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Characters: Darren Quigg and Devon Kirke.
Setting: Upscale restaurant and then Devon's flat, Valentine's Day, evening. (STFU. WE'RE SLOW.)
Summary: ANGST ANGST ANGST
Rating: PG-13/R (for language - Darren have a clean thread? Never.)

The way Darren had learned it, there was four types of clients in this business: the high maintenance and generally unattractive teenage girls with rich parents, old rich birds, grabby old rich birds, and finally, the rarity - the attractive witch with money to spare. You always prayed for the latter and by gods, were they seldom. Of course, there were certain colleagues of Darren's who chose to service male clients as well (which had it's own variety of clientele) but Darren himself had never done so. He did have his limits, after all.

Regrettably, Darren had been stuck on the really-grabby-old-bird circuit for the better part of three weeks. It was his own fault. He'd been the one to show up on a client's doorstep still buzzed from a dose of Opal. Still, he'd give anything for just one bit of strumpet among all thehandsy old biddies. Vena had limited his workload to an extreme. He'd been poked, pinched, and even licked more times in the past week that he'd lost count. There certainly wasn't a worse punishment he could think of.

Tonight, though, Vena was sending him to an upscale martini bar and restaurant to escort a twenty-something witch who had requested him personally.Vena had made it very clear that it was the witch's choice - otherwise he wouldn't have been given such a job for at least another two to three weeks. The client's name, Raye Jones, didn't strike any familiarities for Darren but it was not uncommon for new clients to make requests based on recommendations. Ah well, he didn't really care how she decided on him. He was just really fucking glad she had. Even if it was Valentine's Day. It was strange (and a little sad) to think people would rather pay for the company on the holiday than be alone.

Removing his traveling cloak, Darren handed it over to the trim witch at the cloak room before smoothing the front of his dress robes - which were rather sleek and been specially made by a tailor that MadameVena had brought in. Another rather polished wizard scanned for his name on the guest list before he was even allowed inside. Darren cast a quick glance around the place which made him raise a brow - this bird had serious money. Having been told to meet Ms. Jones at the bar, he approached and saw that there was just one witch who looked to be unoccupied. And not to mention had a knock-out body from behind. Please, Merlin, he hoped the front matched it.

"Miss Jones?" he asked slowly, politely once he was near enough for there to be no mistake that he was talking to the one with the very nice figure.

This was a bad idea.

This was a very bad idea, but yet there she was. There she fucking was, sitting there all dolled up as she waited for him. Damn it she should have just stayed home. Staying home on Valentines would have been better than this. But no, she had to go. She would have gone insane if she sat at home just wondering what would have happened if she had gone. What was she supposed to say to him? She didn't even want to look at him anymore, yet he was all she ever thought about. What the fuck was that about? Why did he have that effect on her even after he had broken her heart? Maybe she wanted to go so she could just hit him, and say what she wanted to say, and let him think there was even the slightest chance that she wanted him back and then just leave and have him feel miserable and pissed off like she wanted him to feel...

The only problem? She really did want him back. Fucking asshole...

Raising the Martini glass up to her lips to take a sip of the much needed alcoholic beverage, she took a large sip of courage before she placed the empty glass back down and asked for a refill. She needed to at least have a slight buzz going before she was able to see him again. She took a deep breath, which was exhaled as a heavy sigh between those glossed cherry flavored tiers, large brown eyes traveling down to flatten out the front of her dress. It wasn't short and skimpy, but long and elegant, and it hugged her frame without being clingy. It was a dark shade of red, and it was strapless, with a gorgeous tail of fabric that was held to the small of her back with a small ruby pendant. Her hair was swept up and pinned, and she looked...gorgeous. Not that she usually didn't, but tonight she looked stunning and not...hot. Well, she looked that too, but for different reasons than she normally did.

The tender brought her another drink, and before she could say thank you, she heard his voice. She froze. Her eyes shut as she composed herself before she cleared her throat and slowly nodded her head before she took another sip of her pink-dyed Martini before she carefully gathered her dress so she could stand on her feet, turning around to finally face him. She froze, again, not expecting him to look as cleaned up as he did. But she had to pull herself together. She raised her chin a bit, fiddling with her handbag.

"I'm Raye Jones."

Darren blinked once, twice - well, fuck him, if she wasn't ever the biggest clatter to the jaw! He knew Devon was a woman capable of many things, but this? This wasun -fucking-believable. Even for her. For anyone. The balls this bird had! He knew for a fact that she didn't have any, but if she had, they'd be cast in brass. To just outright buy him for an evening after tossing him out arse-over-elbow and to lure him to a highly profiled bar while using a fake name - oh, this was complete bollocks. Double bollocks even. And he wasn't going to let her have this won so easily. He was not going to allow Devon to see him squirm. Even if she was bloody gorgeous in that dress and had him horned up like a teenager. Christ.

"Darren," he finally replied coolly. Settling back into his composure, Darren offered his arm to the lady and gave her polite nod. "I believe we have dinner arrangements, Miss Jones - or Raye, if I may."

The fact that he had just called her 'Miss Jones' made her flinch just a little bit, but she hoped it wasn't noticeable. Her eyes traveled down to his extended arm as a perfectly sculpted brow rose high. "Call me whatever you want, I really don't care." Ah, but she did. She just hoped he believed her. With that, she walked past him, not even bothering to take his arm. Honestly, she just wanted to get this over with, and she didn't need to be clinging onto him every second. Which...was kind of ironic, since that was why she had made the plans, originally. So they could just be together. But now? Oh, no, now things were different. Now she just wanted--

Damn it, she didn't know anymore.

Devon walked a few paces in front of Darren as they made their way over to where they were supposed to be seated, and waited for someone to lead them to their table. "Right this way, Miss Jones." She gave a smile to him and nodded her head, only to have it melt away as she turned back to Darren. "Let's just...get this over with, shall we?" And with that, she followed the waiter to where their table for two was waiting.

Oh, good. At least she was being mature about this.

Darren stifled a grumble before he followed his client to their table. Yes, his client. A paying customer with no previous ties to him whatsoever. That was how he was going to view her for the evening. She would not have the satisfaction of riling him - which was clearly what she must be after. The only other explanation was that she was barking mad. Which he did consider to be thoroughly possible after previously having several fragile objects flung wildly at his head, but the former was much more likely.

At the table, Darren pulled out a seat for Miss Jones and offered to her with an open hand and warm smile. When he looked at her, he held the gaze of her brown eyes with his own. Was it a hint of a challenge to see who's determination would outlast the other? Perhaps. But more than anything, Darren knew the importance of keeping up with appearances and Merlin help him this evening was not going to tarnish his reputable name in the hustling business.

Darren was lucky that the items she had thrown at his head were so small, since she wanted to throw something big and heavy, but knew that the items that were in reach would actually have a better chance of hitting him. But she wasn't crazy. She was pissed off, and just wanted him to get out, but no, he insisted that they talk about it. He was always so stubborn, and he didn't ever listen to what anyone else had to say. But then again, she was exactly the same way. They were both determined to have their way, and would go above and beyond just to get things to turn out how they wanted them to. So, when Darren locked those emerald hued orbs with her own, it was a struggle to keep eye contact, but she knew that if she wanted him to think she was perfectly fine, she would have to keep looking at him. But damn it, it was really hard, because those eyes, and--

Asshole! She couldn't stand the thoughts going through her head, and it make her just want to throw something else at his head, just because he was able to turn her into a pile of mush just because of how he looked at her. She was a complete mess when he was actually trying. But no, he was just looking at her, and that was enough.

Taking her seat, she placed her bag on the table and waited for him to take his own seat across from her. She kept staring at the empty plate in front of her, not because she was hungry, but because it was something to look at that wasn't him...but she knew she'd have to turn her attention back to him eventually, so with a light sigh, she forced herself to glance upwards at the man sitting in front of her. "So what happens now, Darren? What exactly does this package include?" She tilted her head a little bit as she waited for his answer. She knew exactly what the 'date package' included, after speaking toVena a few weeks ago, but she was curious to see if he'd actually explain it to her.

Whether she knew it or not, Darren had been watching her even as he rounded the table to sit down in the opposite chair. He noted the sighing and aversion of her eyes before wondering how long she would manage to last. After all, this was her doing so to see that she was the one worse for the wear was making him.... Well, he didn't exactly know if he was to take it as a win or an altogether defeat. He didn't want her to be hurting more. That certainly wasn't his aim. Though he had the distinct impression in was her intention in return. She hated him now, right? So, she must be glad he was treating her...frankly. Right?

A hint of a smirk pulled at Darren's lips as he leaned-in enough that the candle which had been placed to the side (rather than the center) of the table caused a flicker across his face. He certainly didn't want to be overhead - which would be easily done in the intimate setting of the restaurant if one were not careful. "Well, Raye," he didn't put any emphasis on the fake name but rather let it roll off his tongue naturally as he spoke, "what happens now is that we have a dinner with fine wine and a lighthearted conversation." As he said this, Darren laid the wine list open before her. He gave the list a nod (it was her choice - she was paying, after all) before he continued in a lower voice. "You've generously chosen the most inclusive evening arrangement. Therefore, this evening is yours and I am your willing passenger. Dancing, drinking, taking in show - your heart's desire is where the night will take us."

Pleased with his answer, Darren sat back and smiled at her. If she'd been expecting him to name terms for the listed activities and sundry then she was sorely mistaken. Guidelines made clients uncomfortable or even irritable - after all they were paying for his time, how dare he limit it straight off? Questionable conduct on the client's part was better left on a need-to-know basis. That is, if a client overstepped her bounds? He would let it be known. Otherwise, there was no need to even bother laying the lines. They were often blurred from client-to-client anyhow.

"Questions, milady? Or shall I flag us a waiter for our dinner orders?"

Devon leaned forward just a bit as well, staring him down as he answered her question, even though she tried to play the part of 'interested client'. Ugh, she wanted to smack that smile right off of his face. She could tell that it was fake, because she had seen him smile before. He was just...URGH! She wanted to hit him. No matter what he did, she'd probably want to hit him, because he deserved it. Darren deserved to get hit a lot. And he deserved to get hit hard. Why was this so much easier for him? Why didn't she see any signs of struggle on his part? Maybe this was completely useless. Maybe he didn't even care. She wouldn't doubt it. He didn't care enough about her when they were together, why should things be different now?

"No, I think I get the general idea. But thank you so much for clarifying."

The wine list was a perfect excuse to avoid him again, this time not looking completely obvious. "Hm...I think I want you to choose. You must have been to so many restaurants with so many lovely women, so I'm sure you know better than I do which is the best choice, right?" She closed the list and placed it back down where she had gotten it from. She knew exactly what kind of wine Darren liked to drink, but right now she couldn't expect anything from him. Not anymore.

The smirk on Darren's face faltered as he held back a retort with a disgruntled nasal sigh and took the wine list to look over. He didn't really care for the patronizing tone she was goading him with. He was trying to keep this evening civil in hopes that would both survive unscathed. Another heated argument was not something he was looking forward to - especially in such a highly public and well-mannered establishment. Devon had a clear-cut disdain for his career choice (he knew that all too well) but it wasn't like he'd hidden the job from her. Yet she still chose to rub it into him like he was a piece of meat and tried to make him feel less of a human being - that some how, some way the job made him dirty and undignified. He didn't appreciate it one bit. But he didn't let it eat at him too much. He knew the job wasn't the real reason she was having a indirect go at him. It was Lydia. And the drugs. And could you blame her? Still there he sat, calmly reading the list of whites as he made a wine choice. It was good that his tolerance was high.

When the waiter returned, Darren ordered a bottle of one of the more expensive Chardonnays - noting the subtle look of surprise on Devon's face. He had expected the reaction. He had ordered one of her favorites on purpose. The selection seemed to relax her a little which made the dinner continue on much more smoothly - candidly, even. Darren was thankful for that. He was certain they would have otherwise ended up hexing each other over dessert. By the time she'd asked him for an after dinner dance, the situation was even nearing pleasant. Which was startling (considering how the evening had began) and actually made the date more difficult for Darren. He had to continually remind himself that she was just another client and that was difficult to do with someone so beautiful swaying in your arms.

Finishing the last song of the set with a twirl that spun Devon back to face him, Darren caught her gaze with his own and clutched a lower thigh (dress and all) to him. He dipped her low in a dramatic display that had her hair grazing the floor before he effortlessly lifted her back to standing. The hands on her hips kept them at a safe distance as he watched her catch a breath and look up to him once more. Whether she was about to say something then, he didn't know but if she did it would likely be thrown up to being caught in the moment. And her pity certainly wasn't what he wanted.

"Where should we go now, Miss Jones?" he asked without hesitation.

Was she surprised by the wine choice? Yes. And she hated that she couldn't stop herself from staring at him with wide eyes. She had never told him that that was her favorite kind of wine, but it just showed that he had actually paid attention. He cared enough to pay attention to what she liked, and what she didn't like, and--

No, she couldn't think like that. She couldn't, because then it would just make her forget that she was supposed to hate him. But it wasn't as though the choice of wine was the only thing that was making her forget. It was everything. It was just being around him, and talking to him, and listening to him speak, and it was only with a great amount of effort that she was able to keep herself from smiling every now and then because of something he had said. All she had to do was think about Lydia, and how much he had hurt her, and the drugs, and it made it easy to keep her features solemn, only giving a hint of a smirk every now and then. It probably would have been a good idea to just leave things how they were, with them still 'getting along', or at least talking to each other without snapping or grabbing at a knife, or their wands, but there was something about the song that was playing that made her ask if he wanted to dance. It was as though the words were already off of her tongue before she could stop herself, but she wasn't about to let him know she regretted the question almost immediately...she would regret it even more once they were on the dance floor, because the feeling of his hand around her own, and the fact that she was close enough to him to take in the faint smell of his cologne made her head spin. But, she danced. She twirled, and swayed, and actually had a good time, gasping as he dipped her down, half thinking that he was going to let her fall. But, he didn't. He picked her back up, and as she listened to everyone applaud the musicians, her eyes focused on his, swallowing before she opened her mouth to say something, but...he got to it first.

He hadn't addressed her since they has sat down at the table, and now, after everything, he was still calling her 'Miss Jones'. The name stung, and for the first time she wasn't able to hold back the fact that she was affected by the name. But what was she expecting? Honestly. Blinking, she composed herself and cleared her throat. "I want to get out of here. Just...take me home." She moved away from him and then turned back to the table, grabbing her bag, biting at her lower lip while her back was to him. It seemed like an eternity before Darren had gotten to her, but they left shortly after. She opted for side alongapparation , since she figured it was better to be close to him for a moment or two, than to have to sit in uncomfortable silence until they got back to apartment.

She adjusted herself once her feet hit the ground, flattening out the front of her dress, pulling herself away from him so she could go through her bag to find her key. Nothing was said as she fiddled with the lock, hearing it click as she turned the metal object in the slot, pushing the door open slightly before she froze and shut her eyes, taking in a deep breath before she exhaled and turned around to face him.

"I have a lot to say to you, and I know that if I don't say it now, I won't ever say it, and you need to listen, because that's what I want right now. I want you to listen, and not say anything until I'm done." Once she was sure he understood, she nodded her head and looked down at the floor, trying to figure out how she wanted to word everything. "I planned this whole thing like, a month ago." Her eyes met his. "Don't think I'm telling you any of this because I feel I owe you an explanation, or an apology, because I don't. But I went toVena a month ago, before...everything." She averted her eyes again. "And it wasn't supposed to be anything like this. It wasn't supposed to be torture, and I didn't make the plans because I thought it would piss you off. It was supposed to be a chance for us to be together in public for once, and not have to worry about your date getting upset because you were with me, because I would be your date. I made the plans really early because I wanted to be with you on Valentines, even though I hate this fucking holiday." She glanced up to try and see his expression before she went back to looking at the floor. "I didn't give my name because I wanted it to be a surprise or something...I don't know, I just didn't want you to know it was me, because you'd probably tell me I was being ridiculous, or stupid. But then, everything just turned to shit, and I still had these reservations, and...I wasn't even going to show up. I didn't think it would matter, because you wouldn't know it was me anyway, and Raye Jones wouldn't be anything but a client who didn't show. But then I just...I was so fucking pissed off." She paused and clutched at her bag. "I wanted to prove that I didn't care. I figured I'd show up, and act like nothing was wrong, but of course it didn't work, since you seemed to be completely unfazed by the whole thing." She paused again, not saying anything for a few seconds since she could feel her eyes burning with tears that were forming behind them. "It backfired, actually. Because being around you just made it harder for me to hate you..." Her long lashes pressed together before they opened so she could make eye contact. "And I should hate you. I have every right to hate you because of how much you hurt me...and I should hate everything about you, and yet...I still want you. I think that's what I hate most about you."

The trip was abrupt. Appearing in the hall outside her flat door, Darren felt her yank away - as if she'd been burned - before his navel had even arrived to meet his body. Taking one balancing step he looked after her and saw that she was already armed with keys at the door. Why she'd even bothered to bring him here was beyond Darren. With the emotion that had struck her face when he'd addressed her as "Miss Jones" and fervor she'd shown in her rush to leave the restaurant he had full-well expected to be delivered to the doorstep of the Older Brother for a proper beating. But no. They were here, at Devon's flat and she was looking quite hasty to slam a door in face without a word.

Which is why Darren's brow arched in concern when she spun to him instead of heading inside. He was then taken slightly aback when she ordered him silent. Darren frowned but nodded. He supposed she deserved an uninterrupted go at him - even if there were retorts he had. They didn't matter now. He'd fucked their relationship eight ways from Sunday. No excuse he had was going to change that.

So, there he stood (well, leaned actually, with one shoulder into the wall next to the door frame) and listened as Devon gave the most glorious spewing of word vomit he'd ever witnessed. He didn't deserve any sort of explanation, yes, but she was giving one anyway. Why? He had utterly no clue. Maybe it was the wine. Wine tended to make birds more bubbly and talkative. Though this certainly wasn't bubbly. More like verging-on-tears. Which was just what this fan-fucking-tastic night needed: tears. All she had to do to complete the meltdown was fling a shoe at him and take a toothbrush to the kitchen tile.

Fuck. Why did she have to cry?

Darren's knuckles went white against the door frame when he squeezed the fist closed. It was eating at him that Devon couldn't look at him and say all this. She just spoke the words to the floor - like she was ashamed to be saying them at all, a child caught in the act. It just made him feel like he was being lied to - even if he knew better. He just wished she would look him in the eye, so he'd know that was the real reason she'd made the reservation.Vena had said the appointment was made in advance, but she hadn't specified how far. Devon could have made the reservations anywhere from a month to two days prior. He liked to think it was the former. But like she said herself, she was "fucking pissed off". So, really, he didn't know where this was truly coming from.

It was clear to him that Devon was upset and still hurting. She was pouring her heart out to him and it was causing a pang in his own chest that couldn't simply be ignored. And he might have let himself fall into that mercy if it wasn't for every caution in his mind wasn't reigning him back. Darren refused to be that vulnerable. He knew better. If she hated him so, she'd want him to hurt and what better way was there to do it than lead him like a lamb to slaughter?

He was quiet for several seconds as he continued to watch her face and think over her words - no quick quips were ready to fire off in retort. His own expression was flat and unmoved save for the twitch in his jaw. "So," he started, but paused hesitantly. "All of this," he started again in a tone edged with disbelief, "was to prove that you hate me?"

"I-....I don't know anymore..."

The words came with a shrug of her shoulders, followed by a sigh before she began to once again gently chew on her bottom lip, trying to think of another set of words. It was difficult, but she really couldn't just stop there. "I already told you what this was all about...or, well, what it was supposed to be about. What it turned into, I really don't know." She couldn't believe how ridiculous all of this was sounding. It didn't sound half as bad when she had thought about it in her head, but it wasn't like she had planned this or anything, it wasn't as though her words had been rehearsed a million times, ready to just let them fly at a dramatic moment. No, her big 'speech' was very spur of the moment. She was already mentally kicking herself for telling him as much as she already had.

"I guess this just proves that I never know what to expect when it comes to us, right? Whenever I think things are going good with us, they're not, and whenever I think they're bad they're just...worse than I expected." She paused to raise a hand to wipe away some moisture that had already fallen from her lashes onto her cheek. It wasn't like she wanted to be crying, because it wasn't like she ever cried. In front of anyone, except maybe her brothers. She was stronger than that, and she didn't like being the damsel in distress, but there was something about Darren that just broke her.

I don't know, I don't know, I don't know - was she capable of saying anything else? For fuck's sake.

That was what was frustrating him more than anything. Here she was crying her eyes out and doing everything short of physically flinging herself on him, yet all she could say was how wrong they were for each other. Which Darren didn't necessarily need spelled out for him. He'd gotten the hint well enough nearly a month prior when she couldn't even handle one of his tamer nights with Lydia. Honestly, it fucking killed him to see Devon this hurt - which was why he'd walked away. He didn't want to put her in more pain and damage control just wasn't something he ever wanted to put her or himself through. But she's was reeling him back anyway and he just didn't fucking get it. At all. Seriously. He was at a complete loss on this bird. And there was only so much drama and crazy he could handle for nothing more than deep-seeded lust - which was the only thing he seemed to be hearing from her.

Pulling a white kerchief from a breast pocket on his dress robes, Darren held it out for her to take from his fingers. "We like to shag, yeah," he deadpanned as his mouth and brows both set into thin lines of sincerity, "but a relationship for the sake of shagging isn't much of a relationship." He knew she would most certainly protest if he left it there, so he continued before Devon could get a word of response in. "We obviously view quite a few things in the past months differently," a pause, "and there's not point in even trying to work them out if you're never going to trust me. We'll both end up hurt and we'll both end up mad and--" Darren had to pause again when he saw more emotion gathering Devon's face as he spoke. Fucking great. He was trying to do the logical thing here. Why did she have to make it so fucking difficult?

"And it would be fucking stupid to let it happen," he said a little firm to her than he'd intended. "I just--I can't fucking do that to you, Devon." Is this what having a conscience felt like?Hmm. "We're through and we should stay through."