few women floating around that he'd defintely walk six or seven blocks out of his way to avoid running into. But avoiding your ex was one thing - avoiding free shrimp was an entirely different matter. Obviously a sign of incipient insanity, passing up free shrimp just to avoid a moment of awkwardness and a potential catty comment or two about the size of your bag of Krugerrands.
Tieunis straightened his shoulders and stared into the mirror; Sander stared back at him - three-piece suit, sparkling watch chain, Waterman pen, snub-nosed techtoys poking out of each pocket. He allowed himself a quick, glittering grin, and Tieunis shone through for a moment before fading again beneath the calm water of Sander's smile.
Time to go. Walking down the front hallway, he dimmed the lights, slammed the front door and walked sedately through the New York night into the waiting car.
"Where to, Mr. Vail?"
"Young and Barclay." he replied, skimming the little screen on his PDA as the darkened streets whisked by, pulling up headlines.
It would never do, of course, for Sander to be caught napping about current events.
* * *
The wine was surprisingly good, which made him feel better about the state of the world. As long as Sander's company wasn't reduced to serving plonk and American caviar it meant he probably still had a place to crash for the next six months. Circulate, circulate, circulate - and make sure to snork up a few shrimp cocktails between the bland Yale-accented laughs.
And there was the ex; Brandonbury Martin himself, long-nosed and long-faced and undoubtedly short-dicked. What the hell kind of a name was Brandonbury anyway? It sounded like a line of commemorative china. And that laugh. He had a laugh that sounded like the starting gates at the Kentucky fucking Derby.
"Sander."
Aw, shit, he'd been spotted. Time to put on the show. Tieunis flicked his braid over his shoulders and tried to look as bored as humanly possible. "Bran."
"Enjoying the party?"
"It's not bad."
"I thought so too. I'd really rather be down on the Cape with the Kennedys. You did know that I finally finished the renovations on the house?"
Tieunis mumbled noncommittally.
"Yeeeeeesss, well, you know how it is with builders, it's so terrible ... not to mention the decorators ... should we do French Provinical or American Gothic ... and there's always Danish Modern, naturally."
"Naturally." This horse-faced goon was starting to grate on his nerves. "Isn't that your phone, old boy?"
Bran turned toward the source of the twittering chirp in his back pocket. Tieunis put a hand up to his face, faking a cough and leaning forward - accidentally jogging Bran's elbow in the process and ducking out of the way just barely in time to avoid the splattering of red wine.
"Oh, I'm so terribly sorry." he fawned, dabbing at Bran's sleeve ineffectually with a napkin. "You should really put some club soda on that - before it stains."
Bran's eyes flashed at him, an angry blue, before he disappeared toward the bathroom. Tieunis sat down on the overstuffed sofa, forcing his usual laugh into Sander's dry chuckle. Minor revenge, but sweet all the same. Time to send Sander a celebratory SMS.
Somewhere around the third word, his world turned upside down - literally; someone, or something, fell across him, sending the phone skittering across the floor like a plastic beetle as his lap filled with soft curves and copper curls.
"I'm sorry!" she tried to get to her feet again and fell back into his lap, struggling to stand up on her spike heels. "Oh, I'm so terribly sorry ... I'm just not used to these shoes ... are you alright? Let me get your phone."
"No, no, I'll get it." Tieunis smiled. "All the better to -" look at your legs ... shit.
"All the better to what?"
After nearly twenty years of doing this he was obviously doomed to meet some hot chick while playing Sander at some point. But did it have to happen tonight? And did it have to be such a hot chick?
Damn, damn, damn, damnit.
"Get my phone." Tieunis coughed, stuffing it back into his jacket pocket and getting to his feet. "All the better to get my phone. I'm Sander ... Sander Vail."
She had an absolutely fantastic smile. "Alyson Andrews - I'm in bonds. Here, let me help you with that."