@camelotcurse.
sherry is a decent lady. she's a lawyer at the firm, and she's maybe got a couple screws loose. she handles his mother with the deft hand of years experience and takes sizeable pity on kit. thinks he's lonely. he could see why. " there's someone here i want you to meet, sourpuss. " she flashes a conspiratorial smile over her pinot grigio, tweaks his cheek, mouths: she's peeeerfect. the thing about sherry is she lives here, she's not from here. and there's a big fucking difference.
how he envies that. envies the naïveté. and when she finds him, somehow, again, in a drawing room that really pushes the limits of the approved cocktail hour zone, he would give anything to see himself from that faraway perspective. to know him, and think, this is a girl he deserves to meet.
it's a matter of seconds: he extends a polite hand, christopher turner. she plays along, elizabeth. her palm in his, that's wells fairchild ? she smiles, it is. he smirks, any relation to the miss birdie wells fairchild ? " ── awwh, " sherry kisses her teeth, " so you already know each other. you're just playing a little game with sherry. oooookay. well i . . . will be at the bar. you kids play nice. "
he lets go of her. only just lingering, bridging their fingers, sliding the hand back into his pocket. he puts rocks crystal to lips, nods back at sherry. " y'just pick up groupies everywhere you go, huh ? "