Seeds of Discord
Oct. 9, 2008 2:10 pm
Hermione got off the bus and pulled her backpack onto her shoulder. She turned up her iPod, smiling slightly. Hinder. Hinder was good. She stuck one hand in her pocket, the other holding the shoulder strap of her bag. She walked down the street, idly skipping over the cracks in the sidewalk like she used to when she was a kid. Vermont Avenue. The street she'd lived on since she was three. She passed by houses that she had gone trick-or-treating at years ago. There was Mr. Lupin's house. He had always had big candy bars. She liked him. Though he was nearly seventy now, he still gave piano lessons to all the neighborhood kids. He taught her, too, for a while, had given her M&M's whenever she got her scales right. A few numbers down was Mrs. Potter's house. She and her husband went all out every year for Christmas time. With all the lights put up, you could probably see their house from space. Mrs. Potter and her husband were retired bakers. Every time you walked into their house, the smell of cookies or a cake lingered in the air. On the other side of the street was Ginny's house. Her best friend usually walked home with her, but she was stuck after school today for detention. How she violated the dress code at a performing arts school, Hermione had no idea. But apparently, it was possible.
Hermione walked up to her door, digging for her key. After she unlocked the door and slipped inside, she called out, "Honey, I'm home!" No one answered. Of course, Hermione hadn't expected anyone to. Her mom was going to close a huge real estate deal today. Bob, her stepdad, had a big presentation due next week, so he'd probably be staying late tonight. At least it was Friday. She and Ginny had plans tonight. Ginny's brother was going to a party, and had told them about it. He was a senior in school like them. So they had decided to head over and check it out. If it sucked, no harm done. If it was great, then they'd stay for a while.
5:30 pm
"Ginny. Ginny? Ginny!"
The girl in question looked up, rubbing her head where Hermione had hit her. "Why you gotta be hatin', girl?"
"Will you shut up?" Ginny smiled. "Anyway, I wanted ask you a question."
"Well, ask, stupid."
"Do you like the red tank top or the black one?"
Ginny thought for a moment, then hopped off the bed grinning. She opened her closet doors with a flourish, and looked inside. "The purple corset."
Hermione shook her head. "I can't wear that!"
"Yes you can!" was the answer.
"I can't!"
"You can!"
"Can't!"
"Can!"
Hermione gave in, and pulled the corset on. As she snapped the clasps up the side of it, Ginny whistled and the two girls grinned.
"Okay girl. You ready to make chaos?"
10:42 pm
Hermione swayed slightly to the music, a beer in hand. She watched the crowd, lost in her thoughts. So lost, in fact, that she nearly shrieked when a hand clasped her shoulder.
"Not going to dance?"
She turned, almost dropping the cup she was holding. She took a breath and answered, "I don't dance."
While the man in front of her pondered this, she took a moment to look him over. He was an Adonis. Unlike the boy in Honores de Balzac's Sarrasine, though, this boy was no innocent.
He was a dark, troubled Adonis, lost in the world, trusting no one. He was a god-child dressed in tight jeans and biker boots. She could imagine him in a leather jacket; she could imagine him in nothing. She could imagine him in nothing a little too well for her comfort. At the moment, though, he was wearing a red muscle shirt. The color of sin, she mused. He smiled. It was a smile full of promise, and not all of it good. It promised to bring her to the edge, and then throw her right over it. It promised to make her feel invincible and then smash her to pieces. "Everyone dances."
She shook her head, in part to say no, in part to clear her mind a bit. He took her hand in his and pulled her gently on to the dance floor. The DJ put on a new song, by The Cat Empire. Hermione couldn't help the small grin. She loved this band.
Adonis, as she had christened him, smiled back. She blushed a little bit. "I really don't dance…"
He smiled wider. Again, she got the feeling that the man with his hands on her hips was no innocent.
She followed his lead, hips swaying, smooth, flowing. This man was no innocent, probably never was. And Hermione loved it.
October 9, 2008 2:10 pm
Em knocked on the heavy oak door and waited. A moment later, the door swung open, hinges silent as always.
He held out the envelope. "Mr. Peterson realized that he forgot to pay you his rent."
The man at the door smiled. "Glad he remembered. Take five hundred and go find yourself a girl."
Em shook his head and took the money. He knew better than to argue at this point.
"Oh, and Em?"
"Yes, Sir?"
"Wear those jeans. The ones that I like."
Em laughed.
5:30 pm
"Medium, extra cream, extra sugar." Em handed over the two bucks, took his coffee, and walked out the door. He walked across the street and leaned against a railing, waiting for the train. It showed up a few minutes later and he got on, swiping his card. He grabbed the overhead rail, quiet.
Em drank his coffee silently, and people watched.
10:42 pm
Em had his eyes on her. A girl in a deep purple corset, dark blue jeans, and black Converse. She was pretending to drink a beer, swaying to the music. He could see a boy a boy about ten feet away eyeing her. Something hot and sudden flashed through him, making him clench his fists. He put down his drink and slipped through the crowd.
She jumped when he put his hand on her shoulder. Em smirked.
"Not going to dance?" he purred. He watched as she nearly dropped her cup.
"I don't dance," she answered quietly. She was flustered. Em fought the urge to laugh. He seemed to have this effect on people. Hm. It was a shame. She seemed like she would be a great dancer. The way she swayed her hips, the way she held herself… He again fought the urge to smile as she looked him over. A few emotions flashed across her face. There was the usual one, fear. Most people seemed to sense that he was dangerous. Lust was another one. He knew he was appealing. There was curiosity, which happened every once in a while. They wanted to know him, to understand him. They never would. Em wouldn't allow it.
Em smiled, his eyes glinting in the low light. He grabbed her hand, leading her on to the dance floor. "Everyone dances," he murmured.
The DJ, who had an amazing sense of timing, put on a good song. It was slow, beat heavy, and a bit different. There were some trumpets involved in this one, some saxophone, too. The bass line was heavy, but good.
The girl blushed. "I really don't dance…" Em simply put his hands on her hips, pulling her a bit closer to him. They swayed; she kept time with her hips. He leaned in a bit; she leaned back against him, her head fitting nicely under his chin.
October 10, 2008 12:31 am
Hermione leaned against him, this dark Adonis of hers. She liked the way his hands stayed on her the whole night through. It seemed that he was actually possessive of her, though he'd only met her a few hours ago. In a way, she liked it. She felt his breath brushing against her neck, his body pressed against her own.
"Honores de Balzac got it all wrong," she said quietly.
Adonis didn't answer. His hands merely tightened their grip for a moment before he pulled away. She was left feeling rather cold.
"Perhaps, my dear, these are things best left for examination in daylight."
Her heart started beating a bit faster. "There's a coffee shop near my school, called Rosio's." She trailed off, a bit uncertain.
"Hm. Four o'clock, then." He answered.
She took a breath to speak. But he was gone.
October 10, 2008 12:31 am
Em could smell the oranges in her shampoo. Not overly strong perfume, not some "alluring" scent. He liked it. It was simple. Not pretentious, not at all. He ghosted down her neck, brushing his lips against her skin. This one would be his. Without a doubt. She wanted to be his. And she would be. At least for a little while. He'd get bored eventually. Em was startled out of his thoughts by her quiet murmur of "Honores de Balzac got it all wrong."
Em raised an eyebrow and filed that away to ask about later.
Em glanced at his watch quickly, and swore silently. He tightened his grip on her, not wanting to let go, but knowing that he had to. Damn his job, always cutting into free time.
"Perhaps," he answered, "these are things best left for examination in daylight."
"There's a coffee shop near my school, called Rosio's," she offered.
"Hm." He thought for a minute. "Four o'clock, then."
Em left without fanfare, slipping out through a side door.