High Gloss Highs

[Hallucinojelly†]

Her eyes followed Ricky as he collapsed on to one of the deck chairs somebody had put out on the lawn, quietly scorning him in the back of her mind. As Brock mentioned how pale her complexion had become, she raised a hand to touch her cheek as though she could feel how white she was under the porch lights.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine, honestly. I'm usually not that big a drinker, so when I drink it goes straight to my-"

She stumbled backwards as a hot flush ran straight through her, sending her head into a spin as she grabbed a hold of Brock's shoulders to steady herself. Once it had passed, she realised she was close enough to see the colour of his eyes, and gasped a little at the sight of them.

Your eyes are so... blue.

Had they not been surrounded by drunken teenagers laughing and sobbing into their drinks, she could've stared into them all night long. Unfortunately, it took her a short while to snap back into the real world, wherein she realised just how long she had been staring hazily into his face.

"So, um-" She snapped suddenly, jerking away from him long enough to hide the massive blush she was hiding behind her hands.

"You probably think I'm crazy now, right? Okay, good, th-that's all good and um, yep. Yes, yes you do. Okay, good, cool."

Turning away from him she bit down on her lower lip out of frustration. All she wanted was for Brock to like her, and now thanks to Leila and her stupid concoctions she was half a word away from scaring him off for good.

Oh God, just calm down, Hilary. Come on now, just breathe. That's it, breeeathe.

[D/N]

And just where in the fucking hell was he now?

Okay, okay just get your bearings ya dumb caronya, the big giant living room or whatever was off to the left, he sure as hell didn't want to go back there since it was still full of people and probably smelled like the goddamn locker room by now with all the sweat and shit going on in there. Stairs over there. Bathroom over there, and he didn't even want to THINK about what that place looked like right now if he was gonna throw up he'd do it outside thank you very much but fuck, only pussies threw up after a couple drinks. Wait, where the hell was he going again? Eh, somewhere, that was where.

Ricky'd left Brock back at the porch since it seemed he was preoccupied with mackin' on Hilary Strand for now, and was vaguely searching for some guys from the team or, hell, anyone who wasn't some drunken douchebag at this point.

Hey, he was in the kitchen. How bout that? His eyes fell on a half-empty bottle of Bacardi sitting there with a bunch of empties, and he instinctively snatched it up. You know, fuck that whole liquor before beer thing. The beer here was shit, and the liquor was in short supply, so if he wanted some of the good stuff for the rest of the night, he'd grab it now and keep it.

Then outta fucking NOWHERE this bottle of Jim Beam comes flyin' through the air and smashed down a couple feet from him. That coulda fucking hurt somebody!

"Fucking hell!"

Some skinny broad was yelling and stomping off, and Ricky turned back and saw halle-fucking-lujah it's a friendly face Feo Smith standing there, looking half-pissed off and half-embarrassed. He strolled through the people there and leaned on the wall next to her, shaking the Bacardi bottle a bit. Feo wasn't half-bad. Sure she went around flaunting her body all the time like all the cheerleader chicks did, but at least she wasn't a huge bitch about it.

"Hey Feo," he said. At least he wasn't slurring his words too badly or anything. Maybe that just meant he needed the Barcardi now instead of later. But he needed someone to share it with, cause he wasn't some fucking alcoholic or anything like that. "You're looking like you need a drink. Want some?"

[Namira]

Despite Hilary's reassurances that she was fine, Brock didn't really believe her. She'd been looking kind of sick before, and although colour had come back to her cheeks, it seemed more of a blush than anything natural, besides, she looked like she was about to-

Brock's half-thought was proven right as Hilary all but fell into his arms. It took him off guard, but luckily the size difference was such that the impact of her body barely rocked him. If Brock had fallen back... well, it would have been embarrassing to say the least. More embarrassing anyway.

He was about to check on her when he, all of a sudden, found his eyes simply locked to hers. Brock couldn't explain what happened at the time, and he wouldn't have been able to explain it if he lived to a hundred, but he just... lost himself in Hilary's eyes. After Hilary eventually broke off, Brock felt a vague sense of longing, from where he wasn't entirely sure.

For a moment, things had been... perfect.

And then they fell straight back to awkward square one. Brock coloured and looked down to his shoes, although in consolation Hilary seemed to be acting much the same way.

"Uh... it's alright. I don't think you're crazy. You're just a bit drunk is all," that had to be it, for the both of them, he hoped. Just... a bit too much beer.

You've barely touched a drop.

Shut it.

[Solomir†]

The sound of shattering glass was something Peter had gotten good at recognizing after all the house parties. These assholes never understood how much of a bitch it was to clean up those messes. Or how much booze they wasted every time someone broke a cup or bottle. Hopefully, they didn't break one of the good booze bottles.

Kimberly seemed to be pleased with the compliment, but not so pleased with the current state of the party. "Well, some people's definition of do varies from person to person," Peter commented with a shrug. "For example, I'm here mostly to enjoy the beverages. Alas, I haven't enjoyed much of it so far tonight." Peter lifted his cup to show how much it still held. "This is only my third or fourth drink of the night, and I'm sober enough to prove it," Peter said with a grin.
How would you prove how many drinks you've had? By counting on your fingers?
Peter took in a mouthful of his drink. It tasted more like vodka than orange juice, which either indicated it was badly mixed or he was almost done his drink. A quick look into his cup verified the latter case. What was left was a more or less a shot of vodka with a splash of orange juice.
Wow, you really botched that screwdriver didn't you.
Now Peter was in a dilemma. If he finished his drink, he'd need to get it refilled. Which meant leaving Kimberly behind just moments after he'd started a conversation. On the other hand, Peter was still pretty sober, and he wasn't going to get drunk by chatting with somebody.
Take a third option, obviously.
"So, in an effort to address that issue, I'm going to get myself another drink." Quick and smart decision making was a skill that Peter had been honing for a while. "Do you want me to get you something too? Or maybe you'd like to get away from the crowded dance floor and get some fresh alcohol-y air in the kitchen?" Compromise always worked. Or usually worked. Peter finished his drink as he pondered how much a compromise he had just made.
Wait, why does that matter?

[Sunnybunny]

(( if I'm breaking post order I'm sorry. I just don't know what post order is anymore ))

Feo was going to pick up all this glass. She really was, her parents didn't raise her to be a rude houseguest. But they didn't raise her to punch crackheads in the face with glass in her hand either, so she was trying to calm herself down. Feo liked to pretend to herself that she was a real classy broad, so she was going to attempt to behave like one. Wait.

Was Jim Bean all over her fucking heels? Son of a bitch.

"Hey Feo?"

Feo looked up and was pleasantly surprised to see Ricky (last names were a moot point right now). Feo wasn't gonna lie to herself, the sport players of Bayview were her favorite people to flirt with. They were so confident, most of them wouldn't flinch even when she brought her A-game to the table. On the downside, most of them were jerks. She wouldn't even say that Ricky wasn't a jerk, she just knew he also happened to be a decent guy. And he was Italian, hello.

"You're looking like you need a drink. Want some?"

JACKPOT. For a brief second, Feo's eyes lit up. It sounded pathetic, but this was really the nicest thing someone had done for her all day. She didn't even feel like having Coke with her Barcardi anymore. What she needed was to get nice and buzzed again. After she cleaned this glass up, of course.

She smiled. "You are a saint among drunk partiers, and my fucking hero to boot. Let me get this shit cleaned up and I'll join ya." She started picking up the glass near them. "Oh yeah, thank you."

Can't forget my manners, right Wren? You're always saying, "When a man presents himself as a gentleman, then it's time to be a lady." Oh yeah, I've got to call her when and if I come home tonight. A slumber party might be in order.

((Feo Eleri Smith continued in She Shook Me Cold))

[MurderWeasel]

Peter explained that his big purpose behind being at the party was the drinks, which Kimberly thought was as good a reason to be there as any. He explained that he hadn't had that many, only three or four.

To Kimberly, at least, that didn't exactly sound like a small number, though it was certainly nowhere near the awe-inspiring heights of drunkenness some of her friends and acquaintances had achieved in the past. She was actually starting to feel like a bit of a spoilsport, not drinking all that much. As Peter took a sip of his drink, Kimberly upturned hers, and swallowed half the remaining liquid.

I shouldn't have done that...

To hell with that. I can drink whatever I want however I want in any quantity I want.

Peter said he was going to the kitchen, and offered to bring Kimberly a drink, or to have her accompany him.

I could use another drink, Peter, but I'm not letting you get it for me. No offense or anything; just being safe, you know. It's not like I know you particularly well or anything, and this is a fairly crazy party.

"I don't need another drink just yet," she said, "Hang on."

Then she tipped her cup once again, draining it of contents.

"Alright," she said, "Let's go." She started towards the kitchen, slipping between people where necessary, politely shoving aside another girl who bumped into her.

[Hallucinojelly†]

"M-maybe."

They stood for a moment in total silence, not saying a word to one another as Hilary tried to plan her next move. She had enough cheap booze inside her body to give her the push she needed to finally tell Brock how she felt, but at the same time she didn't have enough to do it without falling over her own words.

Glancing at her reflection in the window, she pulled up her shirt so that her shoulders weren't showing quite as much as they were before, then turned back to look directly up at his face. She'd seen just how much of a state she was in during that quick glance, and realised if she consumed any more alcohol she may have ended up letting out more than her feelings for him, which she wanted to avoid at all costs.

"Can we go somewhere a bit quieter?"

She'd fixated herself on his eyes now- her rich blue eyes matching the cerulean blues of his own beneath the heavy glow of the porch light.

[D/N]

"No problem." Oh yeah, fucking hero.

Feo was up for it, course she was, any girl'd be. But she'd wanted to clean up the glass bottle first ah comeon it's a party this shit happens, which left him sitting there waiting like a schmuck.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," he said, watching her drop down and start picking up a couple of the bigger pieces. Damn, what the hell did she care about some glass on the ground? This was Corrigan's fucking place, let him clean it up. But hey, maybe she was just a generous person or something, that was pretty fucking nice. A little goddamn decency never hurt anyone, at least she wasn't like that last fuckin' cheerleader he'd dated, Christ God Almighty he'd broken things off with HER in a goddamn hurry, and then she'd been all pissy and bitched about him to everyone she could, bloody broads...

Ricky lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip. Ah, there we go. Feo was still busy with the glass, and he guessed maybe he was supposed to help her, if for no other reason than because he didn't feel like draining the whole bottle alone. Plus, well face it, it wasn't like he didn't want to stroll off with the hot Brazilian chick. And fucking hell, one of these bozos might step on her head or something stupid like that if she didn't get off the floor.

There was still some of the broken glass near his feet. Shrugging, Ricky discreetly kicked it aside, knocking it under the stove. Hey, that counted as helping. Nobody looked under their fuckin' stove anyway. He booted another piece down to join it.

[Solomir†]

Flat beer is kinda nasty. The only time Peter would drink flat beer was if he had paid for the drink. Of course, house parties meant that the beer was usually 'borrowed' from another happy partygoer; Peter would just bring a bottle or two of liquor as tribute, and make liberal use of the fifteen other drinks that people brought to make strange concoctions to get himself drunk. Well, drunk and puking, but puking was an occasional unintended side effect.
That's because you do stupid things like putting JD, tequila, and rum in Sprite.
Peter was impressed by how easily Kimberly downed her beer. It wasn't the manly thing to do, but Peter always would grimace after drinking a cup of warm beer. Cold, fizzy beer was just so much better after all. Warm beer just tasted... ew.

Oh right, it was time to get new drinks. Peter stepped aside to let Kimberly get in front of him to go to kitchen. After all, ladies first and all that jazz. They weaved their way through the crowded house and descended onto the mess once known as the kitchen. The remains of a liquor bottle were on the floor, with the sizable spill to indicate the amount of wasted booze. There was a guy and a girl, Peter couldn't tell who from behind, picking up some of the larger pieces of glass. At least somebody else here was responsible.
Responsible? You?
Peter watched them as he shuffled his way across the kitchen to the fridge. Feo Smith and Ricky Fortino. It would be hard to tell who was making moves on whom in that pair, not that it mattered; only results mattered. Peter, on the other hand, had gotten saddled with Kim Nguyen. It wasn't entirely a bad thing, he just wished that he could be spending time with someone a bit more... normal?
What's with the fixation on normal? She might be a bit odd but she's not a monster.
Peter didn't miss Ricky standing and kicking some pieces of glass under the stove. Scratch that about responsible people. Did he even know how much work it would be to clean under there after the party?
You'd do the same thing, even during the clean-up.
Well, he was at the fridge now and it was time for another drink. He opened it and scanned the contents. There should be enough supplies to handle another hour or two. "So, do you want a beer, a cooler, or shots, Kim?" Peter hadn't actually decided what he'd drink this round. He'd probably just go along with what Kim chose.

[Slam]

((Janet Claymont continued from The Throwdown))

Step 1: Arrive buzzed in order to show experience when handling alcohol, and therefore superiority to the lightweights.

Technically she hadn't been invited, but a small detail like that was never anything that stopped Janet Claymont from taking advantage of the situation; Colligan was throwing THE party of the semester, and what sort of self respecting cheerleader would she be if she didn't do it the honour of appearing? She had a duty to these things, after all!

It wasn't often that Janet wore more than her casual white shirt and blue jeans, but for a change she felt like dressing fancy: light blue tank top with a dash of glitter spread above her cleavage; tight black jeans with a new, glossy white belt, and a sexy new pair of boots – with a look like that, who could possibly kick her out?

"Janet, where're you going all dressed up?"

"A party, Joe. It's the big thing for any of the self-respecting seniors."

It'd be nice if she could've brought Joe along or something, since she knew he'd love to go to a party, but the other seniors would hardly be friendly towards him; the last thing she needed to have to do was to beat the living crap out of everyone there. Of course, it wasn't that she didn't think she could: she just didn't want to spend the night making new enemies.

Still, a quick stop off at the liquor store and a little help from a guy in the parking lot, and she had already downed her three warm-up beers, swaying on the spot. The thought of brining some beer as a contribution never even occurred to her.

Step 2: Make a great entrance to automatically garner the attention of the other people present.

Finally arriving at the street outside the party of all parties (at least for now), Janet didn't have much trouble spotting the house; the pile of teenagers outside (half of which were throwing up) made the spot easily identifiable. Stopping outside the gate, a few drunken eyes briefly wandered over her, as Janet soaked up her self-invented glory; she hadn't even done anything, and she was already getting the looks!

Still, she could hardly stand outside all day getting stared at by the guys who couldn't hold their booze; there was a party to attend!

Walking down the path, carefully avoiding broken glass; moist puddles; and drunken teens, Janet arrived at the front door. Giving herself one last once-over, she thought of her available options; she downed the last beer in her reserve to speed up her creative thinking.

"Well, there's always the classic 'Barge in and make some noise'..."

Oh sure, smash open the door, call out your name, and get the looks; it may do the job, but its hardly inventive.

Now, this may be the beer talking, but I have an idea...

Sneaking around the back was hardly difficult, apart from almost tripping up over the fence; they should really secure that thing a little more: it was way shakier than any fence she'd leapt before! After that, she found herself a conveniently placed flower trellis, which proved only slightly easier to climb than the fence. Ignoring all the stares she got from the bewildered, slightly intoxicated spectators on the ground, Janet shimmied her way up hazily into the open window waiting for her above.

Tripping over the ledge and falling flat over the desk underneath proved to be a rather unsubtle entry in the long run. Gathering up the heap she had landed in, Janet raised her finger to her lips, gesturing at the couple on the bed staring at her in horror.

"Shhhh....."

With a chuckle, she moved over to the door, and after a moment of fumbling pulled it open. Still gesturing to the couple to be quiet, she staggered her way over to the staircase.

Remember Janet, making an entrance is very important to a party!

After a few attempts, Janet finally managed to sit herself on the railing. With a deep breath, she kicked off her feet and slowly slithered down.

"Ladies and gentlemen: Janet Claymont!"

Waving her hands up in the air to signal her location, after about twenty seconds of the slow crawl she finally arrived at the bottom, being sure to stick her landing.

"I have successfully entered the party!"

Final Step: Make yourself the focal point of attention in order to bring life to the party with your interesting tales of humour, and if possible dominate the video games.

Despite the crowd of people blocking out most of room, Janet couldn't notice anything that looked like a video game to her; that just left her having to make herself the prime target for people's attention.

That'd be the easiest part! All she'd have to do is -

Did I think this far?

Humph. The perfect procedure had been interrupted by her lack of planning. Was it possible to save it?

"Guess a drink'll solve this problem!"

Sliding over to the arrangement of various alcohols, Janet grabbed herself the nearest can she could get her hands on, and took a swig.

Let's see what this party has to offer...

[MurderWeasel]

Kimberly made her way to the kitchen, not bothering to see if Peter was behind her. He'd keep up, or, well, the house wasn't exactly big enough to get lost in, so he'd find her sooner or later. The kitchen was a mess. Someone had broken a bottle on the ground. Kimberly expertly stepped over the glass, ignoring the cleanup crew entirely. It wasn't like she'd made the mess; why should she even consider cleaning it up?

She only vaguely recognized the people on the ground anyways. Feo and Ricky, two people from school who Kimberly had never cared enough to bother learning anything about. She hardly ever paid too much attention to the individuals in the sea of faces, unless they were different or interesting somehow. While Bayview had its share of losers and freaks, most of them were just boring posers, people who had nothing better to do than try to be cool by wearing fancy suits and stupid shit like that. Kimberly had always found herself more drawn to the "emo" crowd, the group all the idiots looked down on for being too genuine or something.

Peter had made his way to the fridge, and asked, "So, do you want a beer, a cooler, or shots, Kim?".

She hadn't been planning to drink all that much, but she realized there was no point in trying to fight it anymore, and besides, Peter had just set her up perfectly for a flippant response.

"Yes," she said with a smile.

Then she heard someone announcing herself quite loudly from somewhere else in the party. She didn't care enough to actually pay attention to whoever it was; it was almost certainly some attention whore (in every possible meaning of the word) buzzed on ecstasy or something. She honestly didn't care. Not at all. What did it matter to her if someone was being an obnoxious bitch? It was a party, that was par for the course, and besides, there had been way more serious offenses that she hadn't even blinked over in the past hour.

Still, the whole situation demanded at least some comment.

"Some people," she said, "are just so fucking full of themselves."

[Solomir†]

That... wasn't an answer. At least not a proper one. Maybe she hadn't heard him offer three choices. So which one did she hear? Which one did she want?
All of them of course. How else are you gonna get her trashed for the night?
Peter reached into the fridge and fished around for some beverages. He looked around in there for a moment, moving liquor bottles and beer cans around as he looked for something worth drinking. Smirnoff, Coors, Captain Morgan's, Jack Daniels, they were fine to drink but maybe Kim would appreciate something a little more interesting. Like... that bottle over there. He pulled it out and showed it to Kim.
Wait. Why the fuck is that here? And why the fuck isn't it gone already?
"Guess what I found in the-"

Peter was cut off by some the announcement of the arrival of Janet Claymont. God, what an attention whore. He could agree wholeheartedly with Kim's comment. "Just ignore her. We shouldn't feed trolls," he said to her in an attempt to draw her attention back to the bottle of liquor he was holding.

It looked like just another bottle of Bacardi rum. That might've been why people had ignored it. The big difference was the big red "151" on the label. Bacardi 151 was the stuff of legends, with an alcohol content unheard of by the normal high schooler. Peter never thought he'd see a bottle himself until he was in college. But here it was, almost full and sitting in Justin's fridge.

"How trashed do you plan on getting tonight, Kim?" The safest thing to do was probably mix it in a cocktail, or take about half a shot and chase it. Peter had no doubt that a shot of this stuff would seriously fuck a person up for the rest of the night.
All according to plan?

[Namira]

"Quieter? Yeah, maybe that'd be a good idea. Uh... I'm not sure anywhere in the house would be too great."

As it stood, the outside of the house probably was where it was quietest. At the party at least. But wait, what if Hilary had meant like... away from the party? She couldn't have meant that, it wasn't possible, right? But then, given those few seconds they'd spent absolutely locked in each other's eyes...

No, no, and no. She meant somewhere in the party. It can't be anything else. We barely know each other, we have nothing in common except jumping at shadows!

Brock stood there awkwardly for a second, but then, that seemed to be the norm when the two of them were talking. It wasn't exactly conversation more the odd sentence punctuated with lengthy silences as each of them tried to figure out what they were going to say.

"Your choice," Brock said finally, handily dumping off the decisions ball.

[Acelister†]

((Rizzo Vitoria continued from That High Speed Chicken Feed))

Rizzo arrived at the party, carrying a bag of jello shots. He was late - typical! At least he'd been able to get changed out of his dumpster-diving clothes... But thanks to that druggy, he had been late home - which meant he was late to eat - which meant he was late to get out of the house and meet up with his cousin and get the jello shots.

'The things other people make me late for...' he grumbled to himself.

He entered the house, passing by the various people making out, groping and trying to actually have sex in public, heading into the kitchen.

"Who ordered jello shots?" He asked. He's starting to think he should have had a few of his caffiene pills before he got here. His last two were wearing off. At least he didn't have to go home tonight, on the off-chance he hooked up with anyone. Apparently this house was parent-free for a few more days. He just hoped nobody would draw on him or take pictures... Some heavily photoshopped ones had passed around school for a while after that party...

[Hallucinojelly†]

Hilary shuffled her foot nervously as she tried her best to think of a place that wouldn't be filled with vomit and sex. As her mind wandered, she remembered the couple who'd kicked her out of the bedroom she'd been sitting in all night. By her estimation, it had already been a good twenty minutes or so since, so chances were they should've been gone by now.

"I think I know a good place we can go and talk. T-those two should be gone by now."

Making sure Brock would follow her, she stepped hastily into the house, almost tripping over the frame of the door as she went. By now the house was heaving with bodies, and Hilary found it difficult just to get through the bustling crowd in front of the doorway.

"Excuse... excuse me. E-excuse me, thank you. Excuse-"

She gave a startled cry as a strange hand groped at her behind, though the arm it was connected to quickly vanished from view amongst the boisterous jocks in the hallway. Her face now beet red, she slipped past one of the girls from outside, then pushed her way onto the upstairs landing. With a sigh of relief, she then held her breath as her hand curled around the brass handle of the bedroom door.

"Sorry, I just need to..."

Her voice trailed off as she opened the door, seeing no evidence that anyone was still occupying the room. Looking behind her to see if Brock was still with her, she indicated that it was all clear before she stepped into the dimly-lit bedroom.