Drabble-Challenge Fic:
ladybug_rjc asks for: "Viva Las Vegas" and the Harry Potter fandom.
2nd person POV because I love it and I think it's fun!
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Viva Las Vegas (the "On the Rocks" non-Remix)You've been half in love with her for years now, ever since she bumped into you on the dance floor at
Nimbus 2003. You spent the rest of the evening in the shadows nursing drink after watery drink and just watching her move. Your arm had a smear of glitter on it where your skin rubbed hers and you touch it wonderingly, hesitantly. Everyone had been christened with glitter that night, but that particular patch was from her, transferred onto your skin with a slide of sweat and exultation.
You don't usually like girls. Women. Whatever. But it's been a long time since anyone has made you feel this breathless.
You can't bring yourself to speak with her for the rest of the conference even though the opportunity arises more than once. She smiles at you once as she walks past you in the broad hallway of the
Swan; she's laughing with her friends but you're sure that the smile is for you when her glance meets yours. It's just a moment, but it's enough to send your pulse into overdrive.
You get a LiveJournal in the post-conference friending spree and add her to your friends list along with a couple dozen other people in fandom. You tell yourself that it's time for you to become more involved, more vocal, maybe you'll even post some of the sad little Draco/Fleur fanfics you have on your hard drive. But you know in your heart that's not really the reason. You just want to feel a connection with her, however slim.
She writes fanfic and you read it even though you don't quite agree with her 'shipping tastes. You always leave feedback and you try to make it as positive and as encouraging as possible. You want her to feel good about herself. You want her to feel loved.
You don't notice that she friends you back until she leaves a comment on one of your entries. You wonder at the thrill that runs through you. You barely know her and yet...Oh God, why does she make you feel this way? She's nothing special and from what you've read of her journal she's actually kind of scary and egotistical. And yet...
You don't know where she lives, and that's okay. You don't know her real name either but that's okay too. You don't want to know, not really. Too much information would scatter the magic, make her too normal. You want to hold onto the way she exists in your mind for as long as possible.
You don't attend
The Witching Hour when it rolls around even though it's closer to you than Nimbus was. You tell yourself it's because you can't afford the trip, but you know that's not quite true. She expresses sadness in a comment when she finds out you're not going, sending *hugs* and a seemingly sincere "Darn, I was looking forward to meeting you." You keep the LJ notification in your inbox for weeks and re-read it whenever you're feeling a little depressed. It does little to staunch the surprisingly bitter flood of jealousy you feel when mutual friends gush about how much fun they had together. Without you.
She's so thrilled with The Witching Hour that she announces that her plans to attend
Lumos. You decide right then and there that you'll be going too. Las Vegas has always been one of those "destinations I should visit at least once," and you know that if things don't turn out quite as you'd like there is always the option of drinking and gambling away your sorrows. And hookers, as your mind teasingly reminds you, but you try to ignore that potential solace.
You feel so much better about yourself after you register. "It was stupid to skip out on The Witching Hour," you tell yourself, "you would have enjoyed the event no matter what!" With months to go before Lumos you decide to go on a diet; you want to look your best poolside.
You feel as if a burden has been lifted from your shoulders. You become chatty with people on your friends list and you seek out corners of fandom you might not have felt comfortable visiting before. In a spurt of enthusiasm you obtain a beta reader then, as you find yourself writing more and more, another. Your fanfiction improves dramatically and people begin to notice. She notices. You're invited to join an online RPG she moderates, but you decline. You don't want to fake things or pretend you're someone you aren't. Not with her.
You're scared of flying but you're too excited to care when you board the plane for Vegas. You know she'll be sharing a room with three other fans but you've scrimped and saved to be able to afford a room of your own. Just in case.
Vegas is hot. You can see the heat coming off the asphalt on your way into town. It turns distance into a mirage and you feel as if you're holding your breath until Vegas itself trembles into view. Despite the air conditioning in the airport and the shuttle your palms are sweating so much by the time you arrive at your hotel that you can barely keep a grip on the handle of your suitcase.
There's a cacophony of color and noise and for a second, just a second, you don't know if you've done the right thing. But then a sweaty group of giggly girls dressed in heavy robes bumps scurries past you and you realize that, no matter what happens, you'll never be the most ridiculous person there.
After a shower and a nap you make your way to the registration desk. The line is long and you're bored until you strike up a conversation with the girls behind you. You're surprised how excited they get when you introduce yourself. They've read your fanfiction, apparently. The gleam in their eyes makes you feel a little uncomfortable and you begin to rethink the wisdom of putting your handle on your ID badge. You reply noncommittally to their request to meet up later and escape their presence as politely as possible.
There are messages waiting for you when you return to your room. One of them is from her.
You meet her in the hotel restaurant; she is amazingly luminous in the artificial lighting and you wonder just how the memory of her could have diminished over the years. After an awkward hug you sit at the already crowded table. Her roommates are
Harmoniums (you aren't) and say things like "oh, you're that author" when you're introduced. She blushes a little at their rudeness and smiles apologetically. The intimacy of silent communication creates a warm center of happiness in your belly and you spend the evening on a high. The only things flowing smoother than the conversation are the drinks and it isn't until you try to stand up that you realize just how intoxicated you are.
She laughs and offers to walk you to your room. You don't know what you answered, but you find yourself slouching against the mirrored wall of the elevator while she pushes the button for your floor. The rise of the lift has nothing to do with the lurch your stomach gives when you find yourself alone with her. She takes your hand as you get off the elevator and your chest feels is if it's been hit with
Incendio.
The keycard is problematic, but it eventually succumbs to your combined efforts. You take a step inside and turn around to say goodbye but your tongue feels too large for your mouth and nothing comes out. She's too close, too nice. Suddenly every bit of shyness you've ever felt rolls over you in a nauseating wave; you mumble something incomprehensible and begin to close the door before a hand on your arm stops you.
She looks at you with shocking sobriety for a moment. You begin to sway a little on your feet and when she leans closer your lips meet briefly, wetly. Her fingers tighten on your arm as you sway away. Her mouth looks impossibly red.
"What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas," she says as she steps across the threshold and closes the door behind her.
With your last coherent thought you wonder if that phrase holds true for
New Orleans as well.
~~~~~
*is going to hell*
yuletide
uncomfortable
awake
okay
exanimate
amused
nostalgic
cold