![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xp_cypher posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsMarie-Ange and Doug play a bit of matchmaker, and then Marie-Ange is cryptic right before Doug and Darcy start dancing.
Doug plucked a pair of champagne flutes off of a tray and took them to where Marie-Ange looked to be taking a moment away from the mingling and posturing of the gala. "You look amazing," he told her as he handed her one of the flutes. "I mean, you do fashion like other people breathe, but still." The green-and-gold dress hung perfectly on her, her hair was braided in a very intricate pattern, and her shoes looked so delicate it was a wonder they could hold up a person's body weight.
"Merci." Marie-Ange took a sip of champagne, and patted her hair gently. "Fashion is fun, it is nice to get to indulge, and this is from that Dior collection in the spring." She had probably made the entire office watch the video, or at least tried. "You look rather handsome yourself, I quite like that cut of jacket on you."
"Emma started throwing new outfits at me the moment she realized I was healthier," Doug explained with a grin. Among the other parts of his relationship with his Queen, he often found himself as an ambulatory dress-up doll for events. To be fair, he sometimes did for Marie-Ange as well. That probably said something about him and the sort of women he liked.
Marie-Ange laughed, and reached up to pat Doug's cheek. "I imagine it had to be nice to not have to take four breaks and want to take naps every other store too." She had put herself in the 'drive Doug to physical therapy' pool as soon as he was out of the infirmary, despite the grievous injury he managed to come back from every session looking healthier. "Are you back to your usual status as Emma's, ah." She glanced at the glove-covered hand. "Right hand man feels wrong to say."
Doug considered. "Aide? Factotum? The guy that everyone just assumes is there to, ahem, 'service' the Queen?" He had to admit, as semi-insulting as the assumption was, it was also pretty amusing to get constantly underestimated by a lot of people around the Black Court. Hell, for that matter he was pretty sure more than a few people at the mansion thought he and Emma were sleeping together.
"Personal assistant, emphasis on the way those pants fit?" This was clearly not Marie-Ange's first glass of champagne. "I meant more putting down whatever rumors you had spread about your ill health. Everyone gets to see you healthy and flirtatious and ruins whatever little rumor spreading was going on."
Doug stuck his butt toward Marie-Ange playfully. "Always keep them guessing," he agreed. A fair amount of that underestimating was due to his careful cultivating of it, after all.
To be entirely fair, Topaz didn't feel completely out of place. She'd thought the white suit Felicia had thrown at her would look terrible, but it actually fit pretty well. She adjusted one sleeve as she ducked around people, zeroing in on the first faces she'd seen in over an hour that she actually recognized. "Oi." she said wearily as she approached. "What's the etiquette or whatever for leaving these things? I haven't slept in three days."
Marie-Ange looked at her wrist, at a watch that was very much not there. "It would perhaps be too noticeable for you to leave yet. The wrong sort of people would see you go." She let her eyes skim over some of the groups of people mingling. "Also the right sort would miss you entirely, I think."
Doug nodded. "First rule of the blow-off. Don't ever run. The fastest way to get caught is to be seen running away from the scene." He grinned at Topaz. "So you blend in, eat a few canapes, maybe a drink if you feel like it. And then, after everyone has mingled and a few people have started to leave, you -walk- nice and casually to your ride."
"I am completely positive you're both making this up," Topaz muttered, turning to scan the crowd as well. She found a few mansion people, nobody who would be too sad to miss her since they knew where she lived, and...
Ah. Tall, orange dress. Really stood out. Topaz rocked slightly on her toes, then cursed herself the miniscule movement.
"Have I not forced you to watch Leverage as a training montage?" Doug asked, knowing full well that his words were probably lost on Topaz at this point. After all, America's hadn't been the only telling body language in the library that day he'd wandered by. He winked at Marie-Ange, knowing she was very aware of things as well.
"Yes, time for a television night." Marie-Ange followed the wink to Topaz and then Topaz to the flash of bright dress. "Not tonight. I have an art gallery owner to talk to. I have no idea how he got into this party, and I need to have words with him."
Topaz narrowed her eyes at both of them. "And I suppose I should go mingle?"
"It -would- be a good way to blend in with the crowd," Doug agreed. He made a shooing motion with his hands. "Go, find out if canapes are the same as in her dimension."
Across the room, America spotted Topaz. She met her eyes and bit her bottom lip crookedly before she looked briefly at her shoes.
Yep. Complete disasters, but in the best way. Doug nudged Topaz. "Go on. Talk to her. Have a good time. Text your mom and I so we know you got home safe," he said teasingly.
"Ha. Ha," Topaz grumbled, turning back to America. Okay. Fine. They were friends. It was fine. She made her way through the crowd, raising her voice slightly to greet America over the crowd.
"She's growing up so fast," Doug murmured, wiping a fake tear from his eye before grinning at Marie-Ange and clinking his flute against hers. "To a night of successful setups."
"I would trade, but you do not want to talk art, and I do not want a dance yet." Marie-Ange took a drink from her glass, and spun on one foot. "Perhaps later, if you are not already occupied, and if I do not end up, ah, occupied myself. Have you seen Amanda's dress?"
"I've had the entire evening to try and figure out how it is being held up, and I've still got nothing," Doug admitted. "How is she doing with all this?" he asked quietly. He knew that the Hellfire Club would always be a sore spot between him and the British witch, but that didn't mean he didn't care about her. Especially now that she and Marie-Ange were...whatever they were.
"She is relishing the chance to be in that dress, and have accomplished a great deal tonight." Marie-Ange was rather in the same boat, if a bit less disdainful of the entire Club. She glanced over her shoulder at Doug. "I believe your assistance may be needed." She said quietly. "Keep that in mind."
Doug blinked. That was suitably cryptic, as Marie-Ange often was. But he was sure it would make sense eventually. It always did. And then as he set his champagne flute down, an arm curled into his elbow and Marie-Ange's words escaped away to the back of his mind for later.
Doug plucked a pair of champagne flutes off of a tray and took them to where Marie-Ange looked to be taking a moment away from the mingling and posturing of the gala. "You look amazing," he told her as he handed her one of the flutes. "I mean, you do fashion like other people breathe, but still." The green-and-gold dress hung perfectly on her, her hair was braided in a very intricate pattern, and her shoes looked so delicate it was a wonder they could hold up a person's body weight.
"Merci." Marie-Ange took a sip of champagne, and patted her hair gently. "Fashion is fun, it is nice to get to indulge, and this is from that Dior collection in the spring." She had probably made the entire office watch the video, or at least tried. "You look rather handsome yourself, I quite like that cut of jacket on you."
"Emma started throwing new outfits at me the moment she realized I was healthier," Doug explained with a grin. Among the other parts of his relationship with his Queen, he often found himself as an ambulatory dress-up doll for events. To be fair, he sometimes did for Marie-Ange as well. That probably said something about him and the sort of women he liked.
Marie-Ange laughed, and reached up to pat Doug's cheek. "I imagine it had to be nice to not have to take four breaks and want to take naps every other store too." She had put herself in the 'drive Doug to physical therapy' pool as soon as he was out of the infirmary, despite the grievous injury he managed to come back from every session looking healthier. "Are you back to your usual status as Emma's, ah." She glanced at the glove-covered hand. "Right hand man feels wrong to say."
Doug considered. "Aide? Factotum? The guy that everyone just assumes is there to, ahem, 'service' the Queen?" He had to admit, as semi-insulting as the assumption was, it was also pretty amusing to get constantly underestimated by a lot of people around the Black Court. Hell, for that matter he was pretty sure more than a few people at the mansion thought he and Emma were sleeping together.
"Personal assistant, emphasis on the way those pants fit?" This was clearly not Marie-Ange's first glass of champagne. "I meant more putting down whatever rumors you had spread about your ill health. Everyone gets to see you healthy and flirtatious and ruins whatever little rumor spreading was going on."
Doug stuck his butt toward Marie-Ange playfully. "Always keep them guessing," he agreed. A fair amount of that underestimating was due to his careful cultivating of it, after all.
To be entirely fair, Topaz didn't feel completely out of place. She'd thought the white suit Felicia had thrown at her would look terrible, but it actually fit pretty well. She adjusted one sleeve as she ducked around people, zeroing in on the first faces she'd seen in over an hour that she actually recognized. "Oi." she said wearily as she approached. "What's the etiquette or whatever for leaving these things? I haven't slept in three days."
Marie-Ange looked at her wrist, at a watch that was very much not there. "It would perhaps be too noticeable for you to leave yet. The wrong sort of people would see you go." She let her eyes skim over some of the groups of people mingling. "Also the right sort would miss you entirely, I think."
Doug nodded. "First rule of the blow-off. Don't ever run. The fastest way to get caught is to be seen running away from the scene." He grinned at Topaz. "So you blend in, eat a few canapes, maybe a drink if you feel like it. And then, after everyone has mingled and a few people have started to leave, you -walk- nice and casually to your ride."
"I am completely positive you're both making this up," Topaz muttered, turning to scan the crowd as well. She found a few mansion people, nobody who would be too sad to miss her since they knew where she lived, and...
Ah. Tall, orange dress. Really stood out. Topaz rocked slightly on her toes, then cursed herself the miniscule movement.
"Have I not forced you to watch Leverage as a training montage?" Doug asked, knowing full well that his words were probably lost on Topaz at this point. After all, America's hadn't been the only telling body language in the library that day he'd wandered by. He winked at Marie-Ange, knowing she was very aware of things as well.
"Yes, time for a television night." Marie-Ange followed the wink to Topaz and then Topaz to the flash of bright dress. "Not tonight. I have an art gallery owner to talk to. I have no idea how he got into this party, and I need to have words with him."
Topaz narrowed her eyes at both of them. "And I suppose I should go mingle?"
"It -would- be a good way to blend in with the crowd," Doug agreed. He made a shooing motion with his hands. "Go, find out if canapes are the same as in her dimension."
Across the room, America spotted Topaz. She met her eyes and bit her bottom lip crookedly before she looked briefly at her shoes.
Yep. Complete disasters, but in the best way. Doug nudged Topaz. "Go on. Talk to her. Have a good time. Text your mom and I so we know you got home safe," he said teasingly.
"Ha. Ha," Topaz grumbled, turning back to America. Okay. Fine. They were friends. It was fine. She made her way through the crowd, raising her voice slightly to greet America over the crowd.
"She's growing up so fast," Doug murmured, wiping a fake tear from his eye before grinning at Marie-Ange and clinking his flute against hers. "To a night of successful setups."
"I would trade, but you do not want to talk art, and I do not want a dance yet." Marie-Ange took a drink from her glass, and spun on one foot. "Perhaps later, if you are not already occupied, and if I do not end up, ah, occupied myself. Have you seen Amanda's dress?"
"I've had the entire evening to try and figure out how it is being held up, and I've still got nothing," Doug admitted. "How is she doing with all this?" he asked quietly. He knew that the Hellfire Club would always be a sore spot between him and the British witch, but that didn't mean he didn't care about her. Especially now that she and Marie-Ange were...whatever they were.
"She is relishing the chance to be in that dress, and have accomplished a great deal tonight." Marie-Ange was rather in the same boat, if a bit less disdainful of the entire Club. She glanced over her shoulder at Doug. "I believe your assistance may be needed." She said quietly. "Keep that in mind."
Doug blinked. That was suitably cryptic, as Marie-Ange often was. But he was sure it would make sense eventually. It always did. And then as he set his champagne flute down, an arm curled into his elbow and Marie-Ange's words escaped away to the back of his mind for later.
