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[right][code]September 7th
Warehouse
Interactions: Lexi [@FernStone][/code][/right][hr]

He watched her approach from the corner of his eyes. At first he’d hoped she would do like all the other party goers, and simply walk by him on the way to the bar or the bathroom or whatever other corner they were heading to. Then she stopped next to him, and he switched to praying, praying she was just looking for a smoke spot, that this was all a coincidence. Of course, neither Mary nor God bothered to answer his prayers.

[color=b13a3a]”Want one?”[/color]

Camille did not flinch. No, he simply… tightened his grip on his can a bit too much. It’s not really flinching if it’s just his hands that reacted, if his face didn’t change, if no one noticed.

He bent down quickly to put down his now crumpled, still half-full beer can. It looked natural, he thought. It’s not like he could have put it down on a table or anything, seeing as there were none near him. The ground would have to do.

The girl was still speaking to him. He only caught half her words, something about the French, and… was she calling him a coward…? His lips tugged down in a subtle frown. He’d give her the benefit of the doubt this time: he might have just misheard her through the obnoxiously loud music.

[color=crimson]”...Please speak…”[/color] He stopped, frown deepening. What was the right word again…? He was fucking blanking again, goddamnit. He hated how easy it was to forget the right, exact word, it made him sound like an idiot. [color=crimson]”...morre, euh, slow. I am still not verry good wit English."[/color]

His eyes flickered down to the opened pack of cigarettes, then her face. She was very eye-catching, with bold makeup, and some admittedly very nice clothes. A small trickle of jealousy made its way through his mind. He wished he could have a nice jacket like hers. Hell, her jacket might even fit him as it is, she was a bit shorter than him, but not by [i]that[/i] much, and their shoulder widths seemed pretty similar…

Ah, wait. She was offering him something. A cigarette. Why? What game was she playing? Why come to him out of anybody in the room? Did she want something from him? What it a trap? No, no, calm down, she might just be curious about you. Might just want to learn who the weirdo is, before ditching him to go back to her friends. Not everything has to have a hidden motive (except when it [i]does[/i]—).

He blinked, still staring at her, as he considered his options. It’s not like he had never smoked before. He had, on a few occasions, gotten hold of a pack or two. They stank and tasted awful, but nicotine was nicotine, and healthy lungs be damned, they did calm him down somewhat.

Unfortunately, they were also surprisingly expensive. He’d only stopped when his meagre savings ran dry, and he couldn’t afford them anymore.

[color=crimson]”...Tank you,”[/color] he mumbled, inwardly cringing at how even those two simple words sounded harsh and stilted. He picked a smoke out of the pack without looking, and placed the filter between his teeth with ease. [color=crimson]”I need a lacterr,”[/color] he pointed out, hand stretched open, waiting for the girl to hand over her lighter.

He kept staring, even while waiting, his eyes only occasionally flitting to the teeming crowds a small ways away. She was doing the same to him, only more subtly. He could both see and feel her own gaze, mixed with the hundreds of other pairs of eyes that would glance their way, most accidental, some perhaps intentional. What she was looking for in him, he didn’t know. He didn’t like not knowing. Probably, she was looking for the same thing everyone else was, a weakness, a proof of something wrong with him, something she could take advantage of—

No, no, no! Calm the hell [i]down[/i]. The skies were clear outside, he saw them, and yet you’d think they were choked with clouds with how un-clear his mind was right now. He came here to meet people, and here someone was, meeting him. It could even be [i]nice[/i]. He could play the social game, at least a little bit. Of course, he’d keep an eye on everyone, couldn’t let his guard down too much, that’s just good sense, but he could, like, [i]introduce himself[/i]. Like a [i]normal[/i] person.

[color=crimson]”My name iz Camille.”[/color] See? That was easy. He even remembered to smile a little bit. [color=crimson]”How arre you call-ed?”[/color]