That drew a burst of laughter out of her. “It’s not worth your time anyway. There’s nothing I’ll do drunk that I wouldn’t also do sober. Which if you knew who I was, you’d already know.” Summer tipped back the last of her drink and put the glass down. “Why don’t you guess?”
“Oh,” he said, smirking, “Clever one, aren’t you? I like that, really I do. But seriously, you’re the smart type aren’t you? Not likely to swoon at my Storm Charm, are you?”
He tipped back the champagne glass and placed it gracefully on another waiter’s plate without batting an eyelash.
“Are you looking for someone to swoon? I know how,” she countered. “So far you aren’t impressing me enough for that, though.” The little voice of disappointment tugged on her mental sleeve again, whispering that he didn’t know who she was, and didn’t care, and just wanted someone to tell him how pretty he was.
“Well, I’ll just have to try harder, now won’t I?” he said, giving her a toothy grin at the thought of a challenge. Sure, the girls that were weeping at his feet were nice for his ego – but he always loved the pretty ones who played hard to get. It made him want them more. Masochistic? Maybe. Sue him.
“It might work better if you knew my name,” Summer pointed out, again. “Y’see, /I’m/ only interested in the clever ones, myself. I’m not sure you could keep up with me.” It’s a double play, but he probably wasn’t aware of that — keep up with her mentally, or in flight?
“Come on, Mr Storm. Do try harder. Impress me.”
His grin faltered, but he was never one to be easily deterred. She was about to learn that the hard way.
“Well how about a trade, ma’am?” he asked, thinking on his feet, “You give me your name and your number, and I shall offer my services to you in any way, shape or form you so desire. Sound good?”
“Desire,” she repeated. “You’re got a lot of that.” She stepped closer, eyes a little distant. “And … frustration. Because I’m not as easy as you thought? You want me to — to ask for your services sexually. Determined. That’s interesting. I’ve always heard you were very, what’s the word I want? fancy-free.”
She blinked, eyes clearing, and looked up at him properly. “I’m an empath, Mr Storm. My name is Summer. You’ll have to earn the number. I think you can come up with a way to do that.”
That drew a burst of laughter out of her. “It’s not worth your time anyway. There’s nothing I’ll do drunk that I wouldn’t also do sober. Which if you knew who I was, you’d already know.” Summer tipped back the last of her drink and put the glass down. “Why don’t you guess?”
“Oh,” he said, smirking, “Clever one, aren’t you? I like that, really I do. But seriously, you’re the smart type aren’t you? Not likely to swoon at my Storm Charm, are you?”
He tipped back the champagne glass and placed it gracefully on another waiter’s plate without batting an eyelash.
“Are you looking for someone to swoon? I know how,” she countered. “So far you aren’t impressing me enough for that, though.” The little voice of disappointment tugged on her mental sleeve again, whispering that he didn’t know who she was, and didn’t care, and just wanted someone to tell him how pretty he was.
“Well, I’ll just have to try harder, now won’t I?” he said, giving her a toothy grin at the thought of a challenge. Sure, the girls that were weeping at his feet were nice for his ego – but he always loved the pretty ones who played hard to get. It made him want them more. Masochistic? Maybe. Sue him.
“It might work better if you knew my name,” Summer pointed out, again. “Y’see, /I’m/ only interested in the clever ones, myself. I’m not sure you could keep up with me.” It’s a double play, but he probably wasn’t aware of that — keep up with her mentally, or in flight?
if you’re tagged it’s because I thought you actually /wanted/ to play with me and you’ve abandoned our thread. Please do me the courtesy of /telling/ me you don’t want to play, instead of passively ignoring me.
Summer blinked at him, then at the glass she was holding. “What, the drinks here aren’t good enough?” She raised it to him. “Or this is you trying to get me drunk?”
“What?” he said, mocking shock, “That you would think I would ever try to get anyone drunk. The audacity.” He winked at her and snatched a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.
That drew a burst of laughter out of her. “It’s not worth your time anyway. There’s nothing I’ll do drunk that I wouldn’t also do sober. Which if you knew who I was, you’d already know.” Summer tipped back the last of her drink and put the glass down. “Why don’t you guess?”
“Oh,” he said, smirking, “Clever one, aren’t you? I like that, really I do. But seriously, you’re the smart type aren’t you? Not likely to swoon at my Storm Charm, are you?”
He tipped back the champagne glass and placed it gracefully on another waiter’s plate without batting an eyelash.
“Are you looking for someone to swoon? I know how,” she countered. “So far you aren’t impressing me enough for that, though.” The little voice of disappointment tugged on her mental sleeve again, whispering that he didn’t know who she was, and didn’t care, and just wanted someone to tell him how pretty he was.
“Oh, then I’m definitely not a wallflower. I’m not beautiful.” She hid behind her drink, taking a sip. “You don’t even know who I am, Mr Storm.”
“I though your name was Not-Beautiful, gorgeous,” he said cheekily, “I’m sure everything else about you can be discussed over a drink or two?”
Summer blinked at him, then at the glass she was holding. “What, the drinks here aren’t good enough?” She raised it to him. “Or this is you trying to get me drunk?”
“What?” he said, mocking shock, “That you would think I would ever try to get anyone drunk. The audacity.” He winked at her and snatched a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.
That drew a burst of laughter out of her. “It’s not worth your time anyway. There’s nothing I’ll do drunk that I wouldn’t also do sober. Which if you knew who I was, you’d already know.” Summer tipped back the last of her drink and put the glass down. “Why don’t you guess?”
That startled a laugh out of her, and a more genuine smile. “What does a wallflower look like? I’m not hiding, I’m — ” lying. She was hiding. A little. And he was drunk, and this was a dream.
“Not hiding, just not making yourself known, right?” he said, laughing at her blush. She was a sweet little thing. Cute, and a definite wallflower.
“And a wallflower is someone very beautiful who covers herself in shadows so no one else can see their sunshine smile.”
“Oh, then I’m definitely not a wallflower. I’m not beautiful.” She hid behind her drink, taking a sip. “You don’t even know who I am, Mr Storm.”
“I though your name was Not-Beautiful, gorgeous,” he said cheekily, “I’m sure everything else about you can be discussed over a drink or two?”
Summer blinked at him, then at the glass she was holding. “What, the drinks here aren’t good enough?” She raised it to him. “Or this is you trying to get me drunk?”
Johnny noticed the girl from afar. She stood away from everyone, trying not to be social at this superheroic social event. She didn’t look lonely, per se, just a little awkward. And maybe a little shy.
And if there was a thing Johnny Storm loved more than anything, it was making shy girls blush so hard he could follow the blood down their chest.
He walked over to her, with a smug grin on his face, and his grin widened where she finally noticed him and stared like a deer caught in headlights.
What could he say? He was pretty impressive.
Shit. Shit. Of course when she wanted to pretend to be invisible would be when Johnny Storm would finally notice her. But oh god, he looked good enough to eat, and she could feel herself flushing. “Mr Storm,” she managed, with a tentative smile.
“Why, hello there,” he said, realising that the alcohol he had consumed might be affecting his usual charm, “and what’s a girl like you hiding in the corner? You don’t look like a wallflower.”
That startled a laugh out of her, and a more genuine smile. “What does a wallflower look like? I’m not hiding, I’m — ” lying. She was hiding. A little. And he was drunk, and this was a dream.
“Not hiding, just not making yourself known, right?” he said, laughing at her blush. She was a sweet little thing. Cute, and a definite wallflower.
“And a wallflower is someone very beautiful who covers herself in shadows so no one else can see their sunshine smile.”
“Oh, then I’m definitely not a wallflower. I’m not beautiful.” She hid behind her drink, taking a sip. “You don’t even know who I am, Mr Storm.”
Summer checked herself over in the mirror one last time. She was never comfortable with the way she looked, far less when she dressed up. But the letter had specified formal dress, so formal dress it was, makeup, heeled shoes and all. She’d braided her long hair into a double coronet around her head and accented the burgundy dress with garnet jewellery.
Probably she ought to be grateful to have her work recognised, but then again recognition had very little to do with what she did as a heroine. It was simply something that needed doing that she was capable of doing, that was all. But the folk who had organised this charity ball didn’t seem to think so, and they wanted the empath Summer Rainault, who had, in their words, ‘helped save so many lives during and after the Manhattan Incident,’ to be one of their guests of honour while the rich and powerful of New York City rubbed elbows with actual heroes.
Summer anticipated being largely ignored while the attendees swarmed around better known heroes like Captain America or Iron Man. Which, honestly, was fine by her. Making polite conversation with people who were largely unaware of her existence, all the while knowing just how little truth was in their words, had never appealed. She smiled, posed, and waved to the paparazzi on her way in, hiding how awkward and out of place she felt. Once inside the ballroom, Summer found a corner quieter than the rest, acquired a drink, and tried to ignore all the butterflies in her gut.
Johnny noticed the girl from afar. She stood away from everyone, trying not to be social at this superheroic social event. She didn’t look lonely, per se, just a little awkward. And maybe a little shy.
And if there was a thing Johnny Storm loved more than anything, it was making shy girls blush so hard he could follow the blood down their chest.
He walked over to her, with a smug grin on his face, and his grin widened where she finally noticed him and stared like a deer caught in headlights.
What could he say? He was pretty impressive.
Shit. Shit. Of course when she wanted to pretend to be invisible would be when Johnny Storm would finally notice her. But oh god, he looked good enough to eat, and she could feel herself flushing. “Mr Storm,” she managed, with a tentative smile.
“Why, hello there,” he said, realising that the alcohol he had consumed might be affecting his usual charm, “and what’s a girl like you hiding in the corner? You don’t look like a wallflower.”
That startled a laugh out of her, and a more genuine smile. “What does a wallflower look like? I’m not hiding, I’m — ” lying. She was hiding. A little. And he was drunk, and this was a dream.
Summer checked herself over in the mirror one last time. She was never comfortable with the way she looked, far less when she dressed up. But the letter had specified formal dress, so formal dress it was, makeup, heeled shoes and all. She’d braided her long hair into a double coronet around her head and accented the burgundy dress with garnet jewellery.
Probably she ought to be grateful to have her work recognised, but then again recognition had very little to do with what she did as a heroine. It was simply something that needed doing that she was capable of doing, that was all. But the folk who had organised this charity ball didn’t seem to think so, and they wanted the empath Summer Rainault, who had, in their words, ‘helped save so many lives during and after the Manhattan Incident,’ to be one of their guests of honour while the rich and powerful of New York City rubbed elbows with actual heroes.
Summer anticipated being largely ignored while the attendees swarmed around better known heroes like Captain America or Iron Man. Which, honestly, was fine by her. Making polite conversation with people who were largely unaware of her existence, all the while knowing just how little truth was in their words, had never appealed. She smiled, posed, and waved to the paparazzi on her way in, hiding how awkward and out of place she felt. Once inside the ballroom, Summer found a corner quieter than the rest, acquired a drink, and tried to ignore all the butterflies in her gut.
Johnny noticed the girl from afar. She stood away from everyone, trying not to be social at this superheroic social event. She didn’t look lonely, per se, just a little awkward. And maybe a little shy.
And if there was a thing Johnny Storm loved more than anything, it was making shy girls blush so hard he could follow the blood down their chest.
He walked over to her, with a smug grin on his face, and his grin widened where she finally noticed him and stared like a deer caught in headlights.
What could he say? He was pretty impressive.
Shit. Shit. Of course when she wanted to pretend to be invisible would be when Johnny Storm would finally notice her. But oh god, he looked good enough to eat, and she could feel herself flushing. “Mr Storm,” she managed, with a tentative smile.