Larry Stylinson ~ Poor Little Rich Boy AU

Louis kept a watchful eye out as he cut smoothly through the crowd, clearing the way for a huffing, panting Stan who was shuffling behind him in a state of near exhaustion. Across the street, he caught sight of a tall boy with soft brown eyes and black hair that he loved, and they exchanged curt nods before turning away. If any parents were to turn up, everyone would be looking to distance themselves from Louis – Stan excepted of course; his mother had fallen prey to the Tomlinson charisma years ago – because very few people approved of him. Not that Louis was surprised. Most of them preferred to blame Louis for sudden outbursts of rebellious behaviour from their kids, and it wasn’t something he discouraged. It made the local kids respect him a little, and he felt that respect made him safer. If they respected him, they were less likely to punch him.

As he rushed past another stall – some kind of table bedecked in achingly bright streamers and dripping with balloons and ribbons – he felt someone grab at his arm, snag his shirt by the sleeve, and Louis jerked to a stop with a low cry of surprise. Hot on his heels, Stan ran straight into him, stumbled, and nearly fell backwards and landed right on his backside. Louis neatly caught him with his free hand, then turned his attentions to the person who had grabbed him so quickly.

Auburn hair pinned neatly on top of her head with an assortment of pins poking out so that she slightly resembled a porcupine. Thickly outlined eyes which were dangerously close to giving her the appearance of a racoon. An assortment of cinnamon coloured freckles dancing on the bridge of her nose. Louis paused and examined her for a while, taking her in.

He wasn’t particularly interested in her, but then, his interest in women had always waned rather quickly from the moment the initial interest faded. She was blandly pretty; nothing special, but plenty of guys would be happy to have her. He wondered if it was worth the effort of flirting with her, for the practice if nothing else. Certainly, she was planning to make an advance; her chest was being promptly pushed out and she stood up a little straighter with her lips curving into a well-rehearsed smile. Louis regarded her with interest; she was getting ready to flirt, but he wasn’t sure whether or not she would be any good at it. It would be amusing to see, in any case – so he returned her smile and tilted his head backwards a little bit.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes!” she said eagerly, quickly tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “Yes, you most certainly can. Can you spare a moment?”

Oh. She was one of those. He’d mistaken her appraising glance for flirtation – really, she was going to attempt to coerce him into buying a product he neither wanted or needed. Immediately beginning to back off, Louis started with an extremely earnest-sounding and believable “Well actually, Stan really needed to find the –”

The girl wasn’t going to be put off that easily. “It won’t take a moment!” she insisted determinedly, tugging him closer to her table.

“Louis!” Stan hissed, “what are you doing?”

He shrugged helplessly, finding himself completely at the mercy of the redheaded girl, who had frogmarched him over to an enormous glass jar filled with pale blue raffle tickets that had black numbers printed starkly on them. Proudly gesturing at the jar, she let go of him and took a seat immediately behind it – then shook it vigorously underneath his nose.

“Pick a ticket,” she said grandly, “and you could win a fabulous prize!”

“Right,” Louis said. He scratched his nose. He looked doubtfully down at the jar full of paper slips. “What’s this prize, then?”

“Oh, it’s absolutely brilliant,” she assured him.

“What is it?”

“You’ll love it, trust me. Everyone wants to win. This is the kind of prize that absolutely everybody wants, no matter who they are. This is the prize to end all prizes!”