: the devil wanders

[stassi siminski]

Stassi straightens from where she's bent over the toilet roll container, white flecks left on the silver surface where mere seconds ago a chunky line of powder had sat. She sniffs heavily, her eyes rolling back ever so slightly as the acrid chemical taste hit the back of her throat, energy blooming somewhere near the nape of her neck and giving her an immediate rush. She slips the baggie into her clutch, stepping out to inspect herself for any rogue hints of what she's been up to, her eyes wide in the mirror, her nose thankfully free of any telltale remnants. As far as she's concerned, the evening was going swimmingly well. After she's satisfied with her appearance, having brushed a finger across her nose and pushed back a couple of stray baby hairs into her signature slicked back pony,  she remerges into the bustle of Bodega, slipping back into a booth beside Dean. "Didn't I tell you this place was great?" Her lips wrap around the straw in her vodka and watermelon Red Bull, her fingers finding his under the table and surreptitiously returning his provisions - or what was left of them, at least. "God, lawyers always have the best fucking coke. What's with that?"

[dean rothchild]

Dean's left in the booth alone as Stassi runs off to the bathroom, with a prize in hand. It gives him the opportunity to continue to scope out her precious Bodega. The place is packed and bustling, just as Stassi assured him as they were walking down the stairs from her apartment. They've now both taken turns with the little remnants of fun he kept in the depths of his wallet. His eyes bounce back and forth between the bar and the crowds of people filing in and out of the place. Several times has he caught the scruntizing look of Stassi's supposed closest friend. She returns to the booth and Dean smirks at her compliments. "We just know the right people," He shrugs his shoulders, taking a sip of the bourbon that graced his glass. Dean feels more eyes on him as he leans closer to the gorgeous girl. The smell of her perfume intoxicating now that his senses were heightened. "I don't think that your friend likes me very much," he whispers into her ear, his lips barely brushing her ear as his voice lowers. "And I've been a good boy. So what's that about?"

[stassi siminski]

Across the room, Luiz is giving her a look she can't place as he wields a cocktail shaker above one broad shoulder. She shoots him one right back, a "what's your problem?" look that she makes no attempt to conceal from anyone else who might catch it. His dark eyes roll upwards but he turns away, flashing his winning smile to a girl making an order. Stassi intentionally avoids meeting Pat's eye, though she had stolen plenty of glimpses at Millie, the tiny girl never too far away, wearing her signature slick of red lipstick. She turns away, turning her body to face Dean, who was by no means a difficult view. "Play nice," she says, her hand squeezing his thigh. She suppresses the small thrill his words illicit in her, a taste of potential reciprocity, and a toxic dose of seductive jealousy. She knew it was wrong to pit men against each other, but why did it feel so good when they did it for themselves? "Listen, let's get something to eat and then we can bounce, ok? Benny makes this amazing penne alla vodka, it's not on the menu but he'll make it for me if I ask nicely enough. You hungry? Seriously, you have to taste it, it's so good."

[dean rothchild]

"I am playing nice," Dean chuckles as she grips his thigh. Upon arrival to Bodega, several introductions were made. Though Pat seemed to own this place, Stassi had deep rooted connections as well. Many people came up to say hi, or greet her from across the room. There was some tension in the air though, Dean could feel it the second they sat down in the booth. The drugs that were inching further into his system only made for his assumptions and suspicions to become heightened. There is something else going on here, he thought to himself especially as he sipped his drink alone, when Stassi had run off to try her hand at his 'fancy' lawyer coke. Pressing Stassi's buttons was the only way to uncover such things, and Dean was determined to slowly do so. "I'm assuming that's the little mouse?" He kept his voice low, trying to keep the conversation private from everyone's watchful eyes. He tilts his head in the direction of her friend and the girl that hung around him this evening. His arm lazily drifts to the top of booth and mere inches from the top of her shoulders. "Sure, whatever you want to do." He removes his arm, and places both hands upon the almost empty glass. "Definitely surprised you want to leave so early, though," he announces innocently, as he finishes the last of the bourbon.

[stassi siminski]

As they talk she starts to rearrange various elements to compose the most photogenic tableau. She positions their drinks just so, her purse just visible in one corner of the shot... she's looking through the grid of her phone camera, moving each bit centimetre by centimetre until it looked perfect. She snaps a picture, the flash momentarily throwing white light against his chiseled face, though she was careful that all bar his hand and wrist with its expensive watch would be out of shot. Satisfied, she puts the phone down and goes back to giving him her full attention, briefly glancing over at Millie with a nod. He suggests that they haven't been their long, and Stassi narrows her eyes at him, trying to get a clear read. "Do you have something you want to say?"

[dean rothchild]

He's back to scanning the room. A favorite hobby of his when the coke high finally hits. The lights were dimmed in the bar and he's found himself listening to various conversations around him. Dean feels his right leg slowly start to feel antsy, as if it needed to be moved and it slowly starts to move up and down. It bumps against the table once and with that action he feels Stassi's hand come to grip the culprit thigh again. Selfishly, Dean relishes in the feel of her warm hand upon his thigh. His mind has wandered off when the flash of her phone's camera brings his attention back to to the table. Her eyes keep wandering off to the redhead and Pat and her question only leads to annoyance. He was jealous, and it was a feeling he didn't care too much for. "I do," he mumbles, feeling his moodiness seep out. "What's going on here? Is there something I need to know about you and your friend?" His emphasis is hard on the word friend.

[stassi siminski]

The energy is radiating off him, an energy she recognizes since it's a mirror of her own. Sexual tension mingled with straight up tension, heightened by cocaine. Stassi was no stranger to conflict and she had never once shied away from it, rather, she tended to invite it into her life unnecessarily. So she's irritated that he's irritated, squeezing his thigh tighter as he shakes with pent up energy. "Stop that," she mutters, using her free hand to finish off her drink. His question throws her. What gave it away? Had Jasper blabbed? Or was she radiating a certain vibe? The former possibility was infuriating, the latter humiliating. She brushes it off, letting out a short laugh. "What are you talking about? I just introduced you to him, and his girlfriend. And his brother, and his brother's wife. What could I possibly have to hide?"

[dean rothchild]

His words ignite a spark of anger that's viisble on her features. Dean allows a annoyed laugh to escape his lips as the irritation sinks further into his veins. His chest feels warm from the laughter that ripped through his chest, knowing it was anything but a funny situation. He's struck a nerve and it's obvious, now she can mirror his own feelings. She tightens her grip on his thigh and he feels the sharpness of her nails dig further into the leg of his pants, halting the movement. His thumbs brushes the condensation of the melted ice on his glass and his eyebrow lifts up at her attempt to diffuse his thoughts.  "You can't stop looking over there, he's giving me quite the stare down. So you enlighten me. What's going on? This doesn't seem very..friendly." He grits his teeth as he finishes the rest of his thought. "I've been on my best behavior, per your request. Need that to change?" His body has pulled away from their previous close contact and his hands are up in defense. Dean has picked up on a lot of their actions. "So how do I play out in this situation?"

[stassi siminski]

She can feel his irritation and it irritates her, too. She sits back and removes her hand from his thigh, taking a moment to pause and think, her eyes watching him like a hawk. His All-American good looks were emphasised in the dim lighting, light catching his chiseled cheekbones as he sulked. "Dean, are you being serious right now?" The coke is coursing through her bloodstream, making her antsy and eager to have it out. She lets out her own hollow laugh, refusing to turn around to look in the direction he's gesturing towards. "Dean. You can't stop looking over there. I haven't looked over since we said hello, but clearly you can't help yourself." She shakes her head, irritation intensifying. "If you wanted his number you know you could just ask, I'd be happy to set you up." She glances over at Luiz again, holding two fingers up and mouthing the words 'whisky sours' as clearly as she can. He nods and she turns back to Dean, her teal eyes narrowing. "Oh, I dare you to misbehave. Try it."

[dean rothchild]

"Of course I'm serious." His eyes roll at the ridiculous question that slides off her tongue. The drugs were amplifying the jealousy that soared through him. She'd ordered him to stop moving his leg but it's become antsy again, now with her hand removed from his thigh. He scoffs at her remarks of getting his number, giving her a look of annoyance. "No, everyone is looking in our direction. Feels like I'm some kind of god damn puppet and that something is off," he mutters as his right hand runs through the hair on top of his head, giving it now a disheveled appearance. If it were daytime and his body wasn't succumbing to the high of the coke he'd just inhaled, all of this probably could've gone ignored. But there was something in the way that she looked irritated that only further turned him on to proceed with pushing buttons. Dean watched as two of her fingers went up in the air to signal for more drinks. He smiles devilishly as he dares him to misbehave. They had moved apart during their disagreement and he eliminates the space, lowering his lips to ear once more, speaking words he knows will bring her joy. "I think we both know that I fuck you better than he ever will," Dean taunts her softly just before the bartender appears at the booth.

[stassi siminski]

She hears herself repeating his name in disbelief, words spilling out of her lips before she has a chance to sense check them. At times like this she cursed how much coke tended to be cut with speed, not least because she was also no stranger to popping an Adderall, the two coming together to make her jittery and wired. "Maybe they're looking in our direction because we're fucking hot you fucking idiot." Ah, no, there was the classic cocaine confidence. People probably were looking over, some who knew the context of what had happened between her and Pat, and some who were just plain nosy. Turning heads were not something Stassi particularly registered. As he speaks a thrill spreads through her core, though she rolls her eyes, shaking her head at him. "I wouldn't know, he and I aren't fucking. As I said, I literally just introduced you to his girlfriend, you fucking psychopath. I'm going to go collect our drinks, how about you use this time to come to your senses."

[dean rothchild]

The real Dean deep down hates the feel of the Coke rage that often takes over. The jealousy, the over existence of feelings that he doesn’t need to exacerbate. But that Dean hasn’t resurfaced in quite some time, and he keeps pushing him further and further away. “Right.” His eyes roll in a dramatic form, knowing damn well it had nothing to do with how attractive the pair were - even if they did turn heads while together. He chuckles when she tries once more to point out the obvious, with Dean instead looking deeper into the situation. He watches her strut to bar, as she speaks to the bartender that he believes she introduced as something with an L. Dean couldn’t confidentially call him by his name if he’d ask. When she’s back, she hands him the whiskey sour. His lips touch the glass, as he takes a small sip. “You never said if I was right, by the way.” Though Stassi had said they weren’t fucking, didn’t mean they hadn’t in the past, which he dared her to answer.

[stassi siminski]

Storming off to the bar, the bartenders raise their eyebrows at her sudden fury. "Shut up," she huffs as they exchange a look, taking a long sip of one of the drinks to calm herself. Her long, crimson red nails tap against the counter as she gathers her thoughts, irate and especially so with an audience. "Everything all good, Stas?" Luiz ventures, but she waves him away. "Men." She thanks him for the drink and returns to her booth, more composed for her hiatus. She slips the cocktail she's already had a sip from in front of him, her lipstick visibly smudged against the glass. "How would I know if I've never fucked him? He's my friend. Are you one of those Andrew Tate freaks who thinks girls and guys can't be just friends?" The words curdle in her mouth, convincing absolutely no one.

[dean rothchild]

Her attitude is everything Dean craves about Stassi. His latest addiction. The way she responds to his interrogation, only fueling the fire inside him more. He loves the way she saunters away with such sass, knowing she loves every bit of poison he spews at her. Dean chuckles at the lipstick stain of the glass that lands in front of him, making a point Stassi was and he deepens his chuckle. He doesn’t care, and sips from where her lipstick marks were. The whiskey sour tasting like a kiss he shared with her earlier. “Andrew Tate is a fucking idiot,” he waves off her comment, not feeling the same about that loser’s opinions or even agreeing with his sentiments. “I just have this feeling is all, that there is more to this situation.” His head leans in the direction of where Pat and his girlfriend were seated. “So are we getting this special pasta of yours?”

[stassi siminski]

Dean insists that more is going on and she wonders what the tell is. Was it her, or Patrick, or both? Neither? Her ex had developed an irrational dislike of him, as had Jasper, as though he had any right to. She probably spoke about Patrick more often and more glowingly than she realized. Embarrassed by herself, she rolls her eyes at the question, getting to her feet once more and sauntering her way into the kitchen. "You know you're not supposed to be back here," Benny murmurs, sensing her without having to look up from a skillet, from which he was spooning spitting hot fat onto a steak. "But Benny..." she starts, her voice sickly sweet, only to be cut off. "Yeah, yeah. Two plates coming up. Give me ten." She squeals her thanks, so pleased as she turns on her heels that she completely crashes into Pat, whose looming frame seems to have appeared from nowhere. Her stomach twists. "Oh, sorry," she says, flustered in a way that was entirely out of character. He goes to say something but she's slipped by, ignoring the sound of her heart thumping in her ears as she rejoins Dean. "You are going to die, this pasta is that good."