worlds collide memething!

[puella_nerdii]

Stolen from Mith! (Like she stole my heart, and other such ridiculous endearments.)

Step One: Choose one from Column A, one from Column B.

COLUMN A: FAN CHARACTERSFinnick Odair (The Hunger Games) - everyone's golden god (and he'd rather he wasn't

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[puella_nerdii]

The man's an MI6 son-of-a-bitch if Ronan ever saw one, golden and gleaming and eating a little too much shit with that grin of his. But if shit-eating grins were enough grounds for, well, anything, Ronan'd probably have to collar himself. Besides, he's in enemy territory, and no matter what he'd like to do to some of these guys, if he starts anything up they're going to do it to him first. So he watches, waits, signals for another drink as the musicians switch into a slower set. More couples trickle onto the floor, but the man stays on the sidelines. He's watching a golden-haired girl dance with a man who might've been handsome once but let age and gravity drag him down and fill him out. From the way Golden Boy's lips thin, he's not too happy about it.

And now Golden Boy's staring at him. Ronan relaxes his fingers around his glass. "Is there something you want?" he asks, not pleasantly. He doesn't waste time with the bullshit, looks like. Good. Ronan's kind of guy.

"Depends," Ronan says, and lets the man take that whatever way he wants.

The man snorts. "You're looking in the wrong place," he says, and condescension must come as easy to him as breathing because it drips from every syllable he drawls out.

Ronan shrugs, reminds himself not to let his accent slip. "And you're looking in the right one?" He glances over the man's shoulder at the woman, who's staring back at them both now. Her partner doesn't seem to notice, but then again, he looks about three sheets to the wind.

The man laughs. It sounds friendly. It isn't. "My sweet sister does like to be the center of attention."

"She is." Ronan looks at her again, and yeah, she's gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous he doesn't trust an inch, but then again, most of the women here are.

"She'll be pleased to hear it." The man checks his watch. "And I'll be pleased to leave."

"You could," Ronan says. "I don't think she'd mind if you left her unchaperoned."

The man smiles, thin and sharp, the corner of his mouth twisting up. "You might be a colonial, from the sound of you," he says, "but even a colonial ought to know that's a stupid idea."

"This colonial doesn't."

"You don't leave the lady Lannister unattended, particularly when she's dancing with the heir apparent." The man runs his fingers through his hair the way Ronan sometimes does, but not to smooth it into place, which is usually why Ronan does it. "Enjoy yourself in the capital. I have more revelry to watch."