5. FIONA FRIEND
AUTHOR: Zyzyax
Fiona Friend wasn't quite sure why she had accepted the invitation to this party of plebeians. There wasn't even proper champagne. Well, she knew exactly why. Alex Rider. He had turned her down. It was unbelievable. Personally, she actually liked him well enough after he saved her. He compared her to a horse! A horse! She was bloody attractive and sought after by a lot of young, rich men of high social standing. At any rate, she had gone, despite her better judgment. Perhaps she could at least break up the current relationship as revenge. Sabina Pleasure actually looked like her. Except Fiona considered herself more attractive and more stylish. She was wearing a nice, velvet dress that showed off her curves. That should be enough to attract a boy about her age. Hmmm. Had she chosen the right perfume? Gucci was popular, wasn't it? Was it too common? Then, she had been approached by what she thought was just a layabout commoner. Talking with Sabina had been surprisingly above the level of paint drying. It was not like they were friends or anything, but Fiona thought she was decent, for the daughter of a reporter, anyhow. Fiona remembered the conversation after.
"Hello, ladies," a boy in jeans said, giving a cheesy, elaborate bow. Sabina giggled like an idiot. Fiona's opinion of her had immediately taken a dive. She had made sure to stare disapprovingly at the boy. The boy cleared his throat. "My name is James, damsel-in-distress rescued by our mutual friend. And may I have the pleasure of your names?"
Sabinal had curtsied. Fiona had rolled her eyes inwardly. Honestly. "Sabina. Fellow damsel-in-distress."
The boy and Sabina turned to her. She had attempted to speak for herself. She would have been able to rescue herself perfectly well. For God's sake. "Fiona. I'm not a damsel-in-distress, and he isn't my friend, and –"
She had been interrupted. "Friend!"
The boy had snapped his fingers in recognition. "We met in Paris…"
She had pursed her lips. Her social circle, especially in Paris, did not include jean-clad layabouts. "I don't think we would have…"
The boy had rolled his eyes. "Sprintz."
Well, surprise. He was an actual person. Sprintz was a fine family and he would be a decent catch. She had made sure to turn on the charm. "Is that a Miyazaki shirt? I thought it looked familiar…"
The girl, Sabina, had snorted. "Miyazaki is the animator. This is Masayuki."
Well, she was versed in British styles. Not cheesy, too-casual wear. "Yes, well –"
The Sprintz boy had interrupted. "You know Masayuki!"
Apparently, he had been delighted. "Sabina, we really must discuss this more… Fiona, it was nice to see you again. Give my regards to your parents."
Well, it would only be polite. It was disappointing he was more interested in the plebeian than her, but there was no accounting for taste, she supposed.
Fiona returned to the present. The party wasn't really that bad, but she was used to larger ones with more people her age to snub. There were the distinctly odd adults. Actual, real-life soldiers that weren't behind a wall of security people at a charity function. She had decided not to approach them. An odd fat man who had brought gifts for everyone. Interesting. She wondered what was in the envelope, but opening it in front of him would be rude. It was probably a boring card. Fiona wandered with the adults for a bit, but they seemed either hopelessly dull or vaguely antisocial. The Americans were just odd. She heard the old one asked the grey lady on a date. They would make the perfect couple, Fiona decided. The old cat lady and the old divorcee. It wasn't as though either of them could do better. You had to be rich to attract people at that age. Fiona wouldn't say so aloud, but you know. There was probably a reason their partners had left them. Then again, everybody knew British ladies were better than American ladies. At least the old American man had some taste. The other older woman was an American. She was wearing tennis shoes at a party. And trousers. Dear God, the classless heathens. At least they liked staying on their own 'superior' continent. Don't even get her started on Australians. She had to do exercises to keep herself from frowning. Wrinkle lines, you know. She needed to stay pretty as long as possible. Australians just raised her blood pressure and these ones were just infuriatingly nice and well-meaning. One was wearing sandals and shorts. Shorts. In the winter and in public. She knew people did it, but certainly not in her social circles. Shorts were reserved for hunting or close friends and family. The man, she'd forgotten his name, had offered her a dance. He actually hadn't been bad at it. It was just strange to dance with a man in shorts who cheerfully chirped at her in a thick Aussie accent. At her, because he just kept on talking despite her lack of response. But, to his credit he let her go after two. Fiona didn't think it would cause a scandal here, but best to be careful.
Fiona sipped at her juice. Well, calling it juice was generous, but it tasted sweet. Plus, she was thirsty. Harris had done a decent job on the food. Fiona would be the first to admit that she couldn't cook. It was more of a thing she had put off until later or a thing for servants, you know. Her mother only had to cook occasionally. Fiona was glad she had never been drafted into that. Especially after the hunts. She was perfectly okay with shooting animals, but cleaning them left her a bit on the squeamish end of things. Fiona had decided to sit on the surprisingly tasteful furniture. Alex's house was pretty nice, now that she thought about it. He was definitely not poor and where on Earth was his family? Then again, she couldn't really talk. Her father and mother were both busy this time of the year. The furniture was actual hardwood. She traced the dark, attractive grain of the edge of the table. It was nice. Subtle, too. Fiona wondered what other surprises she might find if she poked about a bit. Whoosh. Pop. Suddenly her vision was filled with puke-green glitter. She couldn't help the ungodly shriek that left her mouth as she jumped and doused herself with bright red liquid on top of puke-green glitter. Oh, god. Her dress was ruined. "BLEEDIN' FUCK, SMITHERS, I'M GOING TO WRING YOUR BLOODY NECK."
It was shouted by one of the British soldiers. Apparently, the four of them had a similar wardrobe malfunction with pink glitter. It looked quite terrible with army fatigues. Fiona let her voice rise. "This is an absolute outrage."
The grey lady seemed to slip out to the front from nowhere. "You will most assuredly not be laying a finger on Mr. Smithers."
The men actually back down. It was funny. Maybe she was their boss? But they were soldiers. It didn't make sense. Sprintz was at least trying to contain his laughter. The rest, not so much. At least she wasn't the only one. Ugh, this was horrid. Fiona huffed. "Well, I'll be needing the washroom and then I'm headed out."
At least there were no society members to witness this. She would be laughing stock otherwise. Fiona walked over to Alex. "Merry Christmas, Alex."
Then, she walked out. Well, at least she had her dignity.