It comes as no surprise that the Echolls family Christmas party is decked out in full - if it's over-the-top and Christmas themed, chances are it's somewhere in the room. Veronica starts playing a "Where's Waldo?"-type game with the wicker reindeer, pine cone wreaths, and sinister-looking wooden nutcrackers. Weevil lounges beside her, his plate of food balanced on his knees as he echoes her sentiments.
"It's a regular Winter Wonderland in here," he cracks. "Seriously - it's just not Christmas without plastic icicles, is it?"
"Fake plastic trees, paper snow…what's not to love?"
"Maybe this punch?" He makes a face at his glass of sickeningly-sweet pink fluid. Veronica shakes her head.
"That's because you chose the wrong bowl," she chides, waving her own cup close enough to his face that he catches a whiff, and his eyes light up in recognition when he detects the astronomical booze content. Seriously, she's pretty sure there's only about a one-to-twelve punch to vodka ratio in there.
"What do I have to do to get you to share?" Weevil teases, leaning in dangerously close. Veronica taps her finger against her lips, eyes drifting upwards towards the ceiling as she pretends to be contemplating his question.
Mistletoe, 12:00.
For a second - only a second, she swears - she legitimately considers just going with it, knowing with absolute certainty that Weevil wouldn't hesitate to follow through, and the thought is…tempting. To say the least. She feels her face flush at the thought, though it's not the first time it's crossed her mind. There's always been something there, since they came into each others' orbits earlier this year - something tugging at the edges, insistent. It took her a long time to finally admit that it was there, but if she's completely honest with herself, it's something that's been creeping up slowly for awhile now. Something she can remember as far back as freshman year, a nervous Eli Navarro stammering out lines of poetry to their English Lit class. His work or not, there was a vulnerability there that she knew wasn't an act.
That Weevil, she would have kissed. Mistletoe or no. The Weevil that she banters playfully with, that lets his little cousins climb him like a piece of playground equipment and takes her bag at the door to Logan's pool house. The brief occasions where he lets her peek beneath the surface, see the decent guy lurking under the sneer and the leather jacket. But those moments are few and far between, replaced instead by him posturing in front of his boys.
She knows the others don't have anything against her; she's chatted with Felix a couple of times in class since she and Weevil became quasi-friends, joked with Hector when they were forced to work on a group project together. And it's not like she's hanging off him like a clingy girl with a crush, either. This week, in the English room, she'd been legitimately offering her help, trying to pay him back for all the times he's done favors for her. And he'd responded by being a complete ass. So fine - if Weevil's going to keep acting like she's some big smear on his reputation that he can't afford to be seen around, well. She can't say it's the first time she's been on the receiving end of such behavior. She just expected more from him than from the '09ers. But that's Neptune for you - people disappoint you, and nothing is ever what it seems.
Veronica spares a glance and finds Weevil still tilted towards her, his head in the process of craning back to see what's caught her attention. It's a really good thing she can think on her feet.
"You've got to show me that fancy card shuffle you did earlier tonight," she says, voice high and bright. Weevil blinks owlishly.
"What?"
"Come on." Veronica grabs at him while he's uttering protests towards his still half-full plate of food, but he lets her hook her arm through his and lead him back out to the pool house, safely out of range of any more kissing traps.
Crisis averted.
