Leaves
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to ASP and all those companies. I've spent all my money on Christmas presents anyway. Just for fun.
Pairing: R/T
Feedback: Please. Just so I don't disappear under a rock.
Author's Note: Ah, the joys of sleep deprivation. How many grammar mistakes can you spot? Which leads me to the point: anyone want to beta for me? Let me know. Also, Tristan never left for military school, and I have no clue what I'm going to do with, or say about, Dean. Just so you know.
Rory did another lap of the room, her fingers nervously picking at the hem of her dress. She had been at the party for an hour, there were three hours until midnight, and Paris hadn't arrived yet. She had five people to get through in three hours, and she hadn't yet been able to work up the confidence to approach one.
She turned abruptly and retraced her steps, eyes roaming the sea of unfamiliar faces, searching for anyone she knew. Start small. Just start. Craning her neck to look at the doorway, she didn't notice the boy until she bounced off him.
Flustered, she stared up at him from the floor, blinking blankly. Was this as good as wasting perfectly good coffee? Grinning at her confusion, the boy stretched out a hand to help her up. Rory grasped it and let him pull her to her feet. He didn't let go, and she realised she hadn't spoken.
"S-sorry about that. I didn't mean to, um."
"Plow yourself down?"
"Well, yes. I mean, no, I didn't mean to. I usually find myself at a conversational disadvantage while lying on the floor. Not that being vertical is helping me now." Rory tugged her hand out of the boy's grasp, and checked that her skirt was where it should be. "I'm very sorry; I wasn't looking where I was going."
"That's all right. I'm Edward."
"Rory." They smiled at each other, and the silence grew. "Um, are you here with your parents?"
"Grandparents, actually. They're close friends with the hosts, but I got suckered into coming along. Not that it's not, um." Edward gazed around at the revellers sceptically, apparently finding the search for a polite description of the party fruitless.
"I know what you mean. I'm here for the same reason. Well, except that my grandparents aren't close friends with the hosts, they are the hosts."
"Ah. Your grandfather told me all about you then. He meant to introduce us, but it's probably lucky we bumped into each other; the last time I saw him, he was discussing something in the Financial Times with my grandfather. If I know my Granda they won't surface until next year."
"Oh, I'm sure my Grandma will collar him in time for the countdown. She's very efficient. So, do you live in Hartford?"
"Yeah, I've just moved here. I'm my grandparents' star exhibit at the moment. They're ecstatic to have a grandson to boast about down at the country club. Not that I mind."
"Where did you move from?"
"Germany."
It didn't take long before Rory was at her ease with Edward, chatting about all the places he had visited that she wanted to. His description of the delights of Rothenburg was interrupted by her grandmother's imperious voice.
"Rory! There you are." Rory didn't know how her grandmother managed to make that sound like an accusation. "Here's Miss Geller. I know you're school friends. Oh, and you've met Edward. He's going to Chilton next semester too, did he tell you?"
Having disposed of Paris, Emily wafted off to see to someone else, leaving the three teens staring at one another. The atmosphere was suddenly tense, and Rory didn't know how to act around Paris. She cleared her throat.
"Paris. It's good to see you. Have you met Edward?" Met by a stony look from Paris she cast an enquiring glance at Edward, and received a shake of his head in return. "Well, Paris Geller, Edward, um."
"Thorndyke."
"Edward Thorndyke. Who is going to Chilton, as you know, has just moved here from Germany, and likes medieval sculpture. "
Paris' lips widened, but it didn't look like a smile to Rory. "Edward, good to meet you. This is Rory Gilmore. Her grandparents pay for her to go to Chilton because her mother can't afford it, and she has no friends at school because she lacks the most basic of social skills. She now seems to be under the impression that she is Bridget Jones, but I hope I have disabused her of that notion. Oh, look, there are Madeline and Louise. Shall we join them?"
Rory watched as Edward was borne off by Paris, casting a helpless glance over his shoulder at her, but making no attempt at escape. Oh, well. Did that introduction count as an attempt to befriend Paris? It took Rory all of a millisecond to decide that it did. Two and a half hours left. Two down, three to go.
The next time Rory looked at her watch it was 11:50. Ten minutes to find one final victim. The future lawyer had jettisoned her within five minutes; the prom queen had taken up some time, droning on about how hard it was to get up early enough to put on her make-up, do her hair, and still make it to school on time for second period. Rory's grandfather had eventually responded to the desperate looks that she was throwing his way, thank God, and sent her off on an imaginary errand.
But she still had one conversation to start if she wanted that coffee. Nine minutes. She was determined to leave as soon as the clock struck twelve. She hadn't realised how demoralising it would be to ring in the New Year alone. Her grandparents had each other, and wouldn't have time for her. She supposed she could draft in Claire, or maybe it was Isabel, the new maid, but that would be embarrassing, and only enhance the melancholiness of it all.
She was biting her lip, wondering if there was anyone in the room who wouldn't completely ruin what was left of her night, when she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned.
"Tristan."
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to ASP and all those companies. I've spent all my money on Christmas presents anyway. Just for fun.
Pairing: R/T
Feedback: Please. Just so I don't disappear under a rock.
Author's Note: Ah, the joys of sleep deprivation. How many grammar mistakes can you spot? Which leads me to the point: anyone want to beta for me? Let me know. Also, Tristan never left for military school, and I have no clue what I'm going to do with, or say about, Dean. Just so you know.
Rory did another lap of the room, her fingers nervously picking at the hem of her dress. She had been at the party for an hour, there were three hours until midnight, and Paris hadn't arrived yet. She had five people to get through in three hours, and she hadn't yet been able to work up the confidence to approach one.
She turned abruptly and retraced her steps, eyes roaming the sea of unfamiliar faces, searching for anyone she knew. Start small. Just start. Craning her neck to look at the doorway, she didn't notice the boy until she bounced off him.
Flustered, she stared up at him from the floor, blinking blankly. Was this as good as wasting perfectly good coffee? Grinning at her confusion, the boy stretched out a hand to help her up. Rory grasped it and let him pull her to her feet. He didn't let go, and she realised she hadn't spoken.
"S-sorry about that. I didn't mean to, um."
"Plow yourself down?"
"Well, yes. I mean, no, I didn't mean to. I usually find myself at a conversational disadvantage while lying on the floor. Not that being vertical is helping me now." Rory tugged her hand out of the boy's grasp, and checked that her skirt was where it should be. "I'm very sorry; I wasn't looking where I was going."
"That's all right. I'm Edward."
"Rory." They smiled at each other, and the silence grew. "Um, are you here with your parents?"
"Grandparents, actually. They're close friends with the hosts, but I got suckered into coming along. Not that it's not, um." Edward gazed around at the revellers sceptically, apparently finding the search for a polite description of the party fruitless.
"I know what you mean. I'm here for the same reason. Well, except that my grandparents aren't close friends with the hosts, they are the hosts."
"Ah. Your grandfather told me all about you then. He meant to introduce us, but it's probably lucky we bumped into each other; the last time I saw him, he was discussing something in the Financial Times with my grandfather. If I know my Granda they won't surface until next year."
"Oh, I'm sure my Grandma will collar him in time for the countdown. She's very efficient. So, do you live in Hartford?"
"Yeah, I've just moved here. I'm my grandparents' star exhibit at the moment. They're ecstatic to have a grandson to boast about down at the country club. Not that I mind."
"Where did you move from?"
"Germany."
It didn't take long before Rory was at her ease with Edward, chatting about all the places he had visited that she wanted to. His description of the delights of Rothenburg was interrupted by her grandmother's imperious voice.
"Rory! There you are." Rory didn't know how her grandmother managed to make that sound like an accusation. "Here's Miss Geller. I know you're school friends. Oh, and you've met Edward. He's going to Chilton next semester too, did he tell you?"
Having disposed of Paris, Emily wafted off to see to someone else, leaving the three teens staring at one another. The atmosphere was suddenly tense, and Rory didn't know how to act around Paris. She cleared her throat.
"Paris. It's good to see you. Have you met Edward?" Met by a stony look from Paris she cast an enquiring glance at Edward, and received a shake of his head in return. "Well, Paris Geller, Edward, um."
"Thorndyke."
"Edward Thorndyke. Who is going to Chilton, as you know, has just moved here from Germany, and likes medieval sculpture. "
Paris' lips widened, but it didn't look like a smile to Rory. "Edward, good to meet you. This is Rory Gilmore. Her grandparents pay for her to go to Chilton because her mother can't afford it, and she has no friends at school because she lacks the most basic of social skills. She now seems to be under the impression that she is Bridget Jones, but I hope I have disabused her of that notion. Oh, look, there are Madeline and Louise. Shall we join them?"
Rory watched as Edward was borne off by Paris, casting a helpless glance over his shoulder at her, but making no attempt at escape. Oh, well. Did that introduction count as an attempt to befriend Paris? It took Rory all of a millisecond to decide that it did. Two and a half hours left. Two down, three to go.
The next time Rory looked at her watch it was 11:50. Ten minutes to find one final victim. The future lawyer had jettisoned her within five minutes; the prom queen had taken up some time, droning on about how hard it was to get up early enough to put on her make-up, do her hair, and still make it to school on time for second period. Rory's grandfather had eventually responded to the desperate looks that she was throwing his way, thank God, and sent her off on an imaginary errand.
But she still had one conversation to start if she wanted that coffee. Nine minutes. She was determined to leave as soon as the clock struck twelve. She hadn't realised how demoralising it would be to ring in the New Year alone. Her grandparents had each other, and wouldn't have time for her. She supposed she could draft in Claire, or maybe it was Isabel, the new maid, but that would be embarrassing, and only enhance the melancholiness of it all.
She was biting her lip, wondering if there was anyone in the room who wouldn't completely ruin what was left of her night, when she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned.
"Tristan."