3. JAMES SPRINTZ

AUTHOR: wolfern

As he speed-stripped in an unlit alley, trying not to touch his bare feet to the unknown substances obscuring the ground, James Sprintz thanked his lucky stars that he wasn't a girl. Though it was another matter entirely whether that would make a difference to any police who might come upon him. Unfortunate phrasing. But that was how he liked it.

He released the bowtie with a practised flourish.

The next problem was where to put his clothes. Ideally, he'd abandon them for others less fortunate, but he still had to wear them when he returned, and ideally he wouldn't have worn them in the first place and then he wouldn't have had to do this and… Anyway.

Being of a practical mind, he put the tuxedo and leather dress shoes in his bag and changed into a Masayuki t-shirt and jeans. Finally, running a hand through his gelled hair, he followed his phone map to the address.

No-one greeted James at the door, a fact which assured him that he'd made the right choice in switching clothes. No doorman, no tux. It was a solid rule. He really hadn't been quite sure what to expect when he'd been informed it was going to be 'funcy'. His father had said over-dressing was merely a sign of superiority, but although they'd recently started to repair their relationship, James still trusted his own judgement more. He hadn't chosen to send himself to Point Blanc…

His bag – along with his clothes – held, for emergency events where gifts were required, an Ibérico jamon and pewter slicing knife both donated by his father. He selected another of the gifts that he'd picked out before dropping the bag in a surreptitious corner.

Well.

Whatever he'd expected from 'funcy', this hadn't been it. It was one of the more eclectic bunches of people he'd come across in a gathering, but somehow there seemed to be an underlying cohesion amongst the attendees. They all, of course, held a subconscious deference towards the reason he'd come: Alex Rider.

James quelled his discomfort at reuniting with someone after a single meeting, months ago, in less-than-ideal circumstances, and sauntered over with a practised air. He was accosted by a soldier on the way, but that didn't stop him from reaching his once-classmate.

"Congratulations!" he said to Alex, checking out the boy beside him, who could only have been Tom, the mystery person who'd invited James in the first place. James admired his jet black hair – he'd once gone through a phase where he'd dyed his hair black, to match his soul and nail polish, but the results hadn't been nearly so satisfying – and gave a wide grin to the both of them.

"Uh, congratulations for what?"

"For being alive, of course!" he very carefully kept cheer in his mien. "Surely such a thing is to be celebrated?"

"…Of course," said the boy who had rescued him from that hellish school.

"Don't look so stern, Alex," said Tom. "James has come all the way from…"

"From Switzerland," James provided, nodding at Tom and his delicious hair.

"Switzerland," Tom repeated. He paused. "I thought you were German?"

James hoped his hours opposite the mirror had not been for naught as he tried to smize without squinting. "My father has taken me on a break. And how have you been since last we said goodbye?"

Alex shrugged. "You know, normal."

James looked to Tom, confirming his suspicion that Alex's definition of 'normal' had different parameters to most others. Then again, in one of his own phases, he'd enjoyed all sorts of extra-curriculars with his friends in Berlin. Perhaps this was much the same, albeit through forced exploitation rather than by choice.

"I asked about you when the soldiers came," James said, "but they didn't tell me anything. Well, they said you escaped by skiing like I planned, but you used an ironing board. Can't trust anything those chaps say, eh?"

Tom choked. Concerned, James patted him on the back, taking the opportunity to admire his hair up close. His eyes were a rather pleasing blue, too.

Meanwhile, Alex was mumbling, "Well, actually…"

Under James' ministrations, Tom recovered to say, "Knowing Alex, it's probably the truth."

One quick glance at Alex's face confirmed it.

"Well!" said James, and he finally remembered the box he still held. "Here. For your hospitality."

The teen spy took the box and eyed it dubiously. James tried to look earnest. That expression probably needed more time in front of the mirror, he decided. "I chose it especially."

"…Thank you?"

Tom leaned over and read the title, grin growing wider as he did so. "A grow-your-own-girlfriend kit?"

James beamed. "After the untimely removal of Miss Stomach-bag, I thought you would appreciate a replacement."

With James' nickname for Mrs Stellenbosch, Alex finally seemed to smile genuinely. "Thank you, James."

"You are most welcome, mein Freund!" James looked around the room again. "Unless one of the girls here is yours already?"

For a spy, it was amazing how shifty Alex became.

"Ah! I am correct! I assume it is one of the two girls here, not the woman? Or maybe you prefer the men..? They are quite well-muscled, if that is your type." Maybe he was overdoing it. He always was a nervous talker. Before he could really stop to think about it, he very deliberately looked Tom up and down and blurted, "Myself, I prefer someone who doesn't have trouble fitting into skinny jeans…" After all, he'd heard these Englishmen were a lot more reserved and understated, but if he didn't try, he wouldn't get, and no-one had ever accused James Sprintz of being too subtle.

He was gratified by a small smile in return, but maybe that was just out of politeness. To stop himself breaking out into another wide anxious grin – or, worse, more risqué comments – he looked back at the two conversing girls.

As if summoned by his gaze, one of the girls looked over. She was vaguely familiar, like he'd seen her at one of the networking parties his father had dragged him to.

Now, James considered himself quite objective when it came to girls, having the distinct advantage of not really caring for them. His objective view of this girl was: in her slinky velvet dress she was rather pretty, but the stare she gave the three of them reminded him of a cat that had once lived in the neighbourhood of James' mother. It would go around from house to house, taking whatever it was fed, but somehow still managing to appear as if it were doing everyone else a favour.

And just like how he'd always enjoyed feeding the cat and trying to pet it, despite being quite aware of its disinterest, James found himself repeating how great it was to catch up with Alex again, and emphasising to Tom that they really should hang out sometime, and walking over to the two girls.

"Hello, ladies," he said, giving his most elaborate bow. This one had needed several years of practice with the full body wall mirror his father had gifted him one year.

The one with brown hair giggled while the cat just stared, unblinking. Some people just couldn't see a masterpiece for what it was.

He cleared his throat. "My name is James, damsel-in-distress rescued by our mutual friend. And may I have the pleasure of your names?"

The brown-haired girl curtsied. "Sabina. Fellow damsel-in-distress."

James and Sabina turned to the third girl. "Fiona. I'm not a damsel-in-distress, and he isn't my friend, and –"

"Friend!" James snapped his fingers in recognition. "We met in Paris…"

Fiona couldn't fold her ears back in consternation like the cat, but her pursed lips had much the same effect. "I don't think we would have…"

James rolled his eyes. "Sprintz."

Finally, her eyes brightened, and she smiled as she began to twirl her hair. "Is that a Miyazaki shirt? I thought it looked familiar…"

Sabina snorted. "Miyazaki is the animator. This is Masayuki."

"Yes, well –"

"You know Masayuki!" James was delighted. "Sabina, we really must discuss this more… Fiona, it was nice to see you again. Give my regards to your parents."

As the night wore on – although, 'wore' was entirely the incorrect term, especially with the punctuation of a glitter bomb in the vicinity of the cat – James decided he'd made the right choice in coming, if only to meet someone else interested in the same sorts of things as him, without the bad influences that had gotten him sent to Point Blanc in the first place. And when James left the party after talking to James-Number-Two, and found an alleyway to change back into the tuxedo to go back home, he decided to buy something nice by Masayuki for Sabina. As it turned out, she knew Alex on a more personal level than just damsel-in-distress. Maybe the next time she visited, she could persuade him to bring Tom, and invite James… Well, no-one had ever accused James Sprintz of being too subtle.