Syril moved closer, cautiously circling the box, as if any funny movement would trigger a bomb.
He had moved close enough to notice a paper neatly folded and pinned to the box. His hands stretched, but he soon caught himself.
"No, no, Syril. What if... ah, fuck it!"Syril dismissed his fears and carefully unpinned the paper.
It read: "Hey, sorry to freak you out. I thought you'd need something more stylish to land our grand scheme, so, I got you nice gifts. Please, take them and impress with it. I'll answer your questions when you're here. Yours sincerely, Amy 'heart'".
Syril's eyes dilated, reading the words repeatedly as if more would reveal itself. Needless to say, he found none.
He hurriedly tore through the box and truly found her gifts.
In the box, a black tuxedo, glossy high loafers, silk tie, and black wristwatch were carefully arranged. They were all luxuries people of his kind would dream of, the luxuries only the rich could afford. Even the packaging hinted elite marketing, the mastery only veteran companies could provide.
Syril wasted no time in bathing and donning her precious gifts, making sure to lock the house before leaving for the chosen location.
They arrived shortly after, both mesmerized by each other's appearance. They exchanged pleasantries, reminded themselves of the plan and headed for the venue.
◇◇◇◇
The Flemdale High School buzzed with rousing energy, students rushing into and out of the edifices.
Several luxurious and average cars filled the parking lot, the metals lustrously reflecting the school's lights.
In the school's vestibule, a colorful graphic occupied the smart screen attached to the wall, the graphics stylishly displaying "Flemdales' Prom Night".
Few meters ahead of the west wing gate, a red carpet stretched from the entrance of the school's grand hall to the high stage in the hall. The hall, simply exquisite.
Several disco balls dazzled in the ceiling, the room, a scenic view of blue and pink lights, illuminating the excited expressions of the occupants.
Drones hovered in the rich air, their buzzing sound adding to the lively hall.
The hall was heavily saturated with the scents of expensive colognes, wines, and snacks going roundabout. The chatters of the students enlivening the massive hall.
No male wore nothing other than tuxedo, although they varied in colors and quality. Likewise the females; their gowns were dazzling, different embroideries of silks, cottons, wools, and laces. It was safe to say nobody wanted to be left out, all dressed to impress.
Imposingly fixated by the side was a high, polished, wooden counter, rendering an indisputable service of filling glasses. A wooden cabinet was attached to the glossy wall behind the counter. The cabinet, filled with lots of sodas, wines, punches, and alcoholic drinks faked as wines.
A riveting voice soon drew the attention of the students, instantly dismissing their chattering.
"Hi, Flemdaleans!" The students' president called. "Beautiful evening it is," she said, earning loud cheers from the students.
Her blue half-lace, half-silk gown shifted with her mighty curves as she paced on the stage, her serene voice projected by a mechanical system embedded on the stage.
She proceeded with her speech, and ended by compelling the students to recite the schools' visionary statement.
"It's my last day as the President and a student in Flemdale, so as it is for y'all. My last order? Enjoy to the peak!" She declared and gently left the stage, just like she had appeared. Well, not after a vibrant ululation came from the students.
Just then, as the Students' President's steps faded from the stage stairs, the hall's door opened with a loud hiss that drew the attention of the enmassed.
Smoke poured from somewhere around the door, eerily creeping towards the enmassed students.
The students were frightened at first, until a figure appeared in the smoke. Surprisingly, it turned to two, peaking their interests.
"Huh, what's happening?" One voiced his concern.
"Must be some kind of smoke effect, but who do you think they are?"
"Really? Someone is pulling stunts to emerge as the Prom Night winner? We never get tired of seeing this."
"They better worth the suspense."
"Hmph! Like anyone can beat I and Amy's duo," Oliver's bold voice projected over the others, trying to dismiss their enthusiasm.
The figures stood still, wrapped by the smoke, allowing the students to speculate as much as they can.
Phones had been long brought out, filming every moment like their lives depended on it. Drones had also been controlled to film every moment, their green-light-red-light pinpointed at the entrance.
Finally, the smoke dissipated, left for a blonde beauty in a flowing, silk, black gown. She audaciously hooked her arm around a flawless guy in black tuxedo and silk bow tie.
The blonde's hair gleamed beautifully, flowing all the way down to her bare collarbone. The gown was armless, only with a strap on her milky toned shoulders.
Her cleavage was bold, her juicy melons firmly gripped by the silk dress, but temptingly revealing the milky flesh.
The guy wasn't left out... the black tuxedo hugged his wide shoulders and strong biceps, defining his muscular physique. His gaze was sharp, his neatly styled black hair gleaming under the dazzling lights.
A collective gasp erupted from the students, followed by murmurings that soon turned loud.
"Whaaaaaat?! Amy?"
"Dammit! The Flemdale Beauty strikes again. But who's the guy with her?"
"He's hot alright, but who is he?"
"He looks kinda familiar, though."
"Hold on... I've seen this face before. Isn't this... that loser?"
"Don't tell me that's Syril Sylvester. Please, don't!"
"Heck, yeah! That's the guy with no ability."
"Since when was he this hot?! Oh! My! Gosh!"
"Is something wrong with Amy?! Did she go nuts?!"
"I must be dreaming. What went wrong?"
"AMY VANCOUVER and Syril Sylvester? This gotta be a joke!"
"Wait a minute... shouldn't Oliver be the one there? Why is this sponsored thing with her?"
They all suddenly turned their gaze to the agitated Oliver sitting by the bar counter with his cohorts, expectant of answers or reactions.
They got what they wanted; Oliver was so angry he clasped unto the wooden counter. The metal chairs around began rattling violently, responding to the intense emotions fueling his ability.
His friends soon stepped in to sooth him, calming him to prevent the undeniable chaos from ensuing.
"Shall we?" Amy inched closer to Syril and whispered, a knowing smirk plastered on her face, pretending to be oblivious to the storm brewing.
Syril gave a daring smile back, and together, they moved. Their movements were synchronized, each step bolder than the last.
Amy's daring curves swayed with her dress as she strided, her flowing dark gown swallowing the light, leaving trails of her expensive cologne. Syril's donned attire caught the attention of onlookers too, unexpectedly exquisite for his caliber. His glossy loafers shined brighter under the room's light, adding a soft glow to his overall black.
The murmurs of the onlookers didn't stop, adding more fuel to the fire burning in Oliver's chest.
"Lord, I can't deny how perfect they look together."
"How can Syril even afford such a tux? If my guess is right, it seems to be Stanford's."
"Dammit, that quality! They look soooo good."
"Things aren't looking good. I can't believe Amy is with that loser. Did... something go wrong?" Blake Frost tried to redirect Oliver's focus.
"And that scholarship boy?! Syril? Did he forget how we thrashed him? We almost left him crippled!" Ashley's voice added to the mix, stoking the violent fire. His voice, loud enough for only their caucus to hear.
Gareth, the quiet one with the most violent ability finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why don't you go meet her, snatch your lady back and give all of us a true prom drama. It'd be fun." He suggested, his amber eyes flickering amusingly, an evil smirk curling his lips.
The others immediately shot piercing daggers with their eyes, their faces scrunched with exasperation.
"Fool, that would be an insult to his personality! He intended to propose to her tonight, how would that look when another guy claimed her?" Blake's annoyed voice pitched higher.
"Just a friendly suggestion," Gareth replied softly, playfully trailing flames around his hand.
The students' attentions were completely unfocused on the hot, rich boys sitting by the counter, their gaze primarily locked unto Syril and Amy—watching every motion, the way their lips moved, the way they curled into each other.
It was crazy to watch. They had long stolen the spotlight, and they didn't intend to return it anytime sooner.
As if to prove the point, the loud and vibrant background song dimmed, replaced with a low, groovy ballad. The facial expressions of the students twisted into a knowing smile.
Before the mass moved, two had already formulated cunning schemes.
Amy popped a meatball in her mouth before tugging on Syril's sleeve, a devious smirk tugging the corners of her lips.
"Let's show them," she whispered in a low, sultry voice, her lips lightly brushing his ears, sending jolts that resonated down his spine.
Oliver had moved, too. A grin formed on his cheek as he rose, adjusting his grey suit and tie. He finally spoke, giving an unexpected response to his friends.
"You're right, Gareth. I should get my girl back. I should show that loser he has no place in the gathering of elites. However, I'll do it my own way. Stylish and smooth." Oliver declared, a grin finally stretching on his face since the 'Black Couples' stepped in.
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Ooh! Am I smelling drama? Someone is cooking, alright! You wanna taste it badly?
Add to your library and give a Power Stone.
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