olicity - "The paint’s supposed to go where?” ;D
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19. "The paint's supposed to where?"
"Felicity, have you ever been to a rave," Oliver questions her and she huffs, pushing up her glasses from the bridge of her nose. Of course she's been to party and clubs and bars. She may be a genius, but she's hardly a prude. Yes, parties she's been to, clubs she frequents--because lets face it, they work under one--but a rave? That's a new one.
But it hurts her that he would even suggest that she was as sheltered as such and her arms cross to shield herself from the judging.
And as if he could sense her uneasiness with it, he places his hand on her elbows, trying to ease her back towards him. "It's not that bad. You'll be fine. You're just going to go in and blend in. The paint's to help you blend in."
Felicity relents, sighing through her nose and looks up at Oliver then. "I still don't get why I need to be painted. It's a rave--what happens to the 90s versions of raves where everyone dressed like goths and listened to Nirvana? Now that's a good band. Why can't music on the radio be like Nirvana and who's this Calvin Harris anyway and why does he sound like Ellie Goulding all of the ti--"
"Felicity", Oliver interrupts her while trying to suppress a laugh and she sighs again. "Fine", she relaxes and takes off her shirt, leaving her in the costume that she's supposed to wear to the rave tonight. It's nothing but skimpy, a pink corset and boy shorts with fishnet stockings underneath. "Paint me like one of your French girls, Oliver Queen."
They both lose it to laughter after her that.
