From: babalon	Date: January 18th, 2011 09:29 pm (UTC)		(Link)

"Smooth by the way," Emilie laughed, looking snide. She had to laugh, otherwise she'd be just as ridiculous as her crazy-ass parents. Though it was probably too late for her on the crazy front.

"I thought you were dead for a minute there," she mused, slipping by him to grab something warm from the closet. Witch or not, there was still about three feet of snow outside. "Guess Mom made him get rid of his gun."

She slipped on a thick black hoodie with a complicated set of clasps on the front and stepped into some combat-looking boots that zipped themselves.

"They're probably using the upstairs dining room, but if we can slip past it, we can just walk right out the front door," Emilie shrugged. It sounded simple, but nothing in the Devlin house ever was.

	From: cantspell	Date: January 18th, 2011 09:49 pm (UTC)		(Link)

Yeah, I thought I was dead for a minute there too. He shrugged it off, concentrating instead on getting the front of his hair to not stick up in some ridiculous way. "Well I guess...his gun? Your dad had a gun?"

Ciaran started at Emilie as if she'd grown an extra head. An extra head wih bubblegum pink hair and great big anime eyes.

She did just say gun then, didn't she? No wonder they didn't want a repeat of 'the accident' that happened 'last time'...

Whilst he was mentally reeling from the idea that if not for some poor bastard before him he could have been leaving Emilie's penthouse mansion...thing in an ambulance, Emilie's words managed to slide right by him. Well, most of them. "Yeah, okay," he nodded. "...you have a dining room upstairs?"

	From: babalon	Date: January 18th, 2011 10:39 pm (UTC)		(Link)

"When I was fourteen, he shot my boyfriend Vince in the leg," Emilie replied casually, not even attempting to conceal her smirk. She did warn him. Even if it was only about sixty seconds before her dad forced his way into the room.

"Anyway, you read--" She sighed sharply. Of course. Of course he was going to ask. Only rich kids had two fucking kitchens, a yacht, and a summer house in the Hamptons. "Don't even get me started. You ready?"

	From: cantspell	Date: January 18th, 2011 11:52 pm (UTC)		(Link)

...right. So he just shot a dude...shot a kid in the leg with his gun that he probably doesn't have anymore. What a prince of a guy Emilie's dad was turning out to be. "Kinda glad he got rid of it..."

Ciaran picked up his jacket and pulled it on over his t-shirt. Thinking about it, maybe he should've taken a nice, fleecy hoodie with him instead of a jacket made of leather and full of metal studs. But then it hadn't been cold at the party, and he hadn't really expected to end up in New York with a goth being threatened on New Year's Day morning by her psycho dad.

He could just...pull it around him. It would be fine.

"Yeah. Ready. Where are we going?"

	From: babalon	Date: January 19th, 2011 02:55 pm (UTC)		(Link)

Emilie's smirk was back in no time at all. Her eyes lingered over the jacket, and for a moment her mind was somewhere else.

"There's a diner not far from here," she replied, sounding dreamy. Her blue eyes flicked back up to Ciaran's face and her smirk broadened. Poor fuck was going to freeze to death. She imagined teeth chattering would somewhat ruin his image.

There wasn't time to worry about it, her parents would eventually notice they were taking forever and come looking for them. She peered around the door and found the hallway empty.

"Let's go."

	From: cantspell	Date: January 19th, 2011 04:16 pm (UTC)		(Link)

Ciaran's mind was also wandering, but not in the same direction as Emilie's. As he fixed the back of his collar he thought about the breakfast he hadn't had yet. Upstairs Emilie's parents were sitting down to know knew what? Hash browns and bacon and eggs and pancakes, three rounds of toast, waffles, sausages and fried tomatoes. Maybe it wasn't, but considering the state of their house (two dining rooms, what the fuck?!) they probably didn't skimp on the most important meal of the day.

Emilie's reply dragged him out of his thoughts. She sounded a bit...distracted. Ciaran turne to look at her. "Oh, okay." Well, she seemed fine now. Nevermind?

He followed her to the door and, once she'd checked that the coast was clear, into he hallway. Ciaran tried not to take in too much of the ridiculous opulence as they moved down the hall and kept his eyes fixed on Emilie's back.

This place was insane.

	From: babalon	Date: January 20th, 2011 12:42 am (UTC)		(Link)

Emilie walked down the hall as quietly as she could. Slow, even steps were the key. Truth be told, it wasn't that difficult, the carpeting in the hallway was plush. As they neared the kitchen, she stopped, glanced behind her to check where Ciaran was, and peered into the doorway briefly. They'd have to pass the open door to get to the exit, and she didn't want to catch anyone's attention.

Her mother and the live-in maid were at the far end of the kitchen, looking away. Turning toward Ciaran with a finger to her lips, she nodded toward the kitchen door. She then pointed in the general direction of the front door, and signaled for him to follow her.

Kitchen passed. Everything was fine. She turned the corner, only a couple of yards from the front door. It was easy, really. Or she thought it was easy.

Farther down the hallway, past the front door, her father was just exiting the bedroom he shared with her mother. He looked suspicious already and they weren't even at the door yet. Could have been their coats. "Where are you going?"

	From: cantspell	Date: January 25th, 2011 07:11 pm (UTC)		(Link)

So near and yet so far. If there was such a thing as fate, then it was clearly set against them getting out of Emilie's home (could you really call this place a home?) before enduring the most awkward breakfast in history.

Or maybe it was just set against Ciaran leaving any other way than feet first?

He weighed up his options quickly. On one hand, Mr Devlin was already not a fan and so pissing him off with a lie didn't seem like the best idea. On the other, this guy already hated him for doing bad, bad, and very illegal things with his daughter, so aside from bending Emilie over the nearest chaise longue and having his wicked way with her again, what could Ciaran possibly do to to make things worse for himself?

"I was going for a smoke," he replied. "Emilie said she'd come with me to find somewhere that was open. I'm not from around here, so..."

	From: babalon	Date: January 28th, 2011 11:16 pm (UTC)		(Link)

"You smoke?" Emilie's dad frowned a little bit further. Unlike Ciaran, Emilie was still only 17-- not old enough to smoke cigarettes in New York State-- and not old enough ever to smoke, according to her father.

"How old are you?" But before he hand even finished the question, Emilie was already butting in.

"He's eighteen, Dad. Jesus. Ease up, would you?" She actually didn't know that for sure but it couldn't hurt, could it?

Well no more than... everything else that had happened this morning.

Thomas frowned at her, but nodded a little after a few moments. "Okay, but breakfast is ready soon." And with that he trudged off to the kitchen.

They really were home free.

Emilie smirked at Ciaran a bit, entirely too pleased with herself, despite the fact that it was his excuse that had gotten them this far.

"C'mon."

	From: cantspell	Date: February 1st, 2011 06:38 pm (UTC)		(Link)

That felt far too easy. Why did it feel too easy? Fuck it, no, they were out and that was all that mattered. He didn't have to have breakfast with the Hiltons or answer their questions or get a third degree burn from the glare Emilie's dad seemed to enjoy throwing his way.

In other words, now was not the time to look this gift horse in the mouth.

Out of the door and into the elevator...which you needed a key to operate, by the looks of things. Rich people were unbelievable. Ciaran shook his head a little and rested his back against the wall. The sooner they were out of this building, the better.

"Nice hair, by the way."