thecapitol | [closed] leather dress, nothing less

Who| Oceana and Cronus
What| D9's management team needs to talk strategy, and old friends need to catch up.
Where| .infinity
When| Backdated to this past weekend.
Warnings/Notes| uhh language? dudes in scanty undergarments?

It's not unusual for Oceana to get excited like this for a date. She gets all dolled up like she isn't about to have dinner with the asshole who once fucked over her whole social life, and when she looks in the mirror before heading out, she's very happy with what she sees. For a hot minute, she'd considered going out of drag--but for her plan to work, going as Oceana instead of as Oliver will be far more beneficial. She's dolled up in a cotton-candy pink wig, down to her waist in fluffy curls with pin-up bangs. Her makeup's perfect, and her waist is cinched to perfection in a tight black leather dress. Hell, even her tights are washed for once in her life. And in her purse is her secret weapon.

She rolls into .infinity about five minutes late, strolling out onto the rooftop club like she owns the damn place. The host leads her to the table she'd reserved for herself and Cronus, right near the edge of the roof with only the vague electromagnetic shimmer of the forcefields between the back of her chair and certain death. Oceana orders a full glass of vodka with a splash of olive juice and six olives on the side and pages through the menu while she waits for Cronus to show.

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Cronus certainly dresses up nice for this, because he wants to make one hell of an impression. He's apparently fucked things over for them sometime previously, but he's really bad at remembering these things. No sense in regretting what can't be changed anyway, right? Or regret anything, really.

He just isn't one to feel bad about that sort of nonsense. Especially not something from years ago.

Luckily, he isn't far behind Oceana, fashionably late is sort of his thing, and he figures a stylist would appreciate it all the same. So by the time her drink arrives, so does he. He offers a flashy smile to her as he takes his seat, "I hope I didn't keep you too long."

With the waitress still there, he orders himself a 'Screaming Orgasm' (Vodka, Bailey's Irish cream, Kahlua) with a glance towards Oceana, before nodding to the waitress when asked if that's all. Once she's left with his order, he picks up the menu, glancing it over, but honestly he's less here for a meal, and more here for Oceana, so he keeps glancing over his menu at her as he tries to decide.

She's just too damn distracting, looking that good.

"So--" He decides to speak up, placing his menu down for a second in favor of pulling out a cigarette and lighting up, "what're you getting?"

He figures a bit of smalltalk might be in order, if only to break apart some of the tension Oceana might be feeling. He's a pretty considerate guy, after all.

When Cronus finally rolls up, Oceana barely glances at him over the menu, acting like whatever she's considering ordering is sooo much more interesting than him. Which it is. Deal with it. "Only a couple minutes," she drawls, giving him the barest of smiles between pouty red lips. His drink order makes her raise an eyebrow, but she makes no comment, since her own drink has arrived. She pops an olive into her mouth, sucks the pimento out, and then chews and swallows it. Filet mignon? Braised pork loin? Lobster? It's too hard to decide.

But after a minute, she glances up fully at him, distracted by the flicker of his lighter. "Haven't decided yet." She puts the menu down, gazing at him like he's suddenly the most interesting thing ever. "The most delicious thing I can think of isn't on the menu." Laying it on thick? Absolutely. Will he eat it up like candy? That's not even a real question.

He isn't surprised by her coldness, he expects it really. Inwardly he's rolling his eyes, maybe cursing her a little for being an icy bitch, but on the outside he looks as pleasant as ever. He combats it watching put the olive in her mouth with what almost looks like endearment and fascination, not even bothered.

Nope.

Cronus, however, perks up a bit when she places her menu down, her expression shifting quite a bit, to the point it's pretty damn alluring. Not to mention what she's just said. He smirks, feeling pretty good at the obvious implication, "Well, you know the best is usually saved for last. Can't have dessert before dinner, now can we?" He's nearly purring the words out.

Oceana leans forward, arms framing the most sumptuous-looking fake cleavage you ever saw. Smoke and mirrors, baby. She gives him an alluring grin. "You're right," she croons. "I wouldn't wanna spoil my appetite, daddy." God, if she weren't so focused on not fucking up her little revenge scheme, she'd be losing her shit laughing right now. He's just way too easy.

She licks her lips, turning her attention back to the menu as the waiter drops back by their table with Cro's drink. "Mm, I'll have the surf and turf, medium rare, with scallops and a salad on the side. Don't skip on the dressing. What do you want, baby?" She gives him another grin, because damn right she just ordered the most expensive shit on the menu.

Cronus is shameless with how his gaze falls to her fake cleavage, and while he knows it's fake, he still can hardly stop himself from ogling. Daddy gets his attention back to her face, and he's left looking rather smug.

"Exactly, kitten."

Though the waitress returns and he takes his drink. He's taking a sip of it when she orders, and perhaps this would be the part where he nearly spits out his drink, were this some sort of cliche scene from a cheap romcom, but instead he finishes the sip, glances at her, and then the waiter. Chill as a cucumber.

"You know what, doll?" He says coolly without skipping a beat, offering Oceana a quick look before directing his attention to the waiter "I think that sounds lovely, I'll have what she's having, though light on the dressing."

He gets why she ordered what she did, if you're not footing the bill why not order big, right? By that same logic, Cronus is ordering big as well, because he's not paying this bill. Nope, he's using his parents money, because he's a goddamn loser.

This is perfect. At this rate, she'll have Cronus naked in a bathroom stall before they even get to dessert. She almost can't believe her luck. But she's got to keep her cool; she knocks back a swig of vodka with an impressively straight face before putting another olive between plump lips, sucking it slowly into her mouth. She's aiming to give him so many visual distractions that he can't even focus on being a dick.

"That's cute, we'll match," she croons as Cro copies her order, pleased that he doesn't even care that she just racked up that kind of a bill. "Oh, you know what I'd just love? A bottle of champagne." The queen giggles flirtatiously, eyeing the waitress. "Champagne gets me so drunk."

It's really sad how easy he is to play, when he's so focused on trying to be the manipulating one. He's such a failure, really.

He's watching her with that olive, not in the least shamed by his blatant staring. She's putting on a show, it's obvious, and he's fine with being her captive audience.

"I thought the same," he retorts with a smile, even though his thoughts were more along the lines of flashing his cash. Though, he smirks at her pseudo-request for champagne, it's without skipping a beat he places an order for their best bottle. He's here to impress, after all. The waiter finishes up jotting down their order, and heads away from their table finally. Leaving Cronus to flash Oceana a mischievous sort of look.

"I love champagne, and with a suggestion like that, I couldn't resist."

When he plays along with her requests like that, Oceana leans her chin on her palm, careful not to fuck up her makeup. "That is so sweet," she coos. She's gotta make him think he's doing all the right things, and she's got to play it up like getting him naked in the bathroom later on is only a matter of course. It won't work if it seems forced.

"So tell me, baby, what do you think about our lovely Tributes? Unless you'd rather save the work talk for later, that is."

"I do try." He replies without skipping a beat, almost as if he was anticipating that compliment. Her strategy is definitely working, however. Cronus is without a thought of foul play being at hand here, and thinks she totally wants him. And bad.

He's just that skilled with the ladies, no doubt.

"We can talk work." He says with a slight shrug, "Though I gotta admit, it might harsh this mood we have going. I'm sure I'm not the only one who's noticed it." He's giving her an... interesting look. Somewhere half between an attempted saucy stare with one eyebrow raised, and an arrogant smirk.

Maybe it'd be hot on someone who wasn't Cronus, but he is, without a doubt, Cronus.

The waitress reappears with the champagne alarmingly fast--big spenders do tend to get the best service, after all--and begins to pour out their glasses. Oceana takes a healthy sip of hers and moans like she's really enjoying that bubbly. "Mm, fuck, that's perfect," she sighs, tilting her glass toward his in a mock-salute.

"You're right." She runs a finger around the rim of her flute. "I'd hate to fuck up this obviously great thing we have going on." It's so hard to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

[closed] leather dress, nothing less

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apologies for the lateness

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