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Callan froze in his tracks upon opening the door, there was no shame in his eyes, all they did was widen as the pupils in his ruby irises dilated like a cat's to suck in what he saw. It was like a jolt fired directly into his limbic system, and his brain stopped functioning for a moment. His eyes traced up her long, shapely legs and trailed up the thing silk blue and darkened black dress that tautly held Cathrine's ample curves so well. "Arceus..." He murmured, before his brain managed to resume activity before he lost his balance.

"I am sure some may die of blood loss, but that is a price they'll be willing to pay to look at you." He replied, chuckling, as he closed the distance between the while she straightened up. The dress she had picked with the maritime navy blue, glowed in the light, accentuated her curves and showing more than enough to suck in his gaze. Callan's eyes were immediately drawn to her heavy, soft breasts, it was a taste he remembered fondly, and right now she was tempting him into forgoing the party entirely and staying in the dressing room the entire night. They landed onto her emerald ones as leaned into her, slowly pinning her to the dressing table as her Gardevoir left. Callan briefly waved a sign of thanks for the privacy to the Pokemon who was very clearly reading the room, perhaps telepathically.

Callan chuckled at her reply, "Well, I suppose I had to try a look other than alcoholic greaser at some point in my life." Callan dipped down to drink in her eyes and smell the gentle perfume wafting from her. "I'm stealing this from you before we leave..." He began, before pressings his lips against hers. Perhaps that lipstick was freshly applied, but he was reckless about it, he didn't mind leaving the room with a few smears against his face. Callan parted her lips with his tongue to slide it against hers, groaning slightly as his hands gripped against her thighs and leaned her against the dressing table, sliding just underneath the slits of her dress as he consumed her with his lust.

Cathrine Fisher

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It was like pulling away from sipping an ice-cold soda. Only the soda was intoxicatingly good, and pushed parts of your body and stirred a primal urge inside you. Terrible analogy, but Callan groaned nonetheless as his tongue lefth er mouth and their kiss unlocked, his fingers sliding away from her thighs. He looked like a child that did not get the cookie from the cookie jar, but it was gone a moment later. "Mmm... alright, I suppose we should do our job." He chuckled. He took a tissue from nearby dressing room and wiped the edges of his cheeks of her lipstick, and was summarily yanked out of the room.

Into the wilderness beyond.

Tonight's charity was a meet-and-greet, with both Callan and Cathrine meeting with those who donated the most. The moment they entered the foyer, they were directed by an assistant. "Hello, Mr. Young, Ms. Fisher? My name is Cadence, If you could follow me please, we have a photo op with the charity organizers and with our largest donors first." Callan followed suit with Cathrine, locking his hand deep between her fingers.

"What's the agenda for tonight?"

"We'll first be having the photo op, and then afterwards we have a open meet-and-greet with the top hundred donors for our organization. Then afterwards, we'll have dinner and a thank you speech from Violet Group's chairman." Her speech was brusque, clearly she had to deal with several other celebrities as well after this. "Do either of you need anything beforehand?"

Callan shook his head. "None from me, how about you Cat?"

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"We will have someone help guide you, Ms. Fisher, and help you with anything you need yes. But if there is any dissatisfaction, I can come to you both for naything extra that may be required." Callan himself stayed silent, for the time being, letting Cathrine take the lead on this.

The walk was very illuminating.

They stole looks and screams, the moment they walked past the doors. Callan didn't feel like himself, had they known the old, decrepit 30 year old man in debt overdosing in his apartment that was out of electricity, they would not have been screaming his name. He waved, and smiled, as he walked across the crowds, alongside the most gorgeous woman in this party at the moment. He was here with the top of society, he was walking beside the top of society, and he felt so very alone.

Oh dear. Callan thought in his head, feeling the creep of shadow slide in his mind. An eternal sadness that creeped up over and over again, a dear old friend. Just hold it in until the party is over. He thought, his smile was forced as the cameras flashed in their lights and they walked across to the other hallway. This was certainly a new discovery.

It will be like this, from now on, and it will grow stronger every day you garner fame.

That thought unsettled him somewhat.

Past the hallway, the crowds faded, and what was left was a large room, with a billboard sign of all the various charity organizations it supported, alongside brand company names behind a white board, affiliates and whatnot. Cadence paused in front of them as they got inside. THe cameras flashed once, with purpose here, and in the room were dozens of celebrities, each from different groups representing their own organizations to help with the gala. Callan's eyes searched around, he recognized a few celebrities, some from TV series, some from movies.

Cat was probably in her element here. Him, not so much, he just wanted to get past the photos.

Cadence stopped as a mousier, younger girl with a clipboard rushed to speak to her, as she stole glances towards Cathrine, then to Callan, clearly starstruck. Cadence turned towards the both of them, "This is Dora, she'll be helping you the rest of the way through the gala, thank you again for your time. If you need any help, just ask her for assistance." Callan nodded, smiled, "Thank you." He replied, his voice quieter.

"Ms. Fisher, Mr. Young, hi... umm, we'll have the photo op now, if you'd like to follow me."

Callan's hand gently wrapped around Cathrine's waist as he walked with her, following her to the billboard where they'd have to have their photo taken. "It's not been fifteen minutes and I'm already tired of this." He whispered to Cathrine, "How do you the attention?"

Cathrine Fisher

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"At least I know at the end of it, I'll be able able to spend some time with you alone." He replied, chuckling at her joke. It never really did work for him, at the moment of anxiety, no picture of everyone being naked would stymie his own insecurities.

But the thought that at the end of the long night, he'd be in a hot bath with a cold bottle of champagne with suds floating between their naked bodies did make it better somewhat.

The thought that he'd be able to sit there and feel the heat from their bodies as he cradled her until their skin began to shrink was enticing.

His thoughts however, were disturbed by reality, once again.

The cameras were forward, he needed to put on his mask. As practiced, Callan slipped an index finger casually into his pocket as he stood at an angle, pulling Cathrine tight too him, pressing her breasts against his abs.

The photos snapped, candid white lights flickering into his ruby red eyes, he did not wear any sunglasses, and that was a mistake, his vision was blurry by the time it had ended. There were a few shots taken, first of them both together, then him, then her.

He went first. They had a 'pose manager' troubleshoot the shots for him, the same ones he had done for his modeling, and so he went to the standard poses that they had made for him, meant to convey a rebelliousness and a stylish confidence that would otherwise have felt alien to him.

When he was done, he stepped off the stage to watch Cathrine perform her poses and step off the stage. Afterwards was the tough part, greeting the fans, so to speak. But only the richest ones.

Cathrine Fisher

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There was a distinct difference in how they posed. Callan himself never understood it personally, but he was a technical person, with a flair for aesthetic.

Whereas his movements were stiff and disingenuous, Cathrine played the crowd like a well strung chord. Past the curves and the pretty face, the well groomed hair, the carefully picked jewels and pieces, was someone who was truly dedicated to the artform that she put her work in.

Did he have to pick up this particular instrument too, from now on? As she got back down from the stage, Callan locked his hand with hers again as Dora showed up between the two again. Her eyes widening, perhaps out of fear. "Are you alright Dora? What's next on the schedule?"

"Oh, yes! Please follow me to the meet and greet." She spoke, but she stifled something back, it was a look he knew well. She wanted a picture, but maybe after the important stuff was out of the way first. As they walked, Callan looked towards Cathrine. "I request a personal coaching session on poses, at my studio, sometime in the future." He grinned, before they walked over to the meet and greet.

He felt himself ebb back to normal, it seemed like this episode was small, and he thanked Arceus for that. Or perhaps it was just being able to appreciate that there was nothing to be afraid of with Cathrine here supporting him, that made all the difference.

"Any tips on meet-and-greets? Aside from imagining them naked, because I'd have to also imagine you naked too." He asked, leaning towards her ear. The background of conversation shielding the words for the most part. "I'm not particularly well versed in talking with bigwigs, if you don't mind taking the lead on this..."

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"Hoh... I've not collected that many royalties yet." He chuckled, "But I'll see what I can do."

A hallway like a transition from one world to the next, lined by a red carpet, lit by electric bulbs in the shape of candles. Callan could see on the other side, ravenous, the adoration of fans. "I'll do my best." He replied, he was smooth, if soft-spoken for the most part. And they exited outwards into the unknown, the frontier.

It was his first time ever at such a gala. The moment they walked out, the conversations went from muffled hushes to screeches, and even after the screeches ended, the animation as they entered the room was palpable.

A speaker boomed.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Callan Young of Teravolt and Ms. Cathrine Fisher." It was like watching condensed water flow into a stream the way they drew attention. Thankfully, they were not the only celebrities in the room, it was a brief cheer, a merciless applause, a fe pats on the back as they came into the fold. '

But first, they were flooded. With the yeses, helloes, and casual greetings, at first it was overwhelming for Callan to greet so many people. He'd never experienced this kind of attention, this intense, graceless fervor for his approval. But he did his best, he kept his smile, jived as much as he could by keeping it light, every joke he made seemed to be a masterpiece of comedy, every curled eyebrow at a particularly thirsty comment, every move scrutinized and seen in the most favorable light.

He hated it.

He loved it.

He hated how shallow it all was.

He loved the attention it brought him.

The thoughts sank into his mind like poison, his mind raced between the parallels of the 'him' now, and the 'him' that was. A bead of sweat began to flicker against his temple, but he kept it in.

Right now he was in public, and even if he wanted to run, he would stay, for Cathrine and the organization he represented. For Adrian too, even if he couldn't make it right now.

Eventually, they faded away, and Callan's eyes looked towards Cathrine's for reassurance, smiling as if to say somehow we managed, or I did, at least. Eventually the crowd faded, and what remained were the heavies, the elites, the rich, in smaller, friendlier doses for the most part. And Callan began to walk, in no particular direction as they swam amongst the sharks of the corporate elite. He leaned to whisper into Cathrine's ear, "I think we might of survi--"

"Excuse me, Callan, right?" Callan paused and turned around. A man of fat stature, thin balding hair and thick, horn rimmed glasses stood in front of him, alongside a bald man, potentially alolan in origin, with tanner skin and a pair of sunglasses. He knew of the fatter man by reputation, and it was not good.

"Yes, nice to meet you Mr. Bernstein." Callan extended a hand outwards, and Bernstein looked at it as if it were dirty, before shaking it with the lightest handshake he ever felt. Callan gently pulled back. "Big fan of Teravolt." He said, though Callan didn't necessarily feel much for it.

Partly because his eyes were mainly looking at Cathrine, at the large divot in her chest, at the slits in her waist. Bernstein smiled a set of pearly white teeth, but it didn't hide the lecherous intentions behind his eyes. He wasn't here for Teravolt, he was here for Cathrine, and her curves. Callan gently pulled her closer to him, and he tried to adjust himself to be slightly in front of her.

Though knowing Cathrine, she may not need it in the first place. Still... it was in his nature to defend.

"Don't know your friend though, you are...?"

Cathrine Fisher

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