Thanks Nat for betaing and going through paragraphs of nonsense and making
it work.
______
It was no doubt the most humiliating experience of her life.
Nothing could come close to comparing, nothing could come close to even the vicinity of comparison.
A crappier way to end a completely crappy day could not have been picked. And this wasn't even an ending, the humiliation had only begun to begin... or began to begun. Damn vowels, it had to be a side effect of the embarrassment; all the blood had rushed to her cheeks instead of her brain. In fact, passing out would have been a very welcome occurrence just about then.
***
Rory Gilmore had woken up that morning, only to be greeted by the pounding sound of rain outside her window. Her bedroom faced the back alley of the apartment building, and once again some bright soul had moved the dumpster out of the shelter in which it had been specifically placed, and right into the path of precipitation.
Rory of all people knew that such a heavy downpour on a part metal, part plastic, large hollow... big thing, did not a good awakening make.
The day continued to get worse with every step she took. Someone up there was trying their damnedest to take her over the edge. She had briefly wondered why it was her this being took pleasure in tormenting, weren't there remote villages in Ethiopia in need of a flood? Instantly, a surge of guilt washed over her at the selfishness of her thoughts, and so she ate breakfast: one slightly burnt cup of coffee, a chocolate-y slice of toast and a huge side dish of guilt. She hadn't even put it on her grocery list but guessed the blasted thing made it through the check out without her notice, and in bulk too.
A New York subway in the winter. There were better ways to spend the morning. The man standing beside her kept breathing down her neck, a matter which made any kind of solace in the otherwise uneventful ride completely impossible because she had worn her favourite scarf, which had only recently been dry-cleaned. Already thoughts of how much it would cost to get the gross mans smelly and creepy breath out of the warmth of the fabric were beginning to plague her mind.
The usual hectic office of the newspaper she was employed at was so uncharacteristically quiet and boring it didn't even deserve a mention.
Night came around and she had once again been assigned the job of going to the stuffy 'social elite' events being held. Her editor knew she hated these assignments, so he sent her on as many as possible.
The black dress she kept at the back of her closet for exactly such occasions had been getting much use as of late. More than she wished it would. Although Rory had to admit, it was nothing for her figure if not flattering. Not something she would say out loud, but when people complimented her on it, said it looked good on her, behind her modest smile, her mind was screaming, 'It damn well better, do you know how much it cost?'
The recent string of parties had become blurred in her mind, and this one proved to be no different. Same people - or the same type at least, same idle gossip, same materialistic ideals.
Her evening seemed to be complete when she realised that her wallet, containing money for a cab, had been tossed aside on the dresser in a frantic search for her left shoe.
Crap.
The terror that had gone through her mind at that moment was unparallel. She couldn't very well walk home, those heels were not made for standing, let alone any sort of extended walking. Observing the loose change lying at the bottom of her purse, the subway seemed the only way to get away from here.
But again, a New York subway, there were better ways to spend an evening.
A tall, dark haired man approached her. After a brief conversation, he construed that the pretty brunette did not want to chat but would much rather be on her way home. Being the gentleman that he was, he offered her a ride there.
She had seen him before. Second cousin of the mayor? Or maybe that was the mayor's second cousin's brother in law's stepfather's son? Whatever, he had been in the gossip columns enough for her to realise he wouldn't try anything too risky.
She accepted.
God knows what came over her, most likely the overwhelming urge to be in the warmth of her bed, snuggling into her favourite pyjamas.
Coincidentally, Rory's saviour had similar designs dancing through his mind. Only in the scenarios he was envisioning, she was not in that bed alone, and her pyjamas were certainly no where in the immediate locale of her body.
Rory had not been accepted into Yale for nothing. It was the power of her quick mind that had gained her the acceptance necessary (and the power of the grandparent's vast bank account, but really, what's that got to do with anything?) As such, she quickly found out the man's less than honourable intentions toward her; his wandering fingers were a dead give away. Panic began to overtake her. She should have taken her chances on the subway. At least you could change carriages and be near a guard when someone undesirable tried to feel you up.
Trying to remain composed and rational, she weighed her options. She could jump from the car, onto the busy streets and rip her dress. Then she'd have to buy a new one. She'd have to think of something else, fast.
Citing random directions, she certainly didn't want him to know where she lived, Rory's mind worked overtime. Suddenly, she realised exactly where they were. The directions that followed were determined and effortless until her somewhat excited, "Here!"
The car stopped, the door flung open and she sprung out. Leaning toward the open door, she ducked her head in and smiled. "I'd love for you to come in, but my boyfriend mightn't be too happy about it."
With that, Rory took off at a sprint onto the walkway of a large two level brownstone. Running up the stairs proved to be a mistake when her heel snapped clean through and she toppled her way onto the landing. Not missing a beat, she scrambled to her feet and banged on the door. "Please be home, please be home." The words flowed like a steady mantra and her prayers were answered with an angry shout from inside.
Moments later, the door was hurled open and she had flung herself onto an unsuspecting... hard... toned... sculpted... No! Just an unsuspecting, body.
There was a squeal of tires from the street and a sigh of relief was emitted. He moved away, angry and grumpy, wasn't that the same thing? Whatever, she would analyse her vocabulary later. Not expecting the sudden shift away from her and still not balanced with her broken heel, she began to fall.
Instead of rushing forward, encasing her in his arms, carrying her to the couch and consoling her, he moved further away avoiding the flailing of her arms and the purse which he knew (from personal experience) to be a weapon of concussion-inducing abilities.
***
And that was how she had ended up face first on the immaculately clean, marble tiled hallway of Tristan Dugrey's home.
Needless to say, the humiliation had only started there.
***
As it had turned out, Tristan had been having a little party of his own. The kind he was infamous for, the kind that involved him, a member of the opposite sex and lots of nakedness.
Fortunately for Rory, he and his lady friend had not gotten into THAT part of the evening just yet. But it was clear that had they forgone this unwanted interruption, it wouldn't have been much longer. So his anger was semi-justified.
Glaring at her from his superior position of standing above her, he made no move to help her from her flat on her face one leaving Rory to make her way clumsily to her feet.
"Is there a reason for you being here?"
She tried to glare, but the anger in his voice did not go unnoticed. She never had been able to take anyone being mad at her. It stemmed from the long period of time in life during which she had been able to do no wrong. That all changed when stupid Tristan came along, again. He'd get pissed, and he'd let her know it. There would be yelling and name calling and then some irritated glares sent her way. It was probably this treatment that had grounded her and made her so attracted to him. He had knocked her straight off the high horse she had seemingly been born riding, and brought the Stars Hollow princess back down to earth. Not that she liked that part. She rather enjoyed walking along on her superior and much higher moral ground.
Tristan on the other hand, had never been able to witness girls crying, especially when he was the cause. By the way Rory's eyes misted over and her bottom lip started to do that trembling thing, it was all he could do to not lean in and run his tongue over it.
The red head standing at the bottom of the stairs behind Tristan in a haphazard state of dress continued to glare at the new comer.
Hugging herself in a pointless effort of protection from the wind blowing at her back, she began the whole sordid tale that led her there, silently congratulating her voice over its stunning display of control over her emotions. When she had finished and he said nothing, but stared at her in that unnerving, analysing way, Rory begun to get a little antsy. Thankfully, he reached over soon enough and instead of pushing her out the door and getting back to business with his date, he shut the door and gestured for her to enter.
"You're okay though, right? He didn't... touch you or anything?"
She smiled triumphantly, on the inside. On the exterior Rory flashed him her best Bambi eyed look and shook her head. Tristan was concerned and Red over there was sulking. Fantastic. He was going to love her for this.
Briefly turning to face his companion for the evening he ordered her to making a cup of coffee while he called a cab. She scowled and trudged toward the kitchen, had a temporary memory relapse and found herself in the bathroom.
Limping to the couch Rory couldn't help but comment, "You sure know how to pick them, Dugrey."
Dammit, mouth, shut the hell up.
"Shut up, Rory. You're not in any position to be making judgements."
So maybe he was still really pissed.
Thrusting the phone into her hands, he instructed she call a cab while he went to bring out a first aid kit to first aid the gash on her knee.
The what on her where?
Looking down, it was discovered that there was indeed a wound, out of which seeped a steady amount of blood. The dress had also been torn at the hem and had some sort of muddy residue caking the front. Perhaps a sign from above that it was time for new apparel?
She dialled, hired, hung up and waited. Tristan returned moments later, closely trailed by the other woman. Charlotte, had he called her?
She offered the coffee with about as much kindness as Luke when delivering Lorelai's fourth cup for the morning, and proceeded to flop into a chair. She did it, to Rory's dismay, with a certain air of grace that confirmed her immaculate and obviously rich background and upbringing.
Forcing Rory onto the couch, he got onto his knee not missing the brief look of pain to cross her face as her knee bent sharply and the pain shot through her. Serves her right. He pushed the dress up her bare legs, and poured the anti-septic onto a cloth, clean she observed, what a thoughtful fellow. With no further warning, the cloth was placed hard against her knee. Off her sharp intake of breath, Tristan was torn between his gleeful feeling of vengeance and the concerned guilt that were vying 50/50 in his conscience.
With in moments, the latter had won out and he chastised himself for being so weak as he began to blow on her knee in an effort to reduce the pain. The hand that was not holding the torture provoking cloth began to make slow soothing circles on her thigh.
He desperately tried to harbour the urge to let his hand wander further up her leg and stray from soothing to intimate. Any other time, it would not have been a problem and they'd end up going at it on the carpet. Which reminded him that just moments before Rory's interruption, he had been going at it with the partially ignored partially pissed off woman sitting to his left. Rory was not going to forget this little experience any time soon. He wasn't going to let her.
Although he had to admit, it was a nice feeling knowing that she would come to him in the midst of such a crisis. He was beginning to regret the whole calling a cab thing though. She had just escaped a would be rapist and he was encouraging her to get into a car with a could be rapist. Or worse. He had seen 'The Bone Collector'.
"The cab will take forever to get here, I'll drive you home."
Charlotte made a disapproving sound from elsewhere in the room, but because she wasn't important at this stage neither Tristan or Rory took any notice of her.
_______ I'm not to sure where this is going so if you have any suggestions...
______
It was no doubt the most humiliating experience of her life.
Nothing could come close to comparing, nothing could come close to even the vicinity of comparison.
A crappier way to end a completely crappy day could not have been picked. And this wasn't even an ending, the humiliation had only begun to begin... or began to begun. Damn vowels, it had to be a side effect of the embarrassment; all the blood had rushed to her cheeks instead of her brain. In fact, passing out would have been a very welcome occurrence just about then.
***
Rory Gilmore had woken up that morning, only to be greeted by the pounding sound of rain outside her window. Her bedroom faced the back alley of the apartment building, and once again some bright soul had moved the dumpster out of the shelter in which it had been specifically placed, and right into the path of precipitation.
Rory of all people knew that such a heavy downpour on a part metal, part plastic, large hollow... big thing, did not a good awakening make.
The day continued to get worse with every step she took. Someone up there was trying their damnedest to take her over the edge. She had briefly wondered why it was her this being took pleasure in tormenting, weren't there remote villages in Ethiopia in need of a flood? Instantly, a surge of guilt washed over her at the selfishness of her thoughts, and so she ate breakfast: one slightly burnt cup of coffee, a chocolate-y slice of toast and a huge side dish of guilt. She hadn't even put it on her grocery list but guessed the blasted thing made it through the check out without her notice, and in bulk too.
A New York subway in the winter. There were better ways to spend the morning. The man standing beside her kept breathing down her neck, a matter which made any kind of solace in the otherwise uneventful ride completely impossible because she had worn her favourite scarf, which had only recently been dry-cleaned. Already thoughts of how much it would cost to get the gross mans smelly and creepy breath out of the warmth of the fabric were beginning to plague her mind.
The usual hectic office of the newspaper she was employed at was so uncharacteristically quiet and boring it didn't even deserve a mention.
Night came around and she had once again been assigned the job of going to the stuffy 'social elite' events being held. Her editor knew she hated these assignments, so he sent her on as many as possible.
The black dress she kept at the back of her closet for exactly such occasions had been getting much use as of late. More than she wished it would. Although Rory had to admit, it was nothing for her figure if not flattering. Not something she would say out loud, but when people complimented her on it, said it looked good on her, behind her modest smile, her mind was screaming, 'It damn well better, do you know how much it cost?'
The recent string of parties had become blurred in her mind, and this one proved to be no different. Same people - or the same type at least, same idle gossip, same materialistic ideals.
Her evening seemed to be complete when she realised that her wallet, containing money for a cab, had been tossed aside on the dresser in a frantic search for her left shoe.
Crap.
The terror that had gone through her mind at that moment was unparallel. She couldn't very well walk home, those heels were not made for standing, let alone any sort of extended walking. Observing the loose change lying at the bottom of her purse, the subway seemed the only way to get away from here.
But again, a New York subway, there were better ways to spend an evening.
A tall, dark haired man approached her. After a brief conversation, he construed that the pretty brunette did not want to chat but would much rather be on her way home. Being the gentleman that he was, he offered her a ride there.
She had seen him before. Second cousin of the mayor? Or maybe that was the mayor's second cousin's brother in law's stepfather's son? Whatever, he had been in the gossip columns enough for her to realise he wouldn't try anything too risky.
She accepted.
God knows what came over her, most likely the overwhelming urge to be in the warmth of her bed, snuggling into her favourite pyjamas.
Coincidentally, Rory's saviour had similar designs dancing through his mind. Only in the scenarios he was envisioning, she was not in that bed alone, and her pyjamas were certainly no where in the immediate locale of her body.
Rory had not been accepted into Yale for nothing. It was the power of her quick mind that had gained her the acceptance necessary (and the power of the grandparent's vast bank account, but really, what's that got to do with anything?) As such, she quickly found out the man's less than honourable intentions toward her; his wandering fingers were a dead give away. Panic began to overtake her. She should have taken her chances on the subway. At least you could change carriages and be near a guard when someone undesirable tried to feel you up.
Trying to remain composed and rational, she weighed her options. She could jump from the car, onto the busy streets and rip her dress. Then she'd have to buy a new one. She'd have to think of something else, fast.
Citing random directions, she certainly didn't want him to know where she lived, Rory's mind worked overtime. Suddenly, she realised exactly where they were. The directions that followed were determined and effortless until her somewhat excited, "Here!"
The car stopped, the door flung open and she sprung out. Leaning toward the open door, she ducked her head in and smiled. "I'd love for you to come in, but my boyfriend mightn't be too happy about it."
With that, Rory took off at a sprint onto the walkway of a large two level brownstone. Running up the stairs proved to be a mistake when her heel snapped clean through and she toppled her way onto the landing. Not missing a beat, she scrambled to her feet and banged on the door. "Please be home, please be home." The words flowed like a steady mantra and her prayers were answered with an angry shout from inside.
Moments later, the door was hurled open and she had flung herself onto an unsuspecting... hard... toned... sculpted... No! Just an unsuspecting, body.
There was a squeal of tires from the street and a sigh of relief was emitted. He moved away, angry and grumpy, wasn't that the same thing? Whatever, she would analyse her vocabulary later. Not expecting the sudden shift away from her and still not balanced with her broken heel, she began to fall.
Instead of rushing forward, encasing her in his arms, carrying her to the couch and consoling her, he moved further away avoiding the flailing of her arms and the purse which he knew (from personal experience) to be a weapon of concussion-inducing abilities.
***
And that was how she had ended up face first on the immaculately clean, marble tiled hallway of Tristan Dugrey's home.
Needless to say, the humiliation had only started there.
***
As it had turned out, Tristan had been having a little party of his own. The kind he was infamous for, the kind that involved him, a member of the opposite sex and lots of nakedness.
Fortunately for Rory, he and his lady friend had not gotten into THAT part of the evening just yet. But it was clear that had they forgone this unwanted interruption, it wouldn't have been much longer. So his anger was semi-justified.
Glaring at her from his superior position of standing above her, he made no move to help her from her flat on her face one leaving Rory to make her way clumsily to her feet.
"Is there a reason for you being here?"
She tried to glare, but the anger in his voice did not go unnoticed. She never had been able to take anyone being mad at her. It stemmed from the long period of time in life during which she had been able to do no wrong. That all changed when stupid Tristan came along, again. He'd get pissed, and he'd let her know it. There would be yelling and name calling and then some irritated glares sent her way. It was probably this treatment that had grounded her and made her so attracted to him. He had knocked her straight off the high horse she had seemingly been born riding, and brought the Stars Hollow princess back down to earth. Not that she liked that part. She rather enjoyed walking along on her superior and much higher moral ground.
Tristan on the other hand, had never been able to witness girls crying, especially when he was the cause. By the way Rory's eyes misted over and her bottom lip started to do that trembling thing, it was all he could do to not lean in and run his tongue over it.
The red head standing at the bottom of the stairs behind Tristan in a haphazard state of dress continued to glare at the new comer.
Hugging herself in a pointless effort of protection from the wind blowing at her back, she began the whole sordid tale that led her there, silently congratulating her voice over its stunning display of control over her emotions. When she had finished and he said nothing, but stared at her in that unnerving, analysing way, Rory begun to get a little antsy. Thankfully, he reached over soon enough and instead of pushing her out the door and getting back to business with his date, he shut the door and gestured for her to enter.
"You're okay though, right? He didn't... touch you or anything?"
She smiled triumphantly, on the inside. On the exterior Rory flashed him her best Bambi eyed look and shook her head. Tristan was concerned and Red over there was sulking. Fantastic. He was going to love her for this.
Briefly turning to face his companion for the evening he ordered her to making a cup of coffee while he called a cab. She scowled and trudged toward the kitchen, had a temporary memory relapse and found herself in the bathroom.
Limping to the couch Rory couldn't help but comment, "You sure know how to pick them, Dugrey."
Dammit, mouth, shut the hell up.
"Shut up, Rory. You're not in any position to be making judgements."
So maybe he was still really pissed.
Thrusting the phone into her hands, he instructed she call a cab while he went to bring out a first aid kit to first aid the gash on her knee.
The what on her where?
Looking down, it was discovered that there was indeed a wound, out of which seeped a steady amount of blood. The dress had also been torn at the hem and had some sort of muddy residue caking the front. Perhaps a sign from above that it was time for new apparel?
She dialled, hired, hung up and waited. Tristan returned moments later, closely trailed by the other woman. Charlotte, had he called her?
She offered the coffee with about as much kindness as Luke when delivering Lorelai's fourth cup for the morning, and proceeded to flop into a chair. She did it, to Rory's dismay, with a certain air of grace that confirmed her immaculate and obviously rich background and upbringing.
Forcing Rory onto the couch, he got onto his knee not missing the brief look of pain to cross her face as her knee bent sharply and the pain shot through her. Serves her right. He pushed the dress up her bare legs, and poured the anti-septic onto a cloth, clean she observed, what a thoughtful fellow. With no further warning, the cloth was placed hard against her knee. Off her sharp intake of breath, Tristan was torn between his gleeful feeling of vengeance and the concerned guilt that were vying 50/50 in his conscience.
With in moments, the latter had won out and he chastised himself for being so weak as he began to blow on her knee in an effort to reduce the pain. The hand that was not holding the torture provoking cloth began to make slow soothing circles on her thigh.
He desperately tried to harbour the urge to let his hand wander further up her leg and stray from soothing to intimate. Any other time, it would not have been a problem and they'd end up going at it on the carpet. Which reminded him that just moments before Rory's interruption, he had been going at it with the partially ignored partially pissed off woman sitting to his left. Rory was not going to forget this little experience any time soon. He wasn't going to let her.
Although he had to admit, it was a nice feeling knowing that she would come to him in the midst of such a crisis. He was beginning to regret the whole calling a cab thing though. She had just escaped a would be rapist and he was encouraging her to get into a car with a could be rapist. Or worse. He had seen 'The Bone Collector'.
"The cab will take forever to get here, I'll drive you home."
Charlotte made a disapproving sound from elsewhere in the room, but because she wasn't important at this stage neither Tristan or Rory took any notice of her.
_______ I'm not to sure where this is going so if you have any suggestions...