They lock eyes across the room, and this is the start of the trouble, Cinder thinks. They lock eyes across the room, somehow, in the middle of all this — light and sound and someone yelling, some kind of soccer match in the background, hands on her back as someone scoots by, tables sticky with beer and g-d knows what else — and there’s something about her, something familiar —
She ducks her head, stares at her drink. All of the people she came with have since ditched her for other, more fun people they know; the event they came here for has been pushed back at least three times by now because they keep losing track of the organiser, and the girl by the bar she’s just found herself staring at has the clearest blue eyes she’s ever seen. Cinder worries at her lip and tries not to look too desperate, too lonely.
And this is how it begins, really: a hand knocks against her shoulder and she startles, the girl from the bar looks down at her and says, “Winter.”
Cinder blinks. She has to practically shout to be heard, but she looks patient, looks still. Somehow, in the sea of movement around them, she’s leaning easily against the side of Cinder’s table with one hand shoved in her pockets, and she’s so striking that the only word Cinder can manage is, “Huh?”
The girl points to herself. “Winter,” she repeats, “I saw one of your friends going out back.” She winces. “I assume she was feeling sick.”
“Oh,” Cinder says, “pretty name.”
Winter’s eyebrows shoot up. “Thank you?”
She points to herself, leaning closer over the noise to be heard. It’s stupid, she thinks; the organiser kept getting fucking lost and now they’ve got to wait for the match to finish and she probably won’t get home until midnight — “I’m Cinder.”
“Cinder,” Winter echoes. “You’re not here for the match?”
Cinder shakes her head, laughing. “Can you imagine? No, I’m backing up my friend. Pub quiz.”
Her eyes light up. “That is almost exactly what I’m doing.” She gestures back to the bar, to where a younger girl with similarly striking white hair is pretending not to watch the two of them over the top of her drink. “My sister needed a teammate.”
Cinder looks her up and down, finding her footing. “I’ll buy you a drink if you wind up beating me, how about that,” she says.
“I don’t drink,” Winter says — off Cinder’s surprised look, “parents.” She glances around the room — and now she’s remembered how to talk to pretty girls, Cinder finds herself admiring the slope of her jaw, the way her hair frames her face, “There’s a diner opposite. Should be pretty empty. I’ll owe you a dance.”
“A dance,” Cinder echoes, “just what century where you born in, exactly?”
Winter grins. It looks awkward on her, fumbling. She doesn’t seem like the type of person to smile a lot. “Don’t act like you aren’t charmed.”
And she is, Cinder thinks; she’s very charmed. “Well, you’re on,” she says. “I hope you’re good at trivia, darling.”
Winter flushes. She gets up, slinking out of her seat, brushing past her, and heads out to the back to go and find Emerald.
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FILL: Team Anime/Manga
Date: 2024-07-17 10:26 pm (UTC)They lock eyes across the room, and this is the start of the trouble, Cinder thinks. They lock eyes across the room, somehow, in the middle of all this — light and sound and someone yelling, some kind of soccer match in the background, hands on her back as someone scoots by, tables sticky with beer and g-d knows what else — and there’s something about her, something familiar —
She ducks her head, stares at her drink. All of the people she came with have since ditched her for other, more fun people they know; the event they came here for has been pushed back at least three times by now because they keep losing track of the organiser, and the girl by the bar she’s just found herself staring at has the clearest blue eyes she’s ever seen. Cinder worries at her lip and tries not to look too desperate, too lonely.
And this is how it begins, really: a hand knocks against her shoulder and she startles, the girl from the bar looks down at her and says, “Winter.”
Cinder blinks. She has to practically shout to be heard, but she looks patient, looks still. Somehow, in the sea of movement around them, she’s leaning easily against the side of Cinder’s table with one hand shoved in her pockets, and she’s so striking that the only word Cinder can manage is, “Huh?”
The girl points to herself. “Winter,” she repeats, “I saw one of your friends going out back.” She winces. “I assume she was feeling sick.”
“Oh,” Cinder says, “pretty name.”
Winter’s eyebrows shoot up. “Thank you?”
She points to herself, leaning closer over the noise to be heard. It’s stupid, she thinks; the organiser kept getting fucking lost and now they’ve got to wait for the match to finish and she probably won’t get home until midnight — “I’m Cinder.”
“Cinder,” Winter echoes. “You’re not here for the match?”
Cinder shakes her head, laughing. “Can you imagine? No, I’m backing up my friend. Pub quiz.”
Her eyes light up. “That is almost exactly what I’m doing.” She gestures back to the bar, to where a younger girl with similarly striking white hair is pretending not to watch the two of them over the top of her drink. “My sister needed a teammate.”
Cinder looks her up and down, finding her footing. “I’ll buy you a drink if you wind up beating me, how about that,” she says.
“I don’t drink,” Winter says — off Cinder’s surprised look, “parents.” She glances around the room — and now she’s remembered how to talk to pretty girls, Cinder finds herself admiring the slope of her jaw, the way her hair frames her face, “There’s a diner opposite. Should be pretty empty. I’ll owe you a dance.”
“A dance,” Cinder echoes, “just what century where you born in, exactly?”
Winter grins. It looks awkward on her, fumbling. She doesn’t seem like the type of person to smile a lot. “Don’t act like you aren’t charmed.”
And she is, Cinder thinks; she’s very charmed. “Well, you’re on,” she says. “I hope you’re good at trivia, darling.”
Winter flushes. She gets up, slinking out of her seat, brushing past her, and heads out to the back to go and find Emerald.