follow me into the dark

[cannotrest]

WHO: Ashley Williams and Luther Hargreeves
WHERE: the Porter building
WHEN: through the years
WHAT: what happens at Synod stays at Synod
WARNINGS: potential lime, in ye olden fanfic jargon of yore

iiiiit's a montage log, multiple threads below

Comments

years ago · make me sway

[cannotrest]

One might think that this being her first Synod, Ashley would be more impressed. Instead, she's uncomfortable. She's never liked politics, and she's too aware that the luxury here - and in the nearby White Tower - are out of reach for the locals, all because people think an accident of the Porter makes them better than others. Bring this all down and give her the more equal structure of the Imperium any day.

With her dislike for her surroundings and the thought of gathering intel for the (now) small Resistance cell she's part of, it's a little harder than usual to keep a hold on the biotic powers she's had for only months. The blue light of dark energy crackles around her free hand in sharp contrast to the little black dress she feels severely underdressed in, but it fades as she takes a sip of her drink to try and calm herself. She looks around the ballroom, putting names to faces to cities and sometimes to panels and demos, not quite in the mood to dance just yet... until the music changes to something more techno, the most familiar to the popular music of her world that she's heard tonight.

She's never liked dancing alone, preferring it in groups (God, she misses her sisters) or with some lucky guy. Her gaze falls on one whom she thinks was unfortunately White Tower but hits her physical type almost exactly. He'll do.

She lets her gaze linger, and when she gets his attention, she jokes, "What's a nice looking guy like you doing at a Synod like this?"

[obediences]

The blond man she's singled out has been leaning against the counter and waiting for his drink, easily able to summon the bartender's attention with the way he stands head-and-shoulders above most of the people around him. He's been intent on getting his refill and then vanishing back into the crowd, but the woman's gaze and then her voice pins him in place. He laughs, a little startled. It's a cheesy opener, but Luther wouldn't have been able to do any better — in fact, he probably would've been even worse, foot jammed thoroughly in mouth — so he considers it a saving grace.

When he looks over, the first thing he notices is the biotics. He's looking at Ashley's hand as the lights fade, drinking in the sight of the strange glow with curiosity lighting his eyes, before he even raises his gaze and notices the little black dress, then politely skips over it to her face.

He's gently rebuffed other imPorts before, but those lights, right there, beg some questions answered.

"Drinking and trying not to remember the fact that we're literally locked in a convention center and can't leave," Luther says, his voice light. Just because he's White Tower doesn't mean he thrives at these events; it sits uncomfortably on him, like an ill-fitting suit.

"But the company can make up for it, sometimes," he adds, his gaze lingering. Nice save, bud. "How about you?"

[cannotrest]

She can't help a triumphant grin when she gets that laugh out of him. Lines like that aren't usually her go-to (unlike someone also tall y sin frenos she can think of), but they can be fun once in a while. And she does like his save over the reminder of being stuck in here - sure, it's reassuring that she's not the only one who isn't a fan, but the implied compliment and the way his eyes are still on her are much more enjoyable to think about.

"Same here," she says, toasting him with her beer. "I was waiting for them to play some decent music, and finally..." She smiles her approval of the current selection.

"You wanna dance?"

[obediences]

"I'd love to, except— oh man, you're probably gonna regret asking. I can only ballroom dance." That isn't even a line. He'd been trained for formal events since he was a child, his father barking time and keeping count, the training record crackling its instructions, the group of them taking turns at stately dance forms. Nightclubs? Not so much on the Academy curriculum.

Still, though, Luther gamely drains the rest of his drink and sets the empty back on the bar. Holds out the crook of his elbow, chivalrously, as if he's about to escort her out onto the dancefloor.

"But I'll do my very best."