all of the sudden she disappears just yesterday she was here
Miranda doesn't spend much time in Los Angeles unless she has to, because really, she can't stand the city, but she's here for the premiere and there's some party unrelated to that whole mess that Orli's going to afterwards - friends from other gigs, he says. Nice people. She tries to tell him that she's tired, she just wants to go back to the hotel and go to bed, but Orlando is persistent and persuasive and very nice to look at, and so when he tells her that she's too pretty to stay home all by herself, she falls for it.
She's standing in the corner of a bar nursing a cranberry and vodka with the ice melting down. No one she recognizes, but Orlando's generous, the sort to make friends with the extras, so she wouldn't be surprised to now know anyone all night. He's pressed in a tightly-packed corner with Kate, holding court. Mir is sorry she let him talk her into this.
She's thinking about finishing off her drink and bolting without a goodbye when someone squeezes up to the bar besides her, apologizes in a posh British accent for elbowing her, and orders and gin and tonic.
Mir hadn't intended to start a conversation, but Keira had leaned on the bar and taken a long sip of her drink and then turned to her. Orlando promised me hobbits, she'd pouted. I see no hobbits. You're Miranda, right?
Keira is tiny and charming and as beautiful as everyone says; she buys Miranda another drink and smirks knowingly when Mirry rolls her eyes in the direction of Kate and Orlando, the former with her tongue in the latter's ear.
She's also delightfully wicked, knows all the gossip and is willing to share, and Miranda thinks the evening's looking up.
When an enormous man - so big he's got to be a stunt-man - shoves his way up to the bar, his girth sidles Mir up against Keira's side, her hand dropping to Keira's waist to steady herself.
Her skin is warm under Miranda's hand; her bones bird-light, delicate, with a ripple of muscle above them. Her hip is presses against Mir's belly. Keira doesn't move away from the touch, just tips the melting ice from her glass into her mouth and grins wolfishly at Mirry.
Miranda's seen that smile on Orlando before; it's surprising to see it on this tiny girl.
Bird-bones underneath her hands, burning kisses pressed against a back wall in a corner of the bar, clever fingers up her shirt and brushing teasingly over her thighs. Kissing Keira Knightley, she thinks. I'm the envy of the world.
Then they're flushed and breathless and slumped together on the floor, and Miranda tips her head back and closes her eyes for just one moment.
A feather-light brush of lips against her forehead, and then the warmth beside her shifts; when Miranda opens her eyes, Keira is gone, an empty glass that smells of gin resting beside Mir on the floor.