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Creaking with age and disrepair, the van's driver-side door clanks shut, shifting the whole vehicle with the force. Regina stares straight ahead from the passenger seat, looking blankly into the middle distance and taking a quick, but very needed, drag from the cigarette she's absently toying with between her fingers.
There's movement somewhere to the right in the cab, adjusting mirrors maybe, as Regina tips her head back to exhale. Instead though, he's there. Breathing in as she breathes out, a hand ghosting under her chin as a guide, so close he could almost kiss the lingering smoke and strawberry lip gloss from her lips.
His gaze flickers up to Regina's eyes, holding it with a short-lived and unexpected confidence before shifting fully back to his own seat, applying some force onto something to will the truck to move, and exhaling in the general direction of the open window that he's now using as an armrest. The engine roars to life, or as close to a "roar" as you can get in a 10 year old junkyard chevy. A quick glance back, chin propped up by a hand with hastily painted and artistically chipped black nails, a lopsided half smile obscured by hair and smudged eyeliner.
'Okay', Regina regards to herself in a false-calm tone, 'I think I might be screwed.'
Regina.
Chris Eisel's Halloween party.
It's on the one night a year a girl can dress like a total slut, and no other girls can say anything about it. Fur, sparkles, tights, boots, and fluffy ears and a tail - who needs spook when you've got scandal.
Regina's original scheme, something petty involving Aaron Samuels and a very distraught, but deserving in her eyes, Cady Heron, was foiled pretty quickly. She approaches Aaron directly somewhere in the kitchen.
"Hey-" Regina starts, with a carefully trained smile, but is swiftly interrupted.
"Woahhh! Sorry I gotta get these over to Cady, catch up with me later, R!" Aaron calls over his shoulder as he disappears in the main room, drink in either hand, walking spiritedly toward what looks like Cady Heron's walking corpse waving like a soccer mom in the front row.
Unbelievable. Regina George, ignored. CUT OFF! By a newbie in a discount frock and fake teeth, no less. This wasn't over though - obviously - a George doesn't back down, after all. She'll come back round to it after reconvening with the other Plastics, and after another drink, she thinks, heading further into the kitchen.
Too engaged in plotting, she doesn't notice the lanky figure in all black she's walking directly into, until she's splashed with something sticky sloshing from red cups.
Rodrick.
This Halloween party was going to be sick, Rodrick could feel it. He got the address eavesdropping from his garage while burning some of Löded Diper's 'Metallichihuahua' covers onto a CD, and knew immediately it'd would be the perfect to place squeeze in a little promotion for the band, and maybe definitely swipe a few drinks. (Payment for all the trouble carrying the music part of the party, of course).
Not enough time for a decent costume, so he settled for jeans, a tank top, and quickly shoving a band shirt on - all black. Obviously.
He hastily improvised some skull motifs from the corners of his mouth with his usual eyeliner pencil, before using it to smudge around his eyes haphazardly. He kicks on his shoes, racing to the van with his laces trailing behind him.
Not bad for a rush job, considering that a lot of highschoolers' "dressing up" could be more accurately described as dressing 'down' much more than usual. It's not like he really spoke to anyone at that school anyway, they wouldn't notice him regardless.
The truck screeches to a halt outside the very picture of suburbia, and Rodrick's ears are met with an outpouring of wishy-washy rock-pop. An ideal and unsuspecting audience to foster some Löded Diper fans. Armed with his freshly-burned CD in his back pocket, he sneaks inside to find his bandmates.
A while passes as he spends time weaving through crowds of party goers, searching for a sound system to hijack, before taking a break in search of refreshments to pilfer. A few options are displayed on the kitchen counter. Rodrick unceremoniously mixes a bunch of them into a questionable assortment over a few cups, and heads out to find somewhere to neck them, but the idea is swiftly curbed by a pair of fluffy bunny ears.
He watches in mild disappointment as his freshly concocted drinks slosh almost entirely out of his cups, and mostly onto his arms and hands, but a little onto whoever's in front of him. 'Bunny girl', as she will be known for now, cries out in frustration and looks up at him, meeting his eyes immediately with a look that could turn fruit sour.
"Uh? Hello?? You're RUINING my outfit??"
Rodrick looks at her up and down, eyebrow raised questioningly. The "outfit" in question was a sparkly bodysuit, tights, and boots. Oh, and bunny ears of course. It's not really "Halloween-y" by any of Rodrick's standards, but it's definitely better quality than his "costume", and he'd be lying if he said she didn't look hot as fuck in it. She seems a bit high maintenance to him, the exact type of girl that'd scoff at him, grimace in his direction, or generally ignore his whole existence. Even so, he senses a moment to take the piss, so naturally he takes it.
He looks around the party briefly with fake intrigue, then back down to her with equally fake concern, barely hiding a conniving smile.
"Awww no... but didn't anybody tell you? You're supposed to wear a costume. I'm just helping you out!"
"Ugh, shut up!" The girl retorts, squinting at him, voice laced with poison. "At least I put some effort in."
Rodrick brings a fist to his chest, making a mock-pained and shocked expression, 'wounded' by her words, before leaning in to respond, "I put effort! You have no idea how incredibly difficult it is to look this good naturally."
Bunny girl scoffs and rolls her eyes, looking around for something to dab her clothes off with, when something further out in the room has her expression change slightly. Some footballer and a girl in a cheap wig and tattered bridal attire making out seem to have her attention.
He sets his now mostly empty cups down and grabs some paper towels for his hands, passing some to the girl as he turns back to talk to her.
"First you get Pepsi on your fuzzy wrist cuffs, then you see a guy trying to pass "footballer" off as a Halloween costume, what a rough night for you."
The girl huffs out a short laugh, and takes some paper towels to half-heartedly dab at her bodysuit with - still watching as the footballer in the distance pulls away from the bride, turning to head toward the bar. She looks back at Rodrick with an expression laced with mirth.
"Truly, it's been the worst. But.. I think I know how you can make it better."
Regina.
'Cady, that skank! and Aaron too!' Regina thinks to herself, rage bubbling to a boiling point in her veins. How dare Cady kiss Aaron, that's like... All kinds of messing with girl code or something. Aaron, too- how dare he get over her? How dare he not still be chasing down the chance to be in her very orbit? How dare they BOTH-
"First you get Pepsi on your fuzzy wrist cuffs, then you see a guy trying to pass "footballer" as a Halloween costume, rough night for you."
She laughs. Stunted, given the unfiltered rage flowing through her, it's a product of genuine amusement nonetheless. Attention snapped back to her outfit, she snatches the paper towel she's offered and makes a weak attempt at dabbing away the definitely fully embedded stains.
She takes a step back in her thoughts for a moment, distantly watching as Aaron seems to offer Cady a cup refill, presumably. If she wants to show she's not affected by giving Cady her sloppy seconds, and make Aaron jealous (while also hiding the stain on her outfit) in one go, then the stone to her two birds might just be dressed in all black and covered in eyeliner and various fizzy drinks. She looks up at... "Edgy Drink Guy", considering for a moment. Considering the current lack of options, Regina could do a whole lot worse.
She regards him with a half-smirk, followed by feigned inner turmoil.
"Truly, it's been the worst. But.. I think I know how you can make it better."
He raises an eyebrow at her in response, looking over her, her outfit and it's newly settled and quickly drying blemishes. Regina makes a motion with her hand to move in closer, and he pulls his head down to her level to listen to her.
Regina instead reaches for his shirt, closing the short distance between their faces in a kiss. It takes him by surprise, but he doesn't pull away. She twists her hand in the fabric of his shirt, waiting a beat before breaking the kiss, and subtly checking if Aaron or Cady saw. She catches Edgy Drink Guy in her peripheral, remaining frozen in place, blinking - he's clearly flustered, poor thing - but who wouldn't be after a kiss with THE Regina George. As for her targets... check, both of them saw her-
Before she finishes the petty thought, a hand gently makes its way her wrist, and as she turns to react, another hand cradles her jaw and she's met with another kiss- soft, sweeter than expected, underlaid with nerves, but something else Regina couldn't possibly pull herself away from.
Before she can put some distance between them, she's met with warm brown eyes and a deep look of curiosity, edged with a thin layer of mirth. Regina feels a little laid bare under that gaze. She could see every scattered freckle, every long, dark eyelash.
She wasn't thinking about Cady and Aaron anymore.
"You seem very used to getting exactly what you want." He questions playfully, voice low, face within whispering distance.
"Exactly when I want it, no questions asked". Regina responds, brusque and matter-of-fact.
"Just like a princess"
Regina raises an eyebrow. If the returned kiss hadn't taken her aback already, this was starting to. While technically true, and not the first time she'd been referred to as acting like a Princess, the almost-nickname felt a little personal from someone she'd been mentally referring to with such a juvenile, drink-based name, which, on a side note, must've been perfectly engineered to adhere to sequinned satin bodysuits. It felt a little personal from the random emo nobody she just revenge-kissed. A little personal from the stranger she was now finding a little interesting.
She shrugs it off and dumps the blame on him again, his hand slipping from her face, as she reclaims control over the conversation, and maybe her feelings in the process.
"And a princess wouldn't be seen dead in a stained outfit, so what do you, the culprit, intend on doing about that?"
'Edgy Guy' (now no longer holding, or covered in, drinks) looks blankly away into space for a second, almost-visible cogs comedically turning in his head, before immediately making eye contact with her.
"Meet me outside in two minutes."
"ME? Meet YOU? Since when do I take orders from-"
He scarpers off through the house, shit-eating grin thrown over his shoulder as he disappears into the crowd, leaving Regina stood there, mouth agape. Frustration rebuilds inside her, mixed with a little bit of something else, as she reluctantly, mostly fuelled by rage, heads outside the house. What other choice did she have, anyway. She'd done with this party all she intended to, and didn't feel the need to dignify it with her presence anymore. Maybe she also wanted out of these clothes, too.
Outside, she's met with a white van, some band logo plastered on the side. Edgy Guy comes round to meet her, clearly noticing her face contorting in anger, and in response, quickly shucks off his shirt. It was some unknown band shirt, same as the van she thought, unsure to her in that moment since her mind was quickly sent elsewhere. Maybe it focussed on the way the fabric of the shirt rucked up his tank top underneath as he pulled it up his torso. Maybe the way it puffed up his hair and smudged the corner of his skeleton face makeup. The expectant look in his eye and stupid grin as he passed it to her. She just blinked at him, unresponsive. He just blinked back.
"Nice try, but I can't wear your stinky band shirt, I'm in public" retorts Regina, rolling her eyes, once again in a somehow losing battle for control of her mind.
"It's (pretty much) brand new. and if you're in my van, are you really in public?" He states, sliding jauntily over the hood of the van to the drivers side like an overexcited idiot.
"What kind of logic is that? Not even hiding the kidnapper side-gig now? Figured, 'she won't tell, she kissed me, she must trust me!'- yknow, that was for cover-"
"Yeah yeah-" He wrenches open the clearly well-aged door and hops inside, legs hanging out, reaching over both seats to push open the passenger side "Get in, Princess."
"Like HELL am I wearing YOUR shirt and getting in THAT van!" Regina exclaims, raising her voice, then quickly hushing it into a loud whisper. "y'know what people will say about me? About you??"
Edgy Guy empties his pockets onto the dash, grabs a cigarette, and places it unlit in his mouth rolling over to lean back out the passenger door, "Get in, I'll take you home -"
"They'll say I got into a van with some half-naked, emo freak, and that I was dressed like a way less hot version of-"
"GET. IN." He says over her, sliding back into the van. Regina huffs a muffled screech in frustration, but knows there's no other way she's leaving this party unnoticed, and pulls the shirt over her. It smelt of something leathery, and of whatever chemical smell lingered in the fibres from scrawling the logo on the front by hand. It had a familiar, muskier scent to it, like from after a heavy rainfall, or from searching a dusty attic full of old treasures. It wasn't overly masculine, but obviously wasn't nose-burningly sweet and floral like her usual wardrobe either. It was different.
Regina didn't hate it.
She climbed up into the van, and critiqued her surroundings. On the dash: spare change, a CD, strips of gum, some dinosaur ornament, loose cigarettes. In the back: a partially dismantled drum kit, miscellaneous wires and some other musical equipment, assorted clutter, no seats. In the drivers seat: a near-stranger in a tank top showing his lanky, but muscular, drummer build, his faded jeans, cigarette hanging like an accessory from his mouth, now lit.
"Got her from a junkyard" Edgy Guy starts as he clangs shut the truck door, smacking the dash affectionately - clearly picking up on her curiosity. "Took the seats out for more musical equipment space, so - Hey!" Regina plucks the lit cigarette from his mouth and smokes it herself, rolling down her passenger side window to rest her arm.
Rodrick.
Rodrick somehow managed to trade Löded Diper stardom by hijacking the party playlist for taking a beautiful, albeit slightly mouthy, girl home instead, and he didn't mind at all. For the price of a potential 30 or so fans, he gets to see a 'princess' (he still doesn't know her name) home to her tower, in nothing but short shorts, tights, and merch of his very own band.
He's been at a general loss when it came to her all evening, him having not been in control of most of their exchanges. She clearly loves being in control and does it well, probably got some really impressive social standing in their high school. She's thrown him for a loop a few times already. He thinks he'll get her back for it.
He waits for her to take a drag from his cigarette before gently ghosting his fingers at her chin, easing her to look up at him, bringing their faces closer and he breathes in her smoke second-hand, catching her gaze at the end before pulling away to exhale. He looks back to her with a casual smile, leaning on his hand as she appears at a loss for words in return.
Trying not to make a massive deal about how hot that was, Rodrick shifts into his seat wordlessly, checks his mirrors, and starts up the engine, giving it a bit of force to will the damn thing to start moving, lest he lose his cool before he can drop the Princess home. He can see in his periphery that she's also keeping her eye on the road, completely wordless and still. A million different 'maybe I fucked up'?, 'maybe she enjoyed that and she's still processing it'... 'was that too much?' 'god that was hot' 'fuck, I'm SO screwed' -adjacent thoughts crossed his mind, but he just kept his eyes forward and drove like hell.
Regina.
Regina's mind is elsewhere.
'- A hand ghosting under her chin as a guide, so close he could almost kiss the lingering smoke and strawberry lip gloss from her lips -'
The van shocks her out of her daze as it rumbles down her street like it’s dying on every rotation, rattling loud enough to announce her presence to the entire neighbourhood. Regina shoots upright in her seat.
“Pull over,” she orders, flicking ash out the cracked window. “Now.”
Edgy Guy glances at her. “What, you live in the middle of—”
“Not at the house.” She points sharply at the curb about half a block away. “There. I’m not being seen climbing out of your literal death trap in front of actual witnesses.”
He snorts, but obeys, coasting the van into the shadows. When the engine shudders to a stop, Regina reaches for the door handle, ready to flee before the night can get any more humiliating, or confusing, or out of her control, until she hears a voice speak up from the drivers seat.
"Hey, uh. Wait a sec."
She turns, annoyed, only to find his eyes actually soft for once, no underlying twinkle of amusement. Almost boyish. Almost earnest.
"I... never got your name", he says, scratching at the residual eyeliner near his jaw. "Unless 'Princess' is your actual legal name or something, I mean-?" He trails off, clear nerves seeping through his words.
Regina opens her mouth to snap something dismissive, but nothing comes out. It's rare someone doesn't already have some preconceived notion of her, some expectation of her from her name. She hesitates for a fraction of a second, long enough to betray herself, long enough to find some stupid solace in fiddling with the hem of the worn shirt hanging off her, then -
"Regina."
"Regina..." he repeats, slowly, like he's testing how the syllables feel on his lips. Committing them to memory by the letter. It does something traitorous to her chest.
Whatever. She pushes the door open, leaning to take a step out before stopping. She turns back into the cab of the van, returning what's left of his cigarette to his mouth, residual smoke curling between them.
Rodrick.
Closing the space between them, 'Regina' fixes him with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
"A word about tonight, to anyone, and I will destroy you. Socially, emotionally, spiritually... I'll make you regret even parking on the same street as that pathetic little party earlier."
Rodrick almost laughs, but the look she gives him silences it. Then a beat passes.
"But I can still say hi, right? That's allowed?"
She rolls her eyes - dramatically, aggressively - but he catches the tiniest upward curl at the corner of her mouth before she can hide it.
"Goodnight, emo freak."
She shuts the door, adjusts the too-big shirt she probably (definitely) isn’t giving back, and heads toward her house without looking back. Rodrick waits until she’s halfway up the driveway before he slams both palms against the steering wheel and lets out a strangled noise halfway between a laugh and a scream.
“OH MY GOD,” he whispers to himself, burying his face in his hands. I didn't even tell her my name. He thumps his head back against the seat. “I kissed- She- oh my GOD."
In the faint porch light, she disappears inside a large, upmarket suburban home. Rodrick grins blindly at the windshield, heart hammering, the ghost of her perfume clinging to the air.
He is so, so, royally screwed.