self_composed | interesting rich people

The party guest list includes a wide range of interestingnesses of rich people. There's a fellow who sits on various boards of various faceless corporations; there's two who started startups and swept up a few million dollars that way; there's a small handful of professional philanthropists, who have oodles of money from various sources and make a hobby of distributing the interest to worthy pet causes; there is a congresswoman, and a state senator, both from New York but apparently willing to travel to the West Coast on occasion. There's also a lot of dull old money who do this sort of thing and nothing but all the time, but they still concentrate a lot of financial leverage, and Bella would rather have ins with them than not, as long as she can.

She bikes up - speeding shamefully, hexing herself radar detection, and cutting the trip in half from its estimated time to just eight hours on the road. Tegu can go very very fast.

Alice made her a new dress for the occasion - this one's autumny, mostly a dark red-brown, with leaf patterns in deep gold and burnt orange swirling up around and soft ruffles in the same colors around her knees and puffing out over one shoulder. It stands out more than the little black dress - which is fine. She would like attention, and just being the hostess's son's girlfriend will not quite get her there at a rich people party, she thinks.

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"Don't we all," laughs Marisa.

"Enh, my dad doesn't really understand it," Bella volunteers. "My mom does though, at least well enough to operate her laptop and email me, and find urban legends to believe."

"Ooh." She snickers. "A crushing indictment of the older generation. But not, I must say, an inaccurate one."

"Plenty of people my age are at least as bad," laughs Bella. "But the people my age who are terrible with computers don't have tech-savvy children - well, I hope - to mock them."

"Somewhere in the world, I'm sure there is a teen mother with a five-year-old supergenius patiently telling her to power-cycle the modem again," says Marisa.

Bella chuckles. "Probably. It's a big world."

(And it will be hers, all hers.)

Eventually Marisa goes to talk to Judith and Bella goes to eat a sausage thing and talk to other Rich People, most of the remaining ones of which are not particularly Interesting and one of whom corners her to talk about his inefficient, ineffective literacy program for children in Portland and how warm-fuzzy it makes him feel for fully twenty minutes.

Eventually people start to leave. Bella drifts over to Alice and leans her head on his shoulder.

Edited 2012-10-12 01:34 (UTC)

"Hi," he says, hugging her. [How'd your getting to know the rich people go?]

[I like Marisa, she's cool. That one guy Arthur is kind of a creep. The fellow with the literacy program is tiresome.] "Hi."

Edited 2012-10-12 01:40 (UTC)

[Yeah, Arthur's an asshole,] Alice agrees. [Didn't know he was the kind of asshole who hits on teenagers, but it doesn't surprise me.]

[He didn't exactly hit on me. Then again, Mike never exactly hit on me either,] Bella says disgustedly.

Alice hugs her some more.

[The world is full of creepy people,] he says serenely. [Wanna go snuggle somewhere?]

[Yeah. I want that.]

[Great. Lair?]

[I have to leave via motorcycle, since that's how I got here, but if we go into and out of the lair through the basement and make sure we'll notice if someone wanders amongst the columns looking for us, yes.]

[Works for me,] he says cheerfully, and de-hugs to head for the basement.

They lair in the lair and snuggle.

Alice's lair-bed is optimal for snuggling in! It is very soft and well supplied with pillows. Also, conveniently located not three feet away from the door to the basement, so they can see through and check if anyone is looking for them down there.

It is great and snuggles are great and Bella is great and everything is great.

Snuggles are indeed great! Bella needed some snuggles. That guy bothered her.

Then Alice is glad he is helping.

His mind drifts, predictably, during snuggles; eventually he asks, by brainphone because he is too lazy to lift his face off the pillow, [Can I bake you a cake for your birthday?]

[Sure.] It occurs to Bella that she didn't mention the exact date to him at any point. [It's the thirteenth.]

[Okay! Can I bring you the cake?] As opposed to inviting her into his lair for it.

[What's the explanation for how you baked me a cake in Stanford or brought it to Stanford from Forks?]

[I'm rich and rich people can do anything? No one will care,] he predicts.

[Mmm... don't think so. It'd niggle at me if it were someone else. Either conjure it a cake box that makes it look like you bought it or we can eat in the lair.]

[Okay, cake box.]

Because he can definitely come up with a cake that looks professional by itself.

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