argyle_princess | Winter Formal, Neptune High School

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Winter Formal, Neptune High School

Even before they reach the dance, in the dressed up Neptune High School Gym, they can hear it, a jumble of voices and laughter over something that passes for music.

(The band, it must be confessed, is really nothing all that impressive. The lyrics, if they were intelligible, would be quite forgettable. The music is, however, basically danceable.)

This year's theme, whatever it is, seems to have called for a great deal of pale blue and silver streamers and balloons, though only so much can be done to disguise the fact that the room is really intended more for basketball than dancing. But the Winter Formal Committee has tried. And what the room looks like doesn't matter nearly as much as who wore what and who showed up with whom. It's hard to get quality gossip out of crepe paper.

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Though, the elements of here and now are factors for figuring out opportune moments. And even being in the middle of a dance floor in the middle of Neptune-

Because of, or in spite of-

This rather strikes Wellard as an opportune moment, and he is quite learning how to not let such things pass him by without taking advantage of them.

He leans forwards and softly kisses Hannah.

Her hands are already on his neck; it's easy enough to slide them up into his hair, to pull him closer to her.

They could be in the middle of a dance floor in Neptune or a yak farm in Mongolia or a bar at the End of the Universe in this here and now and it would make very little difference. Hannah would still be aware of exactly three things.

His hand, slightly cool and slightly rough, on the small of her back.

His mouth on hers, and the soft, deliberate way he kisses her.

And the faint, sweet smell of the roses he put on her wrist and in her hair in a different here and now.

Even with his eyes closed- She is still beautiful.

Opportune moments, each with an exact detail to remember-

The soft warmth of her skin under his finger tips.

The still-surprising newness in the feeling of his lips upon hers.

The scent of roses mingling with the sweeter smell of jasmine that Hannah often uses.

The dim, colorful lights and the slow music of the dance just nicely serve as a background to everything else-

They are not that much of a component to this here and now, afterall.

And then, suddenly, they are. The band quickens pace, the music becomes all drums and guitar riffs, the singer switches from a smokey croon to a rough wail.

Hannah steps back slightly, her hands slide from his hair along his cheeks, and then drop to his shoulders.

She spends a long moment trying to think of something to say, before settling for "Hi," and then looks away, laughing.

Wellard laughs quietly, his hands dropping from Hannah's waist, and his cheeks flush faintly red.

"Ah. ... Opportune moment." He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, sheepishly.

"I'm quite glad you asked me to accompany you to the dance here, Hannah. Thank you."

Just impossibly cute when he blushes.

"You're welcome. I'm very glad you came," she says.

"Then it seems to have worked rather well all around, hasn't it?" Wellard grins a bit, then offers Hannah his arm.

"Would you care to see what they have to drink?"

"You know, I think it might actually be early enough that there are even odds no one has spiked the punch yet," she says, taking his arm.

"And if they have, we'll find something else."

"Doctor Brennan mentioned that." Wellard makes a slight face, as he and Hannah make their way through the other dancers to some of the tables on the edge of the room.

"As well as the reasons for it." He shakes his head, amused, then looks over the various bowls of punch.

Hannah approaches open drinks at social gatherings - even school sponsored ones - the way a girl from 21st century Neptune would, which is to say cautiously.

"There's an anthropological reason for spiking punch?" she asks, first smelling and then carefully tasting the punch.

"Yeah, we'll need something else."

"Rebellion against the legal drinking age." His lips twitch in both amusement at the idea, and also an exasperated frown at the bowls of punch.

"... I can make do, if there's nothing else, really."

"Well, I can't," she says, "because I'm driving, and I'm not stupid. And you shouldn't have to. This is why I always bring quarters to a dance. For the soda machine.

"Will you be okay for a minute? I'll be right back."

Wellard blinks, and then nods.

"I should be fine, of course."

She leans up and kisses his cheek. "Be right back," she promises, and goes.

Speaking of opportune moments, Amber has been waiting for Hannah to step away from her date.

Not that Amber doesn't have one of her own, but that's never stopped her from looking.

The girl who walks up to Henry is wearing rather a lot of mascara and a black dress that's really a marvel of structural engineering (in that it's a bit difficult to tell what's keeping it on).

"Hi there," she says.

Wellard hardly considers himself knowledgeable about women's clothing, but from an engineering perspective, even he has to wonder how that dress is staying up.

... It is a little bit of effort to keep his eyes on her face, but he does manage.

"Ah- good evening."

Which means that the dress is serving its purpose.

"I'm Amber."

A flirty smile that comes off looking slightly predatory.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

What with the accent and all.

He may not quite get the 'why', but that preditory look is putting Wellard slightly on-guard. Thankfully, sightly-formal manners cover that well enough.

"Henry Wellard." He inclines his head. "And not at all, though I thought that would have been easily noticed. I'm from London, though out here looking at schools."

"That's cool."

Amber cocks her head at an angle that's probably meant to be coquettish.

"So. Do you want to dance?"

Demure, she ain't.

He has seen sucessful coquettish. ... This is not it.

Wellard smiles a bit wryly, and then shrugs. "With apologies, Amber, I'm waiting for my date to return."

Amber is not used to being met with resistance. So she figures that he's not actually resisting. Just being....British.

"She won't mind. Especially if she went and left you alone."

Its not bring British, it is having manners.

Wellard raises an eyebrow. "Hannah is off getting drinks for the both of us, since I don't know where they're located.

"So as you can see, I am hardly alone, and I am waiting for my date to return. Thank you kindly for your offer, but I will have to decline it."

Coquettish is beginning to give way to mild snit.

"So." There is a pregnant pause. "How do you know Hannah?"

Hannah really must be 'talented' to meet a guy while locked in a convent in Vermont.

"One of my father's friends is Hannah's roommate's uncle, when she was in school in Vermont." His tone very carefully civil, though he does allow a faint smile to cross his lips. "We met when they were in Montpelier, and I was immediately taken in by Hannah's beauty, charm and brilliance."

Wellard pauses and raises an eyebrow, looking down over Amber's dress, then back up to her.
Comparison made, Amber loses.
"Then, when I was to be out this way to look at colleges, she was gracious enough to invite me to the dance here."

Speaking of Hannah . . .

"Coke okay?" she asks, returning from the quest for non-spiked drinks.

And then, as an after thought, "Oh, hey, Amber."

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