All things considered, he had a pretty good little set-up out here. The makeshift entrance station sat outside of the front door to the house, serving as an admittance area for the biggest party of the year for anyone who was anyone at George Hunter High School. The flyers had adorned the school property for weeks, and word had spread even faster than that through social media. It had a presence in the minds of students, and perhaps more importantly - a hashtag.
#Swiftball
Claudeson Bademosi couldn't help but figure that anyone walking up to the door and seeing him manning the gates might have figured themselves in the wrong place - the wrong party. But their eyes weren't deceiving them. They had arrived, and the gatekeeper to the madness was Claudeson himself.
It made him feel just a bit like Saint Peter.
((Claudeson Bademosi continued from Standing on the Precipice))
Taking a big bite out of the largest slice of pizza left on his plate, Claudeson allowed himself a half-chuckle. That was a blasphemous idea in and of itself, but in essence he wasn't completely off-base. Saint Peter was usually depicted as an elderly man who manned the gates to Heaven, acting as one of God's right hands. Of course, that was more of a popular idea of who Saint Peter was - in actuality, Peter was not the gatekeeper, but one of Jesus' most trusted advisors, commonly depicted to the right of the Lord himself. Claudeson didn't know if he were all that close to the metaphorical party gods on the inside of the house, but he was certainly manning the doors, and if he were being honest with himself, probably not being all that choosey for whom he let in.
Allowing the now-warm pizza to roll around in his mouth as he chewed, Claudeson looked out at the array of teenagers who were all over the hefty property Forrest's family owned. The potential of the police being called was slim, as the gated community tended to have its own personal security patrol, many of whom had already poked their heads by. Evidently, they had been warned (and likely bought off) in advance of the party, and so Claudeson barely had any work to do. It was simple work, really. Look out for the police, don't let anyone completely foreign or potentially dangerous in, and ensure that no one brought a potentially combustible element to what should have been a good night. Claudeson had assured Mikki that he would do his best to allow the party to go off without a hitch.
Which it was. The party was in full swing, though it wasn't like Claude had been all that selective on who won the entrance lottery. To say that he'd been a tad... loose on his duties would have been generous. Claudeson had mostly waved people through with zeal, revelling in the confused expressions that awaited him. Manning the door at this kind of a party would easily combat the reputation that had slowly circulated as late of him being some sort of snitch, some sort of narc. The reputation inevitably had come from the Carters as a result of their late night encounter with Tyrell, but so what?
Claudeson had already let at least three people in to the party who were certainly carrying harder drugs. They'd known it, and so had he. In his eyes, he was doing them a favour. In theirs, they were thankful that he didn't care, and at least one person had privately thanked him. He'd returned the gesture with a smile. If someone overdosed on something inside, it wouldn't be his fault. It would be their own. He was doing a good thing here by allowing his peers to have their fun. This was a stressful time of year for everyone, and if people wanted to blow off steam in their own particular way - illegal and immoral as it may be, Claudeson would let them. Addiction was a terrible thing, and he hated to see anyone fall victim to such a demon, but the more that someone wanted to do drugs, the less he would be able to stop them.
So why try?
He took another bite of his pizza, and looked up the driveway. It was the evening, but people were coming and going even still. The night was cool, and Claudeson wore a white buttoned-up shirt underneath a grey sweater and jeans. He could hear the music blaring from inside of the house, and nodded along to the beat a little as he finished his slice.
He was glad he'd decided to come and help Mikki out. It made him feel good.
The Good in Everyone
#Swiftball; open to all - feel free to pass through
[ Julien Leblanc continued from Adult Education ]
The look on Faith's face when he'd pulled the cover off of the bicycle was truly priceless. It wasn't his style, but the chance to get one over on her had been worth it. He'd taken the keys to the Yamaha out a few moments later anyway.
And once again, he found himself grateful for the fact that he didn't have to be quite so worried about where he parked and how he got out as the drivers of all these damned cars. There was enough for Julien to be worried about over anyway, like the fact that with the way Tennessee laws were if he helped himself to anything 'fun' at the party at all and got pulled over on the ride out, he was fucked at a value of about 15 on a 10-point scale.
Slipping the crash helmet off his head, he made sure that everything was secure as he wanted it to be before he headed up to— wow, this place was massive. And was that... Claude? Of all the people?
Yes, it did make a certain kind of sense, his being out front as he was, but that was still quite a dissonant sight to be greeted by; a necessary one to face all the same if he actually wanted in as well. So he walked on up to him and made his acquaintance.
"You're the doorman? She made an interesting choice." He was hardly complaining though. Claudeson was a much friendlier face to have waiting than the likes of either of the Carters, especially with all things considered. Faith wasn't following him up yet, it seemed, but she could make her way along in her own time.
The look on Faith's face when he'd pulled the cover off of the bicycle was truly priceless. It wasn't his style, but the chance to get one over on her had been worth it. He'd taken the keys to the Yamaha out a few moments later anyway.
And once again, he found himself grateful for the fact that he didn't have to be quite so worried about where he parked and how he got out as the drivers of all these damned cars. There was enough for Julien to be worried about over anyway, like the fact that with the way Tennessee laws were if he helped himself to anything 'fun' at the party at all and got pulled over on the ride out, he was fucked at a value of about 15 on a 10-point scale.
Slipping the crash helmet off his head, he made sure that everything was secure as he wanted it to be before he headed up to— wow, this place was massive. And was that... Claude? Of all the people?
Yes, it did make a certain kind of sense, his being out front as he was, but that was still quite a dissonant sight to be greeted by; a necessary one to face all the same if he actually wanted in as well. So he walked on up to him and made his acquaintance.
"You're the doorman? She made an interesting choice." He was hardly complaining though. Claudeson was a much friendlier face to have waiting than the likes of either of the Carters, especially with all things considered. Faith wasn't following him up yet, it seemed, but she could make her way along in her own time.
It was at that point someone stumbled out of the house, tripping on the small step between the door and driveway.
She couldn't even get out of her own house properly. Man, that was embarrassing.
((Forrest Quin continued from Half Psychotic Sick Hypnotic))
Taking a moment Forrest planted her legs and froze in place to make sure she didn't continue to fall. She had a drink of...something. The container contained a liquid of some sort of alcoholic variety. The actual makeup of the mysterious liquid was unknown to her. A mystery of the universe itself. It would remain an enigma that she would never solve. Not even until her dying day, which would probably be getting mown down by a car at age twenty-three or something. That seemed to be how she rolled. Not that she'd roll after getting hit by the care. She'd probably just flat.
As she looked up for the first time since emerging from the bowels of the party monster Forrest realized she wasn't alone. She shouldn't have been surprised, she knew Claude was acting as the doorman for their free to enter, ruleless club society. There were species of monkies who probably had more social rules and norms then drunk people did. Dance. Drink. Drugs. Dance. Drink. Drugs. Dance. Drink. Drugs. Dance. Drugs. Drink. Dance. Drink. Puke. Dance. Drink.
"Yo Claudeman doorman." She said as she sat herself down on her drive. "And...uh..." Shit. It began with J..."Jiles." Wait, didn't that normally have a G?
She took a long gulp of her drink before setting it down on top of the flyer she was also carrying. Then she began fishing around for her weed and weed accessories.
"How're you guys doing?"
She couldn't even get out of her own house properly. Man, that was embarrassing.
((Forrest Quin continued from Half Psychotic Sick Hypnotic))
Taking a moment Forrest planted her legs and froze in place to make sure she didn't continue to fall. She had a drink of...something. The container contained a liquid of some sort of alcoholic variety. The actual makeup of the mysterious liquid was unknown to her. A mystery of the universe itself. It would remain an enigma that she would never solve. Not even until her dying day, which would probably be getting mown down by a car at age twenty-three or something. That seemed to be how she rolled. Not that she'd roll after getting hit by the care. She'd probably just flat.
As she looked up for the first time since emerging from the bowels of the party monster Forrest realized she wasn't alone. She shouldn't have been surprised, she knew Claude was acting as the doorman for their free to enter, ruleless club society. There were species of monkies who probably had more social rules and norms then drunk people did. Dance. Drink. Drugs. Dance. Drink. Drugs. Dance. Drink. Drugs. Dance. Drugs. Drink. Dance. Drink. Puke. Dance. Drink.
"Yo Claudeman doorman." She said as she sat herself down on her drive. "And...uh..." Shit. It began with J..."Jiles." Wait, didn't that normally have a G?
She took a long gulp of her drink before setting it down on top of the flyer she was also carrying. Then she began fishing around for her weed and weed accessories.
"How're you guys doing?"
V8
Aracelis Fuentes
California “Cali” Fox
Darryl Smith Jr.
Jessica Romero
Roberta “Robbie” Woodvine
Aracelis Fuentes
California “Cali” Fox
Darryl Smith Jr.
Jessica Romero
Roberta “Robbie” Woodvine
Claudeson's ears were able to detect the motorcycle before his eyes could, and for a brief moment, he pondered if he were about to have a figurative run-in with the law. As his eyes picked the oncoming vehicle out of the darkness, he relaxed a little as the bike pulled in to the driveway of Forrest's massive house. Not only was it not a police vehicle, there were two occupants, which simply meant: another few partygoers. Taking another furtive bite of his pizza to finish off the slice, Claude looked up to see Julien Leblanc making his way up the front path of the house. Much like half of the people inside, Julien reacted with a momentary sense of confusion, followed by what looked to be quick acceptance of his situation.
He relished in that feeling as Julien approached. Nearly everyone was very put off by the fact that one of the more straight-and-narrow types was in charge of entrance to the den of filth and debauchery within. It gave him the upper hand on any verbal jousts, and the non sequitur of it all had diffused more than a few potentially difficult situations already. As Julien approached, he verbalized his confusion. Claudeson greeted him with a broad smile.
He was enjoying this.
"Julien! Welcome to the party. If I were to be so bold, I might call it an inspired choice." He winked at the other boy. He didn't know Julien all that well, but his reputation was that of a guy who didn't handle confrontation all that well. Sussing him out wouldn't take much effort, particularly considering that someone else seemed to be on the bike with him. He didn't instantly recognize the second person under the helmet. Turning his immediate attention back to Julien, he gestured at the helmet in his hand.
"All kidding aside, would I be correct in guessing that you're not hiding any vicious weaponry in that helmet?" He thought back to something that Forrest had said. "I believe the point of the party is to celebrate love, not make war." He furrowed his brow. That wasn't quite right. "Something like that. You know what I mean."
Before Claude could correct his attempt at a joke, the two of them were rather suddenly (and uneasily) joined by one of the hosts of their party, as Forrest stumbled out of the front door of her house. Jumping out of his chair, Claudeson stopped as she caught herself short of falling over the step. He half-hid his look of disdain at her answering that stumble with a long drink from her cup, masking it behind a show of concern. That was very typical of this kind of crowd. So intoxicated, so drunk that they barely knew where they were.
Had Forrest actually fallen down, perhaps she'd have thought twice about getting so drunk. Of course, she was so drunk, she probably wouldn't have realized it until the next day. Plus then, Claudeson would have had to spend time ensuring that she got whatever proper medical care she needed - and the last time he'd done that, it hadn't exactly gone the way that he'd hoped.
No matter. He looked at Forrest, raised an eyebrow, and pasted a smile back upon his face.
"Ahh, Forrest! Welcome to the Gates of Swiftball. Julien just got here, and I am sure he's eager to join the fray." Claudeson had picked up on Forrest's butchery of the other boy's name, and made sure to emphasize it slightly as he gestured to the new arrival.
"I am well, it's a nice night and everyone's behaving. How are you," the timbre of his voice changed as he saw her rummaging through her bag, having half an idea what she might be looking for, "doing - is the party going well?"
He relished in that feeling as Julien approached. Nearly everyone was very put off by the fact that one of the more straight-and-narrow types was in charge of entrance to the den of filth and debauchery within. It gave him the upper hand on any verbal jousts, and the non sequitur of it all had diffused more than a few potentially difficult situations already. As Julien approached, he verbalized his confusion. Claudeson greeted him with a broad smile.
He was enjoying this.
"Julien! Welcome to the party. If I were to be so bold, I might call it an inspired choice." He winked at the other boy. He didn't know Julien all that well, but his reputation was that of a guy who didn't handle confrontation all that well. Sussing him out wouldn't take much effort, particularly considering that someone else seemed to be on the bike with him. He didn't instantly recognize the second person under the helmet. Turning his immediate attention back to Julien, he gestured at the helmet in his hand.
"All kidding aside, would I be correct in guessing that you're not hiding any vicious weaponry in that helmet?" He thought back to something that Forrest had said. "I believe the point of the party is to celebrate love, not make war." He furrowed his brow. That wasn't quite right. "Something like that. You know what I mean."
Before Claude could correct his attempt at a joke, the two of them were rather suddenly (and uneasily) joined by one of the hosts of their party, as Forrest stumbled out of the front door of her house. Jumping out of his chair, Claudeson stopped as she caught herself short of falling over the step. He half-hid his look of disdain at her answering that stumble with a long drink from her cup, masking it behind a show of concern. That was very typical of this kind of crowd. So intoxicated, so drunk that they barely knew where they were.
Had Forrest actually fallen down, perhaps she'd have thought twice about getting so drunk. Of course, she was so drunk, she probably wouldn't have realized it until the next day. Plus then, Claudeson would have had to spend time ensuring that she got whatever proper medical care she needed - and the last time he'd done that, it hadn't exactly gone the way that he'd hoped.
No matter. He looked at Forrest, raised an eyebrow, and pasted a smile back upon his face.
"Ahh, Forrest! Welcome to the Gates of Swiftball. Julien just got here, and I am sure he's eager to join the fray." Claudeson had picked up on Forrest's butchery of the other boy's name, and made sure to emphasize it slightly as he gestured to the new arrival.
"I am well, it's a nice night and everyone's behaving. How are you," the timbre of his voice changed as he saw her rummaging through her bag, having half an idea what she might be looking for, "doing - is the party going well?"
Now what do you mean by that, I wonder?
Julien showed a smile of his own, the same countenance as always. He hadn't paid Forrest much mind when she came stumbling on out, since Claude looked to have it handled and she was able to catch herself in time anyway.
"Oh no, no weapons in there. Just someone looking to kick back a little," he said, before turning to... Well, she was likely more alcohol than sense at this point, but at least she had enough of it not to completely mangle his name. And yet she was still looking for more, at a guess. It didn't especially surprise him.
"I'm doing alright, thank you."
He wasn't about to judge Forrest for it though. His idea of fun was a rather more tame one, yes, but to each their own, as the saying went.
Julien showed a smile of his own, the same countenance as always. He hadn't paid Forrest much mind when she came stumbling on out, since Claude looked to have it handled and she was able to catch herself in time anyway.
"Oh no, no weapons in there. Just someone looking to kick back a little," he said, before turning to... Well, she was likely more alcohol than sense at this point, but at least she had enough of it not to completely mangle his name. And yet she was still looking for more, at a guess. It didn't especially surprise him.
"I'm doing alright, thank you."
He wasn't about to judge Forrest for it though. His idea of fun was a rather more tame one, yes, but to each their own, as the saying went.
"Yeah party's," Forrest paused as she placed the joint in her mouth and lit it. "lit fam." She grinned goofily as the smoke lapped at her lips. With a small roar, she blew it in the direction of Jilesen.
She knew, she could see the truth. She was more house than person to the people at the party. It was whatever. It was something and something was better than nothing. People had been nice to her but you were supposed to be nice to a host although she wasn't even considered the host. The party wsa at her house but sh was n't the house-host. Fuck she was drunk.
Forrest rubbed at the side of her head and took a healthy drink of the mystery alcohol.
"I'm awesome man." She said as she put the joint back to her lips. "Party is banging, everyone's having a good time." Her eyes caught sight of the flyer again so she took another sip of her drink before placing it back on the paper notice. "it's a success."
She blew out another smoke cloud and swirled it around with her finger.
"But hey J, word of warning if you're going to go in there." She paused and stared him dead in the eye for maximum dramatic effect.
"Doing a tequila suicide is like shooting a firework from your ass, for a split second it feels amazing, then it starts to burn."
She knew, she could see the truth. She was more house than person to the people at the party. It was whatever. It was something and something was better than nothing. People had been nice to her but you were supposed to be nice to a host although she wasn't even considered the host. The party wsa at her house but sh was n't the house-host. Fuck she was drunk.
Forrest rubbed at the side of her head and took a healthy drink of the mystery alcohol.
"I'm awesome man." She said as she put the joint back to her lips. "Party is banging, everyone's having a good time." Her eyes caught sight of the flyer again so she took another sip of her drink before placing it back on the paper notice. "it's a success."
She blew out another smoke cloud and swirled it around with her finger.
"But hey J, word of warning if you're going to go in there." She paused and stared him dead in the eye for maximum dramatic effect.
"Doing a tequila suicide is like shooting a firework from your ass, for a split second it feels amazing, then it starts to burn."
As the wave of thick marijuana smoke wafted his way, courtesy of the party host herself, Claudeson shut his eyes, unable to restrain the momentary look of annoyance that flashed upon his face. The stench of the drug was impossible to ignore and were he standing in the general vicinity of the front of the house, he would have been able to pick up on it -- let alone standing right beside its source. Allowing a moment for the smoke to wash across both him and Julien, he opened his eyes, restoring his standard smiling visage as he did so. At this point, reprimanding the host of the party would do him no favours, as she was almost entirely out of her mind on an array of drugs.
It was difficult to hide his disdain, but he managed.
"That's excellent! I'm glad to hear the party is going well. You put a lot of work in," he gestured at the flyers - in her hand, on the walls, the literature was virtually everywhere.
Eyes going a little wide at the colourful manner that Forrest described a 'tequila suicide', Claudeson blinked and gave his head a quick half-shake before turning back to Julien, shooting him a knowing look. Both boys were stone-sober, and they had to recognize that they were currently dealing with someone who ... well, wasn't. Since Julien had satisfied his incredibly loose criteria for entry to the event (show up, don't wave a weapon around), he nodded and gestured to the door of the house.
"I'm glad to hear that you're not planning on causing," he pointed his next words, more for Julien's benefit than Forrest's, "any more of a ruckus, so please - feel free to head in, and make yourself at home! I can't speak to where any of those 'tequila suicides' are, but I would guess that the kitchen is probably a good place to start."
Crinkling his nose at the ever-present marijuana smell, Claude turned to the drunken host once more and kept the smile pasted upon his face, all the while shoving his disdain for drugs into the back of his mind. He'd known this would happen, but for it to be so egregiously open was trying.
"Are you feeling all right, Forrest? I am no expert, but I can't imagine that mixing alcohol," he swallowed his pride, "and weed would be a great idea. At least have a bottle of water, just in case?"
Leaning down, he grabbed a bottle of water out of the small cooler that he'd been provided with earlier on in the evening along with the pizza. Having water on hand at an event like this was a smart call, particularly for anyone who looked like they might be dried out as a result of whatever they'd ingested. He held the bottle out to Forrest, waiting to see if she'd accept it. While he didn't approve of any of this nonsense, she was only trying to show her classmates a good time. He couldn't fault her for that - she'd done what she set out to do; laughter seemed aplenty from what he'd heard while manning the door from the outside.
It was difficult to hide his disdain, but he managed.
"That's excellent! I'm glad to hear the party is going well. You put a lot of work in," he gestured at the flyers - in her hand, on the walls, the literature was virtually everywhere.
Eyes going a little wide at the colourful manner that Forrest described a 'tequila suicide', Claudeson blinked and gave his head a quick half-shake before turning back to Julien, shooting him a knowing look. Both boys were stone-sober, and they had to recognize that they were currently dealing with someone who ... well, wasn't. Since Julien had satisfied his incredibly loose criteria for entry to the event (show up, don't wave a weapon around), he nodded and gestured to the door of the house.
"I'm glad to hear that you're not planning on causing," he pointed his next words, more for Julien's benefit than Forrest's, "any more of a ruckus, so please - feel free to head in, and make yourself at home! I can't speak to where any of those 'tequila suicides' are, but I would guess that the kitchen is probably a good place to start."
Crinkling his nose at the ever-present marijuana smell, Claude turned to the drunken host once more and kept the smile pasted upon his face, all the while shoving his disdain for drugs into the back of his mind. He'd known this would happen, but for it to be so egregiously open was trying.
"Are you feeling all right, Forrest? I am no expert, but I can't imagine that mixing alcohol," he swallowed his pride, "and weed would be a great idea. At least have a bottle of water, just in case?"
Leaning down, he grabbed a bottle of water out of the small cooler that he'd been provided with earlier on in the evening along with the pizza. Having water on hand at an event like this was a smart call, particularly for anyone who looked like they might be dried out as a result of whatever they'd ingested. He held the bottle out to Forrest, waiting to see if she'd accept it. While he didn't approve of any of this nonsense, she was only trying to show her classmates a good time. He couldn't fault her for that - she'd done what she set out to do; laughter seemed aplenty from what he'd heard while manning the door from the outside.
((Tyrell Lahti continued from Standing on the Precipice))
Usually Tyrell walked quickly. Given his long legs he usually found himself struggling to not immediately pull ahead of any group that he was walking with. Tonight was no exception, though is pace quickened as he read the text message from Erika. She was no doubt being more than a bit irresponsible in her drug use tonight.
That sounded like something of an oxymoron, but he knew Erika to normally be very new-age and proactive in making sure that she was using hallucinogens responsibly. Trip-sitters, set and setting, making sure to check all the right boxes. Ty had been around for it before. He'd driven her into the mountains to pick up the M for the party, which was an unsettling experience in and of itself. Apparently her connect was an old friend of her father's. Erika seemed to think he was just a hippie chemist who was "on the spectrum" but the guy clearly had a few screws loose. That Tyrell was even there meant that Erika didn't entirely trust him either, which put him on edge. The dude threw in a tab of "chemically pure" LSD for her to try, which Erika accepted pretty much without question.
Normally that'd be something you'd do in a comfortable room, with some activities and a trip sitter. She had other plans, and dropped it before heading to the party. Ty would've told her to pump the brakes on that particular course of action, but he only found out after an erratic text message. It left him with a pit in his stomach and a strong desire to get to Forrest's mansion as fast as possible.
"Ugh, I hate giving a shit."
The game plan was to keep distance, as there were different people they usually hung around. Their friends mixed like oil and water, it turned out. So Ty would watch over Erika and make sure she got home alright. It wasn't a bad idea, at least not in theory. Given what was probably occurring now, he figured he'd probably just hang around her for the whole party. It wasn't like he was itching to make it to #Swiftball in the first place. It was a party like any other, just much bigger. Whatever happened, he'd find a way to salvage a good time.
Ty pocketed his vaporizer and exhaled a cloud of fruity vapor. A gift from her, it was pretty decent as an anti-smoking aid. All the nicotine with less hacking and coughing, and he now smelled faintly of "snozzleberry" or whatever the hell the vape juice was supposed to be. Walking up to the house, he spotted a familiar face manning the door, and the party's host. Claude was handing Forrest a bottle of water, and otherwise acting as something of a guardian to the whole affair. Good on him? His motivations notwithstanding, Claude had a good track record of keeping things on an even keel. At least, as far as Tyrell was concerned. Hopefully he wasn't still bitter about their last encounter. Ty hated the thought of having to waste even more time on him.
"Claude!" he flashed him a bright smile. "Our very own Virgil. Good to see you're keeping the peace."
Ty didn't expect or wait for a reply, and looked to Forrest, who seemed like she was completely shitfaced. He was jealous. "Hey Forrest, have you seen Erika? She just sent me a text, I wanna make sure she's doing alright."
Usually Tyrell walked quickly. Given his long legs he usually found himself struggling to not immediately pull ahead of any group that he was walking with. Tonight was no exception, though is pace quickened as he read the text message from Erika. She was no doubt being more than a bit irresponsible in her drug use tonight.
That sounded like something of an oxymoron, but he knew Erika to normally be very new-age and proactive in making sure that she was using hallucinogens responsibly. Trip-sitters, set and setting, making sure to check all the right boxes. Ty had been around for it before. He'd driven her into the mountains to pick up the M for the party, which was an unsettling experience in and of itself. Apparently her connect was an old friend of her father's. Erika seemed to think he was just a hippie chemist who was "on the spectrum" but the guy clearly had a few screws loose. That Tyrell was even there meant that Erika didn't entirely trust him either, which put him on edge. The dude threw in a tab of "chemically pure" LSD for her to try, which Erika accepted pretty much without question.
Normally that'd be something you'd do in a comfortable room, with some activities and a trip sitter. She had other plans, and dropped it before heading to the party. Ty would've told her to pump the brakes on that particular course of action, but he only found out after an erratic text message. It left him with a pit in his stomach and a strong desire to get to Forrest's mansion as fast as possible.
"Ugh, I hate giving a shit."
The game plan was to keep distance, as there were different people they usually hung around. Their friends mixed like oil and water, it turned out. So Ty would watch over Erika and make sure she got home alright. It wasn't a bad idea, at least not in theory. Given what was probably occurring now, he figured he'd probably just hang around her for the whole party. It wasn't like he was itching to make it to #Swiftball in the first place. It was a party like any other, just much bigger. Whatever happened, he'd find a way to salvage a good time.
Ty pocketed his vaporizer and exhaled a cloud of fruity vapor. A gift from her, it was pretty decent as an anti-smoking aid. All the nicotine with less hacking and coughing, and he now smelled faintly of "snozzleberry" or whatever the hell the vape juice was supposed to be. Walking up to the house, he spotted a familiar face manning the door, and the party's host. Claude was handing Forrest a bottle of water, and otherwise acting as something of a guardian to the whole affair. Good on him? His motivations notwithstanding, Claude had a good track record of keeping things on an even keel. At least, as far as Tyrell was concerned. Hopefully he wasn't still bitter about their last encounter. Ty hated the thought of having to waste even more time on him.
"Claude!" he flashed him a bright smile. "Our very own Virgil. Good to see you're keeping the peace."
Ty didn't expect or wait for a reply, and looked to Forrest, who seemed like she was completely shitfaced. He was jealous. "Hey Forrest, have you seen Erika? She just sent me a text, I wanna make sure she's doing alright."
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2565
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
((Lavender Ripley continued from High Literature))
Lavender wasn't even that fashionably late, but she'd had to park half a block from Forrest's house. She'd known, of course, that this was going to be a big event, but somehow the true magnitude hadn't quite become real until she saw those lines of vehicles. The density, of course, made her feel even more solid in her decision to drive herself.
The party scene was nothing new to Lavender. She'd been to her fair share, had even been to a couple college parties run by UTC students, and she was certainly no prude. She'd been drunk before, but not often and not for some time. She'd figured out quickly that she didn't like it, couldn't stand the way it made her feel woozy and unsteady, loathed how it messed with the personal censor between her thoughts and her vocalizations, and feared how it left her potentially vulnerable. Yeah, it lowered her inhibitions some, but Lavender was pretty in touch with herself and knew more or less how to lower her inhibitions without chemical enhancement or excuses. So, she'd go to parties, she'd have her fun, but most of the time she'd do it stone cold sober. Driving here was a promise to herself that this would be one of those nights. She had to be responsible to ferry herself home when things wrapped up, be that in a few hours or tomorrow morning.
When Lavender finally did near the house, the sight that greeted her was a reassuring one. There, right out front, was Claudeson Bademosi. She'd heard rumblings that he was to be the gatekeeper, but that was another thing that hadn't been quite real until she saw it with her own eyes. Claudeson was a good guy. He was also the last person in the world she'd expect to partake of drugs or alcohol, which meant he was a pretty inspired choice for peacemaker. In fact, Lavender was pretty sure Claudeson was a couple notches more uptight than she herself was; she planned to be sober tonight, but if she happened to find an opportunity to get into some party trouble that didn't involve inebriation, if, say, she found herself dancing closely with an attractive member of the opposite sex, then she wasn't opposed to having some fun. This was the last big hurrah of their high school lives, after all. It was the perfect time to live a little.
Lavender was wearing a bright red, spaghetti strap crop top under an unbuttoned, darker red long-sleeved flannel that she planned to loose if and when she got warmed up inside, as well as tight black jeans with some tasteful rips in the knees. She was in practical white flats, because she was planning to be standing all night and she didn't need heels so why wear them? She’d picked small silver studs for earrings, because a crowded party was just asking for hoops to get caught on somebody, and her left wrist was adorned with a collection of loose silver bangles. She felt good, and she felt like she looked good.
That was more than could be said for the motley assortment hanging around Claudeson. Julien, Forrest, and Tyrell were an odd mix. Lavender imagined they were all in various states of arriving, departing, or taking a breather from the overwhelming nature of the revelry. They were probably already well into their own party experiences or states of being. Forrest was blowing smoke, and Lavender would've bet it wasn't just tobacco.
She cut a path along the driveway, past the spacious front lawn, headed straight for the table, where Claudeson was set up with some pizza. Lavender tossed a wave out, vaguely, to everyone assembled and to nobody in particular.
"Hey," she called. "Good to see you all. I hope I'm not too late for the fun."
She thought she could hear, even from here, the distant thump of music. No, she wasn't too late. She was, in fact, pretty certain this party was still just getting started.
She continued towards the table, lingering right near it. There was just one little thing she wanted to take care of before she joined the festivities properly.
Lavender wasn't even that fashionably late, but she'd had to park half a block from Forrest's house. She'd known, of course, that this was going to be a big event, but somehow the true magnitude hadn't quite become real until she saw those lines of vehicles. The density, of course, made her feel even more solid in her decision to drive herself.
The party scene was nothing new to Lavender. She'd been to her fair share, had even been to a couple college parties run by UTC students, and she was certainly no prude. She'd been drunk before, but not often and not for some time. She'd figured out quickly that she didn't like it, couldn't stand the way it made her feel woozy and unsteady, loathed how it messed with the personal censor between her thoughts and her vocalizations, and feared how it left her potentially vulnerable. Yeah, it lowered her inhibitions some, but Lavender was pretty in touch with herself and knew more or less how to lower her inhibitions without chemical enhancement or excuses. So, she'd go to parties, she'd have her fun, but most of the time she'd do it stone cold sober. Driving here was a promise to herself that this would be one of those nights. She had to be responsible to ferry herself home when things wrapped up, be that in a few hours or tomorrow morning.
When Lavender finally did near the house, the sight that greeted her was a reassuring one. There, right out front, was Claudeson Bademosi. She'd heard rumblings that he was to be the gatekeeper, but that was another thing that hadn't been quite real until she saw it with her own eyes. Claudeson was a good guy. He was also the last person in the world she'd expect to partake of drugs or alcohol, which meant he was a pretty inspired choice for peacemaker. In fact, Lavender was pretty sure Claudeson was a couple notches more uptight than she herself was; she planned to be sober tonight, but if she happened to find an opportunity to get into some party trouble that didn't involve inebriation, if, say, she found herself dancing closely with an attractive member of the opposite sex, then she wasn't opposed to having some fun. This was the last big hurrah of their high school lives, after all. It was the perfect time to live a little.
Lavender was wearing a bright red, spaghetti strap crop top under an unbuttoned, darker red long-sleeved flannel that she planned to loose if and when she got warmed up inside, as well as tight black jeans with some tasteful rips in the knees. She was in practical white flats, because she was planning to be standing all night and she didn't need heels so why wear them? She’d picked small silver studs for earrings, because a crowded party was just asking for hoops to get caught on somebody, and her left wrist was adorned with a collection of loose silver bangles. She felt good, and she felt like she looked good.
That was more than could be said for the motley assortment hanging around Claudeson. Julien, Forrest, and Tyrell were an odd mix. Lavender imagined they were all in various states of arriving, departing, or taking a breather from the overwhelming nature of the revelry. They were probably already well into their own party experiences or states of being. Forrest was blowing smoke, and Lavender would've bet it wasn't just tobacco.
She cut a path along the driveway, past the spacious front lawn, headed straight for the table, where Claudeson was set up with some pizza. Lavender tossed a wave out, vaguely, to everyone assembled and to nobody in particular.
"Hey," she called. "Good to see you all. I hope I'm not too late for the fun."
She thought she could hear, even from here, the distant thump of music. No, she wasn't too late. She was, in fact, pretty certain this party was still just getting started.
She continued towards the table, lingering right near it. There was just one little thing she wanted to take care of before she joined the festivities properly.
That was certainly an... enlightening description.
"I do think I'll be staying away from the kitchen, as it goes. Being drunk will hardly help with getting myself back home, not to mention others to theirs."
For all that could or could not be said about this party, it struck Julien as an unambiguously awful place to get drunk or high. Too many of the finer points that went into awareness of one's surroundings were lost, and in a place like this that was just asking for trouble for someone. He was willing to bet that Claude had shown more foresight than most of the attendees here by using a cooler for actual water instead of something with more punch to it. Something of note, to say the least.
It did remind Julien that there was a party going on to get involved in too. And it also just so happened that Lavender and... someone whose name he didn't really know, thinking about it, made their appearance at this flagrant disregard for the sanctity of people's livers. As good a cue as any to make his exit, relatively speaking.
"See you around, Claudeson. And, ah, keep on being the life of the party, I suppose, Forrest." With that, he went on in through the door, to what was going to be a very interesting night one way or another.
[ Julien Leblanc continued elsewhere. ]
"I do think I'll be staying away from the kitchen, as it goes. Being drunk will hardly help with getting myself back home, not to mention others to theirs."
For all that could or could not be said about this party, it struck Julien as an unambiguously awful place to get drunk or high. Too many of the finer points that went into awareness of one's surroundings were lost, and in a place like this that was just asking for trouble for someone. He was willing to bet that Claude had shown more foresight than most of the attendees here by using a cooler for actual water instead of something with more punch to it. Something of note, to say the least.
It did remind Julien that there was a party going on to get involved in too. And it also just so happened that Lavender and... someone whose name he didn't really know, thinking about it, made their appearance at this flagrant disregard for the sanctity of people's livers. As good a cue as any to make his exit, relatively speaking.
"See you around, Claudeson. And, ah, keep on being the life of the party, I suppose, Forrest." With that, he went on in through the door, to what was going to be a very interesting night one way or another.
[ Julien Leblanc continued elsewhere. ]
Woah, a lot suddenly happened all at once. Three more people turned up. Wait, no, the third thing in her vision was a bottle of water being offered to her by Daudeman. She took it wordlessly and put it down next to where she was sitting, giving it a gentle pat on the top of the cap once she knew it was safely on the floor. She had a good idea what he probably wanted her to do with it but that could wait, for now, she had weed to smoke and mysterious black liquid to consume.
She was fine. She was where she wanted to be. Doing what she loved to do. Everything was going pretty great. She looked down and saw the flyer again so took another long drink from the cup. It tasted like punch that had petrol poured into it but whatever, that was fine.
One of the new people addressed her and Forrest looked up at the t a l l b o i. It was Ty. She knew of him, she thought. She'd probably heard of him. He looked like the guy from Gravity Falls. That was funny. He was asking where 'A Rika' was. There were no Rika's at the party that she knew of so he probably meant Erika.
"Hi Robbie," Forrest said as she lowered the cup. "She's uh insdie somehwere doin'stuff." She shrugged and grinned. "Having a good time probably. Party is lit."
Julien left. He actually didn't leave, that was a lie. He just went inside the house party. The house.
"Hey, Lavender." She shook her head as she inhaled more smoke. "Fun never stops at sw-my house."
She was fine. She was where she wanted to be. Doing what she loved to do. Everything was going pretty great. She looked down and saw the flyer again so took another long drink from the cup. It tasted like punch that had petrol poured into it but whatever, that was fine.
One of the new people addressed her and Forrest looked up at the t a l l b o i. It was Ty. She knew of him, she thought. She'd probably heard of him. He looked like the guy from Gravity Falls. That was funny. He was asking where 'A Rika' was. There were no Rika's at the party that she knew of so he probably meant Erika.
"Hi Robbie," Forrest said as she lowered the cup. "She's uh insdie somehwere doin'stuff." She shrugged and grinned. "Having a good time probably. Party is lit."
Julien left. He actually didn't leave, that was a lie. He just went inside the house party. The house.
"Hey, Lavender." She shook her head as she inhaled more smoke. "Fun never stops at sw-my house."
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
((Wyatt Carter has entered the party.))
He had to give it some extra effort but all his plans seemed to be working out: push off cheat day for just a few extra days so he could eat all the junk and drink all the booze he wanted, start trekking early so he could walk to Forrest's and not worry about driving himself home if he got fucked up, and pregame just a bit to keep things feeling loose.
Wyatt Carter rounded the final curve and quite possibly the largest house in Frazier's Glen came into view. Shit, what did Forrest's parents even do? That information should have been public knowledge, but the habit of not giving a shit about that sort of thing invalidated the ability to know about such basic trivia. He wouldn't be surprised if they just stumbled into the money, really; his dad worked hard for everything they had, and it took opportunity knocking in the right places and a lot of blood, sweat, tears and torn pairs of blue jeans to get where the Carter family did. Or hey, maybe Forrest's folks discovered the cure for cancer and sold it to big pharma, who fuckin' knows. Again, it wasn't important.
More important things were presenting themselves as the driveway of the property came into view from around the hedges, because not only was the rainbow-haired hostess sitting in the middle of her own fucking driveway, but the cast around her was comprised of some awfully familiar faces. Lavender "AIDS girl" Ripley. Claudeson, that pious little weasel, only just barely staying on the safe side of a cuff upside the head, and he really did mean just barely. Oh, and was that underachiever and general lost-cause, switchblade-happy McGee, Tyrell Lahti himself? Yeah, no mistaking it, they all had a real cavalcade of fuckups on their hands tonight.
Wyatt figured it was a good thing he had those three beers, because he really wanted to at least get in the door before something got him thrown out. Considering everybody out here had something personal against him... well, three of them certainly did. He and Forrest never interacted a whole ton but given that she spent her days looking like the figurehead at the mast of a gay pride parade float, chances were they didn't really see eye to eye in their whole world philosophy. Speaking of rainbows, was Forrest into other chicks? Smart money said yes. Not that there was a ton wrong with that, girl-on-girl tended to be easy on the eyes and he had the search history to prove it.
Might as well make an entrance.
"What, we trying to find the door?" Wyatt cracked, putting all his attention on Forrest when he approached up to the end of the driveway. He did his best not to recoil when breathing in... shit, he could smell the drugs from here. He reminded himself to only drink from closed containers, and to keep an eye on his cups. "Because it's like we got another party formin' out here. Not a good one buuuuut..."
He had to give it some extra effort but all his plans seemed to be working out: push off cheat day for just a few extra days so he could eat all the junk and drink all the booze he wanted, start trekking early so he could walk to Forrest's and not worry about driving himself home if he got fucked up, and pregame just a bit to keep things feeling loose.
Wyatt Carter rounded the final curve and quite possibly the largest house in Frazier's Glen came into view. Shit, what did Forrest's parents even do? That information should have been public knowledge, but the habit of not giving a shit about that sort of thing invalidated the ability to know about such basic trivia. He wouldn't be surprised if they just stumbled into the money, really; his dad worked hard for everything they had, and it took opportunity knocking in the right places and a lot of blood, sweat, tears and torn pairs of blue jeans to get where the Carter family did. Or hey, maybe Forrest's folks discovered the cure for cancer and sold it to big pharma, who fuckin' knows. Again, it wasn't important.
More important things were presenting themselves as the driveway of the property came into view from around the hedges, because not only was the rainbow-haired hostess sitting in the middle of her own fucking driveway, but the cast around her was comprised of some awfully familiar faces. Lavender "AIDS girl" Ripley. Claudeson, that pious little weasel, only just barely staying on the safe side of a cuff upside the head, and he really did mean just barely. Oh, and was that underachiever and general lost-cause, switchblade-happy McGee, Tyrell Lahti himself? Yeah, no mistaking it, they all had a real cavalcade of fuckups on their hands tonight.
Wyatt figured it was a good thing he had those three beers, because he really wanted to at least get in the door before something got him thrown out. Considering everybody out here had something personal against him... well, three of them certainly did. He and Forrest never interacted a whole ton but given that she spent her days looking like the figurehead at the mast of a gay pride parade float, chances were they didn't really see eye to eye in their whole world philosophy. Speaking of rainbows, was Forrest into other chicks? Smart money said yes. Not that there was a ton wrong with that, girl-on-girl tended to be easy on the eyes and he had the search history to prove it.
Might as well make an entrance.
"What, we trying to find the door?" Wyatt cracked, putting all his attention on Forrest when he approached up to the end of the driveway. He did his best not to recoil when breathing in... shit, he could smell the drugs from here. He reminded himself to only drink from closed containers, and to keep an eye on his cups. "Because it's like we got another party formin' out here. Not a good one buuuuut..."
As Forrest accepted the water bottle, a sense of pride washed through his body. Once more, he had taken care of those who were unable to take care of themselves, and - his face fell slightly as she put the bottle on the ground, giving it an odd little pat like one would give a pet. He was fairly certain the bottle of water wasn't going anywhere, but no matter. It was on her person, and that was enough. Nodding to Julien, he gave him a quick wave as the boy entered the party, surely uncomfortable at the antics of their drunken host beside them. At the very least, Forrest was a visual indication of what anyone showing up to the party would have to look forward to: wanton debauchery and hedonism.
As some more people trickled towards the front door, Claudeson shot the first of them a warm smile. Lavender Ripley was someone whom he knew would be no trouble at all. The odds of Lavender coming to the party to cause trouble were about as high as his odds of downing an entire mickey of vodka -- infinitesimal. Giving her a wave, he beckoned her over as she greeted the small crowd that was starting to form around the door.
"Hey, Lavender! Welcome to the party. As you can see, we're in full swing here."
Turning to look at the next set of newcomers that Forrest had already engaged, Claudeson couldn't help it - his expression hardened immediately. There was one particular set of circumstances that Claudeson was not looking forward to dealing with as the 'security' for this particular party, and it was one that had a small chance of happening, he had assumed.
Yet, here it was. Tyrell Lahti strode up to the porch with a purpose, and several meters behind him, he could see the massive form of Wyatt Carter approaching as well.
"Lord help us," Claudeson muttered under his breath, then taking a moment to allow Tyrell's greeting to land. As he'd gathered, Tyrell had walked in, identified him and fired what had to be a glancing shot over his way. He seemed genial, and whether false or not, Claudeson decided not to give him the satisfaction. Pasting the warmest expression he could muster upon his face, he returned Tyrell's greeting.
"With luck, Tyrell, the peace will hold and I won't have to ferry any poor lost souls out of here. Welcome to Swiftball." Carrying off of Tyrell's metaphor, the name of the party sounded sour coming from his lips, but he dismissed it. As Wyatt came to within earshot, the smile became a bit more genuine.
He just couldn't help himself, and continued.
"I'm so glad to see you and your good friend Wyatt," he looked at the larger boy as he approached, giving Tyrell a moment of forewarning, "were able to attend. Nothing like a good party to keep the rumour mill at bay, isn't that right? Welcome to Swiftball, Mr. Carter. Your presence certainly enhances the mood."
Looking back across all of them, he launched into his more serious spiel and let the smile fall from his face in favour of a more serious, casual look. As he did, he held his hands up in front of himself, palms open to show that he meant no offense.
"I'm sure you're all eager to join the party, but I'd like to ask you that you try and keep any weapons outside of the house, and to please avoid causing any damage. Forrest has been generous enough to host us, and I think it's the least we can all do. Please let me know if you're in need of a taxi or a ride home, and I'll be here to arrange it."
That last part was maybe a bit dubious. Claudeson certainly planned to stay later on into the evening to help keep an eye out, but if he slipped out just after midnight, he gathered that everyone would be intoxicated enough not to notice.
Anything that happened after that; they probably deserved.
As some more people trickled towards the front door, Claudeson shot the first of them a warm smile. Lavender Ripley was someone whom he knew would be no trouble at all. The odds of Lavender coming to the party to cause trouble were about as high as his odds of downing an entire mickey of vodka -- infinitesimal. Giving her a wave, he beckoned her over as she greeted the small crowd that was starting to form around the door.
"Hey, Lavender! Welcome to the party. As you can see, we're in full swing here."
Turning to look at the next set of newcomers that Forrest had already engaged, Claudeson couldn't help it - his expression hardened immediately. There was one particular set of circumstances that Claudeson was not looking forward to dealing with as the 'security' for this particular party, and it was one that had a small chance of happening, he had assumed.
Yet, here it was. Tyrell Lahti strode up to the porch with a purpose, and several meters behind him, he could see the massive form of Wyatt Carter approaching as well.
"Lord help us," Claudeson muttered under his breath, then taking a moment to allow Tyrell's greeting to land. As he'd gathered, Tyrell had walked in, identified him and fired what had to be a glancing shot over his way. He seemed genial, and whether false or not, Claudeson decided not to give him the satisfaction. Pasting the warmest expression he could muster upon his face, he returned Tyrell's greeting.
"With luck, Tyrell, the peace will hold and I won't have to ferry any poor lost souls out of here. Welcome to Swiftball." Carrying off of Tyrell's metaphor, the name of the party sounded sour coming from his lips, but he dismissed it. As Wyatt came to within earshot, the smile became a bit more genuine.
He just couldn't help himself, and continued.
"I'm so glad to see you and your good friend Wyatt," he looked at the larger boy as he approached, giving Tyrell a moment of forewarning, "were able to attend. Nothing like a good party to keep the rumour mill at bay, isn't that right? Welcome to Swiftball, Mr. Carter. Your presence certainly enhances the mood."
Looking back across all of them, he launched into his more serious spiel and let the smile fall from his face in favour of a more serious, casual look. As he did, he held his hands up in front of himself, palms open to show that he meant no offense.
"I'm sure you're all eager to join the party, but I'd like to ask you that you try and keep any weapons outside of the house, and to please avoid causing any damage. Forrest has been generous enough to host us, and I think it's the least we can all do. Please let me know if you're in need of a taxi or a ride home, and I'll be here to arrange it."
That last part was maybe a bit dubious. Claudeson certainly planned to stay later on into the evening to help keep an eye out, but if he slipped out just after midnight, he gathered that everyone would be intoxicated enough not to notice.
Anything that happened after that; they probably deserved.
So Forrest was in fact, totally hammered. Apparently he was "Robbie" to her as well. He smiled, rolling his eyes in what he hoped seemed like he was taking the comparison with a good nature.
I don't envy what your morning is going to look like. Or feel like.
"Oh, okay. Thanks Forrest, I-"
He had mostly ignored Claudeson, a deliberate gesture that was sure to rile the other boy slightly. Nonetheless he'd been prattling on as Ty's attention had been focused on Forrest. One word Claude spoke did catch his attention:
Wyatt.
Ty's expression fell for a moment, before he composed himself. This fucker couldn't help but stir the pot, could he? This wasn't going to get interesting; there were more pressing concerns. Scratching his head as if at a loss to reply, he looked to Wyatt. There really was nothing to do but play it cool. Lean into it. Hell, at the very least Wyatt could probably more than keep up with him when it came to drinking.
"Trying to find my girlfriend, actually. I just got here. Looks like our pal Claude here is running a tight ship. Can't say I blame him, considering..."
He motioned towards the gargantuan home. Ty tried to suppress the various angry motes of class anxiety.
"...well, this. Don't worry dude, everything's gonna stay above board."
Weird. Last time I was this close to him I was about to break his nose with a steel toed shoe. Hard to imagine caring that much, now. I wonder why.
With finding Erika and then finding an excuse to dissolve his sobriety for the evening on his mind, he couldn't help but find the thought of continuing the skirmish with the Carters... exhausting. Claudeson's self-righteousness even moreso. Sure, Wyatt still had a very punchable face. Didn't mean he had to do anything about it. If he wanted to keep things going smoothly in the night, he had to suppress that particular urge. At least for the moment, it seemed like it was pretty easy to do. Play nice.
The key word here being "play."
"Well, I'm heading in. What do you say Wyatt, wanna find out what we're drinkin'?" Ty gave Wyatt an open look, leaving little room to assume any malice or ill-intent. At least, he thought so. The chance was there to be completely reasonable, but that didn't mean he was going to take it.
No doubt the stupid fuck could find some way to twist it into yet another reason to throw down, if he really wanted to.
I don't envy what your morning is going to look like. Or feel like.
"Oh, okay. Thanks Forrest, I-"
He had mostly ignored Claudeson, a deliberate gesture that was sure to rile the other boy slightly. Nonetheless he'd been prattling on as Ty's attention had been focused on Forrest. One word Claude spoke did catch his attention:
Wyatt.
Ty's expression fell for a moment, before he composed himself. This fucker couldn't help but stir the pot, could he? This wasn't going to get interesting; there were more pressing concerns. Scratching his head as if at a loss to reply, he looked to Wyatt. There really was nothing to do but play it cool. Lean into it. Hell, at the very least Wyatt could probably more than keep up with him when it came to drinking.
"Trying to find my girlfriend, actually. I just got here. Looks like our pal Claude here is running a tight ship. Can't say I blame him, considering..."
He motioned towards the gargantuan home. Ty tried to suppress the various angry motes of class anxiety.
"...well, this. Don't worry dude, everything's gonna stay above board."
Weird. Last time I was this close to him I was about to break his nose with a steel toed shoe. Hard to imagine caring that much, now. I wonder why.
With finding Erika and then finding an excuse to dissolve his sobriety for the evening on his mind, he couldn't help but find the thought of continuing the skirmish with the Carters... exhausting. Claudeson's self-righteousness even moreso. Sure, Wyatt still had a very punchable face. Didn't mean he had to do anything about it. If he wanted to keep things going smoothly in the night, he had to suppress that particular urge. At least for the moment, it seemed like it was pretty easy to do. Play nice.
The key word here being "play."
"Well, I'm heading in. What do you say Wyatt, wanna find out what we're drinkin'?" Ty gave Wyatt an open look, leaving little room to assume any malice or ill-intent. At least, he thought so. The chance was there to be completely reasonable, but that didn't mean he was going to take it.
No doubt the stupid fuck could find some way to twist it into yet another reason to throw down, if he really wanted to.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2565
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Julien took off. That was probably good timing on his part, because a pall was cast over the proceedings a moment later, when Wyatt Carter rolled up form the opposite direction Lavender had come. Now that was just great, if not unexpected. She'd kind of figured that she'd avoid him either through the mansion being outrageously spacious or through being too occupied with the business of actually partying to give him any headspace, but here they all were, and seemingly on the same page about lacking enthusiasm over the state of affairs.
Of course, Lavender wasn't going to be anyone's primary focus right this second. She didn't know precisely what had happened between Tyrell and Wyatt, because despite being on the cheer squad she had no interest whatsoever in serving as perpetual witness to Ivy's various petty feuds and tantrums, but still it was common enough knowledge in the circles Lavender ran in that there was some sort of bad blood between the boys. They wouldn't throw down right here on the lawn, though. If they did something like that, someone was very liable to call the cops, which was to say that Lavender would personally narc them out with absolute glee. Presumably that would come as no surprise to any of them.
So, then, it was time to let it go. One long, quiet breath carried away whatever tension had started to mount, as Tyrell did his little greeting that was either a legitimate extension of the olive branch or else some kind of macho thing full of coded dude-insinuations that served the same purpose as a gorilla thumping its chest. Lavender couldn't really call it. She kept an eye on them, but turned most of her attention to Claudeson, who seemed equally exasperated with the boys he was faced with but had fulfilled his duty and read them the laws of the land.
"Hey," Lavender said, giving Wyatt and Tyrell a little wave, because the fact that she didn't like Wyatt didn't mean she was just going to be straight-up rude to him for no reason, but also meant she wasn't obligated to go beyond the basics of courtesy. She then leaned in closer to Claudeson and spoke quietly. It wasn't exactly like she cared if anyone else overheard, but the point wasn't to advertise or command attention, just to convey information to the one most suited to make use of it.
"About the rides thing," she said, "if anyone's too out of it to get home safely, you can come find me after you take their keys and I'll drive them wherever. I don't want this to be anyone's last party, and I'm DDing tonight."
In general, Lavender had a pretty solid tolerance for the drunk, high, and otherwise-incapacitated, though the levels of debauchery implied by the presence of the host and her apparent state of being might actually end up testing that resilience. Lavender didn't relish the prospect of scrubbing vomit out of the back of her car tomorrow, but it would certainly be better than going back to school and finding it short a face or two.
"Even if it's Wyatt," she muttered, quieter still, refraining from rolling her eyes at Claudeson.
Of course, Lavender wasn't going to be anyone's primary focus right this second. She didn't know precisely what had happened between Tyrell and Wyatt, because despite being on the cheer squad she had no interest whatsoever in serving as perpetual witness to Ivy's various petty feuds and tantrums, but still it was common enough knowledge in the circles Lavender ran in that there was some sort of bad blood between the boys. They wouldn't throw down right here on the lawn, though. If they did something like that, someone was very liable to call the cops, which was to say that Lavender would personally narc them out with absolute glee. Presumably that would come as no surprise to any of them.
So, then, it was time to let it go. One long, quiet breath carried away whatever tension had started to mount, as Tyrell did his little greeting that was either a legitimate extension of the olive branch or else some kind of macho thing full of coded dude-insinuations that served the same purpose as a gorilla thumping its chest. Lavender couldn't really call it. She kept an eye on them, but turned most of her attention to Claudeson, who seemed equally exasperated with the boys he was faced with but had fulfilled his duty and read them the laws of the land.
"Hey," Lavender said, giving Wyatt and Tyrell a little wave, because the fact that she didn't like Wyatt didn't mean she was just going to be straight-up rude to him for no reason, but also meant she wasn't obligated to go beyond the basics of courtesy. She then leaned in closer to Claudeson and spoke quietly. It wasn't exactly like she cared if anyone else overheard, but the point wasn't to advertise or command attention, just to convey information to the one most suited to make use of it.
"About the rides thing," she said, "if anyone's too out of it to get home safely, you can come find me after you take their keys and I'll drive them wherever. I don't want this to be anyone's last party, and I'm DDing tonight."
In general, Lavender had a pretty solid tolerance for the drunk, high, and otherwise-incapacitated, though the levels of debauchery implied by the presence of the host and her apparent state of being might actually end up testing that resilience. Lavender didn't relish the prospect of scrubbing vomit out of the back of her car tomorrow, but it would certainly be better than going back to school and finding it short a face or two.
"Even if it's Wyatt," she muttered, quieter still, refraining from rolling her eyes at Claudeson.