Metamorphosis
Title: Metamorphosis
Author: persephone33
Fandom: None. *gasp* This is original fiction.
Prompt: Jasmine, forever
Word count: 1848
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Author's Note: I joined Brigits_Flame a while back after seeing all the fun that Sue_bridehead had there, and plus I needed a place to stretch my OC muscles. These are bastardized versions of the characters in my nanowrimo novel.
The ball was a masterpiece of silks and chiffons, of black ties and starched cuffs; champagne flowed freely and tuxedo-ed waiters served hors d'œuvres from silver trays. Crystal goblets filled with the best vintages were sipped 'round the room, with the elite of society politely deigning to speak with thin lipped smiles to the lesser, working class folks.
The entire scene made Beau Conrad a bit ill, truth be told. He didn't know why Ella had dragged him here, because it certainly wasn't to keep her company. He'd spent approximately two seconds in the inimitable Miss Murphy's coveted presence before she linked arms with another male friend to make the rounds, to smile and nod and speak to all the right donors, to pretend all the players in the game were still on their respective sides and no one was giving an inch.
Beau leaned up against the wall and loosened his tie. He scanned the faces in the crowd without much interest, simply tired of it all.
"You look bored, Conrad." A wave of brunette hair was tossed expertly behind a elegant, creamy shoulder, and the woman didn't really break stride.
Beau looked up, surprised by the last person he expected to see at this or any similar event. "No I'm not," he protested.
"Please. Who do you think you're talking to?" Nora James asked in the superior tone that only she could use and get away with. "You're bored."
"I'm not," he argued.
Nora looked at him critically, cocking her head. "You know, I'm a bit disappointed. When you prep school boys lie; I always expect a rather large flash bang or something really dramatic to happen." She waited, biting her bottom lip and frowning a bit. "Not even a puff of smoke? Nothing?" She shrugged and sipped from the flute in her hand. "Too bad. Suppose it can't be helped, though."
Beau watched her teeth bite into the bottom lip that he'd known quite intimately once upon a time, and felt something within him twinge. Pushing whatever it was aside, Beau asked. "Are you bored?"
"Me?" She stepped out through the terrace doors into the evening air and raised her arms expansively, her ebony hair blending into the night sky. "I'm me, Conrad. Best company there is. I'm never bored."
"Yeah, I recall as much," he said, unable to stop himself from following her out into the cool of the evening.
She sat her champagne on the rail of the balcony, smoothly opening her bag and extracting a cigarette, which Beau promptly took from her and threw over the side. "Those are really bad for you."
"Are they good for the gardens down there?" she asked, leaning over the rail, looking mournfully where her cig had gone to die.
"Probably not," he told her, following her gaze to the greenery below.
"So are you're a paragon of good virtue now, are you?" she asked. "No drinking, no smoking, no swearing?" She laughed, the sound floating to him surrounded by a waft of her perfume. "No wonder you're bored."
"I'm not bored," he persisted.
"Course not. You're talking to me, now," she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Sliding up to sit on the rail, she crossed one long leg over the other, exposing a slit of creamy thigh in the deep blue velvet of her gown.
He forced his gaze from her legs and looked at her face, immediately frowning. There was a change there; a big one. If he hadn't known it was her, her hair, her voice, her perfume... jasmine... something, her remembered, he might not have recognized her. "James, what the hell did you do to your nose?"
Nora smiled brilliantly, the same smile as she'd always had, when she chose to use it, but touched the tip of her finger to her decidedly different nose. "What? Do you think your Ella Murphy's cornered the market on cosmetic surgery? Please. I had a chance to have it fixed, so I did."
"You looked fine before," he said gruffly.
"Ah, now don't go lying again, Beauregard. You know how I get disappointed when you do." She gestured to the air above his head with the same disappointed air as before. "No fireworks. Pity," she bemoaned, tutting.
"I'm not lying," he said.
She laughed and leaned back dangerously, her hair falling like a dark Rapunzel into the inky night. "Liar!" she exclaimed without any real malice. "As I recall, your words were something like, 'You're a pug-nosed bitch, James," she recited, looking up at him and raising a challenging brow.
"Well, I like dogs," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting. His gaze turned serious and her murmured, "There was nothing wrong with your nose," he said.
"No, there's nothing wrong with it now," she argued. "But I'm still a bitch, if that gives you any comfort at all. Nothing to be done about that."
"You checked into it, did you?"
"No, not really. I've got as much hubris as the next public school girl. Enough not to really give a damn about being a better person."
He regarded her a moment, and then gave in to the instinct to pull her back up to a seated position, where she at least appeared to be safely seated on the railing. "You should really be more careful," he said, leaving his hand on her arm and letting himself inhale her scent once again. That was a comfort, more than anything. The constant of Nora James' perfume, always and forever Jasmine, even if everything else changed.
"What are you, my mother, now?" she asked, sliding down off the balcony railing to stand in front of him.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, evading her question. "This doesn't really seem like somewhere you'd want to be."
"Times change," she said simply. "People change."
"No they don't," he argued, looking down at her. "I think it was you that told me that, once before."
"Well, I lied." She shot him a smirk, one of those expressions that he loved so much. "I don't have as much at stake as you do. And people expect it of me."
"People expect you to lie?" he asked.
"And cheat, and steal, and kick puppies, and poison songbirds, most likely," she continued, raising her arms again. "I'm me. You get the perks, you get the drawbacks." She picked up her champagne flute again, draining it of its content in one go. "I've a question for you, if you don't mind," she said, moving closer to him again. His fingers itched to pull her closer and bury his nose in the crook of her neck to find out once and for all if the jasmine scent really was perfume, or maybe her shampoo, or just merely her, but he refrained. From the corner of his eye he saw a flash of Ella's red dress from the ballroom and idly wondered if he'd get caught out here with her.
Part of him wanted to.
Part of him wanted more.
His attention had drifted, and he found her gazing at him with an amused expression. "Oh, er, yeah? You can ask me a question."
"Why are you here? Other than the fact that the illustrious Miss Murphy needed an escort?"
He shrugged, which only made her frown. "You don't know why you're here?"
"Some charity something?" he ventured.
Her smile looked sad; it drooped a bit more, and she took the silk of his tie between her fingertips, letting it slide through slowly. "No. No charities," she said with a soft chuckle. "Not like you're thinking, anyway."
He was confused. Even though they were of different social classes, she'd always been much smarter than her was. At one time, he'd readily admitted that. "What is tonight's event for, then?" he started to ask but he heard his name being called in Ella's strident voice and then the clip clip clip of her heels on the travertine stone of the balcony floor.
"Beau, darling!" she trilled. "What are you doing out here?" she asked, turning on her purchased smile to full wattage.
"I was talking to-" he began, but found that Nora James had disappeared, back into the party, he supposed.
"To yourself?" Ella asked skeptically. "How fun."
"Why?" he asked, brushing his irritation with her tone aside. "What have I missed?" He didn't care, not really, but he had come here with Ella, and it would certainly be poor form to leave her here and go find someone more interesting to spend his time with.
"You'll get a kick out of this," Ella said, taking his arm without it being offered to her. "Remember that girl you dated when we were in school? she asked, a maniacal glint behind her eyes. The sort of trashy one with the dark hair, bad attitude and cheap perfume?"
Beau's face went impassive. He knew exactly who Ella was talking about.
It turns out," Nora said, not bothering to suppress a giggle, "that she's getting some sort of humanitarian award! Can you imagine? She was barely more than a whore when we knew her and now she's--"
"She's not a whore."
"Well of course she's not now, Beau. We're adults. No one really does that, anymore."
"She wasn't back then, either."
"Okay," Ella said, giving in immediately, though he could tell that she was exasperated with him. Not that he cared. "She wasn't a whore. But she definitely doesn't belong here, either."
His gaze turned to the platform at the head of the room in time to see a man he recognized as the titular head of his father's trust giving an award to a serene, confident Nora James, looking every bit as if she'd fit in anywhere she went. "Dunno, Ella," he said quietly, his eyes transfixed on the brunette at the microphone. "She looks as if she belongs to me."
His date gave an unmistakable huff of indignation, but Beau didn't even bother to look at her in return. His words could have had a double meaning, and he just didn't feel like correcting what Ella might have misinterpreted. His eyes locked briefly with Nora's, the girl from his past, and he smiled and nodded at her.
To his surprise, she smiled and winked back at him, never faltering from the words of her acceptance speech, and he found himself wanting a completely different reality than he had at present. It would contain far less of the woman on his arm about to throw a hissy fit, and more of her. He wanted a reality in which his fingers could twine in raven-colored hair and the scent of jasmine would fill his nose; where class wasn't an issue, and there weren't a thousand people in between him and the one girl he wanted to continue a conversation with.
Beau smiled, despite the imperfection of the evening.
Tonight wasn't their last night on Earth. There was always tomorrow. And tomorrow, he decided, was going to be definitely better.
Author: persephone33
Fandom: None. *gasp* This is original fiction.
Prompt: Jasmine, forever
Word count: 1848
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Author's Note: I joined Brigits_Flame a while back after seeing all the fun that Sue_bridehead had there, and plus I needed a place to stretch my OC muscles. These are bastardized versions of the characters in my nanowrimo novel.
The ball was a masterpiece of silks and chiffons, of black ties and starched cuffs; champagne flowed freely and tuxedo-ed waiters served hors d'œuvres from silver trays. Crystal goblets filled with the best vintages were sipped 'round the room, with the elite of society politely deigning to speak with thin lipped smiles to the lesser, working class folks.
The entire scene made Beau Conrad a bit ill, truth be told. He didn't know why Ella had dragged him here, because it certainly wasn't to keep her company. He'd spent approximately two seconds in the inimitable Miss Murphy's coveted presence before she linked arms with another male friend to make the rounds, to smile and nod and speak to all the right donors, to pretend all the players in the game were still on their respective sides and no one was giving an inch.
Beau leaned up against the wall and loosened his tie. He scanned the faces in the crowd without much interest, simply tired of it all.
"You look bored, Conrad." A wave of brunette hair was tossed expertly behind a elegant, creamy shoulder, and the woman didn't really break stride.
Beau looked up, surprised by the last person he expected to see at this or any similar event. "No I'm not," he protested.
"Please. Who do you think you're talking to?" Nora James asked in the superior tone that only she could use and get away with. "You're bored."
"I'm not," he argued.
Nora looked at him critically, cocking her head. "You know, I'm a bit disappointed. When you prep school boys lie; I always expect a rather large flash bang or something really dramatic to happen." She waited, biting her bottom lip and frowning a bit. "Not even a puff of smoke? Nothing?" She shrugged and sipped from the flute in her hand. "Too bad. Suppose it can't be helped, though."
Beau watched her teeth bite into the bottom lip that he'd known quite intimately once upon a time, and felt something within him twinge. Pushing whatever it was aside, Beau asked. "Are you bored?"
"Me?" She stepped out through the terrace doors into the evening air and raised her arms expansively, her ebony hair blending into the night sky. "I'm me, Conrad. Best company there is. I'm never bored."
"Yeah, I recall as much," he said, unable to stop himself from following her out into the cool of the evening.
She sat her champagne on the rail of the balcony, smoothly opening her bag and extracting a cigarette, which Beau promptly took from her and threw over the side. "Those are really bad for you."
"Are they good for the gardens down there?" she asked, leaning over the rail, looking mournfully where her cig had gone to die.
"Probably not," he told her, following her gaze to the greenery below.
"So are you're a paragon of good virtue now, are you?" she asked. "No drinking, no smoking, no swearing?" She laughed, the sound floating to him surrounded by a waft of her perfume. "No wonder you're bored."
"I'm not bored," he persisted.
"Course not. You're talking to me, now," she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Sliding up to sit on the rail, she crossed one long leg over the other, exposing a slit of creamy thigh in the deep blue velvet of her gown.
He forced his gaze from her legs and looked at her face, immediately frowning. There was a change there; a big one. If he hadn't known it was her, her hair, her voice, her perfume... jasmine... something, her remembered, he might not have recognized her. "James, what the hell did you do to your nose?"
Nora smiled brilliantly, the same smile as she'd always had, when she chose to use it, but touched the tip of her finger to her decidedly different nose. "What? Do you think your Ella Murphy's cornered the market on cosmetic surgery? Please. I had a chance to have it fixed, so I did."
"You looked fine before," he said gruffly.
"Ah, now don't go lying again, Beauregard. You know how I get disappointed when you do." She gestured to the air above his head with the same disappointed air as before. "No fireworks. Pity," she bemoaned, tutting.
"I'm not lying," he said.
She laughed and leaned back dangerously, her hair falling like a dark Rapunzel into the inky night. "Liar!" she exclaimed without any real malice. "As I recall, your words were something like, 'You're a pug-nosed bitch, James," she recited, looking up at him and raising a challenging brow.
"Well, I like dogs," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting. His gaze turned serious and her murmured, "There was nothing wrong with your nose," he said.
"No, there's nothing wrong with it now," she argued. "But I'm still a bitch, if that gives you any comfort at all. Nothing to be done about that."
"You checked into it, did you?"
"No, not really. I've got as much hubris as the next public school girl. Enough not to really give a damn about being a better person."
He regarded her a moment, and then gave in to the instinct to pull her back up to a seated position, where she at least appeared to be safely seated on the railing. "You should really be more careful," he said, leaving his hand on her arm and letting himself inhale her scent once again. That was a comfort, more than anything. The constant of Nora James' perfume, always and forever Jasmine, even if everything else changed.
"What are you, my mother, now?" she asked, sliding down off the balcony railing to stand in front of him.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, evading her question. "This doesn't really seem like somewhere you'd want to be."
"Times change," she said simply. "People change."
"No they don't," he argued, looking down at her. "I think it was you that told me that, once before."
"Well, I lied." She shot him a smirk, one of those expressions that he loved so much. "I don't have as much at stake as you do. And people expect it of me."
"People expect you to lie?" he asked.
"And cheat, and steal, and kick puppies, and poison songbirds, most likely," she continued, raising her arms again. "I'm me. You get the perks, you get the drawbacks." She picked up her champagne flute again, draining it of its content in one go. "I've a question for you, if you don't mind," she said, moving closer to him again. His fingers itched to pull her closer and bury his nose in the crook of her neck to find out once and for all if the jasmine scent really was perfume, or maybe her shampoo, or just merely her, but he refrained. From the corner of his eye he saw a flash of Ella's red dress from the ballroom and idly wondered if he'd get caught out here with her.
Part of him wanted to.
Part of him wanted more.
His attention had drifted, and he found her gazing at him with an amused expression. "Oh, er, yeah? You can ask me a question."
"Why are you here? Other than the fact that the illustrious Miss Murphy needed an escort?"
He shrugged, which only made her frown. "You don't know why you're here?"
"Some charity something?" he ventured.
Her smile looked sad; it drooped a bit more, and she took the silk of his tie between her fingertips, letting it slide through slowly. "No. No charities," she said with a soft chuckle. "Not like you're thinking, anyway."
He was confused. Even though they were of different social classes, she'd always been much smarter than her was. At one time, he'd readily admitted that. "What is tonight's event for, then?" he started to ask but he heard his name being called in Ella's strident voice and then the clip clip clip of her heels on the travertine stone of the balcony floor.
"Beau, darling!" she trilled. "What are you doing out here?" she asked, turning on her purchased smile to full wattage.
"I was talking to-" he began, but found that Nora James had disappeared, back into the party, he supposed.
"To yourself?" Ella asked skeptically. "How fun."
"Why?" he asked, brushing his irritation with her tone aside. "What have I missed?" He didn't care, not really, but he had come here with Ella, and it would certainly be poor form to leave her here and go find someone more interesting to spend his time with.
"You'll get a kick out of this," Ella said, taking his arm without it being offered to her. "Remember that girl you dated when we were in school? she asked, a maniacal glint behind her eyes. The sort of trashy one with the dark hair, bad attitude and cheap perfume?"
Beau's face went impassive. He knew exactly who Ella was talking about.
It turns out," Nora said, not bothering to suppress a giggle, "that she's getting some sort of humanitarian award! Can you imagine? She was barely more than a whore when we knew her and now she's--"
"She's not a whore."
"Well of course she's not now, Beau. We're adults. No one really does that, anymore."
"She wasn't back then, either."
"Okay," Ella said, giving in immediately, though he could tell that she was exasperated with him. Not that he cared. "She wasn't a whore. But she definitely doesn't belong here, either."
His gaze turned to the platform at the head of the room in time to see a man he recognized as the titular head of his father's trust giving an award to a serene, confident Nora James, looking every bit as if she'd fit in anywhere she went. "Dunno, Ella," he said quietly, his eyes transfixed on the brunette at the microphone. "She looks as if she belongs to me."
His date gave an unmistakable huff of indignation, but Beau didn't even bother to look at her in return. His words could have had a double meaning, and he just didn't feel like correcting what Ella might have misinterpreted. His eyes locked briefly with Nora's, the girl from his past, and he smiled and nodded at her.
To his surprise, she smiled and winked back at him, never faltering from the words of her acceptance speech, and he found himself wanting a completely different reality than he had at present. It would contain far less of the woman on his arm about to throw a hissy fit, and more of her. He wanted a reality in which his fingers could twine in raven-colored hair and the scent of jasmine would fill his nose; where class wasn't an issue, and there weren't a thousand people in between him and the one girl he wanted to continue a conversation with.
Beau smiled, despite the imperfection of the evening.
Tonight wasn't their last night on Earth. There was always tomorrow. And tomorrow, he decided, was going to be definitely better.