Ashley & Mr Darcy
It was with a great reluctance that Darcy had actually put on the suit that Ashley had provided for him. Fortunately, it wasn't too unfamiliar, it wasn't as unusual as Dr O'Hara's attire had been, for example. But it still felt strange and slightly uncomfortable. The trousers were fine, as was the shirt. The jacket was an odd sort of shape, but it was agreeable enough. There was no waistcoat or anything like it, which did make him feel rather under-dressed. And the piece of material he assume to be some sort of neckwear... well, he was lost with it. He just couldn't figure out how to tie it, how it was meant to be worn. In the end, he simply wrapped it round and tied a loose knot. He could figure it out by looking at the other men in the room, he supposed.
Parties were not his thing. Balls were the bane of his existence, but he understood that they served a purpose. He just hated to be around so many people, to be expected to perform somehow, to talk to strangers and try to make small talk. He just found it all very awkward, and he struggled to know what to say or do at any given moment. It seemed to come so naturally to other people.
Arriving at the club didn't do anything to help his feeling of stress and anxiety. The music was loud, booming, unfamiliar. The people were a sea of strange outfits and a lot of bare skin. The colours were loud, the set-up peculiar, the lights exceptionally brights and... oh god, this was awful. The rising feeling to get the hell of out there was building up, constricting his chest, his mouth going bone dry and his palms sweaty. Fight or flight - flight was winning.
"Sorry, excuse me-" he moved past a couple of people before he came face to face with...
"Miss Sully." He almost hadn't recognised her with her hairstyle so different. That was it, then. He'd have to stay now that she knew he'd actually come at all.