No Accounting For
Title: No Accounting For
Rating: G? PG?
Word Count: 200
Paring: Alicia Spinnet / Warrington
Summary: Taste is so very subjective.
“Are you aware that you’re falling out of your dress?”
Warrington was sitting close enough to tell that (a) she was wearing too much perfume and (b) it was cheap perfume at that. He longed to point this out to her, but she was studiously pretending to ignore him, and he wasn’t sure if she’d respond well to his observation.
“Really, Spinnet, I’m serious,” he said. “You’re going to give people bad ideas looking that way, and you know it. It’s not appropriate attire.” He paused. “I think your father would agree with me.”
He wanted to smile, but he thought that might be pushing it.
“Oh, you’re planning on telling him?” Alicia hissed. “Just because you don’t like my dress? You’re right, you know; my dad probably wouldn’t like it either. He doesn’t like anything. My mum helped me pick it out, but there’s no accounting for taste, is there? There seems to be no accounting for yours.”
But I like your dress.
“Don’t worry, Spinnet,” he heard himself say. “I won’t tell him, promise. Here.” He shook his jacket off and offered it to her. “See? No one else will know, so I won’t have to say anything.”
Rating: G? PG?
Word Count: 200
Paring: Alicia Spinnet / Warrington
Summary: Taste is so very subjective.
“Are you aware that you’re falling out of your dress?”
Warrington was sitting close enough to tell that (a) she was wearing too much perfume and (b) it was cheap perfume at that. He longed to point this out to her, but she was studiously pretending to ignore him, and he wasn’t sure if she’d respond well to his observation.
“Really, Spinnet, I’m serious,” he said. “You’re going to give people bad ideas looking that way, and you know it. It’s not appropriate attire.” He paused. “I think your father would agree with me.”
He wanted to smile, but he thought that might be pushing it.
“Oh, you’re planning on telling him?” Alicia hissed. “Just because you don’t like my dress? You’re right, you know; my dad probably wouldn’t like it either. He doesn’t like anything. My mum helped me pick it out, but there’s no accounting for taste, is there? There seems to be no accounting for yours.”
But I like your dress.
“Don’t worry, Spinnet,” he heard himself say. “I won’t tell him, promise. Here.” He shook his jacket off and offered it to her. “See? No one else will know, so I won’t have to say anything.”