isadoramorgan:
- $$$ -
In most instances, Isa appreciated when her sense of style was validated. Knowing designers just based on silhouettes or colors, being able to place the season of a piece, all of the typical Devil Wears Prada shit. Having without a doubt known that a man’s cheap face paint had come from the dollar store, however? Not so exciting. And yet terribly Gravewood.
“Mmm,” she murmured to keep herself from making any other remark, the desire to contradict Sam’s statement with a cerulean monologue of her own contained easily enough. After all, though what a person chose to wear was that deep, he’d just given her a whole meal to devour. She certainly wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.
I can’t really figure you out.
Delightful.
“What came first - the makeup or the monster?” she questioned, eyes scanning Sam’s face before settling on his eyes once again. They hadn’t yet given anything away, but there was still time.
“Did you do the makeup yourself? How long did you think about what you were going to wear? Were you excited about it? Did you dread it?”
It felt almost like she was an unsuspecting villain giving her whole evil plan monologue to a hero on the cusp of greatness, but Isa knew that she was no villain. And she knew just how much to give away while still holding the power… even a couple of drinks in. Probably.
“Intention matters, Dyer. Your brother? Sisyphus. The man cursed to roll a rock up a hill for the rest of his miserable existence, knowing that no matter what he does, the boulder is still going to roll right back down and he’ll have to start again. Neither a god nor a monster, but he tried. He clearly wanted to be here. This room is full of people who don’t know me, don’t like me, only know of my family’s history in this town. But in a room full of what are essentially strangers, the people who put in effort? Those are the people I just might want to get to know.”
The bar was probably on the floor, given that Isa was about to give him credit for choosing makeup over a mask. In the smallest of ways, it had been proof that he did actually care. Luckily, their sustained eye contact while he claimed to want to make an enemy out of her for the evening had her mind going in a different direction.
“And what would make it more interesting? For you. Specifically.”
.
“The monster,” Sam responded without missing a beat. His eyes narrowed on her rapid fire questioning, lips pressed together in a way that made it clear he had no intention of entertaining her. It all sort of read like a very small dog posturing when faced with a wolf, rather than tucking tail and running in the opposite direction.
It would have been the smarter move.
He could see the gears turning in her mind, could even respect that she was smarter than he’d originally given her credit for. But there was only so much he was willing to grant. Someone born into wealth could never and would never understand the hard won lessons of the streets. Craftiness and cunning was a whole different ballgame in the circles he ran in. And there was an angry little boy buried somewhere deep inside him that raged against the fact that he’d had to pay a price he wasn’t sure even Isa Morgan could afford in order to be standing here right now.
“Actually, my first choice was to hot glue cheap rhinestones onto my prettiest dress, but isn’t it good I didn’t? We would have clashed.” He dragged another gaze down the length of her for good measure.
It was the mention of Jamie— and Jamie’s costume— that did manage to penetrate his impassive façade. He didn’t know much about mythology and knew shit all about whoever Sisyphus was, but his mind conjured a strikingly vivid image of Jamie desperately pushing a boulder up a hill only to watch it roll back to the bottom every single time. Jamie was Sisyphus and that realization felt like failure.
Sam finished off the rest of his drink.
His fire reignited, he turned burning eyes back on Isa. “If those are the kinds of people you want to know, then what are you doing here with me?” The question was almost curiosity more than it was more bait, but the one she posed in return had his eyes trailing out across the crowd, lingering on the overdone decorations and overly grand presentation. Nothing said Gravewood quite like an extravagant party. “For me specifically? Remembering that this is Gravewood is probably a good place to start. I’m curious, though,” he said, cutting his eyes back to her. “Do you hide behind the money or is it just who you are?”














