Flying Solo
Genre: General
Rating: PG13
Author's Note: Hollywood 'verse. Just a repost of what was written for the U/M fest for jenbunny
Darien tried really hard not to feel like a stalker.
But as he circled the room, clicking away with his camera, he could not help being drawn to the corner of the bar, where two blondes idled, laughing and smiling with one of the brunette servers.
He snapped at people around the trio: the bartender serving a cocktail in a martini glass, the color of the liquid as bright and pure as absinthe; the owner of the restaurant shaking hands across a table; a famous actress leaning against one of the tall bar tables - Darien took several of her - with a tall uneasy man at her side who stared unflinchingly at the lens when he realized it was upon him; Ava bustling around the room, seemingly speaking to all the guests while simultaneously ordering around all the servers; the flamboyant entrance of an effeminate well-known media personality who brushed aside everyone until he could fully embrace the new head chef, who was in the middle of serving a steaming bowl of soup with a bit of a wink and an exaggerated flourish.
But even as he took in all these snippets, somehow the blondes at the bar managed to make their way into the periphery of all the pictures. They lingered in the margins, emerging like unfocused ghosts in the corners: unnoticeable until you looked through all the pictures and realized they were in most of them.
Just like at the birthday party.
Darien paused, fiddling with his camera in an attempt to recollect his thoughts. He thought of how the blonde had appeared then, materializing at the edges of his photos. The only true shot he'd had of her was when she'd posed with all the children, huddling down to their short height and smiling just as widely and as genuinely as any of them.
Darien tried not to think of the fact that he couldn't count how many times he'd looked at that picture under the pretense of touching it up once again.
He knew he could ask the child's mother who she was, but he had adamantly determined that there was a big difference between feeling like a stalker and actually being one.
And just when he was finally forgetting about his lost opportunity, when the wistful tendrils of afterthoughts had almost fully floated into nothingness, here she was again.
'It’s fate. It’s a sign. I should ask for her number. I should say hello. I should tell her I was at that same party.'
But would it be strange to know a man who'd been photographing children remembered her face through one picture?
'Put that way, yes. But we were both there. I have photographic evidence.'
Oh yes, that wouldn't be creepy at all. He would have to make sure to mention that.
Darien raised his camera again and forced himself to take pictures away from the blonde. He wished he had someone to talk him through this: a wingman, a friend- hell, he’d take the bum on the corner if he had a pack of smokes to swap. Instead, he settled on himself, who, admittedly, was not the best man for the job.
'Well, I've already taken a couple dozen shots of her-'
Darien smiled to himself as the ever-obvious solution occurred to him.
Make sure to ask the boyfriend to smile too.
'Two birds, one stone.'
After Darien had made a couple rounds around the room, he scanned the area, looking for her once more and hoping she hadn’t left. He worked his way towards her, chatting with small groups of people and taking pictures of them: clusters of women wearing short dresses (black, bright, or shiny) and high heels (three inches minimum), with their hair slung over their shoulders in pretty curls, who all posed at the same angles with one hand resting on a hip; couples or groupings of couples of thirty-somethings who slung their arms around each others’ shoulders; a few smatterings of men who stood as they were, spaced from each other and with smiles or smirks or merely acknowledgement gracing their demeanors; and Darien’s favorite: large gatherings of friends, male and female, who all tried to squeeze into the same shot by ducking low or peering over heads, laughing all the while.
Eventually, he was able to approach the two blondes, making eye contact with the girl. "Would you like a picture of you and your boyfriend?"
Flushed, she slung her arm around the boy and leaned on him heavily. "Why aren't we dating again?"
"Because you're too good for me," he said easily, grinning back and wrapping an arm around her waist.
She wound her other arm around him and squeezed their faces together.
After Darien had counted to three and clicked away, he cleared his throat awkwardly, but before he could stammer out a line - one of the many racing through his head - she shuffled towards him and leaned in.
“Can I see?”
Mutely, Darien pressed the button that would allow her to see the last picture, and as she peered at it, he stared down at her head and noticed how light and fair and blonde her hair was.
“Aw, it’s cute!” she squealed to her friend, who was watching Darien watch her.
“I want this picture! Will you put these up on your website? Or on facebook?” the girl questioned.
To his credit, Darien's pause was minute. "Yeah."
“I can look you up and download it!” she said excitedly. “Do you have a card? What’s your name?”
Hurriedly, Darien grasped at excuses. “I ran out of cards-“
The friend’s eyebrows rose questioningly.
“-but Darien Karas, with a ‘K,’” he added.
Stepping back towards her friend, she asked, “Will they be public?”
Darien shook his head. “But I can just add you. What was your name?”
“Serena Cunningham - spelled just like it sounds.”
“Easy enough. Enjoy the rest of the opening.”
Darien smiled- he presumed it was mostly of the idiotic kind plastered across his face - and gestured goodbye with his camera. He forced himself to walk away, ignoring the other man's eyes boring into his back knowingly.
He repeated her name to himself with a grin.
It wasn’t a number but in today’s day and age-
A thought interrupted.
He was going to have to open a facebook account.
Shit.
Rating: PG13
Author's Note: Hollywood 'verse. Just a repost of what was written for the U/M fest for jenbunny
Darien tried really hard not to feel like a stalker.
But as he circled the room, clicking away with his camera, he could not help being drawn to the corner of the bar, where two blondes idled, laughing and smiling with one of the brunette servers.
He snapped at people around the trio: the bartender serving a cocktail in a martini glass, the color of the liquid as bright and pure as absinthe; the owner of the restaurant shaking hands across a table; a famous actress leaning against one of the tall bar tables - Darien took several of her - with a tall uneasy man at her side who stared unflinchingly at the lens when he realized it was upon him; Ava bustling around the room, seemingly speaking to all the guests while simultaneously ordering around all the servers; the flamboyant entrance of an effeminate well-known media personality who brushed aside everyone until he could fully embrace the new head chef, who was in the middle of serving a steaming bowl of soup with a bit of a wink and an exaggerated flourish.
But even as he took in all these snippets, somehow the blondes at the bar managed to make their way into the periphery of all the pictures. They lingered in the margins, emerging like unfocused ghosts in the corners: unnoticeable until you looked through all the pictures and realized they were in most of them.
Just like at the birthday party.
Darien paused, fiddling with his camera in an attempt to recollect his thoughts. He thought of how the blonde had appeared then, materializing at the edges of his photos. The only true shot he'd had of her was when she'd posed with all the children, huddling down to their short height and smiling just as widely and as genuinely as any of them.
Darien tried not to think of the fact that he couldn't count how many times he'd looked at that picture under the pretense of touching it up once again.
He knew he could ask the child's mother who she was, but he had adamantly determined that there was a big difference between feeling like a stalker and actually being one.
And just when he was finally forgetting about his lost opportunity, when the wistful tendrils of afterthoughts had almost fully floated into nothingness, here she was again.
'It’s fate. It’s a sign. I should ask for her number. I should say hello. I should tell her I was at that same party.'
But would it be strange to know a man who'd been photographing children remembered her face through one picture?
'Put that way, yes. But we were both there. I have photographic evidence.'
Oh yes, that wouldn't be creepy at all. He would have to make sure to mention that.
Darien raised his camera again and forced himself to take pictures away from the blonde. He wished he had someone to talk him through this: a wingman, a friend- hell, he’d take the bum on the corner if he had a pack of smokes to swap. Instead, he settled on himself, who, admittedly, was not the best man for the job.
'Well, I've already taken a couple dozen shots of her-'
Darien smiled to himself as the ever-obvious solution occurred to him.
Make sure to ask the boyfriend to smile too.
'Two birds, one stone.'
After Darien had made a couple rounds around the room, he scanned the area, looking for her once more and hoping she hadn’t left. He worked his way towards her, chatting with small groups of people and taking pictures of them: clusters of women wearing short dresses (black, bright, or shiny) and high heels (three inches minimum), with their hair slung over their shoulders in pretty curls, who all posed at the same angles with one hand resting on a hip; couples or groupings of couples of thirty-somethings who slung their arms around each others’ shoulders; a few smatterings of men who stood as they were, spaced from each other and with smiles or smirks or merely acknowledgement gracing their demeanors; and Darien’s favorite: large gatherings of friends, male and female, who all tried to squeeze into the same shot by ducking low or peering over heads, laughing all the while.
Eventually, he was able to approach the two blondes, making eye contact with the girl. "Would you like a picture of you and your boyfriend?"
Flushed, she slung her arm around the boy and leaned on him heavily. "Why aren't we dating again?"
"Because you're too good for me," he said easily, grinning back and wrapping an arm around her waist.
She wound her other arm around him and squeezed their faces together.
After Darien had counted to three and clicked away, he cleared his throat awkwardly, but before he could stammer out a line - one of the many racing through his head - she shuffled towards him and leaned in.
“Can I see?”
Mutely, Darien pressed the button that would allow her to see the last picture, and as she peered at it, he stared down at her head and noticed how light and fair and blonde her hair was.
“Aw, it’s cute!” she squealed to her friend, who was watching Darien watch her.
“I want this picture! Will you put these up on your website? Or on facebook?” the girl questioned.
To his credit, Darien's pause was minute. "Yeah."
“I can look you up and download it!” she said excitedly. “Do you have a card? What’s your name?”
Hurriedly, Darien grasped at excuses. “I ran out of cards-“
The friend’s eyebrows rose questioningly.
“-but Darien Karas, with a ‘K,’” he added.
Stepping back towards her friend, she asked, “Will they be public?”
Darien shook his head. “But I can just add you. What was your name?”
“Serena Cunningham - spelled just like it sounds.”
“Easy enough. Enjoy the rest of the opening.”
Darien smiled- he presumed it was mostly of the idiotic kind plastered across his face - and gestured goodbye with his camera. He forced himself to walk away, ignoring the other man's eyes boring into his back knowingly.
He repeated her name to himself with a grin.
It wasn’t a number but in today’s day and age-
A thought interrupted.
He was going to have to open a facebook account.
Shit.