This is based on a writeworld prompt, specifically "She ran her fingers across her lips." I've done a few, but this is the only one that really came to a conclusion, so it's the one I'm posting. It's set in the world of my novel-in-progress, where Carrie is searching for her kidnapped mother, and George is helping. I would love you forever if you told me what you think!
The gala hall was crazy extravagant, covered in red velvet and with people filling it that were wearing probably several thousand dollar outfits apiece. Jazz music drifted from somewhere, transforming the ugly sound of all the conversation into a more pleasant melody. If I cared for overdoing things, this would have been the most wonderful party I could've imagined. Instead I felt mildly sick to my stomach at the thought of attending something like this in real life.
Luckily (or not so much), this wasn't real life. This was just the mission. So I straightened my bow tie and headed into the crowd. A little awkward, I wandered around for someone to socialize with as I waited. Carrie was taking care of the important business. I was just there for.... well, I didn't know what exactly. But it felt right. I needed to be here.
I couldn't see Carrie, no matter where I looked, and that made me even more on edge. This may have only really been a one person job, but I was there anyway, to be backup, but I couldn't even do my job.
After what felt like the length of a really bad movie, I finally spotted Carrie. She appeared on the balcony, next to whoever it was that she had to get information from here. Eyes focused intently on the man beside her, Carrie was almost shockingly gorgeous. I mean I knew she was beautiful, it was hard to ignore when I was traveling with her everyday, but the dolled-up thing really worked on her. Her black dress reflected the light, shining in all the right places to draw everyone's eyes, or at least mine, to her figure. It was maybe too simple and too modest a dress for this ridiculous function, but that made it suit her all the more. Her red hair fell down her back in a style that reminded me of a fifties movie star. The makeup she wore made her face seem like it had the glowy lights on it of a fifties Hollywood actress too, with how perfect it was. The red lipstick only encouraged the image.
The man she was with could've stepped out of an old movie as well. He was clean shaven and dark-haired, holding himself casually despite being in a tux. It was very James Bond. He was speaking to Carrie, face looking calm but I could tell whatever he was saying didn't match the pleasant look on his face.
I moved through the crowd of millionaires to get closer, losing sight of Carrie for a minute as I squeezed behind a laughing socialite. When I looked back up, she and the man who'd contacted her were gone. I nearly swore.
Eyes sweeping the balconies and the floor repetitively, I watched an orchestra begin playing a harsher classical piece, something that felt like it was building. That sense didn't help my mounting fear. Finally, I spotted them again. Carrie had her arm looped through the man's, and they were walking casually across the ballroom from me. How they got down from the second floor so fast I didn't know. The man was still talking. From closer up, I knew my first impression had been right – his smile was too calculated to be real. Whatever he was saying made Carrie's red lips curl into a grimace. Her eyes were still drilling into him, though now she was closer to glaring.
I couldn't hear the words, but I saw his lips stretch into a grin as he said one last thing and then stopped talking. Carrie's eyes flew wide, lips parting in surprise or fear. Her whole body froze. I didn't know what it was, but it didn't matter. My body reacted by immediately shoving through people in the most direct path to her possible. People's heads meant I lost sight of them as I weaved through.
By the time I escaped the crowd, Carrie was leaning against a support beam and the man was gone. She lifted her hand up, fingers trembling. She ran her fingers across her lips. Through my head flashed an image of the man kissing her, smearing red across his mouth as he did.
“Carrie?” I asked quietly, voice rougher than I meant for it to be.
Her head whipped to me, eyes flitting over me head to toe and back in surprise. Then she let her head fall back against the wooden beam, a sigh releasing tension from her shoulders.
Just a few minutes later, we left the gala.
I wanted to question her until she'd told me exactly what he'd said that had terrified her so, but I held it in. I lent her my tux jacket, which basically swallowed her slender body but kept her from shivering in the March air. We walked back to the hotel in silence. My every thought was filled with the mysterious man who did something apparently horrible to Carrie, but I wondered if hers were in the same place. She didn't seem so scared anymore, just out of it. Maybe a little irritated, definitely tired.
Once we reached my room, she handed back my jacket. “George,” she started, obviously reluctantly.
“Are you okay, Carrie?” I interrupted.
“Are you okay?” I repeated. “As long as you're okay, you don't have to tell me what he said.”
She met my gaze for a minute, then smiled. “Thanks, George.” I raised an eyebrow, waiting for an answer. Her smile faded. Her fingers traced the astonishing red on her lips again. “I'm... I'm really okay. He just caught me off guard with something he said. I'll tell you later.”
I nodded. “Get some sleep, alright?” She nodded in response. “Goodnight then.”
