High Gloss Highs

[Slam]

"Who ordered jello shots?"

Ah, there we are: something to keep her busy for a while.

Turning to look, Janet realised the speaker was right next to her, which would explain how she had heard him so audibly in the room. Either way, Janet turned to her left, looking straight at Rizzo: the bringer of Jello. Ratty clothes, ratty features, and short to boot.

"I shall call you Ratty!"

Laughing in her intoxicated state, Janet slid over closer to the guy, grinning at him with interest. If he brought Jello, then he would probably make for a good conversation in the party.

Not to mention, if you want everyone to look at you then you have to start one person at a time! Probably.

She wasn't really sure if that made much sense, but she wasn't really paying attention to her train of thought. Instead, she was idly slipping on her arm and giggling with each swagger whilst she kept a light hold on the beer can in her other hand.

"So Ratty, what's a cute little thing like you doing at a party like this? Not lost are you?"

Laughing once more, Janet finished the majority of her drink, before tossing the can onto the floor below, alcohol idly dripping out of the hole onto the ground and forming a small puddle.

At this point, she was completely smashed; although Janet liked to big herself up as nearly invincible, she was not one to hold her booze, despite what she may have thought.

"Ah, what do I care? I like you Ratty; you're sweet!"

She hadn't actually heard him say anything apart from his offer of Jello shots, but she had already formed a badly drawn mental picture of him as the cute little kid with a quirky attitude.

Moving in closer, Janet began to move her finger towards his chest with the intention of stroking it lightly.

"Maybe you and I should get to know each other over some Jello shots, eh Ratty?"

She smirked at the guy whose name she didn't even know, the beer going through her system impairing all sense of reasoning and common sense.

[MurderWeasel]

"Oh, I don't really know," Kimberly replied to Peter. It was true; she wasn't sure how drunk she was going to get. Not that drunk, but, well, not sober either. Some happy medium that didn't impair motor functions too badly.

"I still need to find my way back home sometime in the next twelve hours or so," she clarified, "and it'd be best if I could, you know, make it inside without hurling all over everything."

Then the whole atmosphere went straight to hell. Someone came in with Jello shots, and loud girl found her way to the kitchen, and the whole space wasn't that big to begin with, so Kimberly started feeling like she couldn't even breath or move without elbowing someone in an awkward part of their anatomy.

She turned to Peter and said, quite loudly, "Fuck this noise! What d'you say we take that bottle somewhere away from this mess, and leave the kids with their Jello shots?"

She didn't actually know what was in the bottle, but it had caused Peter to question her about her desired intoxication level, so it was sure to be pretty good. If they got away from everyone, they could keep it to themselves, and, more importantly, they could get out of this horrible press of people. Kimberly hoped that all the glass had been successfully cleaned up, because otherwise there would almost certainly soon be some very unhappy campers in this sardine can of a room.

[Acelister†]

Rizzo emptied the bag onto the counter and saw a flurry of movement as several were grabbed at almost the speed of light. He was barely aware of someone coming up to him until it was too late.

"So Ratty, what's a cute little thing like you doing at a party like this? Not lost are you?"

Rizzo jumped slightly and looked at Janet. He smiled and offered one of the shot beakers.
"It's Rizzo." He told her, though from the glazed look in her eye, he doubted she heard him. She confirmed that by laughing, downing her beer and tossing the can.

She then called him Ratty again, but his eyes were drawn to her chest - especially as she moved closer and her finger touched his chest.

"Maybe you and I should get to know each other over some Jello shots, eh Ratty?"

Rizzo's mouth opened in surprise and sudden, intense arousal.
"O-o-okay..." he nodded, still holding the single plastic shot glass. "That... Sounds fun."

He'd never been the subject of desire - especially from a cheerleader! And not just one of the 'meh' cheerleaders, either. One of the hot ones! He was glad he wore jeans as they forced his male organ to stay hidden, at least partially. Even if this was a prank, he still had an excuse to stare at cheerleader cleavage.

[decoy73]

(Debut of Charlene Norris)

Charlene Norris looked at the door for one second before opening it. She had decided not to wear her normal cardigan, arriving only in a sleeveless pink top, black mini-skirt, and black heels. The noise inside was deafening, and there was hardly any room to move, so given her normal activities, it was perfect. The first thing she did when she entered was look for a drink. Anybody who joined a party without drinking was either a designated driver or a prude. The kitchen had beer, beer, more beer, and empty booze bottles. Shit. She had arrived too late, and now all the good drinks were gone. Also, everybody here was either too drunk to notice her, or with someone else. However, as she walked through the kitchen, she heard some words that lifted her spirits up.

"Who ordered jello shots?"

Looking behind her, she saw the owner of that voice: a small kid who looked like he had sprinted all the way here, or was planning to sprint all the way home, wherever that was. She didn't really care. She just grabbed eight shots as fast as she could, stuffing all but one of them into her top. For once, she thanked the Lord that she had big tits.

Damn. I owe that guy one, or two. Or several.

She was amused at how she felt drunk even though she had only had half a cup of beer. Maybe there's booze in the air or something. She downed her first shot, set it on the table, and slapped the drunk guy who grabbed her chest. That was not cool ... for two more drinks. Either way, she headed for the small guy, who was currently being chatted up by a redhead ... Janet. From cheerleading. She was kinda cute. Maybe they'd be able to join in for a small romp. Charlene approached the cute couple.

"Maybe you and I should get to know each other over some Jello shots, eh Ratty?"
"O-o-okay... That... Sounds fun."

"That's a great idea!" Charlene hollered as she reached in between her breasts, removing another Jello shot from her bra, and downing it. "I owe you one, dude! You are a lifesaver." She wrapped her arms around Janet and Ratty in a bear hug. "Let's have the time of our lives."

[Namira]

Um... where the heck is she going?

Despite his advice that maybe going back inside wouldn't be such a good idea, Hilary did so nonetheless. Brock stood there for a second, watching her move away, then shrugged and went on after her. She obviously had to have something in mind, right?

Even though Brock had hesitated, he caught up with Hilary with relative ease, just nudging people aside with sheer bulk. Much as leaving had been simple, so was returning. It was one of the rare occasions (other than football of course), that Brock could actually be glad of his size. Then again, if he was smaller, he wouldn't just be a dumb jock, he'd been a dumb small loser or something...

Brock was a little confused as to why Hilary had just picked a random room for them to head to, but maybe she'd been there earlier. He hoped that was her reasoning anyway. If it had been a different girl, he might have picked up a different idea, but Hilary... nah, she wasn't that type of person. Or, at the very least, she wasn't quite drunk enough to be that kind of person.

Still, at least it was quieter.

"So... uh..." the awkwardness returned in full force. "You said you wanted to talke, I guess?"

[Slam]

She slurred her giggling as she continued stroking Rizzo's chest, as he looked up at her cleavage. In any other situation, Janet would've kindly dismissed a guy staring at her breasts, but at that moment in time there was far too much alcohol in her for acting normally.

"You know Ratty, I saw a bedroom with a lock on my way in; maybe we can take advantage...?"

Giggling once again, Janet's drunken eyes looked upon Rizzo as a hunky god of all her sexual desires, rather than the small, mousey guy she would usually see him as. She was about to take his hand and lead him upstairs, when she was suddenly ambushed from the side and grappled in a bear hug by Charlene Norris.

Of all the people it could've been, it was Charlene Norris.

Now don't get her wrong, Janet knew that she wasn't the most popular girl at Bayview, but she didn't return the disliking to most of the students. If they stayed off her back, she'd stay off theirs. However, she held a special place in her heart for her fellow cheerleader Charlene Norris:

The spot she would love to crush under her foot.

Charlene Norris was, in Janet's opinion, an attention whore who always tried to come off as so perfect that the people around her bought into it and treated her as perfect; it really pissed Janet off how she managed to be on both the cheerleading squad, the tennis squad, hang out with that bitch Charlie DuClare, even make snide comments about people, and still manage to attract at least a visual amount of attention and admiration.

People like her were just unreal; they seem to get everything even though they don't deserve even nearly that much. When Janet saw someone as spoilt by the universe as her, she couldn't help but hate them thanks to the universe not being nearly as kind to others who had to live with problems like famine or disabilities, just like her brother, as they were to them.

And here she was, clinging to her and Rizzo in a bear hug, and from what she could vaguely interpret was trying to join in on her and her new escort's fun. Janet may not have actually voiced her opinions before hand, but she had enough liquid courage in her system to speak her mind.

Shoving Charlene away from her, Janet looked at her fellow cheerleader unimpressed.

"Hey Charlene, if you wanna - " she paused here to briefly hiccup " if you wanna go grope someone, you should like, really consider groping elsewhere, and not here, because no-one, no-one here wants to be groped I'm sure."

"In fact, you should take that skinny, skinny ass of yours and go somewhere else all together. I mean, anywhere all together. Because you suck. Like, a lot lot. Now if you'll, you'd be so kind to excuse me and Ratty here, we're going to go and do stuff. Yeah, stuffy, stuff...stuff."

Turning her head away from Charlene, Janet began stumbling over to the doorway. Supporting herself on the wall, Janet turned around to Rizzo again, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Charlene.

"Come on Ratty, we gotta...we're going to have fun now."

Turning back, Janet's booze laden laugh followed her as she moved her way up the stairs, oblivious to the huge mistake she was going to make very soon.

((Continued in Locked Door; Pants Down))

[Acelister†]

"You know Ratty, I saw a bedroom with a lock on my way in; maybe we can take advantage...?"

Rizzo had never been more turned on in his life before that moment. He'd only just arrived after a pretty crappy day, then a cheerleader was practically mounting him where he stood! Or, at least he thought he had never been more turned on.

"That's a great idea!" a female said, putting her arms around him and Janet. He didn't see whom it was at first, his eyes looking at her huge breasts. "I owe you one, dude! You are a lifesaver. Let's have the time of our lives."

Rizzo's mouth dropped open. Two cheerleaders? TWO! CHEERLEADERS! This was like winning the lottery - it just didn't happen to a guy like him. Until it did. Two cheerleaders wanted him to be inside them!

He started to reconsider as soon as Janet shoved Charlene off of them both, then went into a tirade that proved just how drunk she was. If not for the repeating and slurring, it would have been quite hurtful - though didn't girls like being called skinny? And one of Charlene's breasts was as big as his own head. Almost... And she was the hottest one who was fighting over him - if this was a fight.

"Now if you'll, you'd be so kind to excuse me and Ratty here, we're going to go and do stuff. Yeah, stuffy, stuff...stuff. Come on Ratty, we gotta...we're going to have fun now."

But Janet wanted him now, definitely not a joke. It went without saying that she wins, hands-down. Maybe he could come back and nail Charlene afterwards... If he survived losing his virginity to this red-headed blue-eyed babe. He was actually starting to shiver with excitement as he followed after her, his eyes scanning her body and bust the whole way. He hadn't actually thought about if he was going to be any good or if he was big enough in the pants-department - those thoughts would come in a moment.

((Rizzo Vitoria continued in Locked Door; Pants Down))

[Hallucinojelly†]

Hilary perched on the end of the bed, looking up at Brock as he closed the door behind him.

Okay, so, how do I start? Do I tell him straight away that I like him? Do I tell him about that dream I- No, that's creepy; he'd think you're a right freak. Oh God, what if he doesn't even like me in that way? I bet he'd tell everyone. I bet they'd laugh at me.

She scowled at him as she reached those conclusions, thinking for a second that they were things Brock might actually do. But she knew better than that. She'd seen how kind he could be. After all, he'd been kind towards her every time they'd met, and he never did tell people about what happened at the ice rink. Maybe she was just scared of opening up to someone again, who knew.

In fact, all she really knew about Brock was that he played football and that he couldn't read very well. That was it. Over all the time they'd spent together (which wasn't all that much), she'd barely found out anything about him or his personal life. She didn't even know if he had a girlfriend or not.

No, wait, he definitely doesn't have one, otherwise she'd be here tonight, right?

It felt like an eternity had passed before she finally spoke.

"Brock, I... Do you, um... Do you like... Oh, how should I say it?"

She could feel a lump forming in her throat, choking back the words she really wanted to say, to release, to find Brock's ears and let him know how she felt about him. How much she thought about him while she was meant to be listening in class, how many times she found herself missing out entire conversations when she pictured the two of them together, just sitting hand-in-hand beneath the clock tower.

"Do you... like me?"

[Namira]

Brock felt awkward. Being alone in a room with a girl felt... wrong, especially at a party like this. So far as he knew, there was a very specific reason why people stole off to rooms at house parties. He'd reassured himself earlier that this wouldn't be the case, and Hilary just knew that it would be quieter in here, but... yeah, he still wasn't feeling too comfortable.

And he immediately became less so when Hilary dropped her absolute bombshell of a question. His mind went blank as that tactical nuke of a query wiped absolutely any rational thought from his head, and his thoughts went into a yammering mess.

Whhhhaaaaaat? She- you- I mean- that's- what- Hilary- I- she- WHAT THE HELL!?

Brock couldn't deny it had been something on his mind. Yeah, he had been thinking about Hilary recently, but was it really in that way. The whole thing at the ice rink had just been embarrassing, no way romantic. Urgh... why she'd spring something like THIS on him anyway!? It made no sense! They'd barely met! He hardly knew her! She...

...DAMMIT!

"I... I mean... you're, uh..." Brock trailed off, realising how badly he was stammering, and more importantly, that he wasn't saying anything except utter drivel.

"I... I don't know," he managed finally. "I-I... think about you a lot, and... m-maybe sometimes I..." Brock couldn't finish. His tongue was endeavouring to prevent him forcing out a single word, and his heart was hammering so hard he was surprised Hilary couldn't hear it.

"I'm sorry... I j-just don't k-know. W-we hardly know... hardly... I guess, I guess maybe I do?"

Jeez, way to sound confident.

[Solomir†]

She wanted to be sober enough to get home. That was more or less in line with what Peter wanted too. Considering what he was holding, that wouldn't take very much to achieve. He eyed the bottle again: 75.5% alcohol. Anything more than two shots would probably down anybody for the rest of the night. And considering Kim's size, one shot would probably be enough for her.
You think you can handle two shots of this? That's a joke, right?
Some other guy pushed his way into the kitchen, asking about jello shots. They had jello shots? Peter would have said something in reply, except it had taken less than ten seconds for a girl to be slobbering all over the newcomer and his mention of the elusive treats. God, some of these girls could be sleazy.
There are some benefits to the sleaziness.
Kim was saying something; no wait, she was yelling something. If he had been drinking something, he probably would've started choking after what she said. "Take this bottle somewhere" was party speak for "let's get trashed and have a one night stand." At least it was in Peter's flimsy understanding of party speak.
Maybe she just thinks you're a swell guy and would like to get to know you better... physically.
She did have a good point though. The kitchen was getting dangerously crowded, and while Peter didn't mind enclosed spaces too much, he didn't want to have someone knock the bottle of premium liquor out of his hands. He started to lead the way, not to anywhere in particular. Pushing aside a few bodies, Peter noticed the patio was fairly devoid of smokers and blazers at the moment. Perhaps they had heard the call of jello shots and decided to investigate. Peter spied a lone one, and snatched it off the counter and popped it into his mouth. Eww... grape flavored.

The patio meant fresh air. Fresh air was nice. There were only a few small groups out on the patio, so there was a lot of open space unlike the inside of the house. There were still people so Kimberly wouldn't be able to do something too outrageous. Peter poured some of the overproof rum into the plastic shotglass that had been used for the jello shot and gave it to Kimberly, and another portion into a cup for himself. "Bottom's up," he said to her, raising his cup in a small toast before downing the drink.

GODDAMN. There were two things Peter noticed as he drank: first, he had poured a lot more than a single shot into his cup somehow; secondly, the liquor tasted like shit. Failing to hold back several choked coughs, Peter put on what he hoped was a brave face. "You wanna take a break or continue onto round two?"
Verdict's out: you're crazy.
Peter severely hoped that she didn't actually want another round of that. Taking one down was bad; another would be apocalyptically worse.
Being shitfaced is not the end of the world. Just your ideal of it.

[MurderWeasel]

Kimberly followed Peter out of the house, pushing through the terrible press of people, squeezing between the sweaty bodies. It was disgusting, simply disgusting. This party was really starting to wear on her, now that she thought of it. What was wrong with these people? Was Justin really this fucking popular, or had someone just sent out some sort of mass email promising free sex and booze or something?

Then they were free, free and in the fresh air, and to top it all off it was nice and cool outside. At least, it seemed that way in comparison. There were some people, sure, but they were out of the way, and Kimberly hoped they'd stay that way. She'd had enough shit from idiots already tonight, what with the screaming and the glass and the jello shots. She really could use a drink.

Peter was already on it, pouring the mystery liquor into glasses. He handed her one, and offered a brief toast. At that moment, he seemed like some sort of alcohol-bearing guardian angel, there to snatch her away from the nightmare and into a more comfortable land of fuzzy recollections and lowered judgment. Kimberly clinked her plastic glass against his and knocked back the contents.

Rather, she attempted to. As soon as the alcohol hit her tongue she realized that something was very, very wrong. It was like drinking fire, complete with the burning agony. The first drops hit the back of her throat and she coughed, wheezed, spewed the half-shot she'd had in her mouth all over the front of her shirt and the porch. She had been expecting strong stuff, but not that strong.

"What the fuck is this?" she asked between coughs, "Paint thinner?"

Peter asked if she wanted to take a second round, and she looked at him.

"Peter," she said, "You must be either brave or crazy to suggest drinking another drop of this stuff. I think I'm done. In fact," she said, looking at the half shot that remained in her glass, "if you want the rest of mine, you're welcome to it. It's the flavor out of space or something. I mean, I thought I knew how to drink, but I've never tasted anything like that before."

Moreover, she hoped not to repeat the experience. Kimberly was of the firm belief that getting a buzz was only worth so much, and damn it all, she'd rather just smoke some weed or something than try to force down a drink she couldn't even swallow.

[decoy73]

((OOC: Sorry about the post. I have no idea how to get her out of here.))

Charlene just stood there, stunned out of her mind as Janet went into a verbal assault. What the hell is she saying? That I have no friends? She highly doubted that was the case - if it were, she wouldn't have been able to get in even if she did hear about the party. The slur in Janet's voice made it clear that she may not completely have been in her right mind, but still ...


"In fact, you should take that skinny, skinny ass of yours and go somewhere else all together. I mean, anywhere all together. Because you suck. Like, a lot lot. ..."

Yeah. She was definitely drunk.

"Come on Ratty, we gotta...we're going to have fun now." She turned on her heel and walked upstairs, with Ratty following behind her. Charlene just went to the nearest wall, rubbed her eyes, and downed the jello shot she was holding and took another one out from in between her tits.

Six more shots left. May as well have a good time as long as I'm here ...

((Charlene Norris continued in Deuce))

[Solomir†]

At first, Peter was just glad that she hadn't spit out the horrible tasting drink all over his shirt and tie. The smell would stick and there'd probably be a nasty stain on the light colored tie. Then the more rational side kicked in and Peter put the bottle down quickly, snatched a handful of paper towels and offered them to Kimberly. It paid to be a good guy after all.
It's not like you do it only when it pays.
"Sorry," Peter said sheepishly, "I thought you knew what it was." He had shown her the bottle after all. Maybe he'd just assumed everybody here knew what 151 proof meant. Still, he was now uncomfortably in the company of a girl who had just hacked up half her drink on her shirt. The other half was left for him to drink.

"Some might say the booze makes me crazy, especially when it comes to this stuff. Then again, they call it liquid courage." Peter could feel a smile stretching across his face. Damn, this stuff was strong and quick acting. He reached over and pulled the tiny shotglass from Kimmy's hand. "After all, if I'm crazy enough to drink it the first time, I'm probably brave enough for round one point five." A swift motion and the rest of the liquor was flowing down his throat. It didn't burn as much, nor did it taste as bad.
Some people say courage and stupidity are two sides of the same coin.
Possibly that could be explained by the not entirely well feeling Peter was feeling in his gut. The drink didn't exactly flow down smoothly like the first time; instead, it felt like it was stuck trying to get into his stomach. He swallowed uncomfortably and thumped on his chest. It took a few moments, but the urge to puke subsided. Peter was distinctly aware of the fact that he had leaned over and was holding onto the table edge for support.
In fifteen minutes, you'll want another shot.
God, that was humiliating.
Serves you right for acting all macho.
"It does taste like paint thinner though," Peter said, "I think I'm going to get some vodka or tequila to rinse my mouth with." He stood up slowly, now feeling about ten times more disoriented than a minute ago. "Kimmy, you should go clean yourself off. Your clothes are too pretty to stain with booze."

Peter staggered back toward the house. There should be some decent chasers left in there. And food would be good too. Was there still pizza left?

((Peter Siu continued in Restraints and Bindings))

[MurderWeasel]

Peter apologized, which was nice, even though Kimberly wasn't mad at him. After all, he hadn't tried to hide that the stuff was seriously tough. She just hadn't been expecting it to be quite that bad. She accepted the paper towels and began patting them against her shirt, trying to absorb as much of the alcohol as she could. This was going to complicate her life somewhat; now she'd have to get home some time when her grandparents weren't between her and her room so she could ditch the shirt before they noticed that it reeked of alcohol.

Peter finished off the rest of her drink. It was amazing that he could stand the stuff. Kimberly felt a little silly for a second. After all, it couldn't have been that bad, right?

No, it had been. She'd choked. Peter was just crazy.

Crazy and a little sick-looking. He was leaning over the table, thumping his chest, looking like he was about to repeat Kimberly's performance, or maybe vomit. Before she could work up the motivation to offer him help, though, he'd recovered and made a quick exit to find yet more alcohol to wash things down.

Kimberly found herself relatively alone on the porch. She glanced over her shoulder, back to the party. Things were still going strong, still going crazy. Somehow, though, from a distance it didn't look very attractive. It looked almost desperate, dozens of people looking for some sort of thrill in their boring, mundane lives, bombing their brains with chemical concoctions until they could forget about that next test, those college applications, the real world looming ahead of them.

Kimberly didn't want to go back inside. She'd had enough, damn it all. It was time to go home. She'd had enough to drink, and now she had a headache, and there was nothing left to do anyways now that Peter had wandered off. All that was left was to collect her sweater, abandoned somewhere amidst the throngs inside, and then make her way home.

She took two steps towards the house, then stopped. She had her purse, still. She had her hat. It wasn't that cold out. It was actually sort of nice. Besides, she was not going back in there. She'd get someone to bring her the sweater at school next week. If she put it on right now, it would just end up stinking of booze too.

Kimberly turned and started walking, away from the party, past dark house after dark house. Soon, the noise and the lights and the stink and the drunks were left far behind. Now all she had to do was figure out who she could call to come pick her up...

((Kimberly Nguyen continued in Lunch for the bored and hungry))

[D/N]

(Yeah, Ricky's been here for about a decade so just moving him out. )

By the end of the night, Ricky felt like he'd just had Kimbo Slice knock him upside the fuckin' head. He vaguely recalled something crazy going on downstairs and then ending upstairs and getting nicely buzzed with Feo Smith, and he was pretty sure at some point they'd decided to do the prom thing together, and then at some point everyone started getting kicked out, but fucking hell if he could remember the details about it all. Actually, he wasn't even sure how he'd ended up at his front door. Whatever, he'd figure it out tomorrow. Now he just had to get inside, get upstairs, get to his room, and get some damn sleep.

"uggggggggnnnnnn....."

Ricky groped for his keys, trying to fit them in the lock. First one didn't work. Second one didn't work. Damn parents, locking the door on him. How the hell was he supposed to get in, and why did he have like twenty fucking keys on this chain?

Ricky decided just forget the whole damn thing. He had to climb like two goddamn flights of stairs just to get to his room anyway. Too many goddamn stairs. He weaved his way to the bench outside the front door, dropped down on the cushion, and was out like a light.

(Ricky Fortino continued in The In Crowd)