#thread: izzy1

In Katherine’s opinion, if you wanted to go fix the world, you had to go out there and do it yourself; not throw an event the cost of which could probably have saved thirty orphans or dolphins or orphaned dolphins. 

Her mother swanned past, thrusting a glass of champagne into her daughter’s hand and using the gesture to hiss in her ear; “Try and look like you care about the rainforest, Kitty dear.” 

"You know I’m not old enough to drink this, right?” Katherine stared, slightly bewildered at the lightly fizzing glass in her hand before looking up to find her mother already halfway across the banquet hall that had been hired for the event. She sighed. “Of course you don’t.” She muttered, then downed the glass anyway.

Interesting. The fact that this gala was to raise money for rainforests when the majority of people attending cleared a portion of it themselves for their custom holiday homes was an irony not lost on Katherine. In fact, it actually gave her an idea for an article - an expose on the elite society and its hypocrisy. Mrs Barrington generously donated to PETA on a monthly basis, but also owned a walk in wardrobe of fur coats; her husband organised scholarships to the best schools in New York to champion great minds of the future which were all mysteriously awarded to buxom blonde girls after a private dinner with him. The most baffling part, Katherine considered as she gazed across the array of gowns and suits mingling across the floor, was that these people really did think they were doing good. They were so blinded by their privilege, they didn’t know how to actually use it to help people.

God, she hoped she wasn’t like that.

The desire to begin writing gripped her like a vice; with a quick glance to check both her parents were occupied (and an eye roll when she saw her mother drape herself over the evening’s handsome host, at least ten years younger than her) she slipped into the bathroom. In her clutch bag she had a small reporter’s notebook and a pencil and she got ready to withdraw both so she could begin jotting down her initial ideas. 

Before she could, however, a baleful sob echoed through the empty bathroom, echoing off the marble walls. Alarmed, Katherine crept further in, trying to find the source of the noise. Setting her purse on the sink counter, she gently pushed open one of the stall doors to find a tiny blonde curled up inside.

“Jesus!” She jumped, then pulled her long evening gown out the way so she could crouch a little precariously on her heels. Hesitantly, she reached a hand out to gently rest on the girl’s shoulder, unsure she was actually aware of Katherine’s presence. “Are you okay? Do you need me to do anything?”

Prospero’s eyes flitted upwards in surprise, a deep blush colouring his cheeks. He’d been seated for all of 45 minutes and, judging by his wristwatch, 38 seconds. Those 45 odd minutes were spent seated alone, while his gaze drifted towards the front door of the restaurant, desperate and pleading as he waited to see if a pretty brunette might wander in. He wasn’t holding his breath, even if he had been frequently opening, closing, and reopening whatsapp to see if he’d missed an obligatory sorry, I'm just running late! Text. He hadn’t, of course. 

Simply put, he was being stood up. 

Even more simply put, he wasn’t surprised in the slightest. 

Prospero Parker was more than accustomed to beautiful people deciding he wasn’t worth their time. He was goofy and a bit peculiar, usually deemed the “odd one” of the Parker family. He didn’t tend to mind, considering that he knew it to be true, but in this case he just felt a little silly. Izzy had been so hellbent on setting him up on various dates – much to his own embarrassment, given there was only one person he wanted to take out on a date, and she seemed quite content on playing his matchmaker instead. Now, he had to live with the flagrant humiliation of both being ghosted, and with having to relay that information to her when she inevitably asked how his date went. 

“Oh. Maybe a Kopparberg, if you wouldn’t mind terribly?” Prospero smiled weakly at the waitress, absolutely positive she could practically taste the shame radiating off of him. Maybe she’d feel sorry for him and finally put him out of his misery and tell him to bugger off home. No, of course she wouldn’t. Because people were kind and they didn’t take pleasure in the suffering of perfect strangers, he quietly reprimanded himself. “The passionfruit one, please.” 

She gave him a quick nod and wandered off towards the bar and Perry sighed. He wasn’t a huge drinker, but he thought he might need a little liquid courage before he cut his losses and finally admitted to himself, and his waitress, that he had been stood up. He glanced down at his silly little date outfit, remembering the once-over Apollo had given him, and the disappointed “Bro, ARMS.” he’d uttered when Perry had pulled on his favourite cardigan. He wasn’t as confident as his best friends, not nearly as comfortable with exposing his skin, even if it was just his stringy little arms. 

A shadow loomed over the table, and Prospero lifted his head, ready to greet his waitress and thank her for his cider. Instead, his gaze locked with an older gentleman, who seemed a little put out. 

“Alright, buddy. Don’t you think it’s time to admit she’s not showing?” 

Prospero blinked, a lump forming in his throat. Now would be a really dreadful moment to cry, he reminded himself. He glanced over the shoulder of Justin – according to his nametag! – and spotted his waitress smiling apologetically behind him, shrinking her body and making herself small in ways that were all too familiar with the young Brit. 

“Yes, okay. Right you are,” Prospero mumbled, hands fumbling with his phone as he pulled it from the table and clumsily shoved it into the pocket of his jeans. No doubt he was taking up precious space at a table that could go to an actual patron. As he pushed his chair out, a sharp scraping noise made the three of them cringe as the wood scraped along the linoleum, and he winced as his knees cracked against the underside of the table.