isolate;

“Seriously? Is that what you think?” Maverick idly wondered if he should carry around some kind of recording device, just so Dylan could hear what he said half the time. “Are you fucking deaf and stupid? No one is going to buy what? Your fucking drugs? Then consider that a favor,” he snapped back, rolling his eyes, “Even better, if you think that being a closeted bisexual is going to stop you from getting gigs, then fuck off, Dylan. I’m done being your goddamn friend. I’m done being anything to you because obviously you do give a shit. It doesn’t take a fucking genius to see the way you react each time you ask if you give off that ‘gay’ vibe. Lei è uno scherzo,” he took his glass, dumping it on Dylan.

"Oh my fucking GOD it's not about sexuality! Stop putting fucking words in my mouth to suit your own agenda. I never fucking said you telling the world that I’m a closeted bisexual would stop me from getting gigs and shit. I never fucking said that. I only meant that this event was full of fucking upper class people with a lot of money. Some of them pay me, but they won’t want to now. Hiring someone who causes such a public disturbance wherever they go generally isn’t favoured among the bratty elite.” He frowned, not sure if he was even making sense anymore. The alcohol swirling in his system only fuelled his rant more. No one could ever describe Dylan as anywhere near perfect, but he had been trying harder lately to fake being a better person when it came to his profession for the sake of his mother. Every day that passed without her treatment was a day that he had failed, and he was running out of time.

“Keep going,” Danielle threatened as the man cursed at her and complained. “I haven’t yet written in the fine amount.”

“Oh you’re actually going to fine me more because I’m annoyed that you fucked my entire day? Got a quota to reach or something? Un-fucking-believable.”

Amara rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. Yes, the Bass family were worth probably about a billion altogether, but that didn’t mean anything to Amara. What mattered to her was her mother’s health and the fact that this man was only enabling her addict lifestyle, her chaotic lifestyle. Amara and Katherine had their differences, but deep down, Amara loved her mother no matter what. “You think it’s as shallow as money, Dylan? You know that my mother and your father had a kid together, right? Sarah. She’s only three and she has to live in that environment, both parents fucking lunatics, so it’s more than that.” She glared, shaking her head. “Wanted criminal? I’m not sure, that seems like something you’d know, Dylan, not me, although I wouldn’t be surprised if him and your mother got into a few fights that would cause assault. I’m sure where you’re from that is completely normal.” Amara glared, shaking her head. “You don’t know a fucking thing about me. Not what I do, or how I behave, or anything. Not the first goddamn thing. I’ve been working since I was a three years old. My mother made me and if you open up your goddamn eyes, you’ll see I’m in Vogue this week, on the cover. I’m a model, for crying out loud, and I work seven days a week, asshole. What do you do, Holden Caufield, steal car parts?” She rolled her eyes. “Your help? No, morel like your genes to claim what is yours, because that monster is yours and your responsibility and if you think this is about money, you’re wrong. You’re his son, aren’t you? Perhaps you can talk some sense into him, if you care about our little sister, because he won’t listen to me and my mother? My mother hasn’t talked to me in months.” 

“You know that ‘criminal’ means more than just assault, right? Or do they not teach you that in model school? My father is a lot of fuckin’ things, but he never raised a hand to any one of us. He wouldn’t be alive if he did. He’s wanted for fuckin’ fraud, which ironically is a much easier crime to make disappear with the right amount of money. So how about you ease up on the assumptions? I can’t fucking stand the guy, I had my last name changed so I wouldn’t have to have anything to do with him. He’s a stranger to me, so don’t talk to me like shit just because I’m his son by blood. Like I said, as far as I’m concerned, I have no Dad.” Dylan could have gone on forever now that these repressed emotions had bubbled over the surface, but he stopped himself. It wasn’t worth it to rant about his family history to Amara; she wouldn’t understand nor care. Just like he didn’t really care for her side either. They were too much alike, yet from such different worlds. However something she had said, had made him stand up and listen for the first time since he’d opened the door to her. He had a half sibling. A baby sister. “Shit,” He muttered. He knew he couldn’t ignore that. “Fuck!” He cursed again, for good measure. He was in the bullshit now, and he figured Amara wouldn’t let him out of it very easily. “What do you expect me to do though? I can’t just take her away. I think in the States that’s still classified as kidnapping.”

Had she known they were going to be working tonight, she wouldn’t have gotten so incredibly shit faced. Well, that was a lie. She’d probably consume the same amount, but she would’ve tried a hell of a lot harder to hold her composure. Which, was what she wanted to do now. “What? No no, why wouldn’t I?” She questioned, looking up at him with furrowed brows. “I want to be a part of it. I just didn’t know you had these plans. But I’ll head to the bathroom now and I’ll… throw water on my face and eat something. I’ll make it work. Won’t even know I’m high.” 

Dylan sighed, seeing the fairness in her comment. He hadn’t told her anything; an unfortunate byproduct of working alone all this time. So he couldn’t be mad at her for not knowing. However, seeing Sophia in this state almost worried him. She was a time bomb, and she didn’t seem to care about when she exploded. “Okay, okay. Do what you gotta do. I’ll try and get them drunk so it’s not as obvious.” He went to walk away, but a thought stopped him. “I hear the burgers are good.”

And there he was. The spawn of the devil. Amara truly hated Dylan’s father, with a true passion. It was so obvious the shell of a man was using her mother for her money, her riches, her status and bleeding her dry, but what could she do? Katherine Bass was either half in the bottle or too self absorbed to even notice two feet in front of her. Amara crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing at her younger step brother. “Least favorite is right. I was trying to make pleasant chat, but since you don’t seem up for that bullshit, I guess we can drop the acts. I’m not too fond of you either, blondie, just by the way. Your father is single handedly spending my mother’s millions and my family’s money, to say the least, and so the mere fact that you and your mother couldn’t keep him happy so that he had to come and shit on my family is something I hold against you.” Amara knew it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t kind nor even right, but she couldn’t help but feel a rage against all people who were related to that scum. 

“Oh, no, please, though. Tell me. What are your ideas as to why I’m here? I’m curious.” 

Dylan almost laughed at Amara’s outburst, any feeling of sadness or anger he could have felt at her comments buried under a lifetime’s worth of abandonment. “Oh no, has Mrs Bass only got fifty million to blow on booze instead of one hundred million? Cry me a river, Amara. Anyone half smart could see the kind of slimy filth he is. Tell me, was he still a wanted criminal when your Mother dearest met him? I wouldn’t be surprised if she used her own money to cut a deal, because that’s what you rich people do, isn’t it? You work around the law because that’s what happens when you got fuckin’ money, huh? Maybe it’s good my Dad is robbing you blind right in front of you. You’d know what it’s like to struggle for once. Maybe you’ll even have to get a job.” He gasped dramatically before quickly returning to his icy demeanour. At her sarcastic question, he rubbed his eyes, frustrated. “Well there’s only one reason you’d come all the way to Montreal to fraternise with such a lowly redneck. You need my help with something, presumably to do with him. But you’re shit outta luck. He ain’t no father of mine, I don’t care what he does.”

“No, only if you lack taste. Julie Andrews will never fail to entertain, but your too blinded by your thoughts of how you think your hair looks good.”

“Now you’re just grabbing at straws. You wanna talk about good taste? Watch Lethal Weapon.”

Maverick blamed his Italian blood for making him turn on Dylan automatically, all thoughts of not making a scene gone from his mind, “Okay, listen – first of all, what the fuck is your problem? Do you have to be so goddamn condescending every time I make a joke? Does it bother you that I like to suck dick? Sometimes I can’t figure out if you’re a fucking homophobe or if you’re just joking. I did it to pull a laugh out of you, not for you to throw some bitch fit because you’re worried some ‘dude’ was going to bid on you. Try it sometime, because at this rate maybe you need someone who can kick your ass.”

“My problem? Are you fucking serious? You make a dick of me in front of everyone and you expect me to just laugh it off? Do you think people are gonna wanna hire me to play gigs, or...buy my shit?” He lowered his voice to a whisper before uttering the last part of his sentence through gritted teeth. He had been pissed before, but seeing Maverick get riled up had only sparked his own dormant anger that seemed to make itself most prominent when he was drunk. “You might think I’m a fucking joke, but I don’t, and what are you talking about, me being a homophobe? I don’t give a shit what you do or who you do it with, just don’t fucking involve me.”

“Is this your car?” Danielle asked the approaching person, pointing toward the illegally parked vehicle with her pen. She briefly glanced up from her scribbling to assess the suspect. Sure, it was a cruel move to be giving out parking tickets on a holiday about love, but she had to pay her bills, after all. And perhaps she was a little bitter about not being able to spend the holiday with her fiancée.

“The fuck? Are you serious? I was parked for five minutes while I dropped something off inside and you’re gonna book me?”

“Okay, I know I’m from LA, but is it always this cold in Montreal? Honestly, I’m wearing three pairs of socks.” Amara said, shivering in her winter coat as she looked up at the beautiful house. “Whose house is this, by the way? I thought LA had beautiful homes, but…this one is breath-taking. If it wasn’t so cold and if my fingers weren’t numb, I would take a picture.” 

“Yes Amara, it is. It’s Canada. It snows,” Dylan replied in a monotone voice, clearly unimpressed as his stepsister chatted away beside him. What was she even doing here anyway? They barely knew each other, so opening his front door to the sight of her had been a shock, to say the least. Everything he knew about her and her mother had come from his own mother and sister; when they felt like bitching about his father’s ‘new life with the rich princesses’; one of whom was now asking about a house. “I don’t fucking know,” He bit, omitting an annoyed sigh. “Look, are you going to tell me why you’re here, bothering your least favourite distant relative? Or can I guess? I got a few ideas.”

Well, he was right about one thing. He could handle it and she couldn’t. She was sloppy and so… unequipped to deal with these choices she was making. But did that stop her? Hell no. “What do you mean, get to know me?” She then questioned, looking up at him wide eyes. Maybe she was too intoxicated to catch on?  But she had no idea what he was getting at. “Oh! Is that what you mean?” A small laugh then fell from her lips. It wasn’t funny, but she couldn’t help it. “Okay, okay, you’re right. Let me get into gear here.” Not that she really could. “Maybe I should go fix myself up in the bathroom. Are you saying someone is looking to buy tonight? Where are they? I’ll avoid them.” Again, not that she really could. But hey, she’d try and that was something, right?

“Jesus Christ, Sophia,” Dylan muttered, rolling his eyes as she lost herself in a fit of giggles. “For your information, yes. I set some shit up earlier and I told them about my new supplier and mentioned you’d be around tonight. Some of them are pretty keen to meet you. Nothing weird, but girls do a lot better in this business than dudes. Got more trusting faces I guess.” He paused, shrugging. “But it’s not gonna project a very good image if you’re off your head, so do whatever it takes to get yourself to fake sober, and meet me back here. Unless...you don’t want in anymore. Because I will happily keep all the money for myself.” God knew he needed it.

“Mia madre is many things, so I’d have to agree with you on that,” Maverick quipped, unable to stop how amused he looked. He backed away from Dylan, however, not entirely wishing to be close to the crazy dude, “You’ll thank me later. At least someone paid to date your ass; I just wanted to give your right hand a break and save your dick from some chafing.”

“You take that back. The Princess Diaries is a classic. That is irrefutable fact. Oh, and keep telling yourself that.”

"Yeah maybe. If you're thirteen and also a girl. Last time I checked, I was neither."

The man didn’t wait for her new partner to add anything, his face turning into a jealous and disgusted scowl, he turned around wordlessly and walked away from the fake couple. Annabelle was about to reply but instead of words, only a small laughter left her lips. The way he had told off the other was more than funny and she was glad someone had done it for her. ‘’I owe you way more than that You saved my night’ she replied with a smile, walking by his side to the bar counter. Ordering two whiskeys, she chugged hers in a second before closing her eyes, a tired sigh leaving her lips once again. ‘’I’m sorry about that. To be fair, he seemed pretty convinced.’’ she told him with a small chuckle.

A look of satisfaction crossed Dylan's features at the man's exit, meeting the unknown blonde's laughter with a shrug and a smirk. He would never say it out loud, but it had felt almost good to do something for someone that didn't benefit him. Well, almost selfless. He would milk the free whiskeys for as long as he could. Watching the woman down hers before he'd even taken his first sip, Dylan raised his eyebrows in impressed surprise and saluted her before downing his own. “I don’t know. I’m pretty good-looking. I’m not sure if many people would believe that you could pull someone like me.”

Dylan scowled as he marched through the sea of people, finding it hard to focus entirely on faces, thanks to all of the beers he’d eagerly consumed earlier. His face was hot; from the alcohol or the adrenaline coursing through him he wasn’t sure. At first, he’d had no idea who would bother to play such an idiotic prank on him but then it registered. We’ll see who’s laughin’ at who soon. Of course. He almost laughed at himself for not realising it sooner. Spotting the back of the head of the man he was hunting in the corner of the ballroom, Dylan approached, fists clenched. “You son of a fucking bitch.”