WIP Meme
I've been seeing this all over my flist so I decided to give it a go. It's the meme where you open your WIP folder and give the titles/descriptions and then snippets on request.
If you want snippets/excerpts, let me know in the comments and I'll do my best to provide something readable.
So here, in no particular order (except possibly alphabetical ( Read more... )
If you want snippets/excerpts, let me know in the comments and I'll do my best to provide something readable.
So here, in no particular order (except possibly alphabetical ( Read more... )
- - -
The charity gala was a ritzy ordeal, full of champagne and tuxedos and the drone of polite, meaningless small talk. It was the event of the holiday season, when Chicago’s elite gathered to show off their wealth and exchange forced pleasantries under the guise of a good cause.
And although he was a guest of honor due to his rather sizeable donation (for the children, of course), John Marcone hated every minute of it.
He stood near one of the ballroom windows, staring past his reflection and into the glowing nightscape of downtown Chicago. He swirled his drink, listened to the ice clink against the glass, and heaved a sigh.
He could not have been more bored.
In order to amuse himself, he let his green eyes scan the reflection of the elaborate scene behind him. He spotted the senator and his wife, both dressed to the nines to hide their looming middle age. They were speaking with an elderly businessman, who was chuckling heartily at one of the senator’s undoubtedly inane comments. Beyond that group was a small gaggle of provocatively clad women, all nursing sparkling glasses of champagne and whispering as they eyed a broad-shouldered man standing near the hors d’ouevres table.
Marcone let his gaze drift in that direction, and his breath caught in his throat when sharp blue eyes met his in the reflection. Marcone recovered quickly from his surprise and glared at the other man, who grinned at him, all easy confidence with his classy designer suit and sleek black hair.
Marcone knew who he was, of course. He had been watching him with interest all evening. It was the first time he had seen the man in person, but there was no mistaking that strutting playboy persona.
Bruce Wayne, billionaire industrialist, philanthropist, and CEO of Wayne Enterprises.
“Brucie!” cooed one of the women, a blonde in a black dress who Marcone recognized as a prominent journalist at the Tribune. She sidled up to the dark-haired man with a lascivious smirk, running her fingers over his lapel, and whispered something into his ear that made Wayne grin and the rest of the women flush with jealousy. Wayne replied in a sotto rumble that Marcone did not quite catch, and then the prominent journalist actually giggled and took a hasty chug of her champagne.
Marcone raised an eyebrow, but he was not all that surprised. Wayne was known for having a certain… way with women.
The group of women began to prattle amongst themselves and Wayne slipped away with more stealth than should have befitted a superficial socialite. He came to stand beside Marcone, sharp eyes fixed on the world outside.
“You’ve been watching me,” he said, voice pitched low enough for only the two of them to hear.
Marcone smiled a predator’s smile. “Perhaps.”
- - -
AND THEN THEY HAVE A PISSING CONTEST TO SEE WHO IS THE MOST SUBTLY BADASS. And then other things happen, of course, but I haven't gotten there yet.
I AM GLAD YOU'RE JUST AS EXCITED AS I AM.
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