The Wallflower
AN: For StarWars-Freak, who wanted more Murray. Be sure to vote for your favorite fics for the First Annual DOTM Fanfic Awards hosted by her and Batsu Simisu-Chan over at the DOTM Writers' forum!
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The trick is to look pissed off.
It might frighten some people away, but looking pissed is a hell of a lot better than looking pathetic.
He's had a lifetime of being pathetic, so now he spends hours in front of a mirror practicing, adjusting his lips and eyebrows into a just-so disenchanted scowl; he had a frown down perfect. Add to that a sense of brooding and an oversized pair of sunglasses and no one will bother him.
See, the wallflower thing only works for so long. Some of the nicer girls- back when he was in high school they almost always had the same pastel colored cardigan and dimpled smile- took pity on wallflowers. That just wouldn't do, he didn't like being approached, he didn't like talking, and after a while he really just didn't like people in general.
He calls it the James Dean method, and he gets a little ironic kick out of it. Karyl eloquently thinks it's a 'pussy magnet'. But it's not, not really. Sure, some girls go for the guy who looks brooding or tortured, but Murray knows there are others that are better at it, and by the time someone like Stanton rolls in, he's all but forgotten.
That works best for him. Murray's not what one would call a people person. Maybe it had something to do with him being bullied all his -normal- life, or just predetermined antisocial tendencies, but either way, when the Followers wanted a party, Murray took comfort in getting a break. Clubbing meant plenty of wall space.
Despite the odds, and they were pretty damn big odds, Murray actually liked most of his housemates. In small doses, of course. Karyl was the guy willing to split a case of beer with him, Cassandra the one to go to for advice, Tymmie to go to for correct advice, and Stanton was hardly ever there. And when he was, he kept to himself.
And then there was Kelly.
Pretty, adorable Kelly. The kind of girl that, before this whole Follower business, never would have looked twice at guys like him. She was probably on the cheerleading squad, or Homecoming Queen, or some other sort of nonsense that basically encompassed the dream girl of most high school losers like he had been. The type of girl that actually won student elections based on friendliness instead of bitchiness.
Whenever they went to The Dungeon, or RockOut, or Planet Bang, Kelly always had guys eating out of the palm of her hand. Usually they even paid for the meal.
Murray knows that all the Followers he lives with are forces to be reckoned with, but secretly he thinks that Kelly is the most dangerous of them all. Kill them with kindness, wasn't that the phrase?
Every time they go out, he takes a sort of perverse pleasure in watching her work her bubbly little magic. He's unique in that he can last the longest with crossing someone over, probably due to a long life of wanting things that are impossible to get. He could probably outlast Stanton, if he had to. So most rounds he warms the bench.
And they each have their methods. Karyl usually goes for the drunk girls after being slapped a few times by the sober ones, cheesy pickup lines and suggestive winks in tow. Cassandra plays it a little bit smarter, tossing out some bait in the form of a dance, or blown kisses before reeling them in completely, Murray pegs her as The Temptress in his mind. Tymmie typically goes the dangerous guy route, putting on a farce that's more badass and edgy than he really is in person. Stanton doesn't do anything, doesn't try to do anything. He'll just stare forever, and look annoyed when it works.
Murray has the James Dean Method.
Kelly has something way more cruel than any of them.
She takes a seat at the bar, usually next to a nice looking guy, someone respectable. Or even worse, a loser, someone who can't believe their luck that a girl like her is willing to share their airspace. And she'll order the same drink, a Sex on the Beach, and she'll blush every time she says the name. If it's a more confident guy she's next to, she'll have it paid for. And she'll take a slow sip, looking comfortable without any effort at all. Then, she'll turn to the guy, and extend her hand cordially.
'Hi, I'm Kelly, what's your name?' And she'll smile with perfect teeth, tilting her head so hair falls only over one shoulder.
The guy, even a confident one, will stutter out an answer.
And then she works her magic.
She talks to them, she listens. She hangs on their every word. She'll laugh at the appropriate places, a tinkly little noise that should annoy Murray but it doesn't. She becomes their lifelong best friend in the span of twenty minutes. She's pretty, but not unattainably beautiful. She's cheerful, but not fake. She's all smiles, but that smile has fangs.
The poor bastards never know what hit them until it's too late. Usually by the time she's leading them out the back door with a yellow stare.
Murray always felt that watching her work was like watching an artist, a dancer to be more specific. It's graceful, the true way their kind is meant to hunt. But he's also afraid. She's a poisonous flower, bright colors that attract attention, but one touch will kill.
Murray's a wallflower.
Wallflowers are just weeds.
Weeds don't fit too well against flowers, which is why, every night when Kelly asks him to dance, he says no.
He wishes she'd just leave him alone, go on with her game that he enjoys being a spectator to, but that's just not in her nature. She needs to be a key player every time.
They've been at The Dungeon for about two hours tonight, Cassandra's idea. Stanton's here for once, mingling with Yvonne with about as much enthusiasm as a child going to get a cavity filled, letting his little students run wild.
Karyl is passed out underneath the bar counter, Tymmie half-heartedly kicking him conscious with his combat boot. Cassandra is in a corner, sulking when she realizes that Stanton isn't watching her dance with another man.
Kelly just came back from outside, where Murray assumes that all-American football player still is.
She caught him watching, she always catches him watching. And, like always, she makes her way to his wall.
"You're no fun Murray," she said, the perfect amount of pout in her tone.
Murray shrugged, "I don't really care."
"Oh yeah? Then why even bother coming out with us every time? I've noticed you don't ever talk to anyone." She's close to him, obviously tired, her weight shifting to lean against his side, head casually resting on his shoulder. He allows it, as he always does. She would be something close to a best friend, after all.
"I like the show," he answered truthfully.
She laughed, tilting her head back so hair only fell over one shoulder, "I bet. Sometimes I just watch Karyl strike out," her clear, blue eyes made their way over to their inebriated housemate, "But don't you ever want to participate?"
He was rendered silent for a moment, feeling only her fingertips as they trailed absently over his arm, down to his palm, back up to his shoulder, "Not really."
Another perfect, practiced pout, and her fingertips curled around his considerably larger hand, "C'mon, party pooper, dance with me." She doesn't really need a question, she knew the answer by now.
Murray gave a weak smile in response, "Not tonight," he lifted both their hands, giving hers a light kiss before untwining his fingers. Hers fell limp to her side.
Kelly sighed, "One of these days, I'm going to pop off that carbuncle-"
"Barnacle," he corrected absently.
"Barnacle," she agreed, "Of a personality from that ship's hull of a wall."
He could only a manage a weak smile at the lie, "One day."
She smiled, this time not showing perfect teeth, a real smile, one that scrunched her face up rather unattractively, and Murray relaxed a bit, "See you at home," she said cheerfully, giving him a little finger wave before going to take a seat next to Tymmie at the bar.
Murray exhaled slowly, knowing that 'one of these days' wasn't going to come. He wouldn't allow it to, because he wasn't like those other guys at the bar, he was smart enough to avoid girls like Kelly.
He could fall in love with a girl like Kelly.
"Cut it out!!" He heard her yell playfully from across the club, giving a half-conscious Karyl a gentle push after he tried to steal a kiss from her. He collapsed back onto the floor, Tymmie cradling his head in his hands with annoyance.
Watching her from a distance, Murray lifted the beer can in his other hand, not the one that was just a little bit warmer, to his lips and took a long sip.
He stayed away, always against the wall. Because he knew about girls like Kelly.
Girls like Kelly could very easily break his heart.