Post by Bentley Arthur Wallace on Oct 3, 2013 14:08:11 GMT -8
OUTFIT<3: www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=99402804
Bentley moved into the club casually. It was his first time exploring the night scene since he’d arrived in San Francisco and he was curious to see how they would compare to what he was used to. After flashing his fake ID to the doorman, earning him a wrist band instead of that ridiculous black semi-permanent ‘X’ on his perfect complexion, he looked around. He was coming alone, which wasn’t something he was used to, but he was certainly still confident. He’d showed up fashionably late so as his eyes fell on a dance floor he noticed that it was already full of gyrating young people, doing their mating rituals in their drunken stupors.
Bentley did things a little differently.
Smoothing out his gray jacket, he was really the site of perfection. There was not one strand of sandy blonde hair out of place. He’d always had a sense of pride in his fashion. At the boarding school which he’d attended for high school, he’d always been one to teach the other boys how to tie their ties, fold their pocket squares, and tell them the importance of their choice in cuff links or watches. There was no such thing as a detail that was so minute that should go overlooked. Plus, he defended lavender left and right as the most important color of the spectrum. It went beautifully with his light hair, slightly tanned skin, and shockingly blue eyes: it was his favorite color and he had chosen to wear it this very evening.
Aqua eyes scanning his surroundings, they found the bar and moved over the patrons there. Bentley usually would scope out and find the usual characters of the club scene. There was always the girl, dancing with everyone, moving from man to man for free drinks, but ultimately going home with her girlfriends. There was the guy who would watch from afar and wait for a girl to come to him, he usually went home alone. Then there were the masses who were generally oblivious to everything else; All that had mattered was them, their friends, and the alcohol in their blood, making it easier for them to move their feet to the catchy, loud music.
Finally, his eyes landed on a woman who was sitting alone at the bar. There was no burly boyfriend at her side and she didn’t appear to be waiting on anyone either. A lone ranger, like himself, unafraid to take matters into their own hands.
He squeeze in beside her at the bar, acting as though he hadn’t noticed her, and hit his knuckles against the bar to get the barkeep’s attention and flashing his platinum credit card and Rolex, “Maker’s 46, neat.” No ‘please’ or ‘thank-you’ was necessary and it was clear by his demeanor that he was in a class that was very much above the others in the club and he was unapologetic for his behavior.
Finally, he feigned a passing glace at the woman who he’d purposefully placed himself beside at the bar. “Hello,” he said smoothly, unafraid of the beauty that she possessed which other men might have shied away from, his perfect pearly white smirk appearing. His eyes settled on her for a moment, curiously, and he studied her features as the light clink of glass hit the bar and he grabbed up his glass, not being too eager to move the liquid to his lips and let the taste wash over his tongue to savor. Finally, after not having broken eye contact with her for a prolonged moment, he spoke again, “Sorry, you have a face I couldn’t forget, do I know you from somewhere?”
Bentley moved into the club casually. It was his first time exploring the night scene since he’d arrived in San Francisco and he was curious to see how they would compare to what he was used to. After flashing his fake ID to the doorman, earning him a wrist band instead of that ridiculous black semi-permanent ‘X’ on his perfect complexion, he looked around. He was coming alone, which wasn’t something he was used to, but he was certainly still confident. He’d showed up fashionably late so as his eyes fell on a dance floor he noticed that it was already full of gyrating young people, doing their mating rituals in their drunken stupors.
Bentley did things a little differently.
Smoothing out his gray jacket, he was really the site of perfection. There was not one strand of sandy blonde hair out of place. He’d always had a sense of pride in his fashion. At the boarding school which he’d attended for high school, he’d always been one to teach the other boys how to tie their ties, fold their pocket squares, and tell them the importance of their choice in cuff links or watches. There was no such thing as a detail that was so minute that should go overlooked. Plus, he defended lavender left and right as the most important color of the spectrum. It went beautifully with his light hair, slightly tanned skin, and shockingly blue eyes: it was his favorite color and he had chosen to wear it this very evening.
Aqua eyes scanning his surroundings, they found the bar and moved over the patrons there. Bentley usually would scope out and find the usual characters of the club scene. There was always the girl, dancing with everyone, moving from man to man for free drinks, but ultimately going home with her girlfriends. There was the guy who would watch from afar and wait for a girl to come to him, he usually went home alone. Then there were the masses who were generally oblivious to everything else; All that had mattered was them, their friends, and the alcohol in their blood, making it easier for them to move their feet to the catchy, loud music.
Finally, his eyes landed on a woman who was sitting alone at the bar. There was no burly boyfriend at her side and she didn’t appear to be waiting on anyone either. A lone ranger, like himself, unafraid to take matters into their own hands.
He squeeze in beside her at the bar, acting as though he hadn’t noticed her, and hit his knuckles against the bar to get the barkeep’s attention and flashing his platinum credit card and Rolex, “Maker’s 46, neat.” No ‘please’ or ‘thank-you’ was necessary and it was clear by his demeanor that he was in a class that was very much above the others in the club and he was unapologetic for his behavior.
Finally, he feigned a passing glace at the woman who he’d purposefully placed himself beside at the bar. “Hello,” he said smoothly, unafraid of the beauty that she possessed which other men might have shied away from, his perfect pearly white smirk appearing. His eyes settled on her for a moment, curiously, and he studied her features as the light clink of glass hit the bar and he grabbed up his glass, not being too eager to move the liquid to his lips and let the taste wash over his tongue to savor. Finally, after not having broken eye contact with her for a prolonged moment, he spoke again, “Sorry, you have a face I couldn’t forget, do I know you from somewhere?”
