|Helena Wells has "disappeared" with the Astrolabe (ismellapples) wrote in wariscoming,|
@ 2012-03-22 19:47:00
|Entry tags:||helena g. wells, tony stark/iron man|
Who: Tony Stark and Helena
What: Dinner. Main course: Flirting. Dessert: ...hell if I know!
Where: Wherever Tony's driver is taking Helena?
Warning: It's Tony, so horrendous epic flirting. Everything else is TBA.
The invitation to dinner was unexpected, and Helena didn't exactly know how to dress for the occasion. After all, the last time she'd been asked to dinner corsets and impeccable dresses were the fashion. The Victorian woman in her screamed to dress to the height of fashion, which in her definition was a dress from the late 19th Century. But she didn't have one of those on hand, nor did she really have someone to properly tie her into a corset. She could've asked Myka or Claudia, but she was fairly certain neither of them had tied a proper corset in their lives. However, considering she didn't have a corset on hand, she didn't need any help with that. Not that she would've worn a corset to dinner, those weren't exactly comfortable. So instead, she stood looking at the small wardrobe available to her. She also had no context for precisely how she should dress, if she should dress up or down, so she'd go for a toned down dressing up look. She had a pair of black dress pants, which she pulled out, and a white button up shirt. Changing into them and leaving the first two buttons of the shirt undone, Helena set about putting the finishing touches on herself. She put on the amulet to protect her from possession as well as the locket which contained a picture of her daughter. She slid her ring onto her right ring finger, and applied light make up to her eyes and lips. Brushing her hair out, she left it long, which was her usual style these days, and she rather liked it. It was far better than piling it all on the back of her head. While she wasn't exactly dressing to impress Tony Stark, she was dressing to make an impression. Helena Wells was nothing if she wasn't a well put together woman.
Though appearances were deceiving. While she was in a better state mentally since Myka had returned her locket to her, she was still feeling unsettled from being in yet another time and place that were not her own. But she found it easy to keep her troubles masked. She was English, she was used to hiding her unpleasant thoughts and feelings and carry on as though nothing had happened. Grabbing her coat, she made sure she had her Farnsworth and Tesla in the event she needed to be contacted or met some unsavory situation while being out. The knock on the door came shortly thereafter and she smiled. Just on time. She answered the door.
"Miss Wells?" The man asked.
"I am here to take you to dinner with Mister Stark."
"Excellent, do lead the way." She said with a smile, tossing her hair a bit as she closed the door behind her. She followed the man to the waiting car, which caused to arch an eyebrow. Well, Tony certainly didn't spare any expense, did he? The driver held the door open for her, which made her smile. At least chivalry wasn't dead. She slipped into the car and could only wonder at where exactly they were going. Of course, to her the definition of being invited to dinner was not a date. It was simply dinner in her mind. Dating as it was defined in the 21st Century was something she didn't understand, not that she'd had the time to get to know that in the first place. So this was just going to be dinner and getting to know Tony better. She would, of course, thank him for his assistance in building the Farnsworths. It would be far easier now to make them, though Helena was a little saddened at not making them herself anymore. Though who knew how things would go hiring other people to make them. In the end, her and Claudia, and possibly Myka, may have to step in and make them anyways. But she wouldn't trouble herself with those thoughts now. No, she had something more interesting to focus on. Tony was no Myka or Irene, but no doubt this dinner would prove to be interesting.