Alethiology in Volterra (Volturi Kings/OC)

17

A/N: Yes, I am alive. Patience is such a wonderful virtue.

And, bro, I missed u guys so much. Here's an update for those who are still here!

Chapter XVII: Maybe Kismet (Rated PG)

LA BUONA ABITUDINE, OUTSKIRTS OF VOLTERRA. . .

"Well she walked past me, so I asked her, 'Jane, do you want to come have fun in town with us?'"

Altheia's jaw dropped.

A handsome portrait of frustration, Benjamin ran his fingers through disheveled, raven hair as he continued, "She bared her fangs at me! So I said, 'Why not? Ariana's paying!' I figured she may have thought I was goading her about being alone all the time... I wasn't, I swear!"

Ariana sputtered the remnants of her pre-game drink all over the bar table. Thumping her chest to clear her vocal pathway, she snarled at Benjamin, "You said what, punk? I'm definitely not paying for you!"

At the shamelessness of Volterra's latest guest, Altheia could only continue blinking in shock.

Benjamin put one cheek on a palm and sighed miserably. "The doors slammed so loud... She'll need to have those hinges replaced, I'm sure..."

"Gah!" Ariana scooted out of the only occupied booth at La Buona Abitudine with a disapproving shake of her head. "I need something stronger for this. Want any, Altheia?" she asked in a pointed tone. Benjamin's pout worsened.

"No thank you, I'm a lightweight."

"Why, I do know, that's why I asked," the off-duty secretary sing-songed as she adjusted her blouse and headed to the bartender's counter. The back of her kitten heels tapped to the slow, winded crooning of the woman on the antique radio, and she let the song change her mood from prickly and agitated to slackened and dreamy. With her hair down and – thanks to her pre-gaming – flamed cheeks, Ariana stopped in front of Sebastian with an effortlessly sultry look. She took an eyeful of his suntanned physique and smiled sweetly.

"A Garibaldi mix, if you could please, Bass."

High-browed at her, Bass abandoned his newspaper and began preparing her order. "Quite unusual for your type, but 'course I can." he said.

Ariana's right dimple surfaced as she squinted at him teasingly. "And what exactly is my type, hm?"

"Well—"

Bass' gaze lingered at the shape of Ariana's mouth after he made a show of looking her over. With her bold red lip color, button-up blouse, pencil skirt, and wild, wavy hair, she was a typical hardworking gal looking to destress. The angles of her cheekbones and nose – a true Italian.

"—Peach syrup, light wine, sparkling. No offense."

Ariana pursed her lip, biting back a laugh. "Not quite, and none taken," she told him. She hopped up a bar stool and leaned forward as she watched him blend her drink. "Actually, my type's dark syrup. A little zest. Aftertaste's preferred. Definitely not sparkling. As long as the Cognac fits, it's good."

Bass paused from reaching for a slice of lime. His eyes narrowed at her, "We're still talking about drinks, right?"

Ariana replied too fast, too innocent. "But of course, sir. What else possibly?"

Bass averted his gaze and chuckled. "Sir," he echoed under his breath. "I like that one. That's new."

Ariana grinned. Got you. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "So, free drink?"