Disclaimer: I own nothing! Well, except the plot.
Summary: Clubbing was not one thing she liked, but when her friends drag her along to a clubher future life is out to catch her. F/M ship. Slight twist in the entire plot. Lots of foreshadowing goodness.
Rating: Nothing a tween couldn't handle. Some rude classifications to people, but it's alright. You know you've all heard them.
Note: Names do not come until later in the story, so if this is hard to read to you, good luck. D The plot is twisted, and there is lots of foreshadowing. Teehee.
Dirty Tricks
His seemingly cold eyes scanned the dance floor, but what for; to capture some unknowing beauty to classify her as a whore in a night? Oh, indeed, yes, yes, his dirty tricks! The poor girls, if only they knew his reputation, if only…
But some of the pathetic dancing prostitutes moved out of the way, and his eyes fell upon a girl sitting, as if she wasn't enjoying herself. Her face showed her lack of enthusiasm to be having fun—but what a great catch she'd be. Her fun would be turned around with a snap, if only he could catch her.
Standing, evading some approaching girls, he turned and smiled to a few of his stupid Muggle acquaintances—friends? As if he'd make friends with the stupid creatures—but he waved to them, showing he'd be back. Stepping onto the dance floor, lights turned on the square where he stood. The first time he'd been here, the dance floor had made him jump, and it scared him out of his mind, but now he was used to it. It was specially made for this club, touch sensitive, lighting up when it felt pressure upon it.
He left a trail of different colored lights behind him, as he moved (I wouldn't say walking) his way across the floor, to head towards his prey—but she wasn't there. Thank the stars the bar was over here, or he'd feel completely stupid. So instead of catching his prey, he went to buy a drink. But still? He felt awkward—where had such a good girl disappeared too? His eyes scanned the dance crowd—well she wasn't there, and why would she have moved to another seat? Curses if she had left, already! But where? ...
There was no use being where he was, anymore, and he really didn't feel like being around these stupid Muggle's anymore. The upper floor! That is where he'd go, it was less noisy and flashy, and then he could rest out on the balcony. But as he walked up the staircase (which he had trouble, with all the clothing—and people—lying about), another awkward feeling came over him. Seeing these people gave him a disgusted feeling—couldn't they do things like they were doing elsewhere? His body shivered, as he landed onto the upper floor.
Since that scene, he felt like going home, and he was about to Apparate out of there, when something, out of the corner of his eye, caught his attention. The girl…
"Well, well, well," he muttered, perking a brow and smirking. She was standing out on the balcony—noticing that she was alone, and frankly, there was no one up here either. Smoothly, he placed his hands in his pockets and strode out and rested his back against the railing, which she was leaning against, looking forwards. But he looked back at the club, his smirk turning into a smile. He turned his head to look at her, and she was frowning—no wonder. His forward actions usually turned the meek ones off, until they got to know him.
"Having fun?" he joked.
She didn't look at him, but her face etched into more of a frown. "Does it look like it? Why aren't you down there enjoying yourself?"
Shrugging, he wondered for a moment—not revealing the real reason, "I was bored, tired of looking at those sluts."
Finally she looked at him, her brown curls falling into her face. She studied him for a moment, he doing the same. Both opened their mouths at the same time, but neither spoke. "Odd, I was too. I'm not having any fun—I'm not the clubbing type," she replied, looking away again.
"Then why are you here?"
"Uh…" her brow furrowed. "Well, my friends dragged me along."
"I ask again, if you are not having any fun; why are you still here?"
Laughing, she shrugged. "I never even thought of going home—err—but I can't. My friends drove—and…I live…further away, and I don't want to return to our hotel."
"Mm, I see." Turning, so he was also leaning against the railing on his arms, instead of his back (which also meant he was closer to her), he glanced her up and down. Her attire for the night (which, by the looks of it, wasn't hers) was a mid thigh, black, silky looking skirt; her shirt was a blood red tank top, with a black fish net cover; and mid-calf black boots. Her skin was slightly tanned, and her hair was brown and curly; her eyes were brown. While he 'checked her out,' he knew she was doing the same.
But he smirked, there was barely anything to his outfit. Black slacks, a green and silver ripped-in-certain-places shirt, and black shoes. His hair was his feature of anything—aside from his silvery orbs of coldness—it was just two inches past his jaw line, flowing freely. It was combed nicely, not just a messy head, but it looked gorgeous to the girls—blonde, a striking blonde head of silky, just-two-inches-past-the-jaw-line hair.
It was his looks that mostly got the girls, that and his fake, sweet actions, but those didn't come until he was certain or not if he wanted to shag the slut. But this girl—the one he spoke to now—would be an entirely different case.
"So," he pondered. "What's a good-looking girl like you doing all alone?"
She threw him a glance, slightly bewildered. "I told you, I'm not the clubbing type—I don't like this music, I can't stand the way these people dance. Don't be so bold, either! You are not going to get up my skirt."
He laughed, making her blush, "Me? Why would I want to get up your skirt? I was just making friendly conversation."
"Ooh!" she hid her face in her hands. "Now I feel like a fool. Forgive me for making a wrong accusation."
Shaking his head, with a smirk on his face, "No apology is necessary. It was just a mistake."
"A mistake! Why I… me, a mistake? No, it was a wrong accusation."
"I rightly declare it a mistake—an asinine one at that."
"What?" she exclaimed.
"Asinine means-"
"I know what asinine means, but you don't have to make fun of me!" she huffed, standing her ground.
"I'm not making fun of you," he laughed.
"Well it seemed like you were!"
"But I'm not," he said sincerely.
"Fine!"
They both laughed—her more of a giggle—for a moment, before he quietly said; "You are quite the remarkable girl. Any of the other girls I've ever talked to would have gone quiet and never stood her ground—except for maybe one. But I haven't seen her in years, and we weren't the best of friends." He chuckled, recalling a girl from his past school years.
"Oh? What was she? A pretty girl who could catch any guys eye—or" she giggled, "A book worm?"
"The latter, but she was quite a pretty girl when she wanted to be. Like at one of our school dances, she was with this Qui— this sport player and she was so pretty—even I felt jealous of the guy. I think every boy there was jealous of some sort—even the girls. Because this guy was a very famous sport player. But, damn it; I was a jerk to everyone at school—and especially to her."
Watching carefully, he could tell she had tilted her head upwards slightly, watching him out of the corner of her eye. "Oh," was all she replied before a loud pop sounded and the two looked at a new person standing in between them—facing the girl.