Title: Rebel Waltz
Fandoms: Gossip Girl, Veronica Mars
Characters/Pairing: Jenny Humphrey, Vincent "Butters" Clemmons
Written for: choco_cherries Week 29
Summary: "Tomorrow she'll probably shake her head at herself, wondering what she was thinking."
He’s most definitely not her type. Not that she really has a type—there’s only been Asher, who was just using her as a beard. And the thing with Nate that was never really a thing at all. But she thinks if she did have a type, it would be a guy like Eric—smart and down-to-earth and snarky. With an endless capacity for forgiveness. A good dresser, with good taste in everything. (And not gay.)
Not like this guy.
She sees him across a crowd at a punk concert in one of those small, cramped basement clubs that only the real music fans know how to find. She’s been going to these more and more often lately, occasionally with Eric, who enjoys them but doesn’t give himself up to the music like she does. Vanessa’s come a time or two, tentative steps toward repairing their friendship, and once she brought Dan, but he whined the whole time and she swore never again.
She likes to come alone, an anonymous girl swept away by the clash of the music. She can stopped worrying about impressing anyone, can stop wondering whether she’s Jenny Humphrey-from-Brooklyn or the newly-christened Queen Little J and just be.
But tonight it isn’t really working. Dad’s all tangled up with his Lily-drama, Dan and Vanessa and everyone are busy with college, and Serena’s dragged Eric off on some quixotic adventure to find their dad. Things are bad at school: she figured out long ago that she doesn’t really want to be queen, but she thought she’d at least be able to use her power for good, to curb the cruelty of the girls on the steps. It’s become too much of a battle, though, and she’s not sure if it’s worth it. Not when she feels so exhausted that even the music isn’t wiping it away tonight.
Maybe that’s why she lets him talk to her. He’d looked caught up in the music earlier and then just as impressed by her, and the attention—even if it’s from a not-so-impressive-looking guy who really seems like a loser—is nice.
It probably won’t go anywhere. She probably won’t even let him walk her to the subway. Tomorrow she’ll probably shake her head at herself, wondering what she was thinking. But tonight she’s sick of keeping up appearances.
At least he’s got decent taste in music..