It had been a long while since Demeter had gone to a party purely for the sake of enjoying herself, and not because it was in a contract. Add to that the fact that this was a rare kind of party - an open invitation for the after-party to celebrate the release of Rhy'Din Nights - with free food and drink, and a chance to observe the movers and shakers of the Rhy'Din scene for herself. She'd deliberately dressed herself up for it, too, looking nothing like the rather dowdy doctor she appeared as during working hours. Long legs and a mane of dark hair were all she needed, really; the impressive bust was a bonus.
Neville was definitely not one of the movers and shakers in Rhy'Din. The fact was, he wasn't even sure what he was doing at the after-party, except for the fact that Mataya De Luca had somehow managed to squeeze a promise out of him that he'd come. Why she cared whether he was there or not, he wasn't too sure. They weren't close friends exactly, though he worked at the theater. It was more than likely she thought he kept to himself too much, but why she'd taken an interest in him, he couldn't say. She certainly had to know about his wife's death by now. If she thought it was time for him to move on, she hadn't said so. Still, it was hard to say no to Mataya, and so here he was, looking decidedly awkward and out of place and altogether not one of Rhy'Din's beautiful people.
Being a were gave Demi certain advantages in a crowd like this one. For a start, she knew for a fact that there were people she knew in the crowd around her, even if she couldn't see them. She followed their scents through the moving air to surprise them, reconnecting with old friends and new before moving on. Until one scent brought her up short, surprised and intrigued to encounter it outside working hours. What was he doing here"
There he stood, at the bar, waiting his turn to procure a drink. Maybe a little alcohol would set his mind at ease and relieve some of his nervousness, though he didn't want to make a habit of it. One drink, dinner, a few hellos, and out the door he'd go, with no one the wiser. If only he could get the bartender's attention.
She knew she shouldn't, that it wasn't exactly ethical practice, but Demeter couldn't leave him standing there all alone in the midst of the buzz and chatter. If it had been anyone else, she would have passed them by. But not him. Making her way to the bar, she leaned in beside Neville, working that amazing trick of being a female with a bright smile to catch the bartender's attention.
"What'll it be?"
Demi smiled her best smile as she answered. "Elderflower and Malibu, please," she ordered, turning toward Neville, "and whatever my friend is having."
Though he might recognize that voice anywhere, he certainly wasn't expecting to hear it today - not here, anyway. The face, well ....He'd already noticed she was pretty, but when he turned to find the woman he only knew as his therapist standing there with in a turquoise dress and heels, looking like she belonged on the red carpet herself, his jaw almost dropped open. Needless to say, it took him a minute to find his voice. "Uh, dirty martini," he replied, adding, almost as an afterthought, "please."
"And a dirty martini," she relayed the order to the bartender, who slipped away to fulfill it. As they waited, she turned to Neville with a gentler smile. "I'm sorry I startled you," she apologized. "I didn't think it was fair that you were having to be patient with all the louder people getting served first."
"I'm a cellist. I'm paid to be subtle," he replied, trying to appear as casual as possible and failing miserably. "So, what are you doing here" Hoping to rub elbows with the rich and famous" Not stalking me, I hope," he added, with a rare teasing smirk.
She laughed softly, more to cover her delight at finding such a handsome smile on his face than anything. He'd been playing on her mind for a long time now, to the point where she was beginning to think she should discharge him to someone else's care, and yet she still hadn't managed to do it. "Would you believe that this is my first night out in over four months?" she asked, half-teasing and half-serious. One hand captured his martini to pass it to him before she claimed her own drink with a flicker of a smile for the bartender in thanks.
"Thanks," he offered as he took the drink. Without a pretty face to intervene, he might have been at it another half hour before he'd been noticed. "You don't want to know how long it's been for me," he said, though she probably already knew. After all, she was his therapist and knew more about him than his closest friends. He frowned at the thought of that, feeling even more awkward.
She saw the awkwardness, guilt coloring her expression. "I daresay I should leave you in peace," she offered reluctantly. "I'm not, strictly speaking, supposed to socialize with the people I work with." She laid a gentle hand on his. "But I didn't want to see you standing alone."
Who was he to argue with that' She was the professional he was paying to help him get over his wife's death. He was just the patient. "I've been thinking about that actually," he said, taking her elbow to steer her aside, away from the maddening crowd.
It was interesting that he should think of it that way; it was almost the complete opposite of the way she thought of their professional relationship. He was the patient; she was just the professional. And while many women might feel uncomfortable to be steered away from the safety of a group to a quieter place, Demeter was not many women. In some respects, she couldn't really be called a woman. Curious as to his intentions, she moved with him until they reached a place where they could speak without having to raise their voices. "Are we going to have a professional conversation?"
"Not exactly," he told her, feeling almost as awkward as before. He looked around nervously for a moment, as if to make sure no one was listening. "I, uh ....I took some of your advice and joined a support group," he told her, knowing she'd be pleased with that, though it might mean fewer visits, if any at all.
"That's wonderful," she praised him without a second thought, despite knowing it would mean she was unlikely to see much of him from here on in. A group was far more likely to be able to help him, now he seemed to have passed the violent stages of his grief. "It's a brave step, well done."
"Yeah, well ....It helps to know there are other people who've been through the same thing. Thing is, I'm not sure if I really need to see you anymore in a professional capacity," he explained, not wanting to fire her exactly, but he wasn't sure how much more she could do for him, as far as therapy was concerned. "I, uh ....I meant to tell you all this at our next session, but ..." He shrugged.
One thing Demeter had always been good at was hiding her own feelings. On one hand, she was glad for him, that he was taking these steps and finding his own feet; it meant that, in some small way, she had helped him as she had hoped she would. On the other hand ....there was deep disappointment that she would probably not see him again. But it did not show on her face, even as her smile faded. "I think that is the right decision," she told him, choosing to bolster his confidence even as she felt the tiger in her mind stirring angrily at how willing she was to let him go his own way. "I must admit, I will miss our sessions together. But you must do what is best for you, and this, I think, is it."
Neville was definitely not one of the movers and shakers in Rhy'Din. The fact was, he wasn't even sure what he was doing at the after-party, except for the fact that Mataya De Luca had somehow managed to squeeze a promise out of him that he'd come. Why she cared whether he was there or not, he wasn't too sure. They weren't close friends exactly, though he worked at the theater. It was more than likely she thought he kept to himself too much, but why she'd taken an interest in him, he couldn't say. She certainly had to know about his wife's death by now. If she thought it was time for him to move on, she hadn't said so. Still, it was hard to say no to Mataya, and so here he was, looking decidedly awkward and out of place and altogether not one of Rhy'Din's beautiful people.
Being a were gave Demi certain advantages in a crowd like this one. For a start, she knew for a fact that there were people she knew in the crowd around her, even if she couldn't see them. She followed their scents through the moving air to surprise them, reconnecting with old friends and new before moving on. Until one scent brought her up short, surprised and intrigued to encounter it outside working hours. What was he doing here"
There he stood, at the bar, waiting his turn to procure a drink. Maybe a little alcohol would set his mind at ease and relieve some of his nervousness, though he didn't want to make a habit of it. One drink, dinner, a few hellos, and out the door he'd go, with no one the wiser. If only he could get the bartender's attention.
She knew she shouldn't, that it wasn't exactly ethical practice, but Demeter couldn't leave him standing there all alone in the midst of the buzz and chatter. If it had been anyone else, she would have passed them by. But not him. Making her way to the bar, she leaned in beside Neville, working that amazing trick of being a female with a bright smile to catch the bartender's attention.
"What'll it be?"
Demi smiled her best smile as she answered. "Elderflower and Malibu, please," she ordered, turning toward Neville, "and whatever my friend is having."
Though he might recognize that voice anywhere, he certainly wasn't expecting to hear it today - not here, anyway. The face, well ....He'd already noticed she was pretty, but when he turned to find the woman he only knew as his therapist standing there with in a turquoise dress and heels, looking like she belonged on the red carpet herself, his jaw almost dropped open. Needless to say, it took him a minute to find his voice. "Uh, dirty martini," he replied, adding, almost as an afterthought, "please."
"And a dirty martini," she relayed the order to the bartender, who slipped away to fulfill it. As they waited, she turned to Neville with a gentler smile. "I'm sorry I startled you," she apologized. "I didn't think it was fair that you were having to be patient with all the louder people getting served first."
"I'm a cellist. I'm paid to be subtle," he replied, trying to appear as casual as possible and failing miserably. "So, what are you doing here" Hoping to rub elbows with the rich and famous" Not stalking me, I hope," he added, with a rare teasing smirk.
She laughed softly, more to cover her delight at finding such a handsome smile on his face than anything. He'd been playing on her mind for a long time now, to the point where she was beginning to think she should discharge him to someone else's care, and yet she still hadn't managed to do it. "Would you believe that this is my first night out in over four months?" she asked, half-teasing and half-serious. One hand captured his martini to pass it to him before she claimed her own drink with a flicker of a smile for the bartender in thanks.
"Thanks," he offered as he took the drink. Without a pretty face to intervene, he might have been at it another half hour before he'd been noticed. "You don't want to know how long it's been for me," he said, though she probably already knew. After all, she was his therapist and knew more about him than his closest friends. He frowned at the thought of that, feeling even more awkward.
She saw the awkwardness, guilt coloring her expression. "I daresay I should leave you in peace," she offered reluctantly. "I'm not, strictly speaking, supposed to socialize with the people I work with." She laid a gentle hand on his. "But I didn't want to see you standing alone."
Who was he to argue with that' She was the professional he was paying to help him get over his wife's death. He was just the patient. "I've been thinking about that actually," he said, taking her elbow to steer her aside, away from the maddening crowd.
It was interesting that he should think of it that way; it was almost the complete opposite of the way she thought of their professional relationship. He was the patient; she was just the professional. And while many women might feel uncomfortable to be steered away from the safety of a group to a quieter place, Demeter was not many women. In some respects, she couldn't really be called a woman. Curious as to his intentions, she moved with him until they reached a place where they could speak without having to raise their voices. "Are we going to have a professional conversation?"
"Not exactly," he told her, feeling almost as awkward as before. He looked around nervously for a moment, as if to make sure no one was listening. "I, uh ....I took some of your advice and joined a support group," he told her, knowing she'd be pleased with that, though it might mean fewer visits, if any at all.
"That's wonderful," she praised him without a second thought, despite knowing it would mean she was unlikely to see much of him from here on in. A group was far more likely to be able to help him, now he seemed to have passed the violent stages of his grief. "It's a brave step, well done."
"Yeah, well ....It helps to know there are other people who've been through the same thing. Thing is, I'm not sure if I really need to see you anymore in a professional capacity," he explained, not wanting to fire her exactly, but he wasn't sure how much more she could do for him, as far as therapy was concerned. "I, uh ....I meant to tell you all this at our next session, but ..." He shrugged.
One thing Demeter had always been good at was hiding her own feelings. On one hand, she was glad for him, that he was taking these steps and finding his own feet; it meant that, in some small way, she had helped him as she had hoped she would. On the other hand ....there was deep disappointment that she would probably not see him again. But it did not show on her face, even as her smile faded. "I think that is the right decision," she told him, choosing to bolster his confidence even as she felt the tiger in her mind stirring angrily at how willing she was to let him go his own way. "I must admit, I will miss our sessions together. But you must do what is best for you, and this, I think, is it."