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—& HELENE:

Her mother’s affair — by no means the blonde’s fault but an incredibly sore topic nonetheless — was the older man’s favorite taunt, and (much to her dismay), a relatively difficult jibe to rival. Though she had a great deal of demeaning things to say about Oliver Lerolan, none were quite as insulting as his persistent prodding at the question of her parentage.

Was she the daughter of Aurelian Calore, the next President of the United States? Absolutely. And until a DNA test proved otherwise (he’d declined to have one taken simply to avoid the publicity, but she liked to think he was certain she was his child), even a diplomat’s son had no argument, no solid proof — no rock to stand on.

“It doesn’t,” she simpered, “because all of the fidelity in the world couldn’t save you.” As far as she knew, his parents had remained faithful to each other, yet he’d still grown into a cocky little — maybe not in the literal sense — PRICK. “Did mommy and daddy get you into Georgetown? Your grades certainly didn’t.”

He had to say he was mildly disappointed, though Oliver was by no means surprised by her knee-jerk reaction. It mirrored the one he had seen years ago when they were both far younger. However, he thought that over time she would learn to harden her heart to such an obvious attack, but that had not been the case. He supposed that after he left, she had been surrounded by ass-kissers, people all too ready to brown nose in order to gain favor with the future president’s youngest daughter as insufferable as she was. Even though she tried to outgrow it ( almost fooling him in the process ), Helene Calore was still that insecure little girl bent on provoking some sort of reaction from her daddy who frankly couldn’t care less about her and that realization was enough to take the bite out of her next slew of insults.

“Perhaps.” He stated simply, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “But at least both mommy and daddy love me enough to do so — can’t say the same for you, now can I?” Oliver had quieted down, but he was sure his words still packed quite a punch. Smugly, he smiled to himself, pleased with the turn of events.

#// the only kind of punch my son knows how to give #// also apparently oliver only interacts with bee

—& VALERIA:

The left strap of her dress was silky between her fingers when she pulled it up onto her shoulder, wiggling a little to avoid having to actually adjust it. Once it was in place, she crouched down to put on her shoes, silently cursing herself for having worn a strappy pair; there was no way for her to have known she’d end up making an arguably bad decision without having enough glasses of wine to blame it on, but it was an inconvenience just the same.

For once, Ria found herself at a loss for words, but instead of tripping over herself to break the silence, she let it be.

A few minutes later, she was back in the parlor, looking for all intents and purposes like she hadn’t stepped away for even a moment. A half-full glass of wine in hand, she’d just finished talking to an older gentleman — a colleague of her late uncle’s — about the distinct lack of finger sandwiches at the buffet table when she at last chose to scan the crowd for Mason.

Truth be told, Oliver was a bit tipsy. He had imbibed multiple glasses of whiskey in past few hours and though it usually took a little more than that to give him a good buzz, he had also foolishly decided to drink on empty stomach. Now, he held a water bottle in his hand, hoping ( in vain ) that chugging it down would help him sober up before he did anything questionable and embarrassing. Aimlessly scanning the area around him, he caught sight of Ria who to his recollection had disappeared earlier for no apparent reason.

Sidling up to her, Oliver flashed a wide grin at his cousin before finally greeting her. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you since the party first started.” It was said offhandedly without any pretense. He really didn’t care. Ria had most likely been dutifully helping out their aunt with some last minute adjustments or chatting up partygoers. She was fairly predictable, though he meant that in positive way — she was, of course, Lavina’s favorite because of it.

—& HELENE:

The lithe blonde lifted the wine glass to her lips, blue eyes widening a bit when the long sip she’d been expecting was cut dreadfully short; she’d already reached the bottom of her second glass of wine (her self-assigned limit, considering she’d driven herself), and having grown rather SICK of answering questions pertaining to her father and the election, Helene was strongly considering leaving early. A rather sizable cluster of guests had gathered near the door since she’d last looked, however, making the idea of an immediate escape far less attractive. If only to kill time (and to avoid looking a fool with an empty glass in hand), she took a step back with the intention of setting her glass down on the end of the buffet table and stepped on what she could only assume had been a foot in the process.

“Excuse me.”

Unlike a vast majority of his peers, Oliver didn’t particularly mind attending these types of events. He was, after all, the son of a diplomat and “intimate” gatherings such as these were his bread and butter. In truth, he found them comfortable, a reminder of his life across the ocean, and though things weren’t all good there, he found that he missed it on occasion. Breaking off from his current conversation with a rather stoic individual, he moved through the crowd to a less populated area and in a practiced motion, he withdrew a cigarette from its case, lit it, and put it to his lips. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar blonde dip her head in what appeared to be submission. Amused, he decided to interject, their last conversation still fresh in his mind, “Oh look, she has manners.”

—& VALERIA:

Ah, yes, her better judgement. Once, when she’d spent an entire summer away from her cousins, she’d thought such a thing — good sense, that is — ran in the family, like the blue eyes and brown hair (of varying shades) the strong majority of them possessed. And really, it did, but proper use of it did not. While perfectly capable of using his better judgement, Oliver chose instead to let it lie dormant, depending on some form of decision-making that she’d yet to decode.

Whatever required the least effort: the only insight she’d gathered so far.

It was admirable, the ease with which her cousin found more efficient ways of doing things to preserve energy. Swiping a card was endlessly easier than rummaging around for cash — especially when the card wasn’t in his name — and he took full advantage of the opportunity to spare his wrist (and his bank account) the strain.

Once she’d ordered her coffee and joined him at the other counter, change tucked into her purse, she glanced up at him, her lips curling up into a smirk when she remembered what he’d ordered: a (remarkably) simple black coffee. “For being such a big spender, you drink coffee like a pauper.” A pauper in taste alone, of course; the coffee was disgustingly overpriced, much to her dismay, but it was the closest cafe to their aunt’s house.

Currently, he was pleased with where he was in life. College proved to be a place where a person like him could succeed and although he still wasn’t a straight A student, Oliver fared well in all of his classes. It helped that for the most part attendance wasn’t mandatory and homework was a rarity if it was ever even assigned during the semester. Here, he could get by on his wits alone whereas in high school effort played a large role in the final letter grade ( not that they mattered to him anyways ).

Ria, on the other hand, had always superseded what was expected of her — she was, after all, a model student and shining beacon of success. His cousin had done exceedingly well in high school and continued the trend well into her stint at Yale. Oliver would be lying if he said it didn’t make him proud, but also he never did understand why it so important to her — not that she needed him to, of course.

Taking a sip of his coffee, he let out a soft “ah” as the scalding liquid hit his throat, burning like alcohol as it made its way down. Her voice, teasing and buoyant, cut in shortly, pulling him from his thoughts, mostly inspired by their interaction. “You just don’t know how to appreciate a good cup of coffee and when I say coffee I mean coffee, not milk and sugar with coffee flavoring.”

—& HELENE:

Nothing had changed in two years; he flashed her something akin to a smile (really, it strongly resembled the grimace one made after devouring a lemon) and proceeded to act an absolute ASS, and though she didn’t remember how, exactly, they’d come to be the way they were, she could easily decipher why.

“You always were rather lazy,” she sneered, recalling countless times in which he’d neglected to turn in his homework not because he’d forgotten, but because he simply hadn’t felt the need to do it. It was a wonder and — though she’d never openly admit it — a testament to his intelligence that he’d made the grades to attend Georgetown with such a distinct lack of motivation.

Maybe his parents had bribed the board of admissions; Helene wouldn’t put up with his extended presence for all of the money in the world (she had enough to speak of without boiling blood to match). The last time she’d seen him, he’d been in a prep school uniform with a dumb haircut, but his hair had grown out a bit (even curling at the edges a bit), and he now donned street clothes. He looked different in a strangely good way, but she’d be damned if she told him so.

It was true, he was big enough to admit it — Oliver was lazy, unmotivated, and squandering his talents. He had heard the spiel before and though it was often said with veiled disappointment, Helene had neither the grace nor the tact to even attempt such an approach. Being a diplomat’s son, Oliver himself was well versed in subtlety, but if she wanted to deal in sharp barbs, he was going to fight fire with fire.

“And you were always rather unlikable, but that just goes to prove the discrepancy in your parentage, now doesn’t it?” He, of course, was referring to her mother’s little affair though things that made national headlines could hardly be called little. Typically, he wasn’t so cruel, but there was something about her that always got under his skin.

Eyes narrowing, he found that the humidity and warmth was doing little to help the situation — in fact, Oliver felt only more heated as the minutes ticked by. It seemed as if things could only escalate which was unfortunate since the quad was such a public forum. Yelling matches could be fun, but he preferred private ones, especially when they were of a personal nature. This, he knew, was going to be just that.

#// oh boy

—& VALERIA:

There were two kinds of Lerolans, though Ria didn’t often choose to dwell on such a fact: those that spat the silver spoon out of their mouths in favor of a spoon they’d procured themselves, and those that sucked it dry. Oliver, for all that he had as much — if not more — potential as anyone else in the family to make his own way, was the latter.

“Rewards,” Ria echoed with sarcastic enthusiasm, waving her hands slightly to drive her point home. “I’m green with envy.” Her gaze followed the card as it slid smoothly across the counter, and when he spoke again, this time to make a proposition, her blue eyes settled on his.

“My, when did my cousin get so generous? I’ve got it, but thanks, Ol.” She held up the bill between her index finger and her thumb and pointedly raised her eyebrows.

Although they shared blood and a surname, their personalities were as different as night and day. He lacked many of the distinctive traits that seemed to run in their family and though he joked on occasion that it was due to his rather divided upbringing, Oliver would be lying if he said it didn’t bother him at all. However, he was firm believer in leaving things as they were, especially when he didn’t have the power to change the circumstances ( which he didn’t ). It was a bit ironic though, since that exact train of thought was what differentiated him from Ria.

“Yes,” he affirmed, nodding his head up and down, “I get rewards, cash back, travel points — the whole nine yards. You too could benefit from this, but unfortunately your better judgement gets in the way.” He then ordered his plain black coffee which was surprisingly not indulgent, though granted they were in a high-end artesian cafe so it was pricey nonetheless and reflexively, Oliver handed the cashier his card, feeling bare as the plastic left his hand. “Well, when he realized it wasn’t his money he was spending recklessly.” After signing the receipt, he stepped to the side and waited patiently for Ria to catch up.

#// i got emo for oliver lerolan here

—& HELENE:

Oliver Lerolan. He’d graduated two years prior, and although she’d heard he’d decided to attend Georgetown, she’d hoped that the bastard would’ve failed out or transferred before she found her way to campus. No such luck, it seemed, as here he was, in the flesh — irritatingly handsome (and he knew it) and just as much of an asshole as she remembered. Oh, the comforts of home.

She’d known before he opened his mouth that he wouldn’t be helpful, and when he didn’t disappoint, she was glad. Helene would sooner be late or miss orientation altogether than follow any directions of his.

He sounded like he was enjoying this, however, and the thought itself drew a scoff from her pink lips. She mimicked his eye roll with one of her own. “How kind of you. If you could be so courteous as to move your ego or your head — your choice, of course — I could probably find it on my own.”

He flashed a pinched smile at her, quickly relapsing into old habits by picking up where they had last left off. The antipathy between them was years in the making and apparently it aged like a fine wine. Like all great and notable feuds, Oliver forgot how it came to be, but there was absolutely no denying its existence.

“Doubtful,” he fired back, deciding not to budge from his position in an act of petty defiance, “I’m sure a bright girl like you can figure it out sans map. Besides, neither my ego nor my head want to move, so I think I’ll stay.”

She had grown since he had last seen her and although she was still inches shorter than him, Helene was no longer the knobby-kneed girl with the loud mouth — no, instead she was the knobby-kneed woman with the loud mouth. Both, he thought, were equally grating.

—& VALERIA:

In one fell swoop, she’d stooped down to pluck the crisp bill from the floor and deftly fixed the cuff of the khaki shorts she’d donned (her little sister would’ve argued that it was entirely too hot outside for coffee, but Valeria strongly disagreed); a twenty dollar bill was a lucky find, but she’d been raised to believe that finders, keepers didn’t apply until one had made an effort to find the true owner.

A manicured finger tapped the shoulder of the person in front of her in line, and before they could completely turn around, she held up the bill, blue eyes imploring. “Drop this?” Her pink lips turned up in a grin when her gaze found a familiar face, and for a moment, the bill was forgotten. “Hey, stranger.”

She glanced down at the twenty in her hands once more and then back up at the individual, having resigned herself to the idea that the person who’d dropped it could be anywhere. “Let me buy you a coffee.”

Oliver was equal parts black coffee and strong liquor, always drinking one or the other, though on occasion, he’d mix the two. It was, admittedly, not the healthiest approach ( truly, he had gotten enough pointed looks from his family members to know ), but he had yet to find the motivation to change. However, after almost thirty minutes of standing in the long ass line for coffee, for the first time in a long time, Oliver was reconsidering his habits.

By the time he had finally reached the front, it had dwindled down and he found himself cursing at his timing. Hands in his pocket, he slid up to the counter, all but ready to spit out his normal order. Instead, two fingers tapped on his shoulder, distracting him, and as he turned he was met with the face of his dear cousin.

“No need,” he said with a shake of his head, “I get rewards.” Pushing his credit card towards the clerk, Oliver grinned at Ria mischievously, “Here, why don’t I buy you a coffee and you can use that twenty for something nice later, yeah?” He knew Ria’s opinions on their family money differed vastly from his, however that also didn’t dissuade him.

#// can you say spoiled?

mickkovich

“I was supposed to go up for something recently that was a six-year commitment, and I didn’t want to do it. It was a terrible part as well. I don’t want to be doing six years of something. I’d go crazy.“

#// look at that quote though #// i need to figure out tags man

angelsanarchy

♥ Send a ship and I'll give you who:

lerolans-blog

angelsanarchy:

Gives nose/forehead kisses.

Gets jealous the most.

Picks the other up from the bar when they’re too drunk to drive.

Takes care of on sick days.

Drags the other person out into the water on beach day.

Gives unprompted massages.

Drives/rides shotgun.

Brings the other lunch at work.

Has the better parental relationship.

Tries to start role-playing in bed.

Embarrassingly drunk dancer.

Still cries watching Titanic.

Firmly believes in couples costumes.

Breaks the expensive gift rule during Christmas.

Makes the other eat breakfast.

Remembers anniversaries.

Brings up having kids.

—& HELENE:

She’d forgone a campus map specifically to avoid looking like a clueless freshman (wearing the Georgetown shirt she’d been sent had been utterly and completely out of the question as well), but the more time she spent looking for the library with no luck to speak of, the more Helene realized her plan had backfired. Miserably.

A drop of sweat had just begun its slow descent down her spine when, visibly annoyed, she tapped the nearest individual on the shoulder; neglecting to wait for them to turn around, she asked, “Could you point me in the direction of the library?”

Her face was a blast from the past ( and not in a good way ). He knew he was gambling when he picked a college situated in his town of origin, but for the most part, Oliver thought he was safe from awkward encounters like this. However, the person before him was none other than Helene Calore and with an eye roll, he answered her, amusement abound in his tone of voice. “No — but I can point you in the direction of a map or exit? Your choice, of course.”

Of all the fucking universities in the world, the next president’s daughter ( and an utter annoyance ) picked his. How fucking fantastic. Stance wide, he awaited for what was sure to be a fiery comeback.