trust, give it time, no matter how long it takes

[floozyfacade]

The dress is red. Scarlet, actually. It seems like an important distinction. When I saw it in the clothes box, that seemed to matter anyway: one last chance to thumb my nose at what I left behind - symbolically, of course. I've been here more than a month and, okay, no, I'm not over what happened but it's time to be, to let it go. I can't fix

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[pointzerothree]

It's probably not the sort of thing he would usually think, or at least let himself give voice to. Olive has only just barely started her song when Eduardo realizes that she's the one up there singing, though, and for a few seconds, he finds, rather unexpectedly, that he actually can't take his eyes off her. The way she smiles, the way she moves, it's so uninhibited that he isn't sure how there's anyone who couldn't be watching, and yet he isn't sure he'd want them to be, either

[dualites]

The hand on his shoulder isn't one that he expects, but it only takes Thomas a moment to shift to better accommodate (he's standing with his hands on the bar counter, ankles neatly crossed, a glass - presently empty - in front of him. He isn't entirely steady on his feet at the moment, he suspects, but no one needs to know that.) At the question posed, his eyebrows immediately arch, his attempt at stifling a laugh manifesting instead as a low noise in the back of his throat.

"I don't see why not," is his answer. If Eduardo were Thomas' age, perhaps, but he'd guess that Eduardo and the girl currently singing are only a handful of years apart. (That said, he thought he knew what the other man was getting at; there was something distinctly free about the way that she moved, the sort of quality that grabbed a person's attention. The sort of thing, he supposed, that he'd first commented on in regard to Lily.) "Do you know her?"

[pointzerothree]

It's a conversation he would probably be having with Mark, if he were here. Eduardo has been distinctly aware of his absence all night, the loss of inhibitions - not complete, but noteworthy - enough to leave him missing his erstwhile best friend in a way he wouldn't otherwise let himself. Like this, notably buzzed, it's easier to remember how good things were, problems with Facebook and the way things wound up seeming a million miles away. At present, Thomas is the best he's got, not necessarily a substitute, but serving the same sort of position, the main difference lying in the answer. (He can practically hear Mark in his head, telling him that yes, of course it is wrong, and calling him a hypocrite for it, not caring that Olive is more than legal on the island.)

"She's my best friend here," he answers with a slight nod, sounding almost helpless for it, his gaze wandering briefly back to where Olive is still singing before he takes another swig from his bottle. "And she's seventeen. I don't think for much longer, but - still."

[dualites]

At that, Thomas doesn't even bother trying not to laugh. It isn't that the matter itself is particularly funny, but the alcohol he's had so far in combination with the slightly hapless way that Eduardo is speaking are enough to set him off. He couldn't really put a specific reason for his laughing into words even if he tried, but still. "Sorry," he says, as soon as he's able to speak again. "I just -" He refrains from continuing, figuring that anything he might be able to contribute at this point would just come across as creepy. (Drunk as he is, he is still lucid.)

As such, he settles for a shrug, shaking his head slightly, eyebrows rising slightly as the corners of his mouth pull down.

[pointzerothree]

Eduardo doesn't know why Thomas is laughing, doesn't have the first idea, in fact, but as far as possible responses go, he figures there could be worse. (He knows, in fact, that there could be worse, as his own reaction to the same idea would have been, even here, where sixteen is legal.) Besides, there's no reason to be bothered by it. Before he realizes it, he's laughing, too, a low, throaty chuckle, one which mostly trails off only when he fixes his gaze on Olive. This time, he doesn't let it linger too long.

"I am... kind of drunk," he says as an explanation, as if that makes sense of all of it, hand holding the bottle gesturing absently in front of him. He's not too far gone - and assumes that goes without saying - but he can tell anyway, which in itself has to be a good sign. "You just what?"

[dualites]

"Ne- it's nothing." In a similar gesture, Thomas waves one hand, then adding, "We're both drunk." It's the truth of it; his accent is getting a little thicker, and the temptation to just switch over to French instead of bothering with English (it's such an ugly language, after all - at least in his opinion) is starting to itch at the back of his conscience. (To be honest, although he isn't completely wasted - yet - he can't really remember the last time he got drunk. He never had the time for it, before, he figures. It wasn't a priority. But time is pretty much all he has, here.)

[pointzerothree]

"What else is a party like this for?" Eduardo asks, eyebrows raising, though he doesn't think there could be an answer. Whatever's the source of all of this, it was clearly generous with drinks, something that he's chosen to take only as encouraging. He never has been the type to get completely smashed, but the relaxation that comes with the drinks he has had is more than a little welcome. "We only get it for a night, might as well make the most of it, right?"

[floozyfacade]

Olive's riding high on everything tonight - the party, the performance, the slight buzz that come with the jitters that only seem to strike after she gets off the stage - even before she spots Eduardo in the crowd. How she missed him out there, she doesn't know, but she makes her way over immediately, all but laughing, to throw her arms around him in a quick hug. She could be embarrassed he saw her, but she forgets to be. "Eduardo," she exclaims, delighted, before pulling back. He looks amazing, though she bites back that particular comment. He's always well-dressed, especially compared to most of the other boys around here, but he's gone all out tonight and it suits him. "I didn't see you - did you see me?"

[pointzerothree]

Olive's arms are around him. Eduardo isn't quite present enough to catch her approach, but he does catch that, the hand without a beer bottle in it resting briefly against her back before she steps away again, when he lets it fall to his own side. Given the train of thought that's so recently lodged itself in his head, this probably ought to feel awkward, but it doesn't; instead, it's just welcome, warmth coursing through his veins. "You were kind of hard to miss," he points out with a lopsided smile, keeping his gaze trained on her face and not her dress. "That was - I didn't know you could sing, wow."

[floozyfacade]

"God, barely," laughs Olive, glancing back at the stage before her gaze locks on him again. "But thank you, really." Even if she thinks she's really just mediocre, his appreciation warms her, one of those little details that gets tucked away and held onto, pulled out again when she sets to over-thinking everything. He's smiling, he means it, isn't just humoring her, and even if he were, seeing him here is exactly what she needs to complete the already lovely evening.

[pointzerothree]

Eduardo wants to tell her that he could hardly take his eyes off her, but he sips his drink instead, which may be counterintuitive but doesn't seem to matter. "No, really, you were wonderful," he says, a little more sincere, though he keeps smiling. It feels good to, almost like something he'd forgotten, that he needed this prompting to remember. "I'd ask if you've been having a good time tonight, but I think that spoke pretty well for itself."

[floozyfacade]

Olive ducks her head, nodding, and smiles up at him again. "It's been fantastic," she says warmly. "I've... I've never been to anything like it. I feel kinda like Cinderella at the world's weirdest ball." It could be a lot stranger, granted, but she's certain Cinderella never dressed like this either and she knows when the night ends, she'll be every bit as alone, but at least she won't have to worry about getting pumpkin on her shoe. She can't be sorry when she's had so much fun or when he's smiling like that. "Although I'd have to do considerably more dancing for that metaphor to hold up. And I like these shoes."

[pointzerothree]

"Do you want to?" Eduardo asks before he can stop himself, hand held out to her, though he doesn't yet set down the bottle in the other. It's casual enough that he half-expects her to say no, and anyway, it's a terrible idea. He isn't much of a dancer, for one, not like the way she was moving in time to the music, and his brain has been going in directions it shouldn't be, he's half-drunk and she probably has other people she should be spending time with. His lack of inhibition is such, though, that he doesn't let any of that faze him, eyebrows raising as he grins at her, more comfortable than sheepish, for once. "Dance, I mean."

[floozyfacade]

If the way Olive's heart starts ricocheting in her chest, all the way up into her throat, is anything to go by, the answer is emphatically yes and should be no. She ducks her head and bites her lip, smile uncontrollable, as she nods, and he must be able to see it, she feels he has to know; the way she feels, she might as well flick on a neon sign over her head, tell everyone how she feels about him. "I... would be delighted," she says, going for playfully proper as she takes his hand and dips a half-curtsy. "Yes."

[pointzerothree]

"Alright." Eduardo does set down his bottle then, not caring that it's unfinished, when he's sure he's not the only person to do so over the course of the evening. His smile, when he looks at her again, is that much wider, broad and easy in a way that, were he presently a little more self-aware, he would be able to tell is wholly uncommon for him these days. As it stands, his attention is entirely on her as he starts toward the crowd of people, hand around hers. "Good."

[floozyfacade]

Something else has come on by now and Olive moves her head to it as she follows him, hands swinging slightly. She's not sure what he means by dancing, if it's like back at Ojai North or something else, and she winds up waiting for him to take the lead, to decide just what this will encompass. Just holding his hand is good enough for now. There's no call to be self-conscious, but she doesn't want to make assumptions.