User:Fish/Danae's Beginning
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Danaë
"Is he still out there?"
India draws the curtains aside a fraction and peers into the hallway. "He's still talking with Nguyen. No, wait, she's leaving. Now Angus is coming this way."
Danaë takes a deep breath and runs her fingers self-consciously through the purple streak in her hair. "Do you think he'll like the purple? I've never seen him wearing any purple. What if he hates it?"
"Go find out," India suggests. "Or do you want me to go ask him for you?"
The other girl bites her lip with indecision. Danaë is quite lovely, twenty-three, with dark, liquid eyes, creamy skin, and long, silky black hair that mark her of Japanese-American descent. Tonight she has worn a wide-collar silk shirt of pale lavender, under a cream-colored cardigan sweater to ward off the chill of early spring. Her hair is died with a daring streak of neon purple, shockingly bright, and it is this that she toys with, brushing it back behind her right ear as if to hide it. "I should just go and ask him," she says, as much to herself as to her friend India. "I'll just see if he's — what he's doing. Maybe he'll want to come in and sit with us."
"Why don't I open the curtain? He's right outside," India says. "Then he'll go by, and we can say hello, and invite him in..."
"No!" Danaë says. "I'll just..." She can't think of an alternative, however, and she falls silent. Her brow is lined with worry.
"Come on, he'll be going by in a minute," India says urgently, peering through a crack between the curtains. "Just get up and say hello. Look, it's easy."
Before Danaë can stop her, India has pulled aside the red velvet curtains with the drawstring and scooted out of the alcove. Just outside is Angus: tall and lean with short, spiked hair of platinum blond. Despite the chill outside, Angus wears a white tee shirt bearing the red shield of Arsenal, the English football team, and also a pair of knee-length black shorts and Keds. He sees the sudden movement of the curtain, sees India rising to meet him, and glances at the two of them. Danaë's heart races as she sees his face — she notes in passing that he hadn't shaved, and there is an adorable wisp of dark blond stubble on his chin — and she smells his cologne. Cologne? she wonders. Has he come here to meet someone?
"Hey there, Angus," India says, smiling at him as if surprised to see him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pop out of the booth like that, I wasn't trying to run you over."
He laughs, and expression has a self-deprecating twist. His eyes take in India's wild auburn hair, and drop down once to cover her modest curves clad in a snug sky-blue turtleneck shirt. "Well, let's go back a few minutes and try again, then?" he offers. The Scottish lilt to his voice makes Danaë's legs melt under her. "I'll go back there, you pop out, and we'll have a colossal wreck here in the hallway, what d'you say?"
India smiles at him, and laughs, touching his arm. "I can't, I was just going to get us something from the concession stand," she lies. "Did you want anything? If you wait here a minute, I'll be right back." She turns to Danaë, as if reminding herself, and says, "Diet Coke, right?"
Danaë nods, and Angus looks directly at her. A puzzled expression crossing his face, but then he breaks out into his quirky grin. "Oh, it's you. Danaë, right? Looks like I made it here after all."
"Yes," Danaë says. She smiles, and tucks her purple streak behind her ear again. "I'm glad you made it. You weren't sure. You didn't have a date tonight, you said," she adds, trying to inject a hidden hint into the bland statement.
"No, I didn't, then," Angus explains. "But I think I do now."
Danaë freezes, and can't bring herself to ask the question. Who is it? she longs to say. Behind Angus' shoulder, India is making faces at her that seem to be encouraging: ask him, ask him, you idiot!
When Danaë doesn't speak, Angus turns back toward India. "Why don't I go downstairs and get something, instead? I'll be back in half a tic."
Angus disappears down the hallway again, and India seats herself, leaning out into the hallway to watch him go. "I think he likes you."
"He likes you," Danaë says miserably. "He was checking out your boobs, I saw it."
"He's a guy," India says, in a dismissive voice. "Guys do that. And it was just once."
"He didn't check me out," Danaë says.
"He likes you," India insists stubbornly. "It was your name he remembered. And you heard him, he said now he's got a date. I think he means you."
Danaë shook her head. "I don't think so. He must have met someone. Didn't you notice, he was wearing cologne?"
"Calvin Klein, Eternity," India says, and nods.
The Japanese woman brushes her hair from her face again, out of habit, keeping the purple strand out of her eyes. "He's here to meet someone. I can tell."
"Yes, you, you silly pickle," India says emphatically. "Danaë, why do you keep doing that with your hair? It makes you look nervous. If you didn't want your hair dyed with a purple streak, why didn't you do it?"
"It was my sister's idea," Danaë says.
"You said it was your idea."
"I told my sister that she should do it, that it would look good on her. She always likes to wear purple. But she said we had to do it together."
"Why didn't you say no?" India asks.
Danaë doesn't answer the question. They both know why: Danaë has a tremendous difficulty saying no to her friends and relatives.
"Cut it off," India says suddenly. "Just cut the thing off. Or dye it black, stop fooling with it."
"But then she'll know," Danaë says. "She'll know I got rid of it."
"Wear a hat, then," India says, and shrugs. "Whenever you get nervous, you play with it. You look uncomfortable. If I didn't know you, I'd think you were uncomfortable with me." India looks thoughtful. "Maybe that's why Angus left, just now. You were making him nervous, playing with your hair."
Danaë looks up, and her eyes seem stricken. "Do you think so? I'll just — let me have your hat," she begs. "The white one you came in with."
India shakes her head in negation. "You can't put it on now, it'll look weird. When he comes back, just take a deep breath and keep your hands together on the table. Look, you've got to have confidence. That's what all the magazines say. Be yourself. All the signs are right," she says encouragingly. "He looked right at you and said he had a date. He remembered your name. He's going to buy you a drink. Take a deep breath, okay?"
Danaë frowns, but she obeys India's injunction and takes a deep breath.
"And another," India says judiciously.
Danaë obeys. She begins to feel her tension evaporating.
"When he comes back, I'll invite him to sit down," India says. "I'll say I have to go to the bathroom or something. But then it's up to you, okay? You've got to talk to him. I think he likes you but you have to give him a chance to say so."
"All right." Danaë nods, and places her hands together on the table.
"Here he is," India says, glancing casually into the hall. "Deep breath."
"All right, two Diet Cokes for two lovely ladies," Angus announces, setting down two drinks and keeping a third for himself. "Lucky there wasn't a queue. When I came in, there was an Indian guy chatting up the help and there was an awful wait."
"Thank you," Danaë says, trying to smile, remembering not to play with her hair. "We really appreciate it."
India thanks Angus as well, and rises as if to leave. "Why don't you have a seat, Angus? I have to run to the ladies' for a minute."
Angus winked at her with a twinkle in his eye. "Trying to get me alone with her, are ye? That's twice now you've tried to bail out and leave us by our lonesome. Don't worry, I've—"
They never found out what they shouldn't worry about. A young woman with long, immaculately styled hair of golden blond spots Angus from the end of the hallway and calls out to him, interrupting him. "Angus, there you are!" she says, drawing nearer. Danaë feels the urge to twist her purple streak around one finger, but instead bites her lip. This girl is perfect: hourglass figure, button nose, blue eyes, and sensuous lips. Danaë marvels how someone can dress in clothing so expensive, and still look so cheap, for the new arrival is wearing a short skirt and a casual sweater unbuttoned to reveal a bright red tube top. A gold pendant dangling between her breasts appears designed to attract the eye.
"Angus," the girl says, and smiles guardedly at India and Danaë. "Friends of yours?"
"Yes," Angus says. "Ashleigh, this is Danaë, and this is ... India?"
They smile at Ashleigh, who looks polite and distant. "Hello. Angus, the computers are working again. We're about to start. Oh!" she cries, as if realizing, and glances indifferently at the two girls again. "I wasn't interrupting anything, was I?"
Danaë feels hot as they all turn their gaze to her — all but India, who is looking daggers at Ashleigh.
"No," Danaë says, uncomfortably. "I was just—"
"Good," Ashleigh interrupts with finality. "Let's go, Angus. Our booth is this way."
"Four of us went all-in tonight," Angus explains to them. "Chipped in to get a booth. But, you know, there's only two in this booth, we'd have more room if I—"
"Your ticket is printed for our booth," Ashleigh reminds him, and adds coquettishly, "Besides, I'd rather you were there with me."
"Maybe we could meet up in a Dream, then," Angus suggests, checking his pockets. "Here, Danaë, let me give you our terminal number and we can link up. D'you have a pen?"
There is a moment when Ashleigh's face registers displeasure with the idea, but it vanishes instantly. She says sweetly, "I left my purse back at the booth."
"I've got one," India says, handing a purple gel pen to Danaë with a pad of Post-It notes.
Angus gives Danaë the number for their terminal, which was printed on his ticket. With it — and with the consent of both parties — the two Dreams can be interlinked into one large event. Ashleigh looks on with a carefully neutral expression.
"We'll meet up in there," Angus promises them, nodding his head to them in a kind of bow. "Enchantée," he says to India, and to Danaë: "À bientôt."
"Bonne soirée," says Danaë, automatically.
Ashleigh takes his elbow — Angus seems startled, for a moment. "You didn't tell me you spoke French!" she says to him, delighted. "Say something sweet to me, in French."
Angus smiles sweetly at her. "Parle à mon cul, ma tête est malade."
Ashleigh gives a heavenly sigh, then shoots a venomous look at Danaë — Danaë bites her lip again — and Ashleigh leads him away down the corridor.
"That went... well," India says hesitantly. "I guess."
"It did not," Danaë objects, and starts to laugh out of nervous tension. "It was awful! Did you see the way he looked at her just now?"
"All right, maybe the two of them are together," India says. "But only just recently, if that. He looked surprised when she took his arm, like he wasn't expecting it. And they split the cost of the booth — I don't think a girl like that — she's got money, she wouldn't ever, I mean, maybe she's trying to buy her way into his heart." India looks concerned, and glances at Danaë again. "What did you think?"
Danaë hesitates. "If you say so."
"Girl, you have got to start having opinions of your own. What do you think? Don't just agree with me. Are they going out?"
She shakes her head. "He doesn't like her. Didn't you hear what he said to her?"
India frowns. She is entering the number for Angus' terminal into the computer, writing it with her fingertip on the table's glossy black surface. "What part?"
"He told her to stop bothering him," Danaë says, and smiles faintly. "She didn't know, she must not speak French."
"Stop bothering him, huh?" India chuckles. "That's a good sign."
"But he still went with her," Danaë complains. "What does that mean?"
"Ask him," India says. "We'll link up in a Dream and you can ask him then. What do you want to pick?"
They examined the options on the screen.
"That is a romance?" India asks with disgust. "War stories?"
"Maybe it's like The English Patient," Danaë says hopefully. "Or the Scottish patient, anyway."
"Did you even see that movie?" India disagrees. "Florence Nightingale, maybe. You could take care of the lucky sergeant, and — wait, where's the character selection screen?"
"It says here that it's random. The character selection part is broken tonight. Maybe that's why the computers were down earlier," Danaë guesses.
"Victorian England. That looks like a Doctor Jekyll thing, almost," India says, reading over the other options. "And a science-fiction adventure."
"What's Angus going to pick?"
India gives her friend a direct look. "Danaë, you know how I said you're going to have to have an opinion of your own?"
"Yes."
"Well, have one now. Angus says he wants you to choose which scenario the four of us will play."
- ROMANCE: Maids of Honor (Medieval Fantasy)
- ADVENTURE: The Mysterious Chemist (Victorian England)
- THRILLER: Journey to Jove (Future History)