[mini plot] oh love’s gonna getcha, oh love’s gonna catcha [steenie]

Yet another blind date. This would make it… what, blind date number three just in the last two months? Did she just emanate waves of desperateness, or were her friends really just trying to get her to meet new people out of goodwill and not pity? Regardless, Gianna said she’d show up, and she did, dressed to the nines too. That was how good of a friend she was. Her skirt was really pretty and her heels were killer (as in, they were killing her feet), and if her date didn't compliment her on it then she was going to punch him. She’d much rather be wearing one of her old sweaters and shorts, but she knew that it wasn’t “proper” date etiquette.

Mystery man, or rather her friends, said to be at this restaurant that served fantastic duck and ridiculously overpriced pastries. It was a frequent haunt of Gianna’s (as long as someone else was buying), and she was surprised at her blind date’s taste. Frustratingly, they refused to tell her whom they set her up with. All they left her with was a cryptic message of “you’ll definitely know who he is”. What was that supposed to mean? And what if he was someone she knew, but one she found secretly revolting and never mentioned it to anyone? She really should’ve stayed home today. Maybe it wasn’t too late. She was still waiting outside the restaurant so she could give him the slip yet. He’d never even know she was ever here.

“Ms Regan?” Ah, crap. That would be the waiter and that would be the last chance for escape waving goodbye at the door. Steeling her nerves, Gia wiped her palms on her skirt and followed the waiter to the reserved table. Why was she being so nervous anyway? She’d been on tons of blind dates (yes, it really was as pathetic as it sounded); she should be a pro by now. Perhaps it was the high possibility of her date actually being a decent person who had life figured out that threw her off. Although he wasn’t here yet, and Gianna slid into the seat feeling slightly more relieved; at least she could figure out what to eat first as long as her stomach didn’t try to digest itself before he got here. Guess he didn’t have his life as figured out as she assumed if he was late. Mystery man- 0, Gianna- 1.

Ah, shit.

Wide eyes watched as the liquid Steenie had previously been drinking soaked into the shirt he was wearing, turning the previously light blue fabric much darker. It was seeping into the cloth - he could feel the cold water against his skin, turning his formerly warm stomach cold. Well damn. He'd had a date in a few minutes, a blind date, with someone his mates had described as a "pretty girl, with a super bangin' body". Steaphan wasn't really one for blind dates, this would be his first (and probably, his last - he didn't really have a good feeling about the girl he was meeting, per say) and it only came about after a few hours of convincing from one of his teammates.

Rushing himself into his room, Steenie was quick to pick out another shirt and jacket, and even quicker to trade the wet shirt for dry. Even though he was going as fast as he could, not even bothering to toss his old shirt in the bin and instead, opting to throw it on the floor, the nineteen year old was gonna be late. Amazing. He could just hear it now - the shrill voice of some random Londoner chastising him for not showing up on time. Whatever.

Steenie made it to the restaurant before he knew it, shoving his wand in the confines of his jacket as he slid into the building. He'd given his name to the front lady - the hostess, or whatever she'd been called, before being lead back to his table. Damn. There was part of Steenie that was hoping whoever this girl was would be later than he was, but that part of him was crushed when he saw the dark hair of a female, sitting at a two person table all alone. Steenie put on his best smile as he sat himself in the chair across from her, hoping she might not be too mad.

She was pretty - Steenie had to admit. "Hey, sorry I'm late, had a bit of a, um... wardrobe malfunction." He'd admitted. "I'm Steenie. Allen - I'm sorry, they never told me your name."

Long, pink-polished nails tapped at the white tablecloth impatiently. Gianna wasn’t the most punctual person herself, but she hated to be kept waiting; patience was never one of her better qualities. She was already familiar with the interior to be able to admire the furnishings with polite but definitely feigned interest, so what was she supposed to do with herself while she waited? Now she was regretting the decision of not just arriving late and making an “entrance”. Normally she thought that some of her friends were crazy with the whole fashionably late thing, but maybe they had a point after all.

Attention still focused on her nails and how nicely it matched the lace detailing of the tablecloth, she was startled out of her idle thoughts by the voice of a male stranger who was not her waiter for the evening. So her date was finally here, great. Her scrutinising gaze travelled up from his torso- he was dressed pretty sharply, she had to give him that- before coming to rest on his face. That smile. That last name. Gianna knew him, that she knew for sure now, but from where?

“I recognise you.” She started rather stupidly, because she did just hear him introduce himself, and it took a while for things to click. Eyes finally widened in recognition, and she lifted her finger in accusation, almost. “Steaphen Allen! The Quidditch player!” So that was what her friends meant by she’d definitely know him! Gia wasn’t a huge Quidditch fan, but even then she’d have to be blind not to have seen his face on magazines. How her friends managed to secure a date for her with a Quidditch star she had no idea, and she didn’t even particularly want to know at this point.

A light blush dusted her cheeks and she retracted her finger somewhat sheepishly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m Gianna. Gianna Regan. Um, sorry about that just now, I was just surprised, that’s all.” Breathe, Gianna, and just act normal. If she could even remember what that was anymore. “Um, I’m not really that hungry so… A drink? What would you prefer?” If she was rambling by this point she didn’t really care. She was going to need about ten drinks to get her through the rest of the evening; she just hoped she had better aim when she threw up later and missed the shoes.