[somerset] possession obsession. [torr]

"I'm fine," came the curt response through gritted teeth as Perdita knocked back her third glass of champagne. Maybe it was the heat but the bubbles were having no effect on her, frustratingly. Ella, her mother, fussed around her daughter, already tipsy and causing Perdy to wrinkle her nose in distaste. "Mummy," the tall brunette finally snapped. "Honestly," she sighed. "Just pack it in," she admonished as she placed another glass of champagne into the Bloom matriarch's hand.

Perdy usually liked weddings. It was an ideal hunting ground for a quick snog in the corner but her mother had been shooting her furtive glances at her throughout the ceremony. Perdita knew she meant well but they were drawing attention. After Torrence flat out decided not to attend, she made the informed choice to go by herself, girl power and whatnot. It had almost made her angry enough to go and find herself a date. It also didn't help that Ella had been expecting her to arrive with Brennan. Only it wouldn't be the Reinhardt heir; it would have been Charlie Baker.

Reaching out, she clasped her mum's hand and squeezed it to get her attention. "I'm having a nice time," she insisted. "I'll play nice. I won't sleep with one of the groomsmen," she promised, even if she had eyes on the fit usher that looked like he had the thighs of a point-to-point champion. "I'll even try and catch the bouquet and not elbow anyone in the ribs," she offered joked as her mum seemed to be placated. "It's bad enough that she made me wear this," Perdita whined as she pointed to a delicate hair comb made of real flowers that nestled gently in her loose waves.

Maybe she was being a spoiled brat but she couldn't help it - she was in a mood. Isabella, the bride and her cousin, looked beautiful. The epitome of joy and grace as she glided around the gardens with her new husband. The same husband that didn't know that she'd been out partying until two o'clock that morning with the rest of the girls.

It was a stunning day. The gardens of the house were in full bloom, the sky an achingly beautiful shade of blue that seemed to stretch on for miles. Perdita wore a slinky gown in a shade of champagne that was perilously close to the bride's ivory gown. She'd never been bothered about wedding etiquette anyway. Marriage was outdated. Monogamy was for losers. But even so, seeing two people who were besotted with other, made her heartstrings hurt.

Growing more and more restless, she tapped her foot against the ground. "I'll get some more drinks," she told her mother with a kiss on the cheek as she swept through the gathered crowd in a cloud of rose-scented perfume.

Perdita was being a brat and she knew it. The day had actually been wonderful. The speeches had been long but warm, the vows suitably sentimental, the flower girls had been impeccably behaved but something was niggling her. It didn't help that she was peckish, too. Away from the guests, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose before exhaling slowly, forcing the tension she held in her shoulders away.

The gentle summer breeze ruffled the silk of her dress, causing a shiver to run up her spine and for her to fold her arms across her chest for warmth. Perdita had been given one of the many rooms for the night as had many of the guests, but she wasn't sure she wanted to sleep over, even with the promise of a full English in the morning. Opening her eyes, she surveyed the vast grounds and worked out that she had about ten minutes before anyone noticed she was gone.


@Torrence Regan

setting: Brympton House, Somerset.]

This was dumb. This was the dumbest fucking idea he had had in a long time.

And yet, he was here.

The wedding looked like any other: overly fragrant flowers and greenery draped over every surface, tipsy guests showing off their worst dance moves, and not enough of the alcohol he liked behind the bar. He hadn't even brought any bliss with him, a usual wedding staple if he had to attend, and he couldn't decide if he was regretting that choice yet or not.

It seemed like there was a lot of pending regret about tonight and it mostly was up in the air because of the woman in a slinky ivory dress and flowers in her hair. He watched as she made her way across the room before taking two glasses of champagne from a tray and following.

He caught his reflection in the mirror, did a double take before he remembered, and then found her out on the grounds. It was cool but not cold and the chilled glasses had tiny beads of condensation that slid onto his hands. But it felt weird, not because of the glasses, but because his hands weren't his. His face wasn't either, but at least he didn't have to look at that. He hadn't taken polyjuice in quite a while so he didn't remember how odd it felt wearing someone else's skin.

Why he had even thought this was a good idea was idiotic, but it did solve one of the major issues of what he hadn't wanted to go to the wedding in the first place. He hadn't wanted his family seeing him show up with Perdita. It would've been a non-stop harassment, a full out inquisition on if they were dating, when they were getting married themselves, how soon they were going to have children and how big of a family they wanted. After all, Perdita was a Bloom and he couldn't do much better than her in terms of wealth and status. That's why he had usually picked up any chick that was the very opposite of Perdy to bring to a wedding. The harassing wasn't as intense when his mother and his aunts didn't approve. He had smirked at the thought as he had seen his relatives sitting at a table, probably gossiping. Wearing a stranger's face, he hadn't bothered to say hello.

He was really only here for one reason.

"Nice wedding," Torr drawled as he came up behind her, extending one of the glasses toward her. "Don't you think, Red?" he smirked and then sipped, glancing at her.

It was going to be a nice sunset, Perdita could tell. The breeze that kicked up the ends of her hair made her shiver and cross her arms across her chest. Had she brought a jacket? No, because one couldn't wear a dress that looked like this and be silly enough to cover it up. Her faint annoyance at everything paused when she felt a presence at her elbow and she turned her head to look.

"Lovely," she replied with a tight smile before flicking her gaze back towards the expansive grounds. "The couple look very happy indeed," she went on primly after giving him a cursory glance. He was handsome enough but she wasn't really into blondes, even tall and broad ones. At least he had the decency to offer her some champagne, which she took and saluted him with, downing most of the contents before she promptly choked on it.

"I'm sorry," she coughed, her eyes wide as she quickly turned her head to stare at him so fast, the ends of her hair whipped her cheeks. "What did you just call me?" Perdita pressed on, her eyes narrowing in to rest on a borderline glare. No one called her that. That was a private nickname and the person who usually referred to her as such was three hundred miles away in Dublin.

Her eyes flicked over the stranger's face. She hadn't seen him before, not that he could recall. He was obviously a work colleague from either the bride or groom. Her slim eyebrows furrowed together in a rush as she heard a high-pitched ringing in her ears. Her heart rate sped up with a mixture of fear and panic. This was weird. None of this made sense. But then he looked at her and the smirk was one she knew so well --

"Torrence?"

Dita's draw dropped as the realisation sank in. Her heart dropped and her blood ran cold but it was also exhilarating,  like being held at the crest of a roller coaster before it dropped - delicious and exciting. "What the fuck?" She whispered as she placed her champagne flute on the balcony railing and stepped over to him. She reached out and rudely pinched one of his cheeks, pulling at the skin in amazement before she punched him in the collarbone.

"What is wrong with you?" Perdy hissed, her eyes wide and nostrils flared. "What are you doing here?" She asked, still confused by Torrence wearing someone else's skin to her cousin's wedding. With a shake of her head, she held up an index finger before sinking the remainder of her drink and then his and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

"What game are you playing?" She asked him, her voice low and steely as she flicked her eyes over his face. Torrence's eyes were a stormy blue, these eyes now were a shade of hazel. He was paler, broader, fairer. Perdita didn't not-not like it, it was just...different. Strange. If they kissed, it would be like she was cheating on Torrence but with himself? She scratched her nose. There had to be a catch. "I mean," she began. "It's nice that you're here, I just --" she paused and gestured to his face. "Seems a bit extreme, doesn't it?"

Torr's brows rose as she replied to him. Dismissive, distant, a little cold. He regretted coming here immediately. He glanced back the way he had come, looking for the quickest escape when he heard her choking on her champagne, he turned to look back, her blue eyes blown wide before she turned that familiar glare on him. Ah, there she was.

He sipped at the champagne, wearing a stranger's face, and not bothering to answer her question. Patient, for once, and mostly amused, pushing away the discomfort.

His name on her lips made it a little better.

One brow lifted in response and he saluted her with his champagne glass before she was reaching up to pinch at his cheeks. "Ow, Red. Fuck, stop that," he growled as he swatted her hand away. And then she punched him. This was not the reaction he had anticipated. He glared right back at her, but with a stranger's face, he wasn't sure if it had the full effect it normally did. He felt the fire in his eyes despite the fact that they weren't his cobalt blues.

"You said I was invited so I'm here," he said, his patience quickly stripped away and replaced by something altogether more uncomfortable: uncertainty. "I'm not playing at any game, you kept blabbing on and on about the wedding and I thought--" Torr shook his head and then glanced away. "Fuck it, nevermind, I'm leaving."

He was going to punch himself in the face, or get Reed to punch him (even better because it would hurt more), the next time he had any ideas like this one. He was a dumbass and he knew it. Torr turned the door to head back inside.

Perdita squinted. This was really weird. Maybe it was the champagne or the fact that he was here but she felt instantly happier...once the shock had worn off. "Sorry," she whispered as she accidentally hurt him, her fingers itching to touch the skin she'd just pulled but she was aware that they weren't alone. Not really. Her family and friends were not far away and she'd worked so hard on keeping this thing underwraps, they both had.

Torrence was too blase and it caused her to blink. "You were," she countered, pausing to gesture to his new face. "He wasn't," Perdita went on, both amused and offended that he'd come all this way in disguise. "I didn't blab," she frowned, realising belatedly that she had. She'd had to cancel plans with him for dress fittings and the like and she'd spoken about the upcoming nuptials in a last-ditch effort of bothering him into attending with her.

Like a child throwing a tantrum, Torrence declared he was leaving. "You thought what?" Perdy called after him, allowing herself to roll her eyes before she heaved a melodramatic sigh. Her long legs moved, her heels echoing on the stone floor as she darted around him, sandwiching herself between him and the exit.

"I'm sorry," she began, her cheeks pink and her hands hovering an inch away from his chest. Perdy knew the reason why he'd attended as someone else. She replayed their conversation they had in Dublin some weeks earlier. It must have taken a lot of courage to make the effort to come here and she swallowed, a wash of guilt making her shift uncomfortably.

Slowly and carefully, Perdita let her hands rest delicately on Torrence's chest. "Thank you for coming," she told him gently, looking up to examine his borrowed features with a funny little smile on her face. This whole thing was just fucking mad. It really was. Her hands were cradling his face gently, her bright eyes flicking back and forth across his face, noticing that his new dark eyes were more like a hazel and that he had freckles across the bridge of his nose.

"Stay," she implored him. "At least for a little bit," she went on. "There's a free bar?" Perdita offered, taking a stab at a joke now that she could see that he was ready to go.

You were. He wasn't. Torr-not-Torr rolled his eyes and shook his head once. "It's the same thing," he said, even though he knew it wasn't. It was a dumb fucking idea and he was already regretting it. He felt like he was outside of his body, now literally, and he didn't like the unease that was settling around his shoulders. It was like trying to fit a round peg into a square hole. It just didn't fit.

And he did the only thing he was good at: running towards the nearest escape. Except this time Perdy stuck herself between him and the exit. He glared down at her, now wondering if the expression had the same weight with someone else's face, as she tried to stop him. He looked past her, over her shoulder and out into the sky set ablaze with the setting sun as she touched a chest that wasn't his. His frown deepened even as she thanked him. His gaze slid down to her as her hands came up to frame the face that wasn't his, his hands going to her hips. He made a hmph sound in his chest at her thank you and the way she said it so gently made him want to rage.

But he stayed, right there in her grasp, looking down at her at a little less height than usual, and there was something different about her. The golden fire reflecting in her eyes made him hesitate instead of run. "Maybe," he finally gave her before he smirked. "I could go give some backhanded compliments to the bride and she won't even know it's me.." he said, the idea tempting.

Perdita arched a brow. "Is it, though?" She asked him sweetly in a sing-song tone. She shouldn't really aggravate things, Torrence already looked as if he was regretting making the effort and so, she cleared her throat. The heat radiating from his body was keeping her toasty warm. The wedding guests seemed miles away. From their hidden spot, she could hear whoops and hollers and suddenly, the sound of glass smashing. Perdy winced in sympathy - what a waste of champagne.

The good thing, at least, was that he hadn't pushed her away and so, she softened her grip on him. Torr's hands on her hips made her skin tingle and she parted her lips to say something but decided against it. She wanted to kiss him, to kiss whoever's face he borrowed, just to see what it would feel like. "What should I call you tonight?" She asked, figuring that if he'd gone to all this trouble to hide his identity, that he probably wanted an alias for the next few hours.

Her hands gently rested on his shoulders, encouraged, before she nodded along. Maybe wasn't great but it also wasn't an outright no. Perdy should have taken Torrence up on his offer to skip the wedding and hole up somewhere abroad together but his smirk made her give a laugh of relief.

"Can I watch?" Perdita asked, eyes sparkling as her smile lit up her face. "Sounds like fun," she shrugged as she let her hands trail down his arms to his wrists. "She stole my doll when I was five and I'm still not over it," the tall brunette joked...sort of. Isabella was always more popular. She always had boyfriends and all the toys that Perdita coveted. But did she want to ruin her wedding over it? The short answer was yes.

There was a beat of silence. "We can leave, if you want," Perdita offered. "I can just grab my bag, I'll be two minutes," she began as she stepped away and pointed back to the party.