: you're so vain

[atlas leblanc]

The white and blue contrast still did nothing for Atlas’ inebriated mind, words blurred together looking like a little screen of gibberish. Luckily, she knew every lyric to the Carly Simon song she’d hand picked for tonights karaoke. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was that she may be severely tone deaf, but even that wasn’t enough to stop her from belting out the lyrics after a few drinks. Microphone in one hand, drink in the other, she let Eden get her verse in. Hips swayed from side to side, despite the lack of consistency with the beat. Thank you, thank you, thank you very much, she slurred from the stage, a faux curtsey in the direction of the makeshift audience before her. It was only when Eden practically forced her off the stage that she accepted Eden wasn’t down for round two with Ur So Gay. Boring. So boring. When did this drink get so empty? Eyes narrowed in on the clean glass, an unnecessary pout finding its way to her lips. Her heels were too much for this bar, as was the skin tight dress, but who knew they’d end up here for after-hours? Except for the fact that they ended up here at least four nights a week. It didn’t matter, what mattered was getting that fresh drink. Forcefully she wedged herself through the crowd toward the equally crowded bar, and nestled in between two guys also attempting to get their order in. Elbows met the bar top, and she stood on the tips of her toes, twenty in hand to try to get the bartender to her first. And there he was, though she was sure it had more to do with the shameless cleavage flash. Two double shots of tequila, and a cosmo, and that one chocolate-y drink, she practically demanded. A swift turn on her heels and she was passing the shot to Eden who waited behind her. A lick of her hand, some salt, and she downed it, the lime perched between her teeth, even though it tasted like water at this point. Another less than elegant whip around, and she was grabbing the rest of her drinks from the bar. This time, there was a new man waiting for his order to her right. Or was he there before? She couldn’t remember. Maybe it still wasn’t him, of all the places in New York he wouldn’t be here, especially when he was in London. Am I seeing things? She whispered back over her shoulder to Eden, who shook her head adamantly. Before she could even comprehend the situation, she was turning to her opposite side to face him. This time, that stupid cheeky smile on his face. I will destroy you, was all that came out, she wasn’t really sure what it meant, but she was sure she meant it. music zilcccch. notes you rushed me its jibber jabberrrr. tagged @cillian

[Deleted]

Jesus Christ, you're so fucking full of shit, Cillian looks exasperated as he spits these words to Roddy O'Dale - his chaffuer, his friend, his companion of a total of an hour and fifteen minutes. His hands are on the man's shoulders, and he's shaking him, watching Roddy's greasy long black hair fall onto his forehead like thick crows feathers. No fucking way Kimye called their daughter North West, he watches as the thirty-something man desperately searches for his phone. When he finally has it, he hold it up to the tip of Cillian's nose, yea, man, it's true. See? He sees, but he doesn't believe it, his hands slip from his shoulders, and he shakes his head. The fuck. He's wasted, and to the sober lurking the street this Friday night, it's incredibly obvious. His flight got in at noon, and he has been getting dragged around for a good part of the day by friends who were desperate to either see him, or to hear what he had to say on the subject of his personal affairs. The man somewhat tired of it around dinner time, which is when he began to drift through the busy streets of New York, and enter bar after bar. At this point it was clear that he'd rather talk about Kim Kardashian, than about his recent firing from his talk show. He doesn't even ask the name of the next bar he finds himself stumbling into. In the background there's a sort of screeching along the tune of.. what's that song? You're so vain, whatever, the one that model he dated liked. Fuck, that noise.. that god awful sound, he mutters to Roddy, but when he turns his red-eyed friend is no longer there. And at his complaint, the noise stops, he's silently grateful. Cillian shoves his way into the crowded bar, and his fingers drum the counter top, muttering a request for a bottle of Sleeman. As his gaze carries across the bar, he gets a familiar glint of honey brown hair, and he quickly does a double take. Atlas, baby, he hears her words, but chooses to ignore them with a wide set smirk. His arms force her into a hug, and lips peck her on the cheek, pushing her into intimacy only because he can assume by the tone of her voice, she's not that happy. And you, leaving his arm draped across the blonde's shoulders, he lifts his index finger and gives Eden a fat poke on the forehead. music nada notes lol.. the worst. ur code.

[atlas leblanc]

Cute. How very cute of him to ignore her heartfelt sentiment. And as if that wasn’t enough, his ‘Atlas, baby’.. Did he think she was kidding? Eyebrows furrowed together, teeth chewing at the edges of her tongue. Annoyed would be an understatement, but that was the simplest way to put it, the best feeling to narrow it down to. Everything about him bothered her now, and all she could do was wonder. Wonder if he had always been this bothersome and she was just in some lovestruck trance, completely blinded, and missed it - or if it was all of the things he’d done and hadn’t done over the course of the past year. Whatever the case, she couldn’t stand him. Or his touch that crept up too fast. If she were being honest, it was the one she’d missed most over the course of the year, but now it made her stomach flip flop in all of the wrong ways. Involuntarily, she shifts from his embrace, crossing a single arm beneath her chest. The glass meets her lips yet again, downing the rest of the pink liquid. Drunk as she may have been, she can’t escape her current state of hate. And apparently, Eden couldn’t either. The brunette to her side offered a single, ‘fuck you, we’re going Atlas’ and stormed in the opposite direction. Ugh, see what you did? Somewhere in the back of her intoxicated mind, she knew she should be following her counterpart. But still she stood. Did you come here to ruin my night? Or come to New York to ruin my life again or something?! It comes off as pure dramatics, but it’s her most genuine thought of the moment. Actually, don’t answer that. You can go, she slurs in his direction, turning to slam her empty glass back on the bar, requesting another in the process. The bartender has yet to return with the umpteenth drink before a stray hand digs through her purse for her cellphone. Finger tips tap at the too bright screen until she’s found Uber, and manages to request a car. But since I know you won’t, I got you a cab! It can take you to JFK now, she lifts the phone to his face, a look-I-won smile now on hers. It’ll be here in….. six minutes. music a playlist called lexi you don't want to know what's on it. notes w/e w/e. tagged @cillian

[Deleted]

Cillian face was full of amusement as he watched Eden's reaction, her scowl seemed to age her face as her forehead tightened into a frown and her lips tightly pursed. Awk, adorable, you, he fake coos at her, she spits at him, flipping her hair as she walks off. The man shrugs his big shoulders, fingers scratch at his facial hair and he raises heavy eyebrows as he turns to Atlas, oops. He expects the young model to follow her best friend, it frequently seems that they have a rope attached to each other. But she stays in a fixed position, glaring at him. This only drives him further into a state of relaxation, that big dopey grin regularly appearing on his handsome features. Cillian turns back to the bar, his fingers closing around the cold bottle of golden liquid. No, actually, he takes a giant slung of his beer, it's freezing as it gushes down his throat. I came to give you a wedding present! He is charming, the way he says it, one hand fishes his leather wallet from his pocket. I figured my invite got lost in the mail.... hey, what's your tab sitting at? He flicks through a few bills, must be sitting pretty high, considering that karaoke, how'd you convince them to let you sing? He's watching as her thumbs dance across the screen of her iphone, the muted blue reflection setting a glow on her near perfect face. Cute, he nods at her, sneaky grin on his face as she looks at him with gleaming pride. Behind him the bartender slides a martini glass, filled with rosey alcohol, Cillian passes it on to the young woman. I've a date with New York tonight, but you can go ahead and take that cab, he takes another chug, draining it half way. music nada notes this is poo. Cill is a dickhead.

[atlas leblanc]

Beneath the now heavy eyelids was a very confused look in her eyes. She remembers how he looks when he’s had too much to drink, the thickening of his accent, all of it evident here. But what the actual fuck was he talking about? A wedding gift? She’s about to comment on his obviously being delusional, but then she remembers the wedding he’s talking about. Hers. The green card sham. Fuck off, she’s not sure if there’s any playing it cool at this point, but she puts in her best effort. Eden fucked the bartender last night, drinks are on the house. Skeletal fingertips pull the money from his hand, and shove it right back in his pocket. The empty sentiment alone offended her, though there was nothing he could do at this moment that wouldn’t. I bet you thought that song was about you, didn’t you? A smirk plays across her features, but it still doesn’t stop the blood from rushing to the apples of her cheeks. Hopefully the fresh tan did its job and hid that bit. His refusal to leave didn’t come as much of a surprise, however, her happiness upon his refusal did. She missed him, as much as she’d tried to talk herself out of and against it, she did. Despite his upping and leaving New York, despite his fucking Sinthia, despite every other asshole move he made, she couldn’t shake him. Whether it was a matter of her not being able to, or her not wanting to, she wasn’t sure. All she knew right now was she wasn’t about to let him on to that. A stool opens at the bar and she’s first to snag it, crossing one bronzed leg over the other, her slender frame still facing his. At least there was another drink being forced in her direction, which she desperately needed, or so she thought. She takes a small sip before placing it on the bar beside her and folding her arms across her chest like a child. Well I’m not going anywhere, shoulders shrugging as if it was his problem. Were you even going to tell me you were in New York? He didn’t owe her the answer, or the phone call telling her he was, but still there was the tone of lingering possession in her voice. music naaadaaaa. notes no he's just an exclusive dickhead. tagged @cillian

[Deleted]

Keeping up with Atlas' social life had become second nature, as he frequently and most shamelessly kept an eye on her on social media. He remembers reading about the wedding on a fansite, whilst sitting on London's Underground on his iphone. The feeling that came over him was one of frustration, and he let out a largely exaggerated huff, and stuffed his phone back in his pocket. Now though, he was seemingly cool about the whole thing. His one defence mechanism prevailing as he poked fun at the wedding, and made it a bigger deal than it should have been. Cillian McAllister often found that the easiest reaction, to make it a joke and exit unharmed, with his feelings and dignity still intact. The alcohol that ran through his blood stream steadily made this reception. Tell me about your loving groom, he catches her hand as she plucks it into his pocket. He holds her too-skinny hand within his own, and looks into her stark blue eyes with false-interest, how did he propose? Oh my god, I want to know ev-ray-thang! He's acting childish, the way he holds her fingers under his thumbs, and pleads with his voice, it reeks of immaturity. But then, she's also acting like a toddler, her own little joke catching the corners of his mouth and pulling them into a genuine grin. He lets go of her hand, ha. Atlas is climbing onto the barstool across from him, and his own position changes, his elbow propping on the bar, as he leans his drunken weight onto the counter. Her next question catches him slightly off guard, his fingers run along the moist neck of the beer bottle, and he considers his answer. Was he going to contact her? He can't remember.. two days ago he had no intent on leaving London, and yet here he was, standing across from her at this very bar. Proposing Atlas' favourite bar to Roddy wasn't an accident, it had struck his mind more than once that he might run into her, in fact he hoped he would. Only here for a week, figured I'd visit Annie before heading to LA, he finishes off his beer, shrugging in her direction, figured you'd catch on. music nada notes just bein' a douche.

[atlas leblanc]

Reading him was easy. The whole I don’t-give-a-fuck charade may have worked with someone else, but Atlas could see right through him. The sarcasm that seeped from his lips didn’t bother her, or the joke he made of the entire marriage idea. That’s what it was to begin with. A drunken idea that vows shared between the two could gain him his citizenship, and her someone to pick her up Chinese at any hour of the night she chose. If she were on better terms with the boy holding her hand before her, she’d probably let him in on it. If anyone could get a good laugh out of it, and her plans to call it quits before the state even approved of it, it would probably be him. But no, two could play this game. His name’s Damian, right? She begins, not leaving much time for his subsequent ‘right’. You may know him, he’s into the whole TV thing too, only he was that one from America’s Next Top Model. Fucked that desperate wannabe model, with the smushed up face, terribly painted eyebrows, fake lips, I don’t know, I think her name was Nannie. Or Annie, Cillian’s new other half, the one all over Perez Hilton. She acts like she has no idea who she is, or her and Cillian's correlation. Whatever, irrelevant. He was so happy with the massive upgrade in fucks and looks that he’s literally just the biggest angel I’ve ever met, like he’s just so grateful, he even likes Eden! She’s rambling, mouth suddenly dry and she reaches for her glass, gulping the thing down in near one sip. Ah, the perfect moment. Annie. Her jaw drops ever so slightly, as if she’s only just put the pieces together. Oh shit, I’m sorry, not Nannie, your Annie! Her hand meets his shoulder and she shakes her head, seriously I’m so sorry, she’s not really that ugly. Except she really is. Remember when you were so afraid of commitment, you had to do some blog test run to see if it could ever happen for you? Now you have some new girlfriend every week, it’s so cute, I’m glad I could open that door for you. music naaadaaaa. notes she'll destroy him tho. tagged @cillian

[Deleted]

As she rambles on, the grin on his face continues to widen.. As usual he has gotten under her skin, and as usual he is completely amused by it. Atlas is giving herself away without realizing it, her attitude a reflection of his own. Her seething eyes bearing into his, her plump sofa lips babbling on about Annie's appearance. He makes a mental note to ask Annie if her mission was just as successful as his, if she had made a jealous monster out of that guy who looks like Donnie from The Wild Thornberry's. The reaction is just so typical Atlas, he can't help the flush of adoration he suddenly feels for the young woman. On the other side of the bar the scruffy bartender is mentioning last call to those gathered, and Cillian's attention is teared away from Atlas, drifting from her words to the bartender's. He grabs the man's forearm, and mumbles a request for two russian roulettes. Atlas' hand grabs his shoulder and his gaze his back at her, boyish grin flooding his features yet again. Sorry.. what were you saying about downgrades? Something about men with pubic hair for beards... does it taste like dick? He questions, not dire for a response. The bartender slides two shot glasses towards him, and in return he hands him a bill, asking him to keep the change left behind. Atlas is still talking as Cillian pushes one glass towards her, and rocks his own head back to take his. He drops the glass gently back on the counter, and hovers his hand over his heart. Atty babe, you've destroyed me, his thick accent lingers, and he's raising his white flag. You win, let's get on with it. music nada notes poop.

[atlas leblanc]

If only she could physically wipe that look on his face right off, she’d be the happiest girl at the dingy dive. A heavy sigh escapes her lips, it’s impossible, and she’s forced to watch him bask in all of his glory. Blue eyes escape his, inadvertently scanning the now less crowded bar, no sign of Eden to save her. Fuck. For a moment there she had pleasantly forgotten that in the same way she knew how to get under his skin, he knew how to get under hers. His blatant ignoring and only minimal attention regarding her love struck confessions did just that. But that was what she got for giving into the question in the first place, thinking she should play right along with him. Pulling her hand from his shoulder and right into her mess of hair, she pulls it off to the side, playing with the ends and laughing at Cillian’s knowing just who her fake fiancé was. A sense of pride, albeit small, came over her when he retorted with his own questions. You can just ask your girlfriend. The thought alone making her cringe, she’s familiar with it too, she tells him reassuringly, inwardly enjoying the fact that she hadn’t even the vaguest idea. Not even a second passes before she’s downing the shot waiting for her, it burns its whole way down, and she chases it with what’s left of the Cosmo. White Girl Problems. Already? She pouts. I haven’t even poured a drink on you yet, or slapped you. I thought that pink would look so pretty with this, and she’s tracing her finger tips up and down his chest, unsure of what the color actually was in the dim lit bar. What do I get for this win? She questions, rising to her feet and nodding toward the exit sign. music naaadaaaa. notes #whitegirlproblems tagged @cillian

[Deleted]

He's not sure why he's suddenly given up, and quit being so snarky. It could be boredom, which he assumes. Tired of listening to her go on and on about her engagement, though he had insisted she tell him every line of it. He's swaying his head back and forth ignorantly, and eyes keep dropping to the leather band watch sitting on his wrist. But hand in hand with that, was plundering guilt. Guilt for his obvious difficulty with commitment, that stupid blog, and the women he'd been so publicly seeing over the course of the past few months. It was probably more so the guilt, that was forcing is drunken self to soften. Cillain McAllister watches her movements, her hand lift the shot to her mouth and as her throat bobs as she takes it with wicked endurance. What's she even saying? Her finger trails drunkenly down his torso, mentioning something about throwing a drink at him. His own hand grasps his black shirt and pulls it taut in the light. Yea, good luck with that, he snorts a laugh as she slides from her bar stool, suddenly concerned that she's going to tip over in her stilt-like shoes. What do you win... he considers, matching her pace as he strides toward the door. Ah, got it, he raises a finger mid sentence, I'll chaperon you home. He smirks gently, holding the door for her and another four.. five.. six people, and rolling his eyes dramatically at her through the doorway. Once he's made it out, his arm is wrapped around her and ushering her along, we could take a cab, but it's not as though you live far. music nada notes blaaaaaghhhh

[atlas leblanc]

The blondes spent the last several months telling herself that she was crazy, and that there was no rhyme or reason for the effect the boy before her had over her. There was no way she could possibly care this much about him, it made no sense. It was a short-lived relationship, if you could even call it that, lasting less than twenty days, all for the purpose of entertaining others through a blog. For fucks sake, they’d been in different countries longer than their moment had lasted. But he left, and there was that sting of pain, a bit of deceit. And then there was his dating Pixie Santos, and then there was that sex tape, and now there was this Annie character. By now, she’s over telling herself that she has no right to feel this way. Maybe there wasn’t any rhyme or reason, but maybe there didn’t have to be. She feels the sky high heels on her feet stick to the bar floor as she gears closer toward the exit, checking over her shoulder to make sure Cillian’s actually following behind. The last two drinks finally getting to her as she’s now on her feet, and she’s just about too dizzy to walk. There’s something he’s going on about, chaperoning her walk home, something, because that’s really what she wanted from him. Couldn’t he just cut the shit instead? I mean you’re more than welcome to make sure I get home alright, but I’m not going home yet, she tells him, diplomatic almost, her mind tracing back to her dad and his early curfews. She’s not even tired, she mumbles, ok, she’s a little bit tired, but she needs to eat. Her frame shapes into his, tucking her hand in his back pocket for the support she doesn’t even realize she needs. Since you suck at New York, tell me which you prefer… fries of all flavors, or pizza? music have you ever seen the rainnn??? notes i hate pizza. tagged @cillian

[Deleted]

In the back of his head there's Roddy.. or was it Rodney. Their friendship seems so far away now, a piece of the past. He even failed to get the poor man's number, he was probably still desperately trying to pick up girls back inside that god awful karaoke bar. And oddly, if he hadn't bumped into Atlas, he would have been right along with him, playing wingman to the greasy haired man who had little chance at all. He was glad the "accidental" encounter had whisked him away though, finding that no women in that bar would even begin to compare to Atlas. His thick brows raise at her, faux-shock delighting his boyish features, Oh, you're not? This doesn't come as a surprise to him, he can remember twenty days of listening to her talk until five in the morning. At the time it got on his nerves, as he was hazy and exhausted, while she appeared wide awake and would shake him if he seemed to be drifting off. He'd kill for one of those for granted moments, and right now, it looked like he was being granted one. Err, fries, he doesn't take long to mull over the question, his arm tightens around her waist and holds her closely against his frame. It's funny how her body can be so forgiving, and yet her mind seems distant to him, licking cutting words in his direction. His pace is drunk, and they're both walking like a pair of crabs in the street - Atlas with her sky high heels, and Cillian with his general clumsiness. The shot is setting in, his fingertips and numb, and his mind is fuzzy. And that may be the cause of his next words. Hey Att, he pauses, giving her waist a small squeeze, I'm really sorry.. about everything, I've been fucking sucking. music nada notes atillian.

[atlas leblanc]

The not-so-fresh New York air does her head some good now, though it’s hardly obvious as the pair make their way from the bar and down 2nd Avenue. Her free hand brushes through her hair, and she pulls the windblown strands from her eyes. Not one part of me, she lies. It’s her favorite time in the city. Not too hot, not too cold, the perfect Spring in the city. She doesn’t even mind the walk in the heels that are killing her with the city lights sparkling before her. It was impossible not to fall in love with New York over and over again. Hoards of people still pondered the streets, despite its early morning hour, all still going about their night. Hopefully they’re not heading in the same direction of the fries, it’s a serious though. Oh my god, same, soul mates! It’s practically an excited cry, the most genuine smile of the night forming on her lips. Eyes lock with three definite teenage girls coming toward them. One’s rummaging through her oversized bag, presumably for her phone, the other already failing at the attempted secret picture, the flash shining right in Atlas’ eyes as they pass. They’re whistling something about ‘is that Cillian McAllister, Atlas LeBlanc?’ it’s a distant passing sound, one she doesn’t feel the need to acknowledge. Her attention shifts from the obsessive tweens to the Hey, Att coming from her company. Hm? she mumbles, eyes peering up in his direction, setting on his own. She’s too drunk to realize he’s too drunk to be apologizing, that those words may mean little to nothing in the morning, but now they’re music to her ears. And as pretty as they may be to hear, she doesn’t know how to handle them. It’s what she’s wanted to hear for months, daydreamed over the moment, thought of all of the different ways it could go, how she’d respond, but now, she has nothing to say (which rarely happens). The eye contact is suddenly uncomfortable, the looming silence, and those same eyes fixate on the cracks on the concrete beneath her. A little bit late, don’t you think? She musters, teeth chewing at her bottom lip. It’s not, at least not in this state of mind, but she’s subconsciously testing him for reasons beyond her. music kanyeezus spotify. notes i gave you nothing, i couldn't even get to fries yet. tagged @cillian