"That was more than that slut deserved, anyways." Eriol muttered darkly. His best drinking buddy gave him a derisive look.
Harold was merely standing there over a half-nude woman, passed out on the streets. He looked still quite impeccable for being on crystal meth or some other such thing, expensive clothes in place and blond hair mussed only slightly. His green eyes looked extremely annoyed.
"Just tell that to the constable, old chap. I'm out." Harold, or better known as Harry, ushered Eriol into a curvaceous black luxury car and sped away with a squealing of large chrome tires. Eriol glared at the young man as they sped through the neon-lit streets of London's club district, or at least trying to pull off something that would pass as a glare through his liquor induced haze.
"She was such a whore, you know that?" Eriol asked absently. She really had been. Annalise or whatever her name was. Harry rolled his eyes.
"Get real, Eriol. The police don't really care if she brought all this down on herself. They just care that she's out cold in the streets with no clothes, even if she did take them off herself. And you're the last one with her, so that really is a problem for you."
Eriol opened his mouth, before Harold interrupted him again.
"And don't get sick on my leather seats."
"I won't, you bastard. Calm it." Harold laughed. The man actually laughed at him!
"You're very drunk, Eriol. I'd better take you home." Eriol waved away his offer coolly. Drunk, was he? He could still probably do a few magic tricks to show that smug son-of-a-bitch. What was his problem anyway?
"I'm not that drunk, Harry. Take me somewhere." Eriol was very careful not to slur his speech. Being drunk so many times did have its up sides. He was always sure that he looked all right, avoiding stumbling and careless movements, and making sure that his clothes were all in perfect order. Control was a thing that came easily to him, and he was rarely without it.
"Where do you want to go?"
"We can go to the Raven." Eriol replied. The Raven was actually a nice nightclub actually, with damn fine drinks. Harry gave him a look.
"Eriol, old boy, you don't need any more drinks to get yourself arrested or bloody indicted. What you do bloody need is to learn how to control yourself."
"What about you, Harry?" Eriol shot back. Really, the young man could be such a hypocrite.
"You've tried every chemical substance in bloody hell and still you won't stop at finding new ones." They'd see who needed to control himself, Eriol thought darkly.
"Fuck you." Harry replied absently. Harry really was an ass sometimes, Eriol reflected as they pulled into the Raven's parking lot. He was really in no mood to put up with him.
The fuzzy haze of intoxication was one of things that he most enjoyed about it, and what he really needed now was some amoral woman to set off the night. And he was Clow, so what did he need to worry about getting in trouble? He could zap himself out of any potential trouble that might pop up. Harry called him an idiot when he was high, and Eriol really didn't care. He was going to get a girl if he had to pay for it. Reckless behavior, his pretty bottom.
"Let's go in." Harry said. "And don't fall on your face before you do, old chap." For someone who was normally so polite and refined, Harry really got an ironic, callous sense of humor sometimes. When he was drunk or on a drug-induced high, that is. Eriol rolled his eyes, and got out of the car in a fluid movement. They would see who was better at pretending that they weren't on some sort of high.
The ear shattering music and deep beat reverberated through his skull, and he had temporary thoughts about leaving. Then he decided against it, sinking deeply into his to-hell-with-it mood. It was hot in that place, far too hot for all those people to be jammed and grinding with each other in a frenzied, mindless beat. Flashes of bright, colored light shimmered on the walls, and cast their momentary reign on the many scantily clad women. There was a nice bar, too, but Harold pulled him away and set him down at one of the deep leather booths with tonic water.
Eriol and Harry had been sitting there for only a few moments, before they started their ritual game of rating the woman. One a scale of one to ten, ten the highest and one the lowest. Eriol relaxed back into the seat, assuming an arrogant posture, and smirked at women who looked his way. Harry was less subtle. The man really ran his eyes over every one that walked by, and there were some nice ones. This was a very good club, exclusive with good service.
"That one deserves a zero." Harry said laughingly.
"Old chap, one is the lowest you can get. She gets a negative five." Harry and Eriol laughed, the woman being a bit overweight but still insisting on wearing very skimpy clothing. Eriol had once remembered a woman commenting that they two were quite possibly the cruelest pair that she had ever seen. Of course, that had been in a drunken rage. Women really were silly sometimes.
"That was quite a hideous outfit, if you ask me. Do some women have no taste?" Eriol asked.
"No, she's just male. She hasn't any distinguishing characteristic to make her the slightest bit female, except for that spectacular bottom. And she's got a bit more facial hair than I do." Harry replied. The man had not conscience. Oh well. The woman really was ugly, anyhow.
Eriol chuckled as a girl winked at him. She was actually quite hot, very blond and with pale blue eyes. Her entire outfit probably couldn't make one of his shirts. Really, there was a fine line between taste and a whore. He gave a half wave, and the girl brightened, heading over to his way. Oops.
"Oh, fucking bloody hell." He muttered. Women sometimes made him nervous. A lot of the time. Harold pointedly looked the other way. Fat lot of help the man was to him now, Eriol thought darkly. He tried to avert his gaze, except the girl really was getting in his field of vision.
Eriol sank down lower in to the couch, trying to sink through the cushions, perhaps, and escape that frightening girl, except that another one incercepted her. They had a brief conversation right infront of him, about him, and the one who intercepted the blond gave him a precursory look and rolled her eyes. Now she was a piece of work. Very pale skin, brilliant violet eyes, and long, wavy black hair. He heard snatches of their conversation, and was not pleased at the way that he was being discussed. Right in front of him.
"Dear Margaret, why do you want to go after something like that?" The black-haired girl asked with the most scornful look on her face. Eriol looked at her indignantly. At least she could have referred to him as a person, not a thing. Women were purely psychotic and couldn't be understood for the life of him. At least she could have had the decency to take the conversation elsewhere, if she was going to judge him like livestock.
"I know that you might enjoy pretty men, but do you see what that one is doing with all the women who are passing?" The black-haired girl still had a faintly amused, incredulous look on her face. Then the blond Margaret answered.
"But he looks nice, and I wasn't going to go anywhere with him, anyway." The dark-haired girl gave Eriol a disdainful look. It went from the top of his head to his shoes, even though she couldn't see them. Really, some women were downright rude.
"He looks like a man slut, you mean." The dark-haired girl stated with a faint smile. Eriol was glowering at her by now, and Harold was having a hard time from laughing madly. It was really a rare event when a girl dismissed him as thoroughly as the dark-haired one did. Margaret gave a half-shrug, gave Eriol a rueful smile, as if apologizing for her friend's observation, and turned to leave.
"My apologies, madam, for looking like⦠was was the term you used? A man slut?" Eriol called out in his most punctilious voice. Irreversibly sarcastic, and arrogant. The dark haired girl turned with an imperial tilt of her head. She was dressed in a short skirt, black with slits at the sides, and a brilliant turqoise shirt, with quite a low back. She had beautiful legs. Large hoops adorned her ears, and a long necklace that dangled a chain into the neckline of her shirt really set it off. Her face was made up with faint shimmer around the eyes and glossy lips in a sensual curve. Tall black heels probably made her five inches taller than she really was. She looked like a model, save for the height.
The girl inclined her head briefly, yet even that motion was queenly.
"Apologies accepted." Then she turned around gracefully, with such poise that Eriol caught himself staring. At least Harold was staring too.
"Bloody women." Eriol muttered, then hit Harold on the shoulder when he was still staring at the girl.
"And what a feminazi." Eriol added. Harold gave him a look.
"I don't bloody well care if she is, she's hot. I'm going after her." Eriol was a bit astounded. Harry did not go after women. Women went after him, but definitely not the other way around. Before he could come up with some appropriately scathing remark, Harry stood and walked after the girl.
After the duration of maybe some fifteen minutes, Harry came back with both girls. He had a sickeningly charming smile that all women liked, if they were sober, and gave them both a hand into the seat. Eriol stared at him hard. Harold Windsor definitely had too much of that crack cocaine, or maybe it was crystal meth. He couldn't remember.
Harry introduced the blond, whom he seemed more interested in, as Margaret de Aquitaine, and the other one who had called him a fucking man slut was Tomoyo Daidouji. His head whipped around at that name. Tomoyo? What the hell was she doing in England, and in a club at that?
"Good evening, Daidouji-san." Eriol said to her in Japanese. Her eyes widened momentarily, then looked amused.
"Hello, Hiiragizawa-kun. How have you been?" Margaret and Harold looked surprised, until Eriol enlightened them that he and Daidouji-san were old classmates, years ago in Japan. They nodded, then continued with an animated conversation. Old Harold was too good.
"I have done very well, Daidouji-san. And you?" He said politely. He was going to forgive her for calling him a man slut, however rude that was.
"I am quite well, thank you. And I do apologize for calling you a man slut." Eriol chuckled at her rendition of 'man slut' in Japanese. Tomoyo grinned.
"So what are you doing here? Rating the women?" Damn. She still knew him too well. But his cocky smirk at the passerby females was probably a dead giveaway.
"Guilty as charged. And you?" Tomoyo went on to speak about things, mostly what had happened in his long absence. It was pity really, that they had never really gone to know each other that well. The only reason why she recognized him so quickly was because he always had known what was on her mind, and she with him, and they would sometimes hold strange, stilted conversations that way. Sometimes it seemed that Tomoyo was the only person in the world who understood at least in part what he was like.
As the night progressed, he became gradually more relaxed with her, as he treated her as a friend, not some prospect to be seduced. She even helped him with his rating the women in their idle moments.
"Would you say, Daidouji-san, that that one gets a nine?" Tomoyo laughed.
"Like hell she is, Hiiragizawa-kun. Do you see those shoes, and more importantly, her bosom is sideways." Eriol gave an expression of defeat and replied,
"Then six it is." Back and forth, they bantered, and flirted wildly, delighting in their skills at working the crowd. Both of them were an even match, and Harold and Margaret watched with interest when they were not having their own, racy innuendo. Eriol was amusing himself by teasing her about all the men who were staring at her as they walked by, as she was exquisite. Her clothes were at the height of fashion, and she carried herself with a self-assurance that drew male and female alike. When he had made a remark about how men visualize women that they desired unclothed, Tomoyo murmured suddenly,
"A woman is staring at you like a vulture." Eriol nearly turned his head, when Tomoyo said quickly,
"Don't be a fool, Hiiragizawa-kun. If you stare back, it's a sign of interest and you should have me rate her before you look." Tomoyo was looking.
"Nice outfit, nice shoes, very pretty, you may look, Hiiragizawa-kun." She murmured. Eriol turned to look, and there indeed was an auburn haired girl, curvy and beautiful, staring at him. It wasn't even really a stare of interest, but merely one of curiosity. Odd, really. Another brunette was with her, and the brunette was talking to her. It seemed that they were having a conversation about him.
"She looks quite interested in you, Hiiragizawa-kun. Why don't you go over and talk with her?" Tomoyo asked detatchedly. She was busy staring smokily into the eyes of a handsome man, having difficulty walking with the woman on his arm. Tomoyo laughed softly as the man nearly ran into someone.
"Men are too easy, if you ask me." She said amusedly.
"Anyways, Hiirigizawa-kun, why don't you go over and talk with her?" Tomoyo asked again.
"But I'm too busy entertaining you, my dear." He said charmingly. Tomoyo rolled her eyes.
"I liked your dirty lines better, Hiiragizawa-kun." Eriol merely chuckled.
It was nearly three in the morning when Eriol got home. He had given Tomoyo a promise to call, exchanged for the number. She really was nice to be with, he reflected. Much better than the inanely chattering women he usually was around. And Harry seemed to be infatuated with Margaret. Already. He walked to his study, his favorite room, to sit and perhaps to peruse a book before retiring. It had been a tiring day. First that slut, then Tomoyo.
While searching for a book, he heard a clatter behind him, then followed by an oops. Turning, he thought that it might be Nakuru up late again, except it wasn't.
"Who the bloodly hell are you?" he exclaimed. It was the auburn-haired girl from the club. She merely looked at him, as if she barged into peoples' houses regularly.
"Language, Eriol Hiiragizawa." She admonished good-naturedly. Eriol stared at her.
"How did you bloodly known my fucking name?" Eriol demanded, irritated. Who was she, to first come in without being invited, then admonishing him for his language?
"First, watch your language, second, you have bad manners. Oh, and yes, my name is Sara." She looked so everyday at talking to a complete stranger, not to mention in his house, scolding him for his bloody language!
"Who are you?" Eriol asked, more irritated that before, but marginally politely.
"Since you're going to be so nice about it," she said mockingly, "I'm your fucking fairy godmother." Eriol stared at her.
"Are you happy now, Eriol?" Eriol gave a half laugh, then started to choke when she pulled a fucking magic wand out of nowhere. He stared at her incredulously.
"How did you fucking pull the damn wand out of bloody nowhere?" He asked. Now he felt her magical aura. Damn, she really was what she claimed. Sara looked impatient.
"As I said, I'm you're bloody fairy godmother and you're going to fucking watch your language because I can fucking outcurse you!" Eriol sat down on his red armchair, hard.
"What are you going to do to me?" he asked meekly. Sara nodded in approval.
"Much better, Eriol. And duh, what do fairy godmothers do?" she asked in a bubbly tone. Uh oh. She must be one of those air-headed ones. She was going to mess up his life for sure.
"I grant wishes, silly!" Sara chirped happily. "Du-uh!" Sara popped down to sit on his ottoman. She looked quite excited at the prospect of horribly messing his life up beyond repair.
"Oh my God." Eriol stated. Sara giggled.
"You're language is improving already!"
"You're disturbing." Sara giggled, again, at his desultory comment. This was the end.
So, how did you like it? I sort of came up with it late one night, cramming for something. ^_^ And of course, its ExT! You guys should know me by now. Please R&R because I'll be your best friend if you do. I'll love you forever. Really, I will.
