It was safe to say that, at this point, Castiel had abandoned all divine cognition to oblivion. Where there were once echoes of celestial messages from above, the whisperings of prophets, and missions issued by a higher power, there was now the likeness of Audrey as she was at present, sitting across from him as the staccato of light and color from Times Square danced across her.
For ten minutes, he stared - not even trying to hide it. At some point, a faint smile graced his lips, as if he were privately enjoying a joke meant only for himself. The first five minutes of this was responded with a cordial smile, but around the five minute mark, her expression began to dwindle into one that questioned the nature of his regard. She was pulled into deeper perplexity when this change in her expression only stirred him, igniting a mysterious gleam in his eye. Rightfully so; that gleam was not to be trusted, and had he been completely mindful of himself, he would agree.
The ten minute mark saw the angel not just staring at her, but parts of her. What little her Lipsy harlequin dress covered invited his attention. And why the lower limbs of the female body were suddenly appealing was beyond him. The same could be said about the humble curve of her hips, the modest indent of her waist, and continuing in that raunchy upwards ocular expedition, well, hello.
The aesthetic dichotomy between her and the Winchesters was astounding. While the brothers looked like beautifully carved stone statues breathed to life, she looked so... soft. He felt compelled to reach out and touch her, to properly appreciate what God had forged for her. It would be a sin to let those gentle contours of her body go unexplored, unacknowledged. And he wasn't fond of sins.
For three minutes, she actually began to bask in this manner of scrutiny, and then for two minutes she didn't. It was dead on the stroke of fifteen minutes when she cleared her throat theatrically.
"Why are you staring at me?"
"You are pleasing to look at," he replied truthfully.
Seemingly wavering between two different responses, she eventually settled with a "Thank you".
The quiet reservation in her tone did not escape him. He contemplated her and his question before asking. "Why does it bother people when I stare?"
She appeared briefly unsure of how to attend to that question. "It's not just you," she began ambiguously, "it's rude for anyone to stare at anyone. Is that not a universal, unwritten fact?"
"Why?"
This seemed to nudge her further down the rabbit hole of confusion. "It's, er, um, intrusive?" When it appeared that she'd pulled him down the same line of muddled thinking, she struggled for words. "Well, uh, see... well, wellwellwell they, they say the eyes are the windows into the soul –"
And of course, he took that literally. "They're not."
Her face deadpanned momentarily when words suddenly dawned on her. "Okay, how about this? Staring is a non-verbal aspect of communication that, uh, indicates interest or curiosity."
He blinked owlishly. "I still fail to see the fault."
"Yeah, well," she mussed her hair absently, unconfident with her own conclusions but trailing them anyway, "I guess, by failing to follow your stare with words that convey said interest or curiosity, by default, makes the act of staring creepy, and impertinent." She paused, not for his interest but to relish the logic she'd created out of relatively nothing. "Because it's feels personal," she resumed, pride evident in her tone, "it feels intrusive; you display an interest, but you keep it to yourself!"
After nodding in comprehension, he reasoned, "Staring may be differently intentioned. What if I were to stare in anger? In recognition? In desire?"
Her eyes seemed to light up and smolder all at once, but whatever they relayed, she did not verbalize. "The staree does not know that until the starer conveys that verbally," she replied, the glint still teasing in her eyes, "or, in special cases, physically."
Ordinarily, that glint would have him harboring suspicions and elevating caution (despite the fact that he was the owner of it just minutes ago), but he raised his chin and drew in a similar gaze to duel.
"In special cases?" he echoed. "Explain it to me."
The gaze they were indulging did not coordinate their studious conversation; their eyes communicated something completely different, something perhaps too saucy to even warrant dignified subtitles. Had Ranjit the chauffeur been watching them, he would have miserably commenced preparing a strategy in advance for getting stains out of the back seat by the end of his shift.
"In anger, you might punch. In recognition, you might wave. In desire, you might kiss. Your stare may be defined and justifiable to you, but unless you clarify it to them, then the staring is just creepy."
"I've justified the reason for my staring. Am I entitled to continue?"
Why, this was dialogue that could make Selena Kitt herself blush.
"Your answer lead us into a special case. Your staring is leering, which, while justified –" Folding her arms over her chest, her side of the heated gaze turned ceremonious, "– still doesn't make it okay."
"That makes no sense," he said with an unwittingly supercilious air, his share of the gaze also dropping. "You're beautiful. Staring should be received as flattery."
"Perhaps," she conceded, acknowledging his remark with a smile, "but I'm beyond my exterior, Castiel."
"I know that."
"I know you know that," she assured, her eyes gentle. "That's why I'm not mad at you for leering. But do other men know that? If and when they leer at me? Or any random girl? That's why it's generally not okay to leer, at all."
It wasn't until she glanced aside that he realized how long they had been holding eye contact; it was like a magnet being detached from another. "I'm not mad at you because you don't see me like that," she continued, and he observed her, vaguely curious about the purpose of the buttons she was now pressing. "The first time we met, you never looked at me like that." A smile was briefly turned to him before her attention resumed on... whatever it was she was doing. "I'm not mad, but I am curious as to why you're starting now."
"It's an interesting situation," he mused, watching as she opened a discreet door and drew out a glass of champagne. A staple in any limousine ride.
"A special case?"
The implication in her tone was evident, but her eyes presented no prominence to it. Knowing it was there anyway, he smiled to one side.
"Very." Pause. And then, more solemnly, "I apologize for staring at you."
"That's okay! Just don't let it happen again." She then added, the instant before her lips pressed the rim of the glass, her voice darkened with suggestion, "Unless you intend on following up on it."
Whatever words in response had offered themselves to his tongue went unspoken when the limo lurched to a heavy stop, nearly resulting in champagne spillage, and she lit up like the Fourth of July.
"We're here!"
The "I Really Do Have Better Things To Do With My Time" expression that a dark haired man wore was contradicted by his current move of picking up a glass from the ledge on the wall and, after being momentarily annoyed to find it empty, settled for the ice cubes instead. His dirty blond wingman (and it is allowable for "dirty" and "blond" to serve as two separate adjectives in this case) began poking his arm like a child on Christmas morning.
"Ted! Ted! Hey, look at me," he said, leveling two fingers to and from their faces, "Look at me, over here, Ted, look at me, up here, look at me, look at me, look at me –"
"WHAT?" he hollered, when he finally did.
"Check out that red head over there," he pointed, eagerly snapping his fingers for emphasis. "Do you know what she is, Ted? She's a nine. And because 'tis the season to get jolly, I'm willing to let you be the six to her nine."
"Was that a sex joke or do you seriously rate me as a six? And besides, you're only letting me have her because your plan for the night is to have a threesome with a black girl and a half-black girl."
The blond fixed him with a decidedly innocent look. "I just wanna put myself forward as the white in their incomplete skin color spectrum, and believe me," he began to preen at his own words, "if my offer is welcomed with open "arms", they'll be seeing a lot of it. What up!"
His hand shot to the air, hoping to be met by Ted's, but he merely blinked at him with a lazy smile. "Barney, that's disgusting."
"I'm sorry," he mumbled sheepishly, withdrawing his hand and burying it in his pocket. "I know how sensitive you and your vagina are."
Ted allowed that jibe to slide right off him when he saw another person appear alongside the red head. "Doesn't matter anyway, she's here with some guy."
Immediately, Barney's head whipped back in her direction. Then he frowned. "Him? He looks like someone took a leak in his cornflakes this morning and suspects everyone in the room. What does he have that I don't?"
"A date."
It was on these rare occasions that Ted did not mind being on the receiving end of those dirty looks. He rejoiced the moment by dabbing a finger at his tongue, touching the air and hissing.
Curbing a laugh, he then turned to observe the man again. "Well look, he's got that enigmatic thing about him, girls love that." At Barney's quizzical glance, he elaborated, "Like he would be all reserved and proper around people, but if she ever found herself in a dark corner with him..." he trailed off into a sigh, as though his point spoke for himself.
"Awww, Ted," Barney clapped a hand on his shoulder fondly, "don't worry, you'll meet a guy like that some day."
And with that, Barney reclaimed his throne of being the chief recipient of such scowls, and then, as one, they both turned to regard the red head and the man once more. The girl was standing before him, practically bouncing at her feet with excitement, while he contemplated her animation with mingling interest. She took his hand and guided him in a direction that would have them both out of Ted and Barney's view, but before he allowed her to whisk him away, his eyes turned over to the two men watching him. Both men jumped as their gazes all seemed to interlock at once; it was as though this man had been furtively listening to them the entire time somehow. His lips quirked into what could only be described as a complacent smirk before disappearing away with her.
They were dumbstruck for thirty solid seconds before they began to relax.
"I think I just soiled myself my briefs," Ted squeaked in a tiny voice.
Barney nodded vehemently, and before downing the rest of his scotch, he said, "Had I been wearing any, I would concur."
To Castiel, everyone was a colored person. He did not racially discriminate; he saw beauty in every living being. But aside from the occasional one or two exceptions, every single person in attendance was black. Not that it was a problem, but he had to admit he felt a little self-conscious of the skin he wore – he was like Bridget Jones arriving at a party in her bunny costume, and then realizing that no one had told her the "costume" aspect of it had been dropped. That was the first thing he noticed.
The second thing he noticed was the party itself. Set in a Gothic-Tudor estate, much like the Playboy mansion, it was youthful but classy, and tremendously glamorous. Men wore designer suits without ties (save for himself and the dirty blond from earlier), women dressed provocatively yet still boasted a tone of elegance, and all wore the same pretentious mien of "I'm above facial expressions" on their features. Us Magazine says Castiel wore it best.
An effective combination of his naturally imposing manner of sweeping into rooms, Audrey's quirky fashion sense, and their equally outstanding whiteness had them maneuvering through the heavy horde of guests with little effort. They turned heads; it was probably the closest to the human concept of fame that he would ever get. Absent were only his and her Ray Bans and the flashing lights.
It was only when they ceased their little odyssey through the sea of the highly bred that he realized that they weren't turning heads, but rather, she was. He took the moment to "contemplate" her; 5'5" in her designer do-me pumps (she wouldn't be caught dead shopping in Sears!) and that vibrant harlequin dress and ... the only thing spoiling what could have been a stunning paparazzi shot was the look of fierce determination on her face as she raked the room with her kohl-rimmed eyes.
Another metaphorical being joined the human male on his shoulder. It was called the green eyed monster.
"Are you looking for something? Or someone?" he asked. To be more specific, he grumbled darkly. The allegation was not lost on her, and he hadn't expected it to.
However, he was not prepared for how she phrased her reply.
"Quit buggin', C-Unit; just 'cause I got my hair did and I'm flashin' this ice and errthang, not to mention workin' this dress, don't mean I'm all up in this crib to holla at my former boy!"
The mental fog she drove him into detained the rate of which he could register her words. Once they, more or less, dawned with some level of clarity, he revived from his stunned silence.
"I understand the words you're saying," he said slowly, as though treating her with a special caution, "but not the context they're in."
"I'm being ghetto!" Her grin faltered under his bafflement. "Or... vaguely racist." A sheepish grin emerged for no longer than a second before she resumed her inspection of the room in earnest.
There was no doubt in his mind that she was trying to find her ex-boyfriend. Oliver, he remembered with a grimace. "Oliver and Audrey" – he abominated how melodic it sounded. Already was Oliver his object of envy for two reasons: one, he "had" Audrey in what was probably every which way; and two, even now, she was exerting so much effort for him. To some degree, it made him think less of her, but for the most part, as he was still without all details regarding their erstwhile relationship, he gave her the benefit of the doubt. Nevertheless, her behavior warranted a piece of his mind.
"You invest all this effort into your appearance and for the fictional story you've built around me to impress a memento from your past?"
"Not that it makes it any better, but it's not to impress, it's to spite," she distractedly replied, more immersed with scanning the crowd around them.
"That is ludicrous," he muttered under his breath, mirroring the same gesture, but more gazing indiscriminately rather than searching as she was. He envied Oliver, but he would never act in spite.
Her eyes snapped back to him, wide and hopeful. "Ludacris? Where?"
A disparaging frown was aimed her way. "Audrey, I'm not having any part in this."
The hope in her eyes was replaced with dismay. "What? Why? Don't be playin' that ish, brother C!"
"I don't wish to be involved in this act of malice," he said, his eyes resolved yet sympathetic.
"Why not?" she whined. Then, after a thought visibly struck to her, she coated her tone with good-natured mockery and added, "Is it a sin?"
"In fact, it is," he responded tersely, like a child being patronized. "Romans, 12:19; dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto –"
"I was being ironic," she interjected, waving him off. He bridled slightly at her dismissal, but was immediately forgiving when she afflicted him with those wide, hopeful eyes again. "Please, please – just, just stand next to me!" she implored. "You don't even have to say anything! You might even give off this pretentious vibe, which would actually be even better!"
Damned oppressive eyes of a raccoon!
"Very well," he relented, meanwhile casting a purposeful glance to the side of the room he, for some reason, decided was to represent the exit. "However, this is only because I'm here to protect you."
"From what?"
Straightening his spine, he replied, "Unwanted advances." He deliberately did not specify whether it was for her sake or his.
"What makes you think I'm gonna get macked on?" she asked, to which he answered with a demonstrative downwards glance at her dress. He meant to embellish his point with words, but the words died at the sight of her again. She was just a big red "DO NOT TOUCH" button and he really, really felt like making bad decisions tonight.
At his glance, she laughed dismissively. "So what if it's a reveal of some skin? It's not a reveal of a sexual opportunity."
"Some men may misconstrue that," he countered.
Curious, she tilted her head in a flirty motion. "Would you?"
"Yes. No," he stumbled, glowering at himself. She smirked all too knowingly, pleased to have thrown him off within his show of solemnity. Stubborn, he narrowed his eyes. "Let's just get this did. Done."
He assailed a withering stare upon her, silently cursing her for the effect she had over him, and thankfully, she exempted him from any gloating by issuing a warm smile instead. Together, they renewed their walk, but after a minute or two, it was under her questioning observation that his pace began to slow.
"Audrey, I imagine you intend to follow your non-verbal expression of interest and/or curiosity with words, unless you wish to be seen as a hypocrite," he deadpanned.
"You're walking so stiffly."
"Is that a problem?" he asked, not petulantly but genuinely inquisitive.
Regarding this as sarcasm, she cast him a flat look. "Visually, yes. You need to be more laid-back. Here..."
Before he could demur, or even comprehend what she expected of him exactly, she took one hand and planted it into the pocket of his pants. With his other hand, she mulled over for a while, before moving to stand right beside him as they originally were and then gave him the lovely surprise of placing his hand beyond the lower part of her back. He shot her a shocked glance, the kind one would usually make if they had been on the receiving end (er, for the lack of a better phrase); nonetheless, his hand did not recoil.
No doubt did his glance speak volumes for him, and certainly more eloquently than he would have been had he actually spoken, as she responded with a flummoxed, "What?"
His mouth worked in vain, striving to form an objection (albeit mendacious) to her move, but the words – Lord, even the letters were not manifesting in his head. Ever the gentleman, he migrated his hand northward to take purchase on the small of her back, and then delivered her an emphatic look. There, he seemed to convey. That was decorous.
Astonished, she exclaimed, "I give you the leeway to grab my ass and you shy from it? Didn't you say you wanted to protect me from unwanted advances? Aren't you gonna mark your territory?"
The challenge in her words ignited something in him he didn't know was incendiary - let alone present - provoking his hand to behave on its own accord and grab her the way she wanted. She squeaked in surprise at the sudden impact of his hand, which had her stumbling forward a little, before beaming up at him proudly.
"That's more like it!"
I passed the application round for my film school. Now my interview is on the twenty-third of September, so until then, I'll be dividing my time with this story and hyperventilating into a paper bag like a woman in labor.
Read and review! :D