(Untitled)

[wishboned]

Who: Perry Holiday (THE GENIE OF THE LAMP) & Isabelle Prescott (THE SNAKE)
What: Pulling pigtails in a playground of the rich and famous. Because really, what else are an ex-wife's friends for?
Where: Swanky Manhattan bar
When: Thursday evening
Rating: TBA, but Perry.

Comments

[aesopserpent]

Too many late nights in the office were beginning to seem like a health hazard, although Isabelle was not entirely certain if it was more for herself or her coworkers. Either way, she had practically been pushed out of the office that evening, in the name of productivity. For everyone else. Which was how Isabelle found herself perched on a bar stool on a Thursday evening, idly stirring the remains of her martini with an olive and doing her best to ignore the men around her who for whatever reason seemed to think that a single woman in a bar was asking to be preyed upon. And here she thought she was conveying 'Go Away' with great skill.

She instinctively bristled at the sudden presence of another body in her personal space and fixed a disdainful glare on her face as she looked to see just who was feeling the need to bother her now. As she was about to offer sarcastic commentary on the man's chances, she glanced up from the irritating elbow to see the face of none other but Perry Holiday - one of the last people she wanted to see

[wishboned]

And Perry could not have been more pleased. Isabelle's great skill at projecting a dislike of others was met with Perry's great skill at ignoring Isabelle's wishes.

"Don't you love coincidences?" he asked, all fantastic smarm, fixing her with an equally broad, equally fake Olive Garden Commercial of a friendly smile. He wasn't sure what to make of the fact that he'd earned a facade--their dislike was easy and mutual. He chalked it up to the other people in the room; the act was for their benefit, that of the other patrons, not his. Maybe hers. It was usually easier to fake kindness than work up the energy for real bile, and if he wasn't much mistaken, Isabelle Prescott looked tired. He took a sip of his drink.

He dropped his eyes to her martini glass, then up at the face of its owner, curious and invasive. "I didn't think Puritans drank."

[aesopserpent]

His apparent attempt to pry was certainly not something she appreciated, but she was beginning to think that he might at least make a mildly amusing diversion for a bit. Her eyes widened and she did her best impression of a simpering ingenue, resting her hand lightly on his arm. "Why Perry, I didn't realize you cared! I've just had the most horrible day imaginable. I drove over a poor, innocent little puppy on my way to work this morning and have been positively wracked with guilt all day! I just had to drown my sorrows in vodka." she replied before rolling her eyes and abruptly dropping the act.

"Please, now who's rehashing old material?" she quipped, her tone back to her normal blend of sarcasm and disdain as she picked up the swizzle stick from her glass and made a bit of a show out of biting the last olive off of it. "I drink. I simply do not get drunk. But I can imagine someone like you would have difficulty appreciating the difference

[wishboned]

"Uh-huh," he said, "Yes I see. Bartender? Yes, hi. I'd like another one of these," Perry rotated his beverage, "And the lady would really, really like a... martini. Dry martini." The last part was added quickly, with a point of his finger, like it was a detail he'd forgotten. That wasn't quite the case. It has a detail he couldn't fetch, yet it was hidden in the crevices of her mind, not his. He wasn't above using his power of desire discernment in the service of getting at women like Isabelle. He drove her to drink, and nothing made him happier than ordering that drink for her; he wrinkled his nose almost cutely as he added it. He finished his glass with a tilt of the wrist and set it on the bar. Then he straightened his tie