001, hurricane in high heels
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Rory Lopez was not just a girl, she was a rich bitch, a beach girl goddess, an angel and devil all at once. Rory Lopez was a storm that rained down rose petals and sparkly gold liquid!
A tiny part of her (the Pogue part) hated who she'd become. This replica of her father, this copy of the Kook Princesses she once despised. But nothing could stop it, not even her, because she was her father's daughter, she'd never been like her mother, even when she was still alive. This girl god she'd become, she was the type of pretty that made you gawk, jaw hanging open as she giggled at a joke the boy in a polo shirt made.
Rory Lopez was a hurricane in high heels, but she wasn't the only hurricane the residents of the Outer Banks had to worry about.
Her rings clinked against the side of her glass bottle as she picked it up, the peachy orange liquid inside sloshed a little as she raised it to her lips. Taking a sip, Rory's gaze fell on the horizon, a gorgeous view from her bedroom's balcony. The sky was streaked with ash grey, white peaked waves seemed to chop through the water, hinting at what was to come.
Rory sighed, red-painted nails clattered a little against her pink sunglasses as she pushed them onto the top of her head and set her bottle of apricot juice down. She picked up her phone and swiped to the News App. Sure enough, there was the hurricane warning, and Rory's crystal heart sank at the thought of no bikinis for at least two days.
Immediately her fingers went to work, nails tapping against the screen as she typed a message full of broken hearts to Sarah and then Rue, the two other members of the infamous Kook Princess Trio. After it sent (luckily, the service hadn't gone down yet, but Rory was dreading the moment it did) she tucked her phone into her shorts and went inside, carrying her drink between two fingers.
Rory's bedroom was a mess, as per usual, but she liked to think of it as a pretty mess. Besides, it was all pinks and whites and purples, silky material and pearl jewellery, so really, it wasn't the worst thing she'd ever seen. Rory set her now-empty drink down on her dresser, hopped over a pile of shoes and crossed the room, emerging onto the upstairs hallway.
"Eli!" Rory made her way to the landing that overlooked the entryway, peering over the railing to look for her brother. "Elliot, where are you?"
"In here!" Elliot's reply came from the room to the side of the front door, so Rory clambered down the stairs, one ring clad hand brushing the railing. She pushed the white double doors open and music spilled out, Rory found her twin brother sitting at the piano, fingers dancing across the keys.
"Hey, L, what's up?" Elliot didn't stop playing, merely glanced over his shoulder as Rory strode over to the couch behind the piano and plonked down with a sigh.
"Did you hear about the hurricane?" Rory whined, her head falling against the back of the couch in a drama-queen-ish fashion.
Elliot hummed, his fingers still playing at the keys. "Yeah, it's s'posed to be coming later today, right?"
"Yes." Rory made it clear in her tone that she was not happy about this, but Elliot didn't seem to notice.
"Sick waves, probably," he commented, flipping a page of his music book.
Rory rolled her eyes, clearly she wasn't going to get any sympathy from her brother, who was acting very Pogue-like (something she tried to ignore. He reminded her too much of another crazy surfer Pogue.)
"That's so dangerous, Eli. You'll probably like, die or something."
"Aw, c'mon!" Elliot stopped playing to turn to look aghast at his sister. He reached out and poked Rory in the side, fingers digging into her lilac top. "What ever happened to your sense of fun?"
Rory yelped ungracefully (very rare) and pushed at Elliot's hands, scooting away from him and flipping him off (not so rare).
Elliot laughed at his sister's familiar hand gesture, "Since when do you care about what I do anyway?"
Rory shrugged, but a smile reserved only for Elliot Lopez was gracing her lips. "Since never."
Rory's pocket buzzed and she poked her tongue out at Elliot before pulling her phone out. A message from Sarah.
Ugh, I know. Helping my dad out with storm stuff today, we can hang tomorrow? x
Rory smiled, Sarah Cameron was practically an angel on earth. She shot back a quick reply, ruffled Elliot's dark hair, then wandered into the kitchen. A minute later she was climbing back upstairs, a fresh bottle of apricot juice (she had an addiction, she knew, but at least it wasn't vodka) cradled in her dainty hands.
There was nothing that made Rory Lopez happier than pretty things. She adored buying pretty things because they reminded her of her mother, who was always so pretty in Rory's eyes, despite having next to no money to her name and living in what was practically a shack. Rory loved how her mother would wear flowy dresses and bunches of flowers in her hair, because she looked so beautiful compared to the rickety floorboards and almost-empty cupboards, like an angel in a wasteland. And being beautiful was the one thing Rory could do to hold on to her mother, because there was too much Ross Lopez in her, too much need for approval from those above you and too much addiction to temporal things. Too much bottled-up rage and fear of disappointing them.
It was a few hours later that Rory was laying diva-style on her silk sheets, her body surrounded by cushions and clothes she'd tossed there and never put away. She held a circular gold-rimmed mirror in one hand, poised above her face and casting her reflection back at her. A tube of red lipstick was in the other hand and she was gliding the tip along her lips, her mouth coming to life with the colour.
Rory considered it something of a skill of hers, this ability to make herself up like a doll. It was an artistry, she thought, and it made Rory look older, prettier, more like herself than anyone knew. With a soft sigh Rory set the mirror down on her pillow, sitting up to store the lipstick tube carefully in her drawer (it was the only thing she ever bothered to put away in its proper place.)
Feeling boredom creep in — Elliot had gone out with his surfer friends, and both Sarah and Rue were hurricane-prepping — Rory headed out of her room in search of a distraction or drink or a damn cigarette. She was barely out the door when she ran right into her dad, his hands were full of folders and papers and his phone was shoved between his ear and shoulder.
"So we're just gonna, what, send him out in the— Damn!" Ross's papers went flying as he walked headfirst into Rory, the girl's sunglasses slipped off her head, clattering across the polished floorboards.
"Hold on a minute, Ward," Ross pulled the phone away from his ear, talking now to Rory. "Sorry, Lor, are you okay?"
Rory met her father's worried brown eyes, the same eyes she'd inherited. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about that, let me ..."
Both of them bent to pick up their possessions, Rory scooping the papers into her arms and handing them to her Dad. She slid her sunglasses into the front of her top, letting them hang over her chest.
"Is everything okay?" Rory straightened up, handing Ross one last stray pen, gesturing to the phone in his hand.
Ross nodded, "Yeah, everything's good. Just sorting some stuff out with Ward before the storm hits."
A frown fell upon Rory's lips at the word 'storm'. "Oh, right. That."
Ross laughed at his daughters princess-like attitude, and somehow he managed to find a free hand to place on Rory's shoulder. "Don't worry, Lorelei. I've got some guys setting up the generators as we speak, we'll be fine."
"Oh, alright," Rory drawled, feigning the attitude now. Really, it was the only way to get to her father. Act like a Kook, act like the doll he wanted her to be, and she'd do just fine.
Ross gave her one last (almost approving) grin, before he disappeared into his study across the hall. He pulled the door shut, returning the phone to his ear, listening intently to Ward on the other end.
Now, Rory wasn't usually the nosy type. In fact, she hated people that stuck their noses in other people's business, like pigs digging their snouts deeper and deeper into the upturned dirt. But she was bored, and Ross seemed distressed, and the gap in the study door was calling to her. Pressing her ear to the small crack, dangly earrings clattering slightly on the white wood, Rory was able to make out her dad's voice.
"So you've got him over there now?"
Rory couldn't hear what Ward was saying on the other end, all she heard was Ross humming in agreement a few moments later.
"Okay, good. Yeah, but what if he doesn't?"
There was a long pause. Rory almost walked away because she'd gotten a big fat nothing out of that boring conversation; apparently listening to middle aged men on the phone wasn't exactly interesting. But then Ross was talking again, and Rory still had her ear pressed to the door, and she heard the whole thing.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm gonna tell them ... No, they haven't met her." Another pause, in which Rory wondered who the hell he was going on about, and then Ross's tone had changed slightly. "Listen, Ward. Stop grilling me about my family and I'll ignore that screwup son of yours. She's my fiancée and these are my kids, I can deal with it. Yeah, alright. Yep, tomorrow. Bye."
Rory's stomach dropped and she pulled away from the door, feeling like she was about to puke her guts out. It was clear as diamonds what Ross was saying, what he hadn't mean to tell her but inevitably had. He had a fiancée, he was going to remarry, nine months after his late wife died in a car crash. And he hadn't even the decency to tell his kids before Ward fucking Cameron.
Confusion followed pure rage ripped at Rory's chest, she wanted to go bursting into the study, to tear his stupid important papers to shreds and smash the face of every single fancy watch he owned. But Rory Lopez had always been one to keep her head, and if she only knew one thing about her father, it was that he would not appreciate the reckless, Pogue-like tendencies that Rory had buried deep down inside her crystal heart.
And so she turned away, she took a deep breath and then she was thundering down the stairs, not even bothering to grab a single thing other than her almost-dead phone. Bursting out into the open summer air, the sky now flecked with dark greys and blues, Rory fought the urge to release the scream that was bubbling in her chest. She hadn't a clue where Elliot was, her best friend was with the man who knew about her dad's love life before she did, and Rory could think of only one other person to confide in.
Rory slipped on her sandals, pausing briefly to hook her fingers over the backs and pull the leather over her heels. She clambered down the porch steps, sandals slapping the pavement with every step. Near the pool (yes, they had a pool — it was the number one hangout spot for the Kook Princess Trio) were a few ground-workers, packing up the pool chairs.
Rory gave them a quick wave as she grabbed her bike and swung her leg over the seat, throwing her phone in the basket. Without a second thought, she began to pedal.
By the time Rory reached her destination, the very wrongly nicknamed 'Chateau', the wind was picking up and clouds of light grey seemed to be following her every move. There was no van outside, which was a bad sign, but Rory balanced her bike against a tree and clambered up the steps to the front porch anyway.
"Hello? Anyone home?" Rory's knuckles rapped against the door, her rings clattering on the wood. "John B, you in there?"
No answer, so Rory crossed the porch to a window, peering through the screen. "John B!"
Still no answer, or any sign of life whatsoever. He was obviously out and Rory absolutely refused to step foot in there. With a defeated sigh, she trudged over to the hammock, heart slamming in her rib cage from the bike ride. She'd rode here as fast as she could, desperate to get away from her life for at least a moment, the storm slick on her heels. As her body sunk into the soft knotted rope of the hammock, it began to rain, tiny little drops that speckled Rory's top and shorts. Great.
An hour later — well, Rory guessed it was an hour, her phone was completely out of battery — Rory was startled awake by a clap of thunder. It wasn't exactly the nicest thing to wake up to, soaking wet clothes, leaves dripping rain all over you and the sky a charcoal grey.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Rory blinked, a little startled, then grimaced, because she would recognise that voice anywhere. She lifted her gaze to see JJ Maybank, all blonde hair and grey tank-top, standing in front of her with his arms crossed. There was rain dripping from his elbows and his red-and-blue bike was sitting near hers. She noticed with a frown that he'd splattered mud all over her bike at his arrival.
A groan sounded from Rory's lips, of all the people she could've encountered right now, he was the last she'd want. Why couldn't he find some other place to smoke his stupid weed? Preferably somewhere far away from here.
Rory sat up, legs dangling over the hammock, and rolled her lips into a straight line, putting on that stubborn look of hers.
"Waiting for John B," she said with as much dignity as she could, which wasn't a lot when she was dripping wet and half asleep.
JJ looked at her, gaze raking over her dripping wet hair and falling to her torso. Her top was now a deep lavender colour. "You're soaked."
Rory huffed, "What do you care?"
"I don't."
"Okay."
JJ huffed, turning on his heel to stomp up to the porch. Rory watched him go — his boots made splashes in the mud and the ends of his hair were sprinkled with rain. He disappeared inside the front door, but it wasn't long before he came stomping back out, coming to a halt in front of the hammock.
"Come inside," he damn-near ordered.
Rory raised a perfect eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
JJ rolled his eyes. Rory wouldn't be surprised if he stomped his foot like a three year old. "Come inside. It's raining fucking cats and dogs."
Without another word JJ marched off again, leaving Rory behind to stare at his back and mutter curse words to herself. She hated to admit it, but she didn't exactly have a better option. The storm was practically on top of them now — in less than an hour it would be a full fledged hurricane, and she wouldn't last a minute biking on those muddy roads in this weather. With an eye roll of her own, Rory lifted herself off the hammock and jogged across the yard, one hand poised above her face, cursing whatever god above for her now mud-caked sandals.
JJ Maybank was having a shit day. And finding Lorelei Lopez sleeping in the hammock that he usually slept on did nothing to lift his already bottom-of-the-ocean low spirits.
He was pulling on a dry t-shirt when she walked in, her dark hair darker than usual, dripping down her back in tumbling waves, she appeared to be shivering but trying extremely hard not to show it. JJ bit the inside of his mouth hard, ignoring every stupid fucking instinct in his gut to wrap his arms around her.
His piercing gaze followed Rory as she plonked down on the couch, her nose scrunching at the disarray of beer cans and crisp packets all over the coffee table.
JJ cleared his throat, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe of the spare room. "So ... Lorelei. What's so important that you came all the way here on a hurricane night?"
Rory huffed. The use of her full name hadn't gone unnoticed, and it boiled her blood. Apparently, preferred names weren't an option for ex-friends that now hated each other's guts. "None of your business, Jonathan James."
JJ clenched his jaw, glaring daggers at the Kook girl because people he despised weren't allowed to use that name. "Alright, suit yourself, Princess. But John B's out til late. It's just you, me, and this damn storm."
As if on queue, thunder rumbled above their heads, rain hammering on the windows and roof like it wanted to tear the house down. Rory merely ignored him (and the storm), turning her head and staring out the window.
Night fell upon the Chateau so quickly Rory almost missed it. John B still hadn't turned up and Rory was starting to think this was the worst idea she'd ever had. Forget the storm, forget the fact that she couldn't have gotten home even if she wanted to, forget the lack of power — and therefore light — in the Chateau, she was left alone with JJ Maybank. And yes, she hated him just as much he did her.
For the millionth time, JJ made a remark about Rory's situation as he passed through the living room. The girl had been ignoring him for the past one million times, but this time she snapped back.
"I literally couldn't get home even if I wanted to." Her voice was drenched in acid and if words were swords, they'd have cut a trench in JJ's heart.
The blonde boy frowned and his heart took over for one vulnerable moment. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Rory sighed impatiently, rolling her eyes without looking at him. "It means I don't wanna be here, and I don't wanna be there."
JJ sighed long and loud, exasperation laced in the sound because he couldn't have her know what he was really thinking. She'd just told him all he needed to know, and no matter how much he despised her, she was still very much shivering on the couch that more or less belonged to him, since John B was still out.
Turning on his heel, JJ stomped away and into John B's bedroom. He returned a minute later and tossed a t-shirt at Rory, the girl catching it in her now-pale hands. She opened her mouth to say something, but JJ cut her off.
"It's John B's. Don't worry, I know you wouldn't want any of my stuff messing up your perfect manicure." JJ ran a hand through his thick blonde hair, jaw clenched as his gaze stubbornly avoided Rory. "You know where the bathroom is."
With a final sigh JJ turned away, shutting the door to the spare room on the girl that unknowingly had her fingers around his heart.
notes
no okay they're so ???!!!?3$;8)8
also jonathan james has been my name for jj since last year and I still think it suits him so well, I'm a genius confirmed
btw can you tell idk how to write middle aged men 😐