#ft: javier

[sebastianvb]

closed starter for : @irigy

"'Dude'? Seriously? 'Dude'?" the amount mocking disbelief contained in that single word thickens the air in the room, loud and clear, his sunglasses lifted over his head so he could peek over the bump of their massive shoulder. "What am I, a groupie now? This is ridiculous—" it must also be karma for making fun of his dad's groupies, but that's neither here nor there. He's two seconds away from telling them to shove their guns in places that'd for sure get him shot at when he spots him, a boyish grin of barely contained excitement softening his expression as he waved a hand in the air over the security's broad shoulders. "Oi! Javi! Tell is Scully and Mulder here to back off..." he whines, trusting his antics to get him recognized even faster than his voice should.

[sebastianvb]

closed starter for: @irigy

A blue scarf weaves through the air with a faint woosh, the smooth fabric draping itself over the pillar of the man's throat with effortless grace, soft and expensive against his stubble, imbibed in Chanel Coromandel. "I know what you're thinking," the familiar voice pieces through the air with the same air of inconsequential causality it had carried before, as though his head had never made room for a single worry or aggravation. Sebastian slides over to occupy his field of vision entirely, perching atop the edge of his table with all the grace of a black witch moth, legs crossed and cigarette caught between finger. "Yes... I am stalking you," he looks down, flaunting that million dollar smile, all pearly teeth behind a thin curtain of smoke. "But in my defense, your honor... it's only bad if you're ugly, right?" he likes to say atrocious things, sometimes; it seems as though his antics keep him perpetually amused in a world that otherwise interests him very little. "Looks good on you," he gestures to the scarf. "You should keep it."

[sebastianvb]

closed starter / @irigy

There's no warning before his head is breaching into his personal space with the confidence of someone who had seldom gotten backhanded for doing so; hovering just over the bump of his shoulder, spine bent at an unnatural angle to reach so low. "Tell me the truth," he stretches an arm lazily over the back of Javier's seat, pale blue eyes clouded in a glossy sheen of inebriation, a thin cloud of smoke spilling out the corner of his mouth, curling up into sharp tendrils against the ruddy apples of his cheeks as he speaks in a lazy, playful drawl, drunkenly pointing at somewhere in the crowd where he assumes his father must be. "You two have some kind of... secret DILF club or something going on, right?"