Revelations

Chapter Seven: Entanglement


Sebastian was still lying face down on his bed, musing depressingly over his upcoming meeting with Monique. While she wasn't necessarily physically intimidating, she had a mouth on her that made anyone cringe. He desperately tried to remember how in the world he had come to go out with her, but it was a little hazy as to what exactly went on. Wracking his brain, he came up with pieces of a memory, something having to do with either a dare or a simple moment of stupidity…at some bar or restaurant where you could go up and play whatever music you wanted to…Monique was there and he said some cliché sort of line and she fell for it…was he drunk? Honestly, he couldn't remember. Regardless of what cataclysmic event occurred, he knew now that he was attached to her in a vice-like hold, and he'd need some serious collateral in order to preserve himself.

He was interrupted in his failing attempts to come up with a breakup that wouldn't end with him being decapitated or maimed when the door opened. He shifted a few inches so his eyes could see who it was, and when he saw his roommate, he stuffed his head back into the pillow. A few minutes later, there was another bed creaking, and he realized Duke had collapsed onto his own bed.

"What happened to you?" Sebastian asked, but he had a feeling Duke had no idea what he had said, considering his words were indistinguishably muffled in his pillow.

"Huh?" Duke questioned half-heartedly, vague sounds of Velcro and shoes being ripped off, though much slower than they had been a few hours ago. "I'm pretty sure what you just said wasn't in any language coherent to man."

Sebastian moved again, freeing his head from the bedding, and the sudden influx of oxygen caught him off guard for a minute. "Yeah, sorry," Sebastian muttered, wishing he could bury his head again. Somehow that had seemed to help with his nearly inescapable predicament. He frowned, taking in Duke's frazzled and worn out appearance again. "What, did you go to soccer practice or get in a fight?"

"I think I'd prefer the latter," Duke mumbled, laying back into his own blue-striped comforter and pillow after extracting his shinguards, socks, and cleats, which he had thrown rather haphazardly onto the ground. "Coach was brutal today."

Sebastian had a retort ready, something along the lines of 'well, duh. You did have a suicide practice at five in the morning and are on the Varsity team', but he refrained, considering Duke looked literally like hell. "Sorry," Sebastian commiserated, though he wasn't sure it sounded completely legitimate.

"And you?" Duke said, voice muffled, like he was trying to move as little as possible. "You don't look so great yourself."

Sebastian groaned, not wanting to be reminded of the abysmal beating he was in for later today. Honestly, if he hadn't wanted to get out of the relationship so impossibly badly, he would have just given up and ignored his sister's smirking jokes at his expense. "I'm breaking up with my girlfriend," he said simply, and Duke made a noise Sebastian assumed was supposed to be understanding. "She's a bitch, to put it simply, or, rather, to put it in Vi's words. Let's just say she's the vainest, prissiest, most annoying person I've ever met. And now I get to meet her in a few hours at this Ball thing that she and Vi have; I'm not looking forward to it."

Duke sat up, supported by his pillow and headboard. "Wait…if she's so bad, why'd you go out with her in the first place. That was pretty ill thought out, roomie," Duke said, fighting a small grin.

Sebastian scowled miserably. "Well I'm glad someone finds it humorous," he said darkly. "And I actually don't really know how I came to be her boyfriend, to be honest. But I suppose a torture and quite possibly a bruising from a well-placed slap is a small price to pay for the advantages I'll get from breaking up with her. Probably the most lucrative being no more taunts from Vi. She's the most incorrigible person sometimes. It rather sucks to be her brother at times like these, let me tell you."

There was a slight, almost unnoticeable, tinge that appeared in Duke's face at the mention of Sebastian's sister, but it started to fade before Sebastian could truly call him on it. "So, uh," Duke began, sounding nonchalant. "What's this Ball thing? I mean, what's so important about it? And why would your sister be in it? She seems the least likely to want to be in something as your girlfriend-ish like a dance."

"That's true," Sebastian said, grinning a little. "But from what she'd told me, Mom made a deal with her that if she went to this dance thing and made a good impression, then Vi would never have to do anything else pertaining to the Junior League pageants or whatever anymore. Truth be, I was surprised Vi agreed to it, but then again she's anything but predictable."

Duke was silent for a few moments, his face looking more pensive than Sebastian usually anticipated from him. It was now Duke's turn to be feeling a little between surprise and intrigued. Sebastian had gotten one thing right—Viola was anything but someone whose actions could be accurately anticipated. For a fleeting second, Duke wondered what would have happened if he hadn't even met Viola to start with; had just heard of her as Sebastian's sister. Would he have felt the same way about thinking her capriciousness was unusual for the girls he'd seen, and, dare he think it, attractive? Somehow, he doubted it. He set his jaw, pondering his current, rather twisted, situation. There were so many variables, so many people involved, so many things that could be affected. Viola being Sebastian's little sister, for one. That made it slightly more difficult. Olivia could be a factor as well, he mused faintly.

Much as he had thought of Viola, he still couldn't lose all of his feelings for the girl he'd liked since freshman year. There was still that quirk about her that he liked and that set him a small blush every time he noticed it. And yet—here he got an unusual frown—Sebastian was taken with her as well. Would he be willing to just forget her allure to him? Would he be able to just ignore her every time they passed each other in the halls, every time they had Anatomy class together? They weren't lab partners, which could have made it slightly easier, considering he wouldn't have had to converse with her every day, but he hypothesized he still wouldn't be able to just pretend she wasn't there and not sneak covert glances at her every so often. Better yet, what would Andrew and Toby think? He hoped they would think Viola was a good alternative, but knowing them, they'd find someway to make fun of him and give sarcastic jibes at him whenever a prompt came up in conversation. Andrew was lucky that he didn't have his sights on anyone at the moment—it made it not very easy to mock him.

Although, Duke reminisced, he was looking a little friendly with the girl he met at the carnival. Duke smiled facetiously. He didn't know the girl's name, but he had glimpsed her talking to Viola in a way that indicated they were friends, or at least acquaintances. He wasn't sure whether Andrew had made contact with her after that day, but he'd find out one way or the other. Which would mean, he thought with another small grin, he'd have to see Viola again to do so. Well…there wasn't anything wrong with simply talking to Sebastian's sister, was there?

"So when did you say that dance was again?"


"Viola Jeanine, where do you think you're going?"

Viola rolled her eyes, stopping once again at the bottom of the stairs. Her mom cast a wary eye on the familiar soccer ball perched against Viola's side as well as the cleats gracefully tossed over her shoulder, bits of grass stuck to the bottom. Her carefully made-up lips pursed, arms crossing amusedly across her starched lavender outfit. Viola resisted a smirk, or at least a snicker, at her mom's reaction. Hey…her mom had made the deal—it wasn't Viola's fault she'd found a beneficial loophole in it.

"Soccer field. Where else?" Viola responded with a tone of simpering indifference.

"I don't think so, missy," Daphne said superiorly. "You made a promise, young lady; I trust you remember it?"

"Of course I do, Mother," Viola said smarmily. She switched her ball to her other side, her mom's eyes following the movement. "You said I had to make the judge people happy, which I agreed to. I did not, however, agree to get ready for it, what, like, six or whatever hours beforehand. Thus, I can go wherever I please until that time. You never specified what I can do in between your sanctioned events."

Something flashed in Daphne's eyes, and Viola found herself pleased at her mother's lack of response, meaning Viola's words were carefully registering in her brain. Viola cast her mom a cheeky smile, walking up and giving her a sycophantic pat on the shoulder, fully noticing Daphne's still silenced speech. She vaguely heard a small spluttering as she turned around, making her way across the voluminous hall and out the door. It wasn't all that far to Illyria from her house—two miles at most—and she figured she'd just walk it, if anything else than to be alone with her thoughts. Heaven knew she had a lot of them.

She bounced her ball a few times, perhaps more forcefully than was necessary, considering the pavement hadn't done anything to perturb her, but she needed something to vent. Right now was not the first time she'd questioned her life and how she got into situations like this. She supposed her mother had always been into the whole debutante thing, wanting a daughter just so she could show her off like a dog in a tournament. But Viola had gone the athletic route—where she'd gotten that gene, she had no idea. Sebastian was the creative, artsy one; her mom was, well, she couldn't really describe her mom, but sporty wasn't part of it; her dad was more of a polo or racquetball sort of man, soccer, basketball, football, or the like not really his thing. She hadn't really known her grandparents too well, and her parents were both only children, so she couldn't compare skills to any aunts, uncles, or cousins. As far as she could surmise, she was a biological anomaly.

Not that she didn't appreciate it, she did, irrefutably. But that didn't mean it didn't come back to bite her in the ass occasionally, now being one of those moments. Sometimes she just wished her life was simple enough to be summed up in a few words, but it was anything from being simple. Especially as of late. She was only glad that she still had soccer to release her thoughts on, whether in practice or by herself. Sadly, Yvonne and Kia weren't usually available to go put in extra casual scrimmages with her, as they apparently had some event to go to or else their parents didn't want them out after a certain time. Viola scoffed at this. Something about that just wasn't right; while her parents were sticklers sometimes, they weren't so bad that she couldn't go out after six at night. As long as she didn't violate her tentative midnight curfew, they were fine. Unless, of course, there was some "mandatory" Junior League thing to go to, in which her mom wanted her back earlier than that.

She pounded her ball again against the cracked concrete, hardly noticing where she was going, but her feet evidently knew where to step, since her mind was elsewhere. Before too long, and a fair few mental digressions later, she found herself in front of the Illyria backlot, close to the soccer pitch. She stopped, somewhat surprised that she was there already. It had seemed just seconds ago she had left her house, but she knew she was further away than she thought she was. She sighed in indifference, dropped the ball to the ground and chipped it as hard as she could, trying to release some of her frustration into the kick. She watched, less pleased than usual, perhaps, as the ball soared through the air, going from Viola's position at one of the corners of the field to a little past the half-line.

Trudging—she was perplexed at this…when it came to soccer, she never trudged; this was a first—onto the field, not even stopping to exchange her sandals for her cleats, she smelled the freshly mown grass, the wetness from a recent watering coating her feet. But she didn't much care; she had other things to think about than a little water on her ankles. Finally making her way over to her ball, which was equally wet, she dribbled it only a few inches in front of her as she walked towards the goal, not really aiming anywhere.

Judging by her current activity, she wasn't even sure why she made the effort to go all the way to Illyria's field. She wasn't doing much of anything; just randomly edging the ball around, with little enthusiasm. As much excitement as she had exuded when she'd been staring at the wall absentmindedly earlier today, she realized. She paused, trying to fit reasons into this strange behavior, but it was like attempting to stuff puzzle pieces into their wrong slots—futile and making you feel even stupider than you were when you started. Sighing, she rolled the ball onto the space in between the top of her foot and her ankle, and volleyed it up into the air, watching it's ascent then drop downward, and caught it idly in her hands, giving it a little spin.

"Oh, this is so depressing," she mumbled to herself. "I'm worse than Sebastian. And that's saying something."

"I've heard otherwise," a voice came to her.

She whirled around towards it, having jumped a fair distance, not expecting to hear someone; she certainly hadn't noticed a new presence. She stared at the newcomer, trying to place him, but she couldn't. He was intimidating, she could see that already, and his accent didn't help things. Seeing his practiced-looking stance and the way he seemed to be assessing her playing skills, she was half-tempted to think this was some soccer coach, presumably Illyria's. The things she didn't understand were the reason he was here, and why he would have approached her at all.

She found her mouth speaking, although the words were less than impressive. "I—uh—can I—who are you?" she stumbled, wincing at how ungrateful she sounded, despite her curiosity, and not being sure why she was feeling ungrateful. What did he have to offer?

"Coach Dinklage," he said briskly, a tone of slight annoyance in his voice. Yes, definitely not someone to mess with, Viola mused.

"And, um, what exactly would you want with me?" Viola continued, trying to firm her voice in an effort to keep it not as unintelligent.

"It's come to my attention that you have above average football tactics," he said, and viola took a second to realize that when he said football, he meant soccer. Sometimes it was confusing to be American, to say the least. She took in his mirthless facial expression, and assumed he was less than appreciative of her half-assed efforts.

"Really? Who would have told you that?" Viola asked, but then kicked herself.

There was only one person at Illyria—save for Sebastian, who was too caught up in his own Monique-and-Olivia issues and music to care about her own problems—that had seen her play. The only question this time was why he had told his coach about her. Was there even a point to do so? Firstly, she was from Cornwall. Secondly, she was a girl. She was on Cornwall's girls' team. What relation could she have to an Illyrian soccer team, no matter how good she was? She'd seen them play—they were talented. Talented, in this case, being a vast understatement. Compared to some of them, she doubted she'd even match the second-stringers, provided they were any bit as adept at soccer playing as the starters.

She stared up into Coach Dinklage's face, determined to keep her expression stoically curious, but not sure she was succeeding. He ignored her 'who' question, which she was somewhat glad for. "Now you tell me if my venture out here was for nothing, because I have better things to do than watch a remarkably incompetent sportsman waste my time."

Viola, in spite of herself, felt a rise in offense at his words. What did she do to deserve his contempt? She was just standing here! Why did he even come down here in the first place? "With all due respect, Coach Dinklage," Viola started, trying to keep the ire out of her voice. "Was there a separate reason you actually came to talk to me? First of all, how'd you know I'd be down here, and secondly, what do you really want with me? How, pray tell, would I even be of use to you?"

He was quiet for a moment, his icy glare starting to unsettle her. After a few minutes, he gave a curt not, which she wasn't sure was a good sign or not. "To answer your first question," he said stiffly, and she had a feeling he wasn't one for polite exposition. "one of my men saw you come onto the field, and apparently recognized you as someone Duke Orsino, you've met him I presume, had described. It seems you've been admired of your talent, although from what I see, you've got the skills of Potensky—not impressive in the least, Miss…"

"Hastings." Viola said, pressing her lips together. He certainly wasn't one to be uplifting, nor was he one to be inspiring for someone to bend to his will, despite his aptitude for inspiration. "Okay, look, Coach Dinklage," she continued, resolute on speaking her mind. She imagined she might not be as obstinate if he was her coach, but since he wasn't and she wasn't used to him, she felt she was entitled to some insolence. "I came down here to play soccer, no matter what you think it looked like, and if you're just going to stand there and insult me, then I'll leave, if that's what you want. But if you actually have something to say to me, then I'd suggest you do so quickly, because I'm not one for unnecessary extrapolations. All right?"

He looked at her like she was the weirdest girl on the planet, or the most irksome girl he'd ever met. Or the weirdest and most irksome girl to ever exist. She didn't really mind much, but his renewed silence, she had to admit, was a little unnerving. Finally, his face set into a harder, controlling expression, which was almost better than before, as she assumed this was closer to what he normally looked like. He seemed to be mulling over what he was going to say—a feat she surmised he usually didn't have to do—then voiced either those thoughts, or some rendition of.

"We have practices every day except weekends, Hastings," he said gruffly, and she noticed how mundane and practiced her name sounded when he said it; like he had called it quite a few times in practices or games. Which, of course, was ridiculous as she'd never met him face-to-face before now. "If you're actually going to be serious about this, you'd better show up tomorrow at noon. Otherwise, don't bother. Understand?"

"Now you wait just a moment, Coach," Viola interjected, not exactly meaning to imply that he was her instructor already. "Serious about what?"

Dinklage didn't reply, but instead picked up her ball and thrust it into her chest so hard she felt the wind knocked out of her and thus was rendered unable to speak. "Noon, Hastings."

He stalked off, leaving her there, gaping and gasping after him. Who did he think he was? Coming up to her like she was just one of their more ineffective players and insulting her like that? This would not be the end of this now even more complicated aspect of her life, that much she was sure of. He had gotten almost to the stairs leading back up to the school, when she glowered at the complications of this. Oh, there would be hell to pay, she would make sure of that.


"Duke Orsino, get your scrawny ass here now!" Viola screamed through the door of room 234, not caring that she was disrupting the semi-at peace hallway.

Duke, who had dozed off unknowingly, abruptly awakened by the apparently ceaseless poundings on his and Sebastian's door. He blearily looked over at Sebastian, whom eh wasn't sure was asleep or not, but his head was still buries in his covers. Duke withheld a laugh—he'd never really had a girlfriend to the horror level Sebastian had described, but he'd had some whose breakups he wished could be erased from his memory.

Mostly asleep still, Duke dragged his aching body across the room, opened the door, only to nearly be run over by a livid Vila. "Did I do something?" he asked confusedly, not sure whether it was pure misunderstanding or if he missed something in his half-conscious state.

She stormed past him into the room, her hair slightly starting to come out of her carefully pulled back ponytail . she cast an annoyed glance at her brother, who hadn't stirred. Duke shut the door, sensing a yelling session was about to befall him. "You sent Dinklage after me!" she cried wildly, and he winced, though he wasn't really sure why. "Why in the name of Zinédine Zidane did you tell him about me? Now he wants me to go watch your guys' practice! You'd better call it off, understand, Orsino? Or is that too difficult a concept to grasp?"

Now Duke thought that was a little below the belt, even for her. It took him a little bit to realize what lines she was thinking along, but once he did, he sighed in resignation. "First of all, Vi," he said, then color flooded his cheeks as he acknowledged his mild mistake. Technically, he felt he wasn't close enough to her yet to be referring to her as a nickname, but she didn't react. He cleared his throat. "I did not send Dinklage to go after you, so if you could back off on that account, I'd be much appreciative. Secondly, I told him about you because—"

He cut off, a slight tinge gracing his cheeks, but he hesitated for a few more moments, to Viola's irking. "Because what?" she demanded.

"Because you're a damn good soccer player, Viola, and I wouldn't be surprised if you were better than some of the people on my team, all right?" he said, not necessarily meaning to be so incensed. "I'm sorry if he actually listened to me and wanted to see you play…"

His sarcastic and yet strangely complimenting tone shocked her. He wanted Dinklage to watch her skills? What exactly was that meaning? "What do you—?"

Duke sat back upon his bed, rubbing his hands over his face, not to rid himself of the last dregs of sleep, but because he now had to deal with what he'd just said. "I mean," he began slowly, ignoring Viola's impatient yet curious stare. "that maybe he was looking to—you know—well, I don't know exactly—I don't know, maybe let you try out."

"T-Try out?" Viola spasmed. This was ridiculous. What he was saying was ridiculous. First of all she was a girl. Second of all, she didn't go to the school. Thirdly, she was a girl. What was Dinklage or Duke playing at?

"Nevermind, it doesn't matter," Duke mumbled. "It had just been a thought. Listen, uh, I have to go to Chem class and I have to get changed, so if you don't mind…?"

Viola's arms crossed, and for a moment, a look of hurt passed through her face; Duke sighed again, although this time she didn't hear it. "Yeah, sure, of course," she said, tone dull and indifferent. "Well…I'll…see you around, I guess."

"Yeah," Duke said noncommittally, not quite meeting her eyes.

"Okay then," Viola said stoically, walking purposefully out of the room. Duke sighed.

Is there some reason I suck so much at this? Duke thought miserably, throwing himself down on the bed again. He figured he was entitled to some wallowing.


"DAMN IT!" Viola expressed violently, hurling her soccer ball at the wall, not surprised to see a black streak appear on the cream paint. She found she didn't much care.

Before long, the familiar yet unwanted sounds of high heels clicking wildly upon the hardwood floor reached her ears, finally coming to rest outside her door. "Viola Hastings! What in the world—?"

Her mother had spotted the black spot, and her face turned an interesting mix of red and white. Viola exhaled, trying to control her breathing and heart rate. "I've had a bad day," Viola said through gritted teeth.

"That is—that is just no—that is no excuse, young lady!" Daphne sputtered, not sure what to make of her daughter's actions.

"Are you going to ground me? I mean, I'd just hate to have to stay home from that dinner crap," Viola said, a little too eagerly.

"Hardly!" Daphne exclaimed, voice a few levels up from usual. "You get dressed right now, Viola, or so help me—"

Daphne didn't need to finish the sentence for Viola to fill in the blanks. Her mother wasn't exactly the most intimidating person, but Viola did know full well that her mother, thanks to her and Viola's compromise, had complete control over how much torture Viola had to go through concerning the debutante charade. Viola, picking up her ball from the floor, pressed it hard against her head, sitting down on her comforter, praying for patience.

"But Mom," Viola whined, testing out the pleading approach. It didn't work.

"Get dressed now!" Daphne shrilled, face turning more crimson now than white. Daphne picked up the turquoise dress from Viola's bureau that she was supposedly supposed to wear, and tossed it onto Viola's lap.

The fact that Daphne hadn't treated the dress like it was some Heaven-sanctioned object was a mark of her complete frustration and horror. Viola clenched her jaw, watching her mother stomp out of her room. Gracefully, of course. Closing her eyes for a moment then opening them again, she held the dress out in front of her, perusing it and preparing herself to wince. Surprisingly, however, she acknowledged that the dress wasn't as bad as it perhaps could have been. It wouldn't have been her first choice, that was for sure, but compared to her mother's other decisions, this one was rather decent. There weren't any frills or bows for a change, the color wasn't garish, and it was slender enough, given the absence of the huge skirts and sleeves that normally adorned Daphne's garments. Viola scrunched up her face in a half-grimace, before resignedly stripping down and slipping on the dress, tousling her hair in what she attempted to be a stylishly mussed arrangement. She wasn't sure it was the best job she could have done, but for the time being, it would have to work.

She looked in her mirror, unsure what to make of herself. She didn't look half bad, she admitted that much, but it sure was a change from her usual athletic-attired self. "Well, here goes nothing," Viola muttered, slipping on her shoes and laboriously exiting her room.


"Oh come on, Sebastian," Viola implored, referring to her brother's reluctance to get out of the car.

She herself hadn't been the most inclined to face the horrors she was about to endure, but she really didn't see what Sebastian had to worry about. Sure, he had to approach Monique and all her beautified wrath, but at least that was the worst he had to suffer through. Viola, on the other hand, had to follow all of this through without a hitch. In a most unladylike fashion, she grabbed Sebastian's hand and pulled him unceremoniously from the car, perhaps his not expecting her to do such an action resulting in her ability to do so.

"Vi," Sebastian whinged. Viola rolled her eyes—the sight of her over-six-foot brother complaining to his substantially shorter sister was quite a comical sight.

"Chill out," Viola said harshly. "You're fine. Stop being such a baby."

"I resent that!" Sebastian said in mock outrage. "You have no idea what horrible misdeeds she's capable of."

Viola snorted loudly, attracting a few looks from the significantly better behaved girls around her, but she ignored them. "Please," Viola said, waving him off. "Firstly, I do know what that bitch—I'm not apologizing, so don't make me—can do, and secondly, you're being a wimp. It's only a breakup for goodness's sake. Suck it up, bro."

Sebastian grimaced at her, but didn't say anything. They waited for a few moments while Daphne went to either socialize or find some registrar or the like, Sebastian nervously glancing through the sparse crowd for any sight of his psycho soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend. Viola snickered at him, starting to really get irritated with her dress. It wasn't a bad one, she admitted to herself, but it was just unnatural to her, and she just desperately wanted out of it.

"Come on, you two!" Daphne's voice approached Sebastian and Viola, and they both made identical scowls, but followed Daphne anyway, weaving through the numerous poles and people until finally reaching a spacious hall filled with rounded tables.

Viola whimpered. It was the picture of formality, the white tablecloths pristine with their matching, fashioned napkins and decorated porcelain, delicate streamers placed at odd locations around the room, a podium at the front to house someone Viola knew she wouldn't appreciate. She vaguely noticed nameplates at each place setting, but she was too affrighted to look for her own. With her luck, she'd be situated next to, God forbid, Monique. And, Viola knew, if Monique was near unbearable already, post-breakup Monique would be simply formidable and insufferable.

"Oh, Viola, sweetie!" Daphne called again, not quite gently pulling Viola by her arm farther into the room. More people were filing in, and Viola didn't recognize hardly any of them, but then again, she'd never really paid attention. "You're over here. Next to Monique and Olivia! Look, dear Olivia is already seated there. Why don't you mingle?"

"Could I?" Viola said, voice saturated with sarcasm. Sebastian laughed at it, but apparently Daphne missed the derisiveness.

Viola looked over, and, had she been drinking something, would have choked. She looked to Sebastian, who had followed her line of sight, his eyes widened in shock. "It-It's Olivia," he accentuated, and Viola held back a snigger.

"Yes, dear Olivia," Viola mocked. Sebastian would have hit her, had it not been for his preoccupation with staring. Finally, she hit him upside the head, harder than was probably necessary. "Get a grip, Sebastian. Standing there with your mouth hanging open isn't the best way to pick up a girl."

Sebastian promptly shut his mouth and turned back to his sister, but cast a few last furtive glances in Olivia's direction. Viola started to say something, but then looked over Sebastian's shoulder, and saw the familiar but undesirable form of Monique, her styled dark hair looking as elegant as her dress. Unfortunately, the disgusted, haughty look plastered on her face didn't quite complete the ensemble, making her overall appearance clash with each other. Viola smirked, her smugness overpowering her own distaste.

"Oh look who it is," Viola simpered to Sebastian, and his head whipped around, color draining from his face. "Well, go talk to her, you moron."

She pushed him forward, into Monique's eyesight, and she gave an exaggerated good luck to him that he interpreted—correctly—to be wholly fake. Viola laughed, then made her way over to the table, sitting next to Olivia, but not making conversation. Her mother hadn't said anything about actually making acquaintances at this gala event. Far as Viola could tell, silence was the best answer.

"Sebastian! Where have you been?" Monique's high voice pierced Sebastian's ears as he came to a stop in front of her. He made a mental note to strangle Viola when they got home.

"M-Monique, I need to talk to you," Sebastian stuttered.

Monique looked as though she'd scratch him or something, but then conceded, much to Sebastian's surprise. "What is it then?" she asked roughly.

As gently as he could, he led her over to a semi-secluded corner, where there weren't too many people congregating. "It's about us," Sebastian started slowly.

Monique's eyes narrowed. "What about us?" she asked, voice dangerously low.

He took a deep breath, realizing with a sinking feeling that the best way to do this would be to do it as fast as possible. Get her fury over with quickly. "I think we need to break up."

There were a few moments before Sebastian's words seemed to register, and for those seconds, Sebastian actually thought he was home free. That was, however, before her temper won out. "WHAT?!" she yelled, and Sebastian winced. So much for subtlety. "You're breaking up with me?!"

"Y-Y-Yeah," Sebastian murmured, unable to escape the stares from onlookers. He sneaked a glance over to Viola and Olivia's table, to see Viola smirking and Olivia with an indecipherable expression on her face. "I am. It's just—It's not working for me anymore."

Monique looked like she could murder him on the spot with how wrathful she looked, and Sebastian used all his willpower to not cringe. "You—You—You can't—you can't break up with me! Not here! I'm the one that would end this! NOT YOU!"

Sebastian managed a weak smile. "Sorry…"

"SORRY? You are an asshole, Sebastian Hastings! Go screw yourself!" she seethed, her made-up face incensed. Sebastian winced, but remained bracing himself. A few mouthings later, she seemed incapable now of making any further sounds, which Sebastian was almost grateful for.

He exhaled, wondering, if by some miracle, this was the most he'd get from her. "So…so, yeah, that's it," he finished lamely.

Her murderous look deepened, and Sebastian, in all his cowardly glory, escaped from her, ignoring the passersby's stares, leaving Monique simply standing there. Sadly, he wouldn't put it past Monique to give him some sort of hell-bent repercussion for ending things. At least he wouldn't have to repeat their conversation. He doubted he'd get out of it alive if he had to do it a second time.

"Vi," he whimpered, coming over to Viola's table, stealing a chair for the moment.

Viola was gallantly holding in her imminent cracking up. "That was quite entertaining," she managed, breathless from the effort it took not to laugh. "You're rather amusing, dear brother of mine."

Sebastian glared at her, but she let it slide off of her. "Well, apologies if she gives you hell," Sebastian said, quite insincerely.

"Yeah, I'm sure you're so sorry," Viola said sarcastically, and Sebastian did nothing to refute it.

His eyes subconsciously strayed to the other occupant at the table, and he gave her a brief smile, which was returned. Viola looked between the two of them with a mixture of intrigue and annoyance. "H-Hi," Sebastian said, Viola having elbowed him rather inconspicuously.

"Hey," Olivia replied with a bright smile. "Nice to see you again."

Sebastian wasn't quite as eloquent as Olivia, but Viola stepped on his foot, urging him to go on, although his grunt wasn't exactly silent. "Yeah, you too," he replied quietly. "So—So you're having to do all of this, too."

Viola resisted the strong inkling to slap Sebastian. Sometimes he could be so densely ignorant. "Yes," Olivia replied, apparently ignoring Sebastian's uncomfortableness. "It's not all that bad. I mean, it gets annoying sometimes, but—"

"Ladies!"

Viola groaned loudly at the new voice, magnified by the microphone up front. Viola hadn't even noticed the people fill in chairs, one particularly incensed-looking girl pointedly staring at Sebastian, who was in her seat. He looked at her, then stood up quickly, feeling out of place remarkably fast. He gave a last smile to Olivia and Viola, then scampered away.

Olivia and Viola exchanged looks, before releasing laughter, quiet enough so it didn't disrupt everyone, but managing substantially to get dirty looks from the girls around the table. "That's my brother," Viola said in between breaths. "You'd better get used to it."

"Me?" Olivia questioned. Viola nodded. "Oh, I—I wasn't—he and I aren't—"

"It's okay," Viola said, shrugging off Olivia's undoubtedly denying responses.

She checked the clock behind her, seeing they'd only been there for ten minutes. Restraining herself from slamming her head repeatedly on the table in pain—it'd break the boring monotony—she slumped back in her chair, wishing she were anywhere else but here. To her somewhat surprise, her thoughts kept drifting back to her and Duke's argument about Coach Dinklage's discussion, and Viola started gaining regret as to what she'd said. Now she thought on it, it was more complimenting that Duke's coach—the men's soccer coach—had approached her. She made a note to apologize to Duke next time she saw him. Next time hopefully being sooner than later. Unable to prevent a small smile from broadening on her face, she let her daydream continue, it's contents leading her miles away from whatever the person at the front was actually saying. Hopefully soon, with any luck, some of the thoughts would be able to be played out…


Well, I hope that was all right. It was longer than the previous ones I believe (longer wait, too…apologies), though I'm not sure how well it was written, especially towards the end. However, Sebastian and Monique are officially broken up, so that'll free up some Sebastian-Olivia romance stuff. More Duke-Viola to come, I promise. And more of the dance / dinner debutante stuff. Anyway, review please, and thanks to:

beauty7890102, footychick, Xx3.BusyGrlsLifeX3.14, vick86, GilbertDrone328, Mwoodard85, nikkitan89, Call Me Mimzy, preenad, Writergirl2011, bangelluvforever, astrakane, and randomlilnikki.

Appreciations to everyone!