#swynamelia

AMY: Amy arrived the week after Toulouse scittered off to France. His father’s house to be exact, which Amy thought was odd as the two Bonfamilles always seemed to be at odds. She supposed it ran in the family, to be so much like your parents that you couldn’t see eye to eye. 

The journalist could have stayed at her mother’s chateau, which was much closer to the incident she was investigating, if not for a variable of things. One, Amy was not speaking to her mother. And two, the chateau was sold to pay off debts of her mother’s making. Still, she made herself at home at her uncle’s estate for the time being. She was surprised, and happy, to have Toulouse’s company, nevertheless. Especially when she had small town rage to convey. 

Amy burst through the heavy oak doors of the music room with her tablet in hand, “Can you believe her? Oh, I absolutely detest that Annie Tremaine!” 

She threw herself onto the plush bench by the window to lament the loss of a great story to someone such as her work nemesis. “She fancies herself a real writer, you know? She’s a damned columnist, the Squire didn’t hire her to write anything more than fluff! I have a degree in investigative journalism from Cambridge and they have me writing about this memorial fountain! What’s her degree even in? Fake accents?” 

The fiery blonde huffed and looked up from her lounged position up to her cousin. She had many theories playing about in her head as to why he was here. It wasn’t safe for Magicks, especially werewolves, in France. She was aware Hector lifted the travel ban from Toulouse recently, that was the only way he’d be able to board a flight. However, the cogs still whirred, not quite clicking into place yet. Amy decided to prod anyway, against her better judgment. 

“I suppose you don’t want to hear about Swynlake drama though, since you’ve ran away to brood in your father’s estate?” She phrased it as an inquiry more than an accusation, hoping it wouldn’t strike a chord too harshly. 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse had not planned to be accompanied to Paris by his cousins, Amelia and Abigail, but he was not necessarily put out by the idea either. Did he wish that Amelia was Berlioz and Abigail, Marie? Yes. Did he wish they were Hades, Belle, and the children? Certainly. But Toulouse loved his cousins, just about as much as he could love anyone. And he was so, horribly, lonely. 

Also, bored. And bored for a depressed, manic Toulouse was a recipe for disaster. Though, he was telling himself that wasn’t how it was going to be this time. He just needed some time. He would return to Swynlake eventually. Or maybe he needed to reinvent himself, buy a cramped apartment on the Rue de Rivoli, along the Seine and spend his days painting and haunting the Louvre. 

He hadn’t decided yet.

When Amelia appeared, Lou had heard her coming, even though he had been playing Claire de Lune (one of the only pieces he had memorized) on the piano quietly. She had a bold stride, Amelia. It was impossible not to hear her high heels clacking down the marbled hall towards him. He didn’t stop playing as she came in and draped herself on the lounge, in a very Bonfamille fashion. He did, however, look up at her as he finished the stanza and then let the piano notes fade into silence. 

The dig made his eyebrows raise, but he simply took a sip of the glass of water he’d placed on top of the piano forte. 

“I designed that fountain,” Toulouse pointed out idly as he placed the water down, deciding to ignore the comment about him running away. Refuting it would be pointless and only open an invitation for Amelia to pry. Instead, he set his glass back down on its coaster and ran his fingers over the keys, playing a little arpeggio. 

“It sounds to me like you’re just put out that you did not find out about Princess Elena and Dr. Morey first.” He had decided not to address the dig, but that did not mean that he could not dig back himself.  

AMY: Amy rolled her eyes. Of course, he’d have something to say about her comment on the fountain. He knew this was not about the fountain! “Yes, yes. It’s lovely, truly, a beautiful piece,” she complimented dismissively.

If Toulouse thought riling her up about her work would get her off his trail, he was wrong. Amy was like a bloodhound when it came to a mystery. And this certainly wasn’t the first time in his life that she’d hassled him to be let in on his secrets. Her dear cousin should have learned by now that his silent suffering only invited Amy’s scrutinizing gaze. Even so, his comments still made their way under her skin. 

She narrowed her eyes, “I could have if writing trashy tabloid articles was in my job description. But alas, I do the work I am told to do for the Squire. I use my real skills on investigating for Foul. Which is why Gail and I are here, by the way. We didn’t just follow you to France.

But don’t take that as me meaning you aren’t under suspicion. Because you are.”

TOULOUSE: “And what, pray tell, are my crimes?” Lou asked boredly, transitioning smoothly into Claire de Lune. 

It was said in jest, but he did wonder. Had Ameila and Abigail been sent to check up on him? Absolutely infuriating, if so, but also--they were not the first choice for spying on him, but maybe that made them perfect for it. If it were Berlioz or Marie…Lou might not be so kind. (Yes, he was being nice. For now.) If it were Belle or Hades…the thought made him want to laugh. Neither of them would be coming. They simply did not care. 

Anyway, was it really such a mystery why he had run off to Paris?

It was his home. He had not been there for four years. There was no other reason. Obviously. 

AMY: “Not sure, yet.” She answered candidly. 

Amy was not aware of whatever toilings haunted her cousin’s mind. All she knew was that it had to be something significant to have him seek shelter with his father. Amelia always liked Hector, and even though they did not share blood, she felt as if they could have. Though she'd take the parentage of Drake Gabble any day, the politician parent she had was too ambitious to raise children. Which was why this sudden move made her question Lou’s intentions. She would cut off her nose just to spite her face rather than accept a summons from Laraline. So why had Lou come? Did he not house the same resentment towards Hector that she held for her mother? 

Amelia leaned up and expounded, “I never said you’d done anything wrong. Just that you were being suspicious. And you cannot deny that. You can say you felt a rush of parental affection and flew off to dear oncle Hector when he lifted your travel restrictions… but I don’t buy it. You seem troubled, Toulouse.” 

“That, and, you are up here. Not having afternoon tea with the rest of the house.”

TOULOUSE: “I came here because my travel restrictions were lifted and I have not been to Paris in almost four years. Does not seem like much of a mystery,  you are losing your touch,” he told her. 

He ignored the part about having tea with everyone. That was simply because he did not want to. Not because the library was the closest thing he had to his studio back home where he always retreated during his depressive episodes. Lou was safe in the knowledge that his cousins had not lived with him since his bipolar disorder had come on. They did not know his patterns, what he was like. And he was certain Marie had not spoiled it to them, because she was just as embarrassed, if not more so, than he was about it. After all, she’d never once spoken to him about what had happened, all those years ago, at the ocean. 

“Aren’t you here for an actual mystery anyway?” Lou asked, trying to turn her snooping around on her. Besides, Amelia quite liked talking about herself (family trait), so he thought it would be an easy distraction.  

AMY: “Distraction will only get you so far, but yes, I am here investigating a real mystery,” Amy answered all in one huff.

She kicked her legs off the side of the chaise and sat up properly, ankles crossed. “There was a murder in Compiègne a few years ago, but no one ever really solved it. Abigail and I think we can crack it with some fresh eyes and a bit less… French discrimination, no offense! I mean, they pinned it on one of the victim’s friends who just so happened to be a Magick. He’s still serving his time, but we don’t think he did it. The evidence they presented was all too circumstantial…”

Amy bit her lip as she poured through her memory of the files. Sadly, the French police using circumstantial evidence to seal the deal on any case involving a Magick was too common. It made her fear for her cousin. While he was in France he was in danger. Whether Hector could protect him or not, Toulouse was always going to be a target as a werewolf in Paris. “Lou? I have a question and I promise it has to do with the case and not whatever is going on with you.”

TOULOUSE: Once upon a time, the French discrimination that Amelia spoke of would not bother Toulouse. He had always thought those sorts of things were none of his business. For Magicks to work out with the government. It had been true enough for him, as the kind of person who never got involved in fights that did not directly affect him. 

But now: it did. 

Maybe if he had not been outed to the government from the moment he’d been bitten, he could have flown under the radar in France, but the English government had found out, which meant they shared that information with the French government and it had been splashed across the French tabloids long before Alana’s trial. Ever since arriving in Paris, the wolf was ever present. Irritated by the clashing sounds of the city. In every lingering stare and shut door in places he used to not only frequent but lord over like a king upon his throne. Now, he was no better than the rabble. 

The story chaffed, though Lou did not allow for it to be shown. Instead, he continued playing idly at the piano, only glancing up at his name.

“You are going to ask it anyway,” Lou said, meeting his cousin’s eyes and giving a brief flash of a smile. 

AMY: Amy smiled back, despite her tone being somewhat somber when she said, “Do you feel safe here? In Paris?”

The smile slipped and Amy leaned forward, invested in her cousin’s answer. She remembered loving Paris as a girl. The time she spent here with her cousins as children, and in Swynlake, were some of her fondest memories. But they weren’t clouded with the fear that her eldest cousin could be whisked away at any moment, a fear she had now. 

Swynlake was much safer, even for Magicks deemed dangerous like werewolves. It wasn’t that Amy thought Lou was defenseless. But she knew all too well that there were some things a name couldn’t fix. “I just worry. It’s been on my mind since we started looking into this case and you flew to Paris for the first time since… You don’t plan on staying do you?” 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse was glad he was not looking at Amelia when she spoke, for she actually surprised him enough that his face showed it. His fingers didn’t stop on the keys, but if she was listening closely he missed half a beat before he got back into the melody properly. 

It just surprised him. Her being so blatant. I just worry. No one said things like that. Marie, he supposed, sometimes, but only when she was particularly upset. It must be their soft English upbringing. That was what he would blame it on. Her soft British father. 

He wasn’t sure how to respond. His cousins had never been that close. Yes, they came for holidays every now and then. Christmases and summers on the coast of France, but that was all. Lou cared about them, of course. They were family. But he somehow never expected that affection returned. Certainly not enough to be voiced. 

“That isn’t about the case,” he finally said after a moment of quiet, only the music still playing very softly, his fingers dancing thoughtfully over the keys. 

“Unless, you would like for me to speak on the discrimination that pervades against Magicks here. In which case: yes, it is different than before but I’ve never cared about what people thought and I don’t intend to start doing so now. I am not worried about it for myself. I am privileged. My father exists in a position of power here. I am not an average person like whomever was involved in your case.” 

AMY: Amy did have a surprising thread of softness through her, and it did not come from her mother. It came from years of doting, bedtime stories, scavenger hunts, and the kind smile of her father. Sentimentality was his middle name. The Gabble girls grew up tough, in posh London schools where their mother’s name meant everything. Amy wore a cold, calculated demeanor like armor; too much like Laraline. But inside, inside was all built by Drake Gabble. The wonder, the love of mystery, the softness Amy felt for Toulouse now. The worry. 

“It could be, if you agree to be an anonymous quote…” Amy made up an excuse.

She stood and leaned against the piano, much closer to him now, so that she could lean over, “I know you say you don’t care what people think about you. It’s not what they think of you that worries me, it’s what they could do. Oncle can protect you from the law, yes, but what about the people who might wish you harm?

They’re trying to fight Magick discrimination and crimes against them in Swynlake. It’s rampant here, Toulouse. I’ve got a box filled to the brim of cold cases across the hall. All of them, the victims were Magicks.” Amy felt herself getting more passionate towards the end, she took a quick breath of air to calm herself. Maybe she was being selfish, scared to lose her cousin to distance again after just settling into a life with him in it. Still, her heart was in the right place, no matter how soft it was. 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse gave Amelia a doubtful look at the anonymous quote thing. He thought it was best they dropped the pretenses that this was about anything other than her concern for him. She should’ve just come out with it from the first moment, if that was her intention all along. Amy was dogged and determined. He liked these things about her. She was not delicate. He liked this about her too. 

He stopped playing as she came towards him. His hands slipped off the keys and went to his lap. 

“I can take care of myself,” he told her plainly. “I am a wolf.” 

And would it be so bad? he thought to himself, but did not say. Amy did not know that secret. It was well protected and he was not the sort to say such desperate things. They stayed, for the most part, locked behind his teeth, rattling around in his chest. That didn’t make them any less true for him to think. Would it be so bad?

If he simply disappeared one day? No one would know what had happened. He could rest, finally. If someone killed him for being a wolf, it would be for the same reason that things should end regardless: because Lou was a monster. If not of magic, than of his own making. 

“Ne t'en fais pas, Amelia. I will be fine. Paris suits me better than Swynlake. I understand her. She will learn to treat me as one of her children again soon.” He said this to convince himself, as well as her. 

AMY: Amy could see that in his melancholy, Lou would not be able to see past the clouds in the way she did. Her world was new and undiscovered territory in Swynlake, and for some reason that she could not understand, her cousin was amid a fog. 

It was not in her power to pull him from it. She set her face, sternly. Replying a quick, “Quelqu'un doit s'inquiéter, et ce ne sera clairement pas vous.” 

She only spoke back in French to be scathing. Much like she’d toss a retort back at her mother, slipping past her father’s discerning ears. “Now will you be joining us for tea, or will you continue to wallow and play your ghostly tunes and haunt this room as if you’ve already died?”

TOULOUSE: Toulouse scowled at Amelia. 

There were two paths here.

He could refuse. Continue to play the piano and ignore sitting down with Amelia, Abigail, and his father. This would be petty and the option that would get him talked about the most. He hated giving into demands. Especially when quipped at him like that. Perhaps if Amelia had asked softly, with big pleading eyes, so that he could make a show of placating her, he would not feel the urge to simply say no and ignore her. 

He could go, but to do so would be to agree, at least marginally, with Amelia’s assessment of the situation. And while it was correct, Toulouse did not like being caught out. Most of the family knew to leave him alone if he was sulking. He was not going to be good company. It was best for everyone if he simply did not attend tea. 

But if he did not go now, Amelia would worry even more and this whole conversation was so Lou could prove that there was no reason to be worried. And the way to win that check from Amelia was to go downstairs and pretend everything was perfectly fine. Smile when needed, speak when necessary, and be the version of himself that everyone knew and, many people, even liked. 

The thought of such things was exhausting, but still Lou rose, because he hated being looked at in the way Amelia had been looking at him. 

AMY: The club pulsed with colorful lights and synth music, she was two drinks in and feeling a slight tingle. Amy was set on enjoying her weekend after a long week of actually having to work. The prom demon storm debacle was pretty tightly sealed and no matter who she prodded and for how long, lips stayed closed. According to Belle, it was unethical to give details about a client to a reporter, but Amy called it a lack of familial loyalty.

Speaking of the lack of familial loyalty, Amy spied that tall, dark, and handsome bad boy that publicly embarrassed her cousin standing by the bar. She could easily blame the atmosphere and liquor if Marie said something about it, but Amy found herself moving towards him. The dainty blonde sidled up to him, Gem, and smiled. “I’ll have one of whatever you’re having… hi, I’m Amy.” She slid in with a wink.

GEM: Gem was also about two drinks and a whole joint in, with a pocketful of drugs looking for a new home for the night. He was standing at the bar, facing out towards the dance floor, leaning back, elbows up on the bartop. He clocked the blonde approaching before she got to his side.

He had no idea who the hell she was, which was nice, because everyone in this damn town was so familiar. She was forward too. Usually girls like this made Gem nervous, because they only wanted one thing but he was high and drunk, so he smiled back.

"Gem," he told her before twisting around and raising a hand to catch the attention of the bartender. "A whiskey sour for the lady and another for myself."

AMY: A nice strong drink. That was telling. Amy looked him up and down, sizing him up. Eyes were glassy and dark, contrasting her sharp, bright gaze. The lips printed all over his shirt lead her mind to wandering about what her lip print would look like on his skin. Red was totally his color.

“You’ve got good taste in drinks. Or are you just trying to impress me?” Amy drawled out flirtatiously, dragging her eyes up from the exposed skin of his neck back to those eyes.

GEM: Gem wiggled the drink already in his hand. "Sorry to disappoint. But, glad I'm impressive anyway." He smirked at her.

He'd noticed her assessing him. She was cute, a little intense. He could practically feel her vibrating from here--like a delicate little dog that people carried in purses.

"What's your usual poison?"

AMY: The woman rolled her eyes playfully at his smirk. “Old fashioneds. My mother always drank them and I thought she looked so distinguished.” Fruity drinks had a frivololity to them, Amy feared to be seen with them. Who’d take a girl with a Shirley Temple seriously?

“I find I like to be distinctive,” She said smartly, tilting her head up at him.

GEM: A girl with a mother who drank old fashioned? Gem's eyes trailed her up and down. She looked expensive in the way that rich girls always did. He wondered if she was the kind who liked to party, or if she was just interested in a bit of a flirting.

"Thought old fashioneds were pretty common," Gem told her to be contrarian. Even if he didn't know shit about old fashioneds, except that he'd heard about them before, which meant they were probably relatively well known.

Their drinks arrived and he handed hers to her and then clinked the glasses. "To distinction," he drolled and took a sip.

AMY: Amy picked up on the contrarian attitude. Just like all the boys at Cambridge, except they only had daddy’s money to back them up. Gem’s confidence stemmed from something else entirely. Amy was curious as to what that was. She eyed him with her silent inquiry alight in her face.

“To distinction.” She raised her glass to meet his. “And pretty much any top shelf whiskey beverage is standard with old money folks. Though, you don’t see a lot of women drinking them. Which is why I started to. It’s an asserting dominance thing.” She raised the glass to her lips and took a drink, not breaking eye contact. The burn was familiar. Amy hadn’t been lying. She practiced drinking whiskey, not making a face, finishing it off, until she eventually liked the smokey undertones and the subtle honey flavor.

GEM: "Oh, so it's a kink thing," Gem quipped without missing a beat, taking another sip of his drink, though he was smiling--a twinkle in his dark eyes.

He kind of liked how sharp she was. Gem liked to poke at people, test them. See how far he could push them before the inevitably stopped bothering. (It was a self-defense, self-fulfilling prophecy, Gem knew that.) But, she had a bite to her. He had a feeling she would be hard to shake. Or, at least, would dish it as good as she got it.

"That makes sense. You old money then?" he asked, leaning on the counter casually. She certainly seemed posh enough. "Or just trying to manifest?"

AMY: Amy let out a husky chuckle. “Something like that.”

She finished off her drink first, another power move. +Huh, maybe it was a kink thing.* It surely started with the hunger she had to prove herself to men that she was just as good, even when she was clearly twice as good… she was just born female. Maybe now she derived a sense of authority in these power plays. The blonde leaned closer, faces almost aligned as he had gotten closer to her level. “Old and new.”

“I think you can tell I’m not really the type to just let others do for me what I could do for myself. A little nepotism never hurt anyone, but you can’t ride on mummy’s coattails forever. My money is my own. I earned it.” It was important to Amy that she had her independence from her mother. Especially since their name had been tarnished with her actions, and it was true. Amy only had her paychecks to support herself. It wasn’t ideal, but she earned them.

GEM: She leaned in and she smelled sweet. Despite the sharp way she carried herself, she looked soft. Gem rarely allowed himself to really look, because the idea of touching another person filled him with anxiety.

But hey, he was drunk and high and his powers hadn't worked in days. He barely felt his fire now.

"Impressive," he told her, because that was clearly what she wanted to hear. "You should buy the next round then."

AMY: Amy puffed up at the praise, he ruffled her feathers in the best way. "That sounds fair."

She gave a small wave to the bartender, beckoning him to their end of the bar. With two fingers up in a V, Amy ordered, "Two old fashioneds, top shelf please." The blonde turned back, pleased with herself. "Let's see if we can get you a taste for the finer things."

GEM: Top shelf?

Despite now having plenty of money thanks to Roscoe and the drugs, Gem didn't splurge like that often. Which meant this girl was rich. Had she introduced herself? Gem couldn't remember honestly. The sides of his vision were blurry. He was feeling warm--but not from his fire.

She was gorgeous and smelled good and, for once in his life, Gem wasn't afraid.

"Who says I don't?" he tilted his head, moving a little closer. "I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

AMY: Amy was aware he was laying the flattery on thick. Maybe he was just hoping to score free drinks, but it was working. Amy learned very quickly in uni that the company of pretty people was worth a few bevs. She gave a smirk and narrowed her eyes at him.

"I see what you're doing. You know, flattery can get you anywhere. Anyone who says differently has too high of an opinion of themselves."

GEM: Gem chuckled and shrugged.

"You caught me." He raised his gloved hands in surrender. Then, he offered one to her. "Did the flattery win me a spin on the dance floor?"

AMY: Amy hadn't noticed the gloves before. Her discerning gaze flicked from the gloves to Gem's face and back as if she were trying to read him the same way she'd read Doyle or Dickinson. How curious, she thought, but a mystery for another time.

She took his hand, testing the composition of the glove under her skin. Shifting her attention back to Gem, "That and much more if you keep up the ruse."

GEM: This was still risky, but felt pretty lowkey. He could feel a bit of the fire still sleeping in his veins but he was a little high, a little drunk--relaxed. Or, he had been, until the girl--Amy, he reminded himself--took his hand. She squeezed his hand and he felt dizzy. Wasn't sure if that was the anxiety or the alcohol or the fact that a pretty girl had grabbed his hand and he couldn't remember the last time that one had done that.

His heart beat funny in his chest, but he ignored it. He was good enough at that. He squeezed Amy's hand back and then pulled her onto the dance floor. There were bodies all around them. He was still hyperaware of them, tensing each time that one bumped into him, but--nothing kept happening.

Gem pushed his hair back from his forehead and then slid his arm around Amy's waist, pulling her closer.

AMY: This boy seemed so... tense. Amy could fix that. She had a bad habit of finding the harshest undergrads and melting all that tension away. She had a reputation for it until she found Harrison. She could help Gem loosen up.

Amy leaned into his touch, pressing her body against his as she swayed. Exhaling, she lolled her head back exposing her perfumed neck to him. It was an open invitation, kiss me.

GEM: Amy pressed against him. She was a wisp of a thing, but the pressure of her body against his still felt like a mountain. He wasn't sure what to do, but she seemed unconcerned. His heart was racing, but his hands weren't warm. Even inside of his gloves.

The lights flashed over her pale skin--making it blue then green then red. He wanted to touch her. He didn't know if he should. If he could. But they were already here and he was drunk and impulse was not something that Gem had ever been known for controlling.

His hand moved to her shoulder, brushing away her hair and he dipped his head to kiss the soft, salty skin of her neck.

AMY: Amy moaned into his touch. Lolling her head to the side to give him more room. She hadn’t partied like this in years. Her first year of uni she got a rather cruel nickname for her escapades, but shortly after Harrison everyone seemed to forget she was fun.

She used to have so much fun. She didn’t forget her studies of course, that’s the whole reason she went to Cambridge. But Amy was excited to start having fun again. The family legacy was in shambles so there was none to uphold. All she had was herself now. Herself and a boy, kissing her neck.

She wanted to kiss him. Amy was never one to abstain from her wants. She leaned back and cupped his chiseled jaw with her hands, smashing her lips onto his.

GEM: A girl had never moaned for Gem before. He almost stopped what he was doing, jolted into confusion, but when she didn't pull away--that was probably good right? Gem kept sucking on her neck, so that when she pulled him up to kiss her, there was a little red mark left on the perfect pale skin.

She tasted good. Like whiskey and lip gloss. It made his head spin. His hands stayed gently on her waist, not wanting to touch her too much. His heart was pounding in his ears louder than the bass from the music.

It was a good thing she seemed to know what she was doing. What she wanted. He followed along, opening his lips when she pressed her tongue against the seal of them. Let her pull him closer, her hands on his face, his shoulders. His stomach clenched with all the heat, dizzy and a little nauseous. That was probably normal, right?

AMY: It was hot. He is hot, Amy thought, in a sexy way, but also a fire way. Of course, she’d heard of him and the portion of school he burnt to a crisp. A polarizing figure, Amy could get behind. She didn’t have to date clean cut boys with cleaner records anymore.

“Why don’t we get out of here?” She murmured and broke the kiss, breathlessly.

GEM: The kiss was an inferno. Gem was burning up and his heart was rapid fire beating. It was bad. He should pull away, but he didn't want to because Amy's hands were insistent and her mouth was warm and wet and Gem couldn't get enough of it. He forgot to breathe.

She pulled away and so did Gem--breath hard and slightly bewildered. His hands were burning in his gloves and he took a step back, trying to recover himself.

He wanted to take her up on her offer. Every part of him was warm, blood hot. But he couldn't--couldn't go home...

"Maybe next time," he told her with a wink and a roguish smile. "I don't put out on the first date."

AMY: Amy blinked in offense. Usually boys she kissed like that didn't say no to her. The Gabble girl did not like the word no unless it came from her lips. She refused to let him think that rejection slighted her in the most minuscule way.

"Oh, you consider this a date? How quaint." The pink clad blonde took half a step back, just enough to create a space between their heated bodies. Still breathing the same hot air, she said, "Your loss, darling."

She said it with her ego, even though it was wounded. Amy moved a hand to gently brush a curl from his face.

GEM: Ah, she was pissed.

Yeah, that was fair enough. He supposed it worked well enough for his image though. Turn a few birds down and the rest would flock. It had always worked that way. Even when he'd been in secondary. Not that he had much experience with the physical part of things but he knew how to use his looks. Or other people knew how to use them.

They assumed. He let them.

"Considering I am the one turning you down," he told her with a little shrug. "Not sure the feeling is mutual, darling."

AMY: Amy really hated how so many men could be so hot but so annoying. Couldn’t he just shut his pretty lips and take her home? He must be insecure.

That was it. He was insecure and would rather turn down the chance to sleep with her than embarrass himself.  She rolled her eyes, “I’m not sure what you mean? It’s not a feeling, it’s sex.”

GEM: Gem rolled his eyes right back.

"Look, it's not about you, if that helps," Gem said, holding up his hands in surrender. He didn't want to cause a scene...again. (Prom had been bad enough. And poor Gem didn't even have the context of knowing who this was.)

"I said I wasn't interested. Let's just leave it at that."

AMY: “Right.” That was all the confirmation she needed. He had a small dick and was scared to take a stranger home. Her eyes flicked down for a millisecond to glance. Still, it didn’t stop her from being annoyed that he stuck his tongue down her throat and then rejected her.

But Amy wanted to save face too. Drinking and making out with strangers at a club wouldn’t look good for her brand. Posh, educated ladies don’t have messy nights out. Except, she did. “Whatever, I guess you can’t account for taste.”