'You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye
And I got that red lip classic thing that you like
And when we go crashing down, we come back every time
'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style
You got that long hair, slicked bac...
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In London, if you were rich and well kept, a person in upper class, they had an eaiser life. For these men and women, even their leisure activities are imbued with a sense of luxury. Polo games in the countryside, afternoons at the racetrack, and evenings spent at exclusive balls or masquerades all contribute to a lifestyle that speaks not just of wealth but of cultural and social mastery.
Fashion is another arena in which this class excels. The women, adorned in the finest silks, taffetas, and furs, may be seen emerging from bespoke dressmakers in Bond Street, their gowns expertly fitted to their figures. Every accessory, gloves, hats, and shoes is chosen with a discernment that signals not just beauty but a careful curation of one's place in society.
Men, too, wear suits tailored by the likes of Savile Row's most exclusive cutters, where every stitch is placed with the kind of precision that suggests an entirely different concept of time. The small details, the cut of the waistcoat, the tie's knot, the gleam of cufflinks, speak to a mastery of sartorial elegance that is a second language to them
Damon had never experienced any of those things. Never had he ever dreamed of living life in London. He knew he was the type of guy for the bad side of the track.
Knowing that and living that way, he had always come to the final conclusion that he would forever be just Damon, the bad boy jackass from Forks.
Yes, he did have money, but it was never clean money, that money. It was always dirty, stained with his tears and blood.
"I hate these things." He muttered as he adjusted the fluffy white shirt he wore.
Rosalie had found a ball that they could attend while they were in London. It was a fancy, old-fashioned, rich ball. Everyone with money and a stick up their ass would be in attendance.
The two had been invited because Alice, the future seeing vampire, had made her father put a request in for the ball, and they had happily accepted his offer.
Although Doctor Cullen had told them that his daughter and son in law would be coming in his place.
Damon had heard Alice scream through the phone at five o'clock in the morning to Rosalie. The pixie vampire very excited for them to attend.
In her words, it was magical.
Fairytale.
"Come here." Rosalie told him, as she turned his around, undoing one of his buttons on his shirt and fluffing it up.
Damon wore a black suit, the material soft, and each stitch was placed with the kind of precision that suggests an entirely different concept of time. He wore a golden waistcoat that didn't go up all his waist. The shirt he wore had no top few buttons. Instead, it hung open, showing of his neck and collar, instead of buttons, was a fluffy shirt bit.
"You look handsome." She told him as she soothed out his suit.
Damon smiled down at her. "You look stunning." He told her.
