Nick.

“Are you sure I can’t do anything to make it up to you?” Sophia continued politely still smiling, making sure he didn’t think she ran into him on purpose. She already was on what some would consider bad terms with Jamie Heather and she did not have the energy for another similar situation. Besides, he had been nice to her at the Dinner party and she was trying to make more friends. So she had to make an effort. 

“Again? What is that supposed to mean? Here I was thinking I didn’t take enough time off. Do I have a reputation that I am unaware of?” Sophia joked, raising an eyebrow as she waited for his answer. 

He gave a small snort, polite but playful, at the comment. He arched his brow in turn. “Careful, darling, offering up cart blanche like that. Didn’t your mother ever teach you that if you give an inch, no-good men like myself will take a mile?” 

He was teasing, clearly, fingers flitting down pressed lapels with a silkiness akin to the fabric. Smooth, effortless, sharp, much like the charm he wore like both a cloak and badge of honour. Somehow his most honest show of splendour, and his most woven fabrication. 

“Well, I don’t know about a reputation, but don’t think I don’t see you. Head always off elsewhere than where you’re at. Contemplating something far more interesting and deep than the likes of any company your classmates can offer.” He smirked.

nickmercer:

The Spring Ball. 

Frivolous though these things might be, Nick’s life was an invariable bouquet of such frivolousness and this ball was, whether he liked it or not, painstakingly important. Not to Nick on a personal level, nor an emotional, but in respect to his reputation, his social status, and his life as he knew it as a golden member of the prestigious and elite. 

It was also an opportunity. Because with dates mandatory, this was an occasion in which tradition worked in Nick’s favour. Potential girls who would both look good on his arm and make him look even better, would look at him with more than apathetic amusement or attraction this week. They would be looking at him in consideration, if he were lucky. They would be looking at him and musing, were he to ask for the pleasure of their company on such an evening, would they say yes? Would he be a good candidate? 

He’d like to think that most of them would think, yes, he would. Because Nick Mercer was a gentleman. He was charming, well-mannered, polite. He had an infectious smile, one which some young woman could foreseeably take home to mother, a sharp mind, and he was flirtatious and sweet. He was also handsome and looked undeniably fine in a suit. 

Nick as the Nicholas Mercer he presented to the student population, was a catch. It was only in the privacy of his own dark spaces hardly even ventured in his head, where he had doubts, and even then, it wasn’t his handsomeness or his wit or his charm that he considered up for debate. It was his intentions and his motives that even he questioned. In his weaker moments. The ones he did his best to suffocate.

This afternoon, he was strolling casually through the breezy courtyard, lazily scanning the roves of students as he sipped on a sweet Americano. Lucas would of course be going with Lauren, so it wasn’t like Nick would have much of a wing man in his friend, in terms of finding himself a date. 

He was honestly looking forward to a time when he was in a relationship—but the sad thing was, his want for it wasn’t in service of his emotional needs, but rather a convenience thing. Being with someone meant he could stop trying so hard to impress, and to make a statement. Having a girl to call his ‘only’ on his arm, meant she was doing half the work for him. It meant maintaining stature, maintaining relevance. He’d be talked about, thought about and respected, and that was what mattered. At least in terms of what he’d grown up believing and being taught, it’s all that ever mattered.

ONE. Miles was never attractive. If anything, he was well-groomed. His suits were tailored every week, and he polished his shoes every afternoon. The cologne he wore was brought over from Paris, France, where his father would travel to negotiate dealings with his partners. It was also suspected that his father had a lover staying in a penthouse that he owns in Paris. That, though, is to never be questioned. The young boy, nonetheless, was one who did not have the features often marketed across media. All he had, if all accounts measured, was his height. This is a fact that was pointed out by his sister. She would giggle in her angelic beauty, her chocolate hair in curls, and her sweet smile would tease him for looking like a sloth. She even mentioned that her friends found him to be a character from a cartoon. How charming. 

TWO. The girl that fawned over him was beautiful. Her strawberry blonde hair rolled down to the mid of her back, and her lashes would bat intrigued with the pale complexion that differed from her olive tone. She found him mysterious, and after reading Twilight, all she wanted was her own Edward. Miles made the perfect match, for he sat in the back with no company, his skin was too pale, his eyes were depicted by Stephanie Meyer to an exact, and he was smart enough to claim that he knew enough due to his long life. The girl was not in love with Miles, and she was not heartbroken because Miles broke up with her. She was upset that her Edward Cullen was not devoted to her Bella aesthetic. 

THREE. This ball was another event thrown that was a waste of money. It was an excuse for the elite to occupy their time, for they have nothing better to do. It’s a design that tricks the public into thinking that they are all grander than life when the truth is that they are just lost souls with money as their only friend. It’s an event of validation. Miles Kenilsworth was familiar of the phenomenon, for his family would host parties to cover the fact that they would be sitting on the couch with no communication if the parties were not thrown. He was all too aware of the truth that manifested.

Strolling in the quad, he was crossing a path with his hands stuffed into the inside of his tailored dress pants. Miles was appreciating the nature of spring, enamored with the music of shuffling trees and the whistles of birds. He was, in that moment, a naturalist. It was the contact of gravel and feet that caught him off guard, for his walk was not as obvious—his steps were light. Averting his focus toward his approaching company, he would have been keen of passing along as if he did not notice the other, but with where the pair stood, it only made sense that he, at the least, said hello. It was good conduct for the Riot Club members. 

“The event calls for all white.” Miles nonchalantly claimed with the roll of his neck, a mocking chuckle following leaving the taste of alcohol onto his lips. It was a permanent flavor that only lingered for he drank too much. It was not alcoholism—it was more him being desperate to not feel the emptiness; his eagerness to get his heart beating once again. “When have you ever seen me in anything other than black?”

Nick wouldn’t know how to describe his fascination with Miles, if he tried. Not that he dared too—even pondering the sensation in the privacy of his own head made him feel vulnerable. Like there were secrets in the answers to that question that even Nick himself didn’t want to uncover. He didn’t want to look himself in the mirror and see truth. Truth was ugly, unforgiving. Truth was, by nature, far more difficult to stomach than a lie. And, much as people denied this, the average person would always prefer a lie over the truth. They would prefer to hear what they want to hear—only they would prefer not to know that it was all a construct. 

Because people were cowards, by nature. Selfish by nature and dishonest, by nature. People wanted simple. Easy. Safe. And Nick was one of those people, much as he was loathe to admit it. 

So he attempted to chalk up the rush in his veins when Miles around, to a strange curiosity. To the fact that Miles was both alike him, in the way that he swaggered with ease, charmed without effort—and unlike him; in the way that he kept to himself. Sauntered the lawns of a world truly his own. Kept his secrets quietly tucked under stones, designed to appear a mystery without guise or denial. No one was meant to think he had nothing to hide. He donned black over translucent skin, a stalking parade of the secrets he kept. Sultry in his mystery, in the way people would look and look but could never see beyond his stoic, alluring shell. 

Nick had always operated so differently. He sought brilliance by standing out, by being both transcendent and seamless. Fitting into expectation, showing cards as though he had nothing to hide nor to run from. Disappearing in plain sight. 

And there was a piece of him that maybe found Miles’ enigma to be enticing enough that he almost envied it, in a way. Wondered if it brought the man a sense of independence, or security that Nicholas still struggled to grasp in powdered fingers. He wondered if there was peace there, or if there was less effort involved in not having to fight to present himself bared and answered and without mystery, so that people would not ask questions. Questions, for Nick, were dangerous territory. He presented himself in a way specifically designed to avoid the invitation of them. 

 The last time they’d interacted it’d been something of a rollercoaster for Nick, though somehow he imagined that not to be the case for Miles. It’d started off well enough, he’d thought, but then he’d hit several roadblocks, despite his efforts to make peace, to compliment or understand. It didn’t help that Nick felt unlike himself around the tall, alien-esque blond. That he felt fumbling and uncertain where he was usually confident and swaggering. It didn’t help that he found the man’s gaze both intimidating and intoxicating, and he didn’t know where to settle his weight when under the scrutiny of it. 

Still, he found it almost a relief, of sorts, when Miles was the one to break the silence today, despite the indifference in his tone, and the bored apathy of the subject. In fact, there was something that sounded vaguely like humour, like familiar sarcasm in the comment, and Nick clung to it, feeling curiously hopeful for it to be a good sign. Though he couldn’t put his finger on why he cared at all. 

He chuckled in turn, eyes flicking downward as Miles’ tongue swiped over an unusually pouty mouth. “I don’t believe I have—though you wear it well, I admit. And no one wears white well,” he continued with a smile, eyes seeking Miles’, but feeling slightly nervous when he found them. His gaze to the ground, briefly, but he hid behind an easy grin, hand slipping to his pocket as he took a sip of his coffee and spoke over the rim. “I’m not sure whose idea it was but I’m tempted to remind them it’s not 1978.” 

nickmercer:

The Spring Ball. 

Frivolous though these things might be, Nick’s life was an invariable bouquet of such frivolousness and this ball was, whether he liked it or not, painstakingly important. Not to Nick on a personal level, nor an emotional, but in respect to his reputation, his social status, and his life as he knew it as a golden member of the prestigious and elite. 

It was also an opportunity. Because with dates mandatory, this was an occasion in which tradition worked in Nick’s favour. Potential girls who would both look good on his arm and make him look even better, would look at him with more than apathetic amusement or attraction this week. They would be looking at him in consideration, if he were lucky. They would be looking at him and musing, were he to ask for the pleasure of their company on such an evening, would they say yes? Would he be a good candidate? 

He’d like to think that most of them would think, yes, he would. Because Nick Mercer was a gentleman. He was charming, well-mannered, polite. He had an infectious smile, one which some young woman could foreseeably take home to mother, a sharp mind, and he was flirtatious and sweet. He was also handsome and looked undeniably fine in a suit. 

Nick as the Nicholas Mercer he presented to the student population, was a catch. It was only in the privacy of his own dark spaces hardly even ventured in his head, where he had doubts, and even then, it wasn’t his handsomeness or his wit or his charm that he considered up for debate. It was his intentions and his motives that even he questioned. In his weaker moments. The ones he did his best to suffocate.

This afternoon, he was strolling casually through the breezy courtyard, lazily scanning the roves of students as he sipped on a sweet Americano. Lucas would of course be going with Lauren, so it wasn’t like Nick would have much of a wing man in his friend, in terms of finding himself a date. 

He was honestly looking forward to a time when he was in a relationship—but the sad thing was, his want for it wasn’t in service of his emotional needs, but rather a convenience thing. Being with someone meant he could stop trying so hard to impress, and to make a statement. Having a girl to call his ‘only’ on his arm, meant she was doing half the work for him. It meant maintaining stature, maintaining relevance. He’d be talked about, thought about and respected, and that was what mattered. At least in terms of what he’d grown up believing and being taught, it’s all that ever mattered.

Although Aiden was neither timid or anxious at these kind of events. He found himself caring less and less on whether he attended. Sure he was aware of the optics, that was only part of the problem. Aiden was all too aware of what appearance meant and how much his mother would love to see pictures of him standing next to some gorgeous girl so she could throw it into the faces of the women she claimed to call her equals at her club. The optics game bored him, which is why he dreaded anything to do with the ball. He had a tux appointment, made by his mother’s assistant scheduled for the day after tomorrow. Painfully so, he confirmed it, but instead of finalizing his options for the event; he of course spent his day studying and now playing a game of frisbee on the courtyard with a few other students from his modern Greek course.

Picking up his belonging and waving bye to a few, he started on his way back to the Sheldonian Theatre across campus. Only there could he have the luxury of finding a quiet spot to write and brainstorm, not to mention he was a fan of the view and architecture. “Mercer. Nice to run into you?” Aiden with the evident look of surprise on his face, slowed down his pace when he saw that it was none other than Nicholas Mercer.

Possibly one of the nicest and most down to earth people on campus, Aidan was almost an odd man out in the Riot Club. Creativity flowing from ink stained fingers, his smile was a bright spot of unusual authenticity in a world of calculated charms and manipulative terms of endearment. He was easy to like, and though Nick didn’t know much about him, yet, even he had a hard time resenting him for his talent, smarts and the threat he presented to Nick’s need to compete to be the best, the most remarkable. 

“Likewise, Stafford,” he greeted, an easy smile painting his lips, brightening away the placidity of his face. “What you up to this fine afternoon? Hunting for a muse?”

( the charmer. )

The Spring Ball. 

Frivolous though these things might be, Nick’s life was an invariable bouquet of such frivolousness and this ball was, whether he liked it or not, painstakingly important. Not to Nick on a personal level, nor an emotional, but in respect to his reputation, his social status, and his life as he knew it as a golden member of the prestigious and elite. 

It was also an opportunity. Because with dates mandatory, this was an occasion in which tradition worked in Nick’s favour. Potential girls who would both look good on his arm and make him look even better, would look at him with more than apathetic amusement or attraction this week. They would be looking at him in consideration, if he were lucky. They would be looking at him and musing, were he to ask for the pleasure of their company on such an evening, would they say yes? Would he be a good candidate? 

He’d like to think that most of them would think, yes, he would. Because Nick Mercer was a gentleman. He was charming, well-mannered, polite. He had an infectious smile, one which some young woman could foreseeably take home to mother, a sharp mind, and he was flirtatious and sweet. He was also handsome and looked undeniably fine in a suit. 

Nick as the Nicholas Mercer he presented to the student population, was a catch. It was only in the privacy of his own dark spaces hardly even ventured in his head, where he had doubts, and even then, it wasn’t his handsomeness or his wit or his charm that he considered up for debate. It was his intentions and his motives that even he questioned. In his weaker moments. The ones he did his best to suffocate.

This afternoon, he was strolling casually through the breezy courtyard, lazily scanning the roves of students as he sipped on a sweet Americano. Lucas would of course be going with Lauren, so it wasn’t like Nick would have much of a wing man in his friend, in terms of finding himself a date. 

He was honestly looking forward to a time when he was in a relationship—but the sad thing was, his want for it wasn’t in service of his emotional needs, but rather a convenience thing. Being with someone meant he could stop trying so hard to impress, and to make a statement. Having a girl to call his ‘only’ on his arm, meant she was doing half the work for him. It meant maintaining stature, maintaining relevance. He’d be talked about, thought about and respected, and that was what mattered. At least in terms of what he’d grown up believing and being taught, it’s all that ever mattered.

Lana adored Oxford’s balls– the high ceilings, the champagne, the sophistication that masked the true nature of the spoiled and reckless students. She couldn’t help but enjoy them, status aside a part of her felt like she was in some sort of fairy tale. That on top of hanging out in the superior of Oxford’s two most elite clubs had her feeling like the queen she was. (Second in command left a bad taste in her mouth, but she’d be a leader sooner than later).

She had no fears or anxieties when it came to searching for a date, in her experiences men were too weak willed to say no to her and she was sure she could convince one of the girls to go with her. She was positive. There wasn’t a preference, either way she wouldn’t give her partner a second glance the moment the night ended. Lana put more thought into what she was going to wear or how she would keep Gwen from starting any fights after what happened with the Riot Club. They couldn’t let the boys’ petty games make them lose sight of what was important. Lana was always focused on the bigger picture, now especially. It meant letters of recommendation, it meant connections, it meant more than a foot in the door– she can swing it open and walk in because she already owns the place.

So yes in the grand scheme of things, another ball would be a pointless yet enjoyable indulgence she could partake in. A date by her side could possibly make things more interesting, though her hopes were not set that high, not with her options. But, she knew the right way to smile and bat her eyelashes and pretends she’s interested. Lana was brilliant in more ways than one and it was a grave mistake to underestimate her.

She’s on her way to meet up with fellow club members, most likely to discuss the upcoming event or maybe their next plan for attack. Lana knew they had to be smart about it, be strategic, but like Hell they were going to passively ignore Jamie’s little stunt. He really has no idea who he’s dealing with. Whether it’s make up or planning, she found herself looking forward in a way. The Quarrel Club could still be something better, something great, but in a way it was entertaining enough. 

Lana could spot Nicolas’ sorry ass a mile away. She understood why he’d cover up his background, but that didn’t stop her from thinking how he is utterly pathetic. If he wanted to play pretend and try to run with the wolves, so be it. It would be only that much more satisfying when he’s finally exposed. She couldn’t make any promises whether it’d be by her hand or not– but that was the fun part. She strolls on over to him, a sweetly poisonous Lana Chambers smile adorning her lips. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” She tilts her head to the side, eyeing Nick like a hungry animal watching its’ prey. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you’re avoiding me.”

Her face is threatening. All sharp angles and lines that might otherwise be perceived as beauty, on Lana Chambers they are the glinting blades of knives at one’s throat. And her smile is thin, tilted, and impossibly to trust. Much like the shade behind her eyes, her expression always seemed false, a veil for something else. 

Nick may not have been perfect—far from it, a plethora of lies and facades—but he did not see himself as judgemental as Lana was. Or as she seemed to be, anyway. It was impossible to know what she was thinking at any given moment, but easy to guess, and there was a bitter and dark curl under his gut when he’d found out she’d joined the Quarrel Club. This woman who brandished her scholarship like it was a flag of accomplishment to be worn proudly. She was shameless, and saw herself above Nick for all his efforts to blend in, not to the masses but to the purest. But he knew no other measure of his value, than to be exceptional. Than to exceed expectations and shine with blinding light. To inspire awe and envy in his wake. These were the things he’d beed taught, and he didn’t know how to operate without their stability. 

But was she any better, now? Was she not a hypocrite? For joining forces with the most elite and competitive group of girls, set out to dethrone the Riot Club and all their prestige? What could her morals hold a candle to, now that she was a part of the equivalent wave that Nick rode? Did the fact that she flaunted where she came from make her involvement in these Elite circles anymore honest? Any less vain or shallow or empty?

She judged, but he wasn’t sure he believed she had a place to anymore. 

He donned a similar smile to hers, put on and slightly stiff, but friendly from a distance. “Why thank you—I’d say the same of yourself, but I wouldn’t want the flattery to go to your head,” he replies. “And I wouldn’t say I was avoiding you. That would imply I’ve been giving it a lot more thought than I have.”

nickmercer:

The Spring Ball. 

Frivolous though these things might be, Nick’s life was an invariable bouquet of such frivolousness and this ball was, whether he liked it or not, painstakingly important. Not to Nick on a personal level, nor an emotional, but in respect to his reputation, his social status, and his life as he knew it as a golden member of the prestigious and elite. 

It was also an opportunity. Because with dates mandatory, this was an occasion in which tradition worked in Nick’s favour. Potential girls who would both look good on his arm and make him look even better, would look at him with more than apathetic amusement or attraction this week. They would be looking at him in consideration, if he were lucky. They would be looking at him and musing, were he to ask for the pleasure of their company on such an evening, would they say yes? Would he be a good candidate? 

He’d like to think that most of them would think, yes, he would. Because Nick Mercer was a gentleman. He was charming, well-mannered, polite. He had an infectious smile, one which some young woman could foreseeably take home to mother, a sharp mind, and he was flirtatious and sweet. He was also handsome and looked undeniably fine in a suit. 

Nick as the Nicholas Mercer he presented to the student population, was a catch. It was only in the privacy of his own dark spaces hardly even ventured in his head, where he had doubts, and even then, it wasn’t his handsomeness or his wit or his charm that he considered up for debate. It was his intentions and his motives that even he questioned. In his weaker moments. The ones he did his best to suffocate.

This afternoon, he was strolling casually through the breezy courtyard, lazily scanning the roves of students as he sipped on a sweet Americano. Lucas would of course be going with Lauren, so it wasn’t like Nick would have much of a wing man in his friend, in terms of finding himself a date. 

He was honestly looking forward to a time when he was in a relationship—but the sad thing was, his want for it wasn’t in service of his emotional needs, but rather a convenience thing. Being with someone meant he could stop trying so hard to impress, and to make a statement. Having a girl to call his ‘only’ on his arm, meant she was doing half the work for him. It meant maintaining stature, maintaining relevance. He’d be talked about, thought about and respected, and that was what mattered. At least in terms of what he’d grown up believing and being taught, it’s all that ever mattered.

Sophia was excited for the ball, always taking the opportunity to enjoy a party if it presented itself. Besides, buying an outfit and getting her nails done was fun and this was a good excuse to go shopping. Not that she’d ever need one if she felt like it, but still. This time however, she had an actual reason. The colour palette the clothes should be in limited her extremely as she was a fan of bright and bold colours, but Sophia didn’t want to defy that rule. The whole school would be looking and only someone who did not grow up in an elitist society went against a theme or dress code regulation. Sophia had heard about enough parties where someone did not get in because they were not up to the dress-code.

 So she thought of a way to bring colour in where her outfit was still up to the dress code. Only the clothing had to be white, her accessories and her make up could bring colour into her overall look. In between classes and after she did her homework she spent the better part of the time she had left trying to decide on what she would wear.  It was a fun past time for her. 

Despite her wishing for it, Dexter had not asked her yet. But she still hoped that he would. Maybe he thought that them going together was a given? Sophia wasn’t sure, so she made a mental note to mention it to him later when she’d go over to visit him. 

Too caught up in her own thoughts, Sophia didn’t notice that she ran into someone, apologetic smile on her face immediately as she saw who it was. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I wasn’t looking. I didn’t spill any of your coffee, did I?”

Sophia Clare was all big hair, bright smile, and warm, chocolate eyes. She was someone Nick found hard to look away from, because she had a certain energy about her, a certain radiance that seemed to glow off of her in waves and infect anyone within a ten foot radius. She stalled time, in a way, with the authenticity of her beauty. 

He knew little about her, other than she was bright—as they all were—friendly but focused. Goal oriented. And though she’d been pleasant to talk to during the first dinner between the two rivalling clubs, he couldn’t place whether or not his time was well spent flirting with her. Not that flirting with her wasn’t pleasant in and of itself, as it was something that came naturally to Nick, and something that made him feel in control of himself, his image, and his reputation—but nevertheless, it was nice to know when he had purpose. When he was moving towards a more long term goal. And with Sophia it was hard to tell. 

He wasn’t going to complain about her company, however, and even as she stumbled into him and apologized profusely, he chuckled good-naturedly, shaking his head. “No, you didn’t, it’s fine. Head in the clouds again, Clare?”