Maxwell Lombardi, admittedly, was not as much into parties as most of the other people he shared company with were.
That was for a lot of reasons, but the one reason that trumped the rest was that they were messy. Sloppy. Unbecoming of him. They were events where his classmates, the people who - regardless of his personal feelings towards them - he spent all his school days with, were at their lowest point in terms of restraint. The atmosphere drunkened them, and even if they hadn’t had any alcohol, even if they weren’t even trying to lose themselves, the music and the lights put them into a stupor where they did anything they wanted during the night and barely remembered it the next day.
Maxwell Lombardi did not want to be a part of that. Maxwell Lombardi did not want to be in the crowd, no inhibitions, at the same level as everyone else around him. No. He did not want to be part of the cluster of people that typically formed during these events, and he would be caught dead before he allowed anyone to drag him in.
Admittedly, though, he liked to watch. He liked to see what happened during these parties, as it showed his classmates in a different light. Allowed Maxwell to see what they would do if all inhibitions were removed. Allowed Maxwell to see what would happen if a group full of these people joined together, dancing to whatever song happened to be popular on the radio and feeling like doing whatever they want.
The odds were that something was going to happen here that would be endlessly talked about at school afterwards. The odds were that Maxwell would want to be there, standing back, so that he could see this event for himself.
And that was why Maxwell supposed he was here tonight, at this party, sitting on a couch and trying to ignore the music blaring out. This wasn’t his party. To be honest, Maxwell wasn’t really sure whose party it was; Paris had been the one to invite him over, and this house was not one known to Maxwell. Not a lot had happened here yet - there were people talking, people dancing, but nothing that Maxwell could really watch. Nothing that Maxwell could really be intrigued by. Still though, it was early - only 7:30 PM - and if he left this place out of boredom now he wouldn’t really be giving it a chance.
So he sat. Checked his phone. Briefly looked around to see if anything was happening. Looked down again.
He seriously hoped that the song playing right now would change soon. It sounded awful.
TWO TO THE ONE TO THE ONE TO THE THREE, I LIKE GOOD PUSSY AND I LIKE GOOD TREE
party thread! open, feel free to be lax with post order
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Wham Yubeesling
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((Paris Ardennes continued from A Sweet Little Lie, I Cry Wolf, Cry))
Paris thought there was no shortage of friendly folk at this party. He also thought a lot of them were pretty informal dancers.
He wasn't sure whose party this was. He'd heard it was happening from a friend of a friend and nobody had mentioned a name, only a time and a place. He hadn't walked far from his house so it was probably still Kensington. He'd come over about thirty minutes late, and wearing a new black Hugo Boss tee he'd only bought last week. The walls seemed to be the thin kind that rattled when the music was this loud. Paris recognized this song a bit. One of those new-school rappers with unsanitary lyrics.
Paris meandered around a group of girls bobbing around to the music and drinking from red cups. He realized the cups might have been poured from the weird shape alcohol bottles on a nearby table. Paris swerved around that table next. It was to the side of a couch that had one suspiciously wet looking stain then one empty space then one Maxwell Lombardi. Paris took a seat in the empty space. He had to be a bit loud to be heard.
"Hey. Glad you could make it dude!" Paris said casually. Maxwell was the formal and respectable sort. He was a guy who knew a lot of people, Paris included. "You know if this is, like, a birthday or something like that?"
"Oh." Just a few seconds later Paris interjected, then pointed out loud at a particular girl hovering around the room. "What do you think? She's your type I bet."
Paris thought there was no shortage of friendly folk at this party. He also thought a lot of them were pretty informal dancers.
He wasn't sure whose party this was. He'd heard it was happening from a friend of a friend and nobody had mentioned a name, only a time and a place. He hadn't walked far from his house so it was probably still Kensington. He'd come over about thirty minutes late, and wearing a new black Hugo Boss tee he'd only bought last week. The walls seemed to be the thin kind that rattled when the music was this loud. Paris recognized this song a bit. One of those new-school rappers with unsanitary lyrics.
Paris meandered around a group of girls bobbing around to the music and drinking from red cups. He realized the cups might have been poured from the weird shape alcohol bottles on a nearby table. Paris swerved around that table next. It was to the side of a couch that had one suspiciously wet looking stain then one empty space then one Maxwell Lombardi. Paris took a seat in the empty space. He had to be a bit loud to be heard.
"Hey. Glad you could make it dude!" Paris said casually. Maxwell was the formal and respectable sort. He was a guy who knew a lot of people, Paris included. "You know if this is, like, a birthday or something like that?"
"Oh." Just a few seconds later Paris interjected, then pointed out loud at a particular girl hovering around the room. "What do you think? She's your type I bet."
Upcoming:
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
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Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
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Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
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Parties weren't something Yaz would say she enjoyed. Sure they could be fun sometimes if she was in the right mood for it but those times were rare. Normally it was just too many and too loud. She couldn't hear her friends talk and then poof they disappeared and she was left alone off to one side. Not sure what to do but knowing that joining in with the dancing was another level of hell altogether.
So of course that was the situation she found herself in. She had been half-dragged to the party, there was some reason for it but fuck if she remembered, and half gone willingly because even if she disliked them she knew that parties were good social interactions and she was supposed to go to them. But as always she hadn't been able to bring herself to properly join in. So she was leaning on a wall next to an occupied seat, checking Instagram and occasionally sipping from her drink. It was some awful tasting beer or something that had been left lying around in the kitchen but no one had objected to her just taking one.
That was good for her because she had no alcohol to bring and knew from experience that someone would try to force it on her if she didn't have a cup in her hand. There were some conversations going on that she could hear snippets of but it was all the normal party stuff or random gossip from around school. Nothing she hadn't heard before.
She took another sip of her drink as she scrolled through her feed, liking a few nature shots. The music sucked as well.
So of course that was the situation she found herself in. She had been half-dragged to the party, there was some reason for it but fuck if she remembered, and half gone willingly because even if she disliked them she knew that parties were good social interactions and she was supposed to go to them. But as always she hadn't been able to bring herself to properly join in. So she was leaning on a wall next to an occupied seat, checking Instagram and occasionally sipping from her drink. It was some awful tasting beer or something that had been left lying around in the kitchen but no one had objected to her just taking one.
That was good for her because she had no alcohol to bring and knew from experience that someone would try to force it on her if she didn't have a cup in her hand. There were some conversations going on that she could hear snippets of but it was all the normal party stuff or random gossip from around school. Nothing she hadn't heard before.
She took another sip of her drink as she scrolled through her feed, liking a few nature shots. The music sucked as well.
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General Goose
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[Chuck Soileaux: Pregame Start]
The music was pretty cool.
But then again, who was Chuck to judge? He was a man of strong opinions in many fields. Strong and well-formed opinions, created by hours of meticulous scrutiny and continued open-mindedness, were his favourite thing. But with music, ultimately, he was a philistine. His ears seemed to respond with an almost automatic appreciation to even the most callously constructed compositions, even if the absence of talent and creativity was palpable. His was the sort of mind vulnerable to earwormsand catchy beats. The sort that could be seduced by some formulaic pop garbage. His music tastes were unrefined and crass. He had nothing of value to add to even the most amateurish of musical criticism discussions.
And Chuck was fine with that. Musically, he was the sort of person to enjoy pretty much anything and everything. There was something liberating about there being one ubiquitous area of life where he wasn't capable of forming well-rounded opinions. He could just be at parties, enjoy whatever esoteric or mundane tastes the host had, and not have to worry about whether liking the song was okay or not. He could just slap any playlist on, just pumping any rhythm into his ears, and he would be content. That was pretty relaxing.
Chuck still was not a dancer, though. He was a socialiser. At least until he reached a level of intoxication, then of course, all bets were off. But at that moment, he was sober still. Only on his first cup. His antics were taking on a distinctively more sober style.
Chuck had noticed Maxwell arrive. Maxwell was...aloof. Standoffish. Had the aura of someone who attended parties to judge. Chuck had no objection to judging people, that's what drives humour and gossip and Chuck loved those things. But Chuck did object to trying to find opportunities to judge people. And Maxwell seemed like the sort.
Chuck loved the Brits. Would probably study in Britain one day. And Max was stereotypically British, and Chuck was less a fan of that.
Pomposity always demanded puncturing. Chuck would call him Max, for starters, just to see what reaction that would provoke. Wait. No. Not for starters. He had a plan for something to do first.
By the time Paris began talking to Maxwell, Chuck had been behind the couch for two minutes. His limited patience was beginning to run out, and he was going to cut his losses and actually socialise. But Paris arrived at just the right time. And as if on cue, slowly, Chuck's distinctive Boo hat began to peep out from behind the couch. Just over Maxwell's shoulder.
The music was pretty cool.
But then again, who was Chuck to judge? He was a man of strong opinions in many fields. Strong and well-formed opinions, created by hours of meticulous scrutiny and continued open-mindedness, were his favourite thing. But with music, ultimately, he was a philistine. His ears seemed to respond with an almost automatic appreciation to even the most callously constructed compositions, even if the absence of talent and creativity was palpable. His was the sort of mind vulnerable to earwormsand catchy beats. The sort that could be seduced by some formulaic pop garbage. His music tastes were unrefined and crass. He had nothing of value to add to even the most amateurish of musical criticism discussions.
And Chuck was fine with that. Musically, he was the sort of person to enjoy pretty much anything and everything. There was something liberating about there being one ubiquitous area of life where he wasn't capable of forming well-rounded opinions. He could just be at parties, enjoy whatever esoteric or mundane tastes the host had, and not have to worry about whether liking the song was okay or not. He could just slap any playlist on, just pumping any rhythm into his ears, and he would be content. That was pretty relaxing.
Chuck still was not a dancer, though. He was a socialiser. At least until he reached a level of intoxication, then of course, all bets were off. But at that moment, he was sober still. Only on his first cup. His antics were taking on a distinctively more sober style.
Chuck had noticed Maxwell arrive. Maxwell was...aloof. Standoffish. Had the aura of someone who attended parties to judge. Chuck had no objection to judging people, that's what drives humour and gossip and Chuck loved those things. But Chuck did object to trying to find opportunities to judge people. And Maxwell seemed like the sort.
Chuck loved the Brits. Would probably study in Britain one day. And Max was stereotypically British, and Chuck was less a fan of that.
Pomposity always demanded puncturing. Chuck would call him Max, for starters, just to see what reaction that would provoke. Wait. No. Not for starters. He had a plan for something to do first.
By the time Paris began talking to Maxwell, Chuck had been behind the couch for two minutes. His limited patience was beginning to run out, and he was going to cut his losses and actually socialise. But Paris arrived at just the right time. And as if on cue, slowly, Chuck's distinctive Boo hat began to peep out from behind the couch. Just over Maxwell's shoulder.
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Wham Yubeesling
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And, just like that, Maxwell became the person at the center of the room.
The first to arrive was Paris, who placed himself on Maxwell’s right. Paris, who had invited him to this party. Paris, whose opinion as a friend Maxwell trusted enough for him to take Paris up on his invitation. They went back as long as they could. Maxwell - being the social climber he was - had met Paris when he had made his way up into the popular group, and the two of them had gotten along fairly well together. He was also into the graces of social politics, like Maxwell was, although Paris only really tended to use his talents there for womanising. That wasn’t really a problem with Maxwell, though. If anything, that was a good thing - he knew more about his fellow classmates than Maxwell did, so if Maxwell ever needed help in wooing someone, Paris was most often the person who he would call upon to give advice.
So yes, Paris was a good friend. Welcome company, at a party such as this.
Maxwell was surprised, though, at Paris’ questions. Given that Paris was the one who invited him, how would Maxwell be fit to know what type of party this was?
“I’m not sure,” Maxwell said. “I was assuming you’d know.”
He had to look behind himself, slightly, to answer Paris’ next question. It wasn’t one he was going to answer properly - he knew that Paris had done things like this to others before to embarrass them, he wasn’t going tall for the same trick - but he would entertain him, at the very least. The girl was Yasmin Carrol. Arty girl. Small girl. Girl that otherwise Maxwell didn’t really know all too well. Maxwell supposed he knew why Paris would assume Maxwell would like her. She was small. Slightly cute, with the haircut she had. Maybe if she was the one who asked him out, he would say yes, but she was not someone he would put in the group of people he’d take the head in asking out. She was outside of his social group. She was someone some of the others in the group did not like that much. He would not risk making a move like that if it affected his relationships with the people in this school who mattered. No point in it.
“I can see what you me-”
He noticed the shape of the hat moving up.
“Oh.”
He noticed the person popping up from behind the couch, inch by inch.
“Hello.”
The first to arrive was Paris, who placed himself on Maxwell’s right. Paris, who had invited him to this party. Paris, whose opinion as a friend Maxwell trusted enough for him to take Paris up on his invitation. They went back as long as they could. Maxwell - being the social climber he was - had met Paris when he had made his way up into the popular group, and the two of them had gotten along fairly well together. He was also into the graces of social politics, like Maxwell was, although Paris only really tended to use his talents there for womanising. That wasn’t really a problem with Maxwell, though. If anything, that was a good thing - he knew more about his fellow classmates than Maxwell did, so if Maxwell ever needed help in wooing someone, Paris was most often the person who he would call upon to give advice.
So yes, Paris was a good friend. Welcome company, at a party such as this.
Maxwell was surprised, though, at Paris’ questions. Given that Paris was the one who invited him, how would Maxwell be fit to know what type of party this was?
“I’m not sure,” Maxwell said. “I was assuming you’d know.”
He had to look behind himself, slightly, to answer Paris’ next question. It wasn’t one he was going to answer properly - he knew that Paris had done things like this to others before to embarrass them, he wasn’t going tall for the same trick - but he would entertain him, at the very least. The girl was Yasmin Carrol. Arty girl. Small girl. Girl that otherwise Maxwell didn’t really know all too well. Maxwell supposed he knew why Paris would assume Maxwell would like her. She was small. Slightly cute, with the haircut she had. Maybe if she was the one who asked him out, he would say yes, but she was not someone he would put in the group of people he’d take the head in asking out. She was outside of his social group. She was someone some of the others in the group did not like that much. He would not risk making a move like that if it affected his relationships with the people in this school who mattered. No point in it.
“I can see what you me-”
He noticed the shape of the hat moving up.
“Oh.”
He noticed the person popping up from behind the couch, inch by inch.
“Hello.”
"Dangerous assumption," Paris retorted with a small smile.
Now they were both looking at the girl, who was propped up against a wall nearby. She was pretty and small and pretty small when Paris looked her over a second time. He definitely didn't know her much. Or maybe he did, but he couldn't remember. She had a smile lookalike on, so maybe she was enjoying the party by ignoring everyone and using her phone.
Maxwell almost completely said something. Then suddenly there was a person emerging from behind the couch at an awkwardly slow speed. Paris thought he recognized the Mario themed beanie, or maybe he even recognized who it belonged to. But Paris didn't know what any of this information meant. He also didn't know what it had to do with the focus at hand: that yet nameless girl over yonder.
"Stay put dude," Paris nodded curtly at Maxwell. "I'll get her."
He left the couch with a big old swing of his legs and a few bustling strides. Then he was next to the girl. He was close enough off to one side of her that he had an angle to look down at her phone screen, it was easy because she was that much shorter than him. He peeped some pretty neat sights she was flickering through.
"Hey, those are awesome photos!" Paris introduced himself enthusiastically, with a grin. "You take them? They look like they could be from the area, maybe somewhere up on the coast?"
Now they were both looking at the girl, who was propped up against a wall nearby. She was pretty and small and pretty small when Paris looked her over a second time. He definitely didn't know her much. Or maybe he did, but he couldn't remember. She had a smile lookalike on, so maybe she was enjoying the party by ignoring everyone and using her phone.
Maxwell almost completely said something. Then suddenly there was a person emerging from behind the couch at an awkwardly slow speed. Paris thought he recognized the Mario themed beanie, or maybe he even recognized who it belonged to. But Paris didn't know what any of this information meant. He also didn't know what it had to do with the focus at hand: that yet nameless girl over yonder.
"Stay put dude," Paris nodded curtly at Maxwell. "I'll get her."
He left the couch with a big old swing of his legs and a few bustling strides. Then he was next to the girl. He was close enough off to one side of her that he had an angle to look down at her phone screen, it was easy because she was that much shorter than him. He peeped some pretty neat sights she was flickering through.
"Hey, those are awesome photos!" Paris introduced himself enthusiastically, with a grin. "You take them? They look like they could be from the area, maybe somewhere up on the coast?"
Upcoming:
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
As far as parties went? It'd do.
Not that Clio was some kind of gathering expert or something. She'd been to a fair few events herself, obviously, and maybe she was a little picky, but she couldn't really judge too aggressively. There were drinks, which was always a plus. She'd heard some people commenting on the music. The vocals were a bit crass for her liking, but at least it had a solid beat to dance to.
Most of the attendees were recognizable from school, though admittedly she had varying levels of actual knowledge on them. She was having a good time, though; a drink in her hand, chatting with a girl whose name slipped her mind, it was fun.
She glanced idly over to a couch in the corner, a directed movement towards her catching her eye. Paris Ardennes was pointing in her direction, and she cocked her head. What did he want...oh.
Shit.
Maxwell Lombardi's gaze was following Paris' finger, what looked like a scrutinizing expression on his face. Clio slumped and turned back to her conversation partner, but she'd disappeared into the arms of her boyfriend.
Did she want to go talk to him? The two might be talking about her, and she did not want to give them the go-ahead on that. Still, it was Maxwell. Though they knew a lot of similar people (such as Paris) ever since their relationship had explosively decompressed it was awkward to put them in the same area as each other.
Whatever. It looked like Paris was moving away. Now was a good time to confront him.
"What do you think you're doing?" Clio probably sounded more aggressive than intended, but as she moved over towards the couch, she couldn't help but be suspicious. Maxwell was definitely the type to say something behind her back.
...Speaking of behind, why was there a hat poking over the couch? Clio glanced up at it, and spotted a glimpse of Chuck from her higher vantage point. He was doing something weird. Shocker. He was a nice kid and all but like...still.
Her attention returned to Maxwell, and she looked at him irately. "Well?"
Not that Clio was some kind of gathering expert or something. She'd been to a fair few events herself, obviously, and maybe she was a little picky, but she couldn't really judge too aggressively. There were drinks, which was always a plus. She'd heard some people commenting on the music. The vocals were a bit crass for her liking, but at least it had a solid beat to dance to.
Most of the attendees were recognizable from school, though admittedly she had varying levels of actual knowledge on them. She was having a good time, though; a drink in her hand, chatting with a girl whose name slipped her mind, it was fun.
She glanced idly over to a couch in the corner, a directed movement towards her catching her eye. Paris Ardennes was pointing in her direction, and she cocked her head. What did he want...oh.
Shit.
Maxwell Lombardi's gaze was following Paris' finger, what looked like a scrutinizing expression on his face. Clio slumped and turned back to her conversation partner, but she'd disappeared into the arms of her boyfriend.
Did she want to go talk to him? The two might be talking about her, and she did not want to give them the go-ahead on that. Still, it was Maxwell. Though they knew a lot of similar people (such as Paris) ever since their relationship had explosively decompressed it was awkward to put them in the same area as each other.
Whatever. It looked like Paris was moving away. Now was a good time to confront him.
"What do you think you're doing?" Clio probably sounded more aggressive than intended, but as she moved over towards the couch, she couldn't help but be suspicious. Maxwell was definitely the type to say something behind her back.
...Speaking of behind, why was there a hat poking over the couch? Clio glanced up at it, and spotted a glimpse of Chuck from her higher vantage point. He was doing something weird. Shocker. He was a nice kid and all but like...still.
Her attention returned to Maxwell, and she looked at him irately. "Well?"
"Fuck shit."
Yaz nearly dropped her phone from the surprise of someone randomly talking to her. She had been down by so well at ignoring everyone and now this. Turning, Yaz appraised the person who was trying to strike up a conversation with her. The olive skin and wavy hair was a dead giveaway as to the person in question.
Paris wasn't someone she knew or hung around with but it would make sense that he would be at a party. It was what popular, well-known kids did...or at least that's what Yaz assumed they did.
She didn't know why he was talking to her though. Yaz couldn't count the amount of times they had previously spoken on her hands because it was zero. Her suspicions were piqued but she knew she had to talk to him. She was at a party and that was what people at parties did. They socialised. So she had to socialise too. Fighting back her anxiety, Yaz looked up at Paris and smiled as best she could manage while her brain scrambled for words.
"Umm no they're not mine just an artist on instagram I follow."
And breath. Great word vomiting.
"I have a load of mine on here though."
Why the hell had she said that?
Yaz nearly dropped her phone from the surprise of someone randomly talking to her. She had been down by so well at ignoring everyone and now this. Turning, Yaz appraised the person who was trying to strike up a conversation with her. The olive skin and wavy hair was a dead giveaway as to the person in question.
Paris wasn't someone she knew or hung around with but it would make sense that he would be at a party. It was what popular, well-known kids did...or at least that's what Yaz assumed they did.
She didn't know why he was talking to her though. Yaz couldn't count the amount of times they had previously spoken on her hands because it was zero. Her suspicions were piqued but she knew she had to talk to him. She was at a party and that was what people at parties did. They socialised. So she had to socialise too. Fighting back her anxiety, Yaz looked up at Paris and smiled as best she could manage while her brain scrambled for words.
"Umm no they're not mine just an artist on instagram I follow."
And breath. Great word vomiting.
"I have a load of mine on here though."
Why the hell had she said that?
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General Goose
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Chuck's stunt was noticed slightly earlier than would have been ideal. The chance to provide some unnoticed amusement to the carousers on the other side of the room, by exploiting Maxwell's uptight exterior, was cut short when Maxwell noticed Chuck almost immediately.
Chuck's forehead never passed over the proverbial parapet. He never responded to the attention given to him. Would break the illusion. Undermine the fun. Instead, he slightly tilted his head to the left, and then to the right, as if surveying the room through the Boo's eyes. And then, just as stoically as it had appeared, the hat began a slow descent, out of sight.
If one had been observant, they might have noticed a crawling Chuck scuttle across the floor as he darted towards the kitchen, like a xenomorph or something. He then walked back into view, holding a beer, as if none of that had even happened. "Hey guys." Chuck found himself next to Yaz and Paris, and decided he would talk with them for a bit.
Chuck's forehead never passed over the proverbial parapet. He never responded to the attention given to him. Would break the illusion. Undermine the fun. Instead, he slightly tilted his head to the left, and then to the right, as if surveying the room through the Boo's eyes. And then, just as stoically as it had appeared, the hat began a slow descent, out of sight.
If one had been observant, they might have noticed a crawling Chuck scuttle across the floor as he darted towards the kitchen, like a xenomorph or something. He then walked back into view, holding a beer, as if none of that had even happened. "Hey guys." Chuck found himself next to Yaz and Paris, and decided he would talk with them for a bit.
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Wham Yubeesling
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Oh.
Well.
Okay then.
Paris had left, apparently to go get Yasmin. Maxwell thought he had tried to stop Paris from doing that with what he said, but no. Paris decided that he was set on doing it anyway and went to go get her. That was annoying, that wasn’t really ideal for Maxwell, but it’d be fine. He supposed he could have a conversation. Who knew? Maybe someone lower on the totem pole than his other company would be interesting, for a change. At the very least it probably wouldn’t be awful. At the very least the person behind the couch had decided to… scuttle off. It looked like Maxwell was alone, now. It looked like Maxwell was no longer the center of the room.
And honestly, that was agreeable with him. It meant that he could relax, slightly. It meant that he could take his time to observe other people all around the room. It meant that he could listen to the much more agreeable song playing on the loudspeakers.
Well.
He thought he could.
But then she showed up and brought all her self-important raging bitchy baggage with her.
Great.
Honestly, he was somewhat hoping that Paris could come back. Whoever he tried to embarrass Maxwell with, at least they would probably be better company with what he had right now.
He didn’t turn his head to see her. He just kept it straight. Looked at the TV in front of him. Let her reflection tell that he didn’t want to look backwards, right now.
“I was looking at someone else Paris pointed in that direction. Not at you.”
Well.
Okay then.
Paris had left, apparently to go get Yasmin. Maxwell thought he had tried to stop Paris from doing that with what he said, but no. Paris decided that he was set on doing it anyway and went to go get her. That was annoying, that wasn’t really ideal for Maxwell, but it’d be fine. He supposed he could have a conversation. Who knew? Maybe someone lower on the totem pole than his other company would be interesting, for a change. At the very least it probably wouldn’t be awful. At the very least the person behind the couch had decided to… scuttle off. It looked like Maxwell was alone, now. It looked like Maxwell was no longer the center of the room.
And honestly, that was agreeable with him. It meant that he could relax, slightly. It meant that he could take his time to observe other people all around the room. It meant that he could listen to the much more agreeable song playing on the loudspeakers.
Well.
He thought he could.
But then she showed up and brought all her self-important raging bitchy baggage with her.
Great.
Honestly, he was somewhat hoping that Paris could come back. Whoever he tried to embarrass Maxwell with, at least they would probably be better company with what he had right now.
He didn’t turn his head to see her. He just kept it straight. Looked at the TV in front of him. Let her reflection tell that he didn’t want to look backwards, right now.
“I was looking at someone else Paris pointed in that direction. Not at you.”
Cilo- or maybe it was that other girl with the face and eyes- passed Paris as he was walking. He wasn't particularly sure why her attention had been roused. He hadn't been pointing at her, she'd just happened to be in the same direction that he'd been pointing in. Cool she was hanging around though. Paris figured she and Maxwell might speak at some point since they used to know each other or something possibly cinematic and dramatic like that. Paris wasn't paying so much attention to that right now.
The girl now in front of Paris cussed a bit and seemed surprised. She responded to the question he'd asked and breathed really loudly somewhere in the middle. He wondered a bit why she was so seemingly tense, but maybe it was because he'd been a bit too sudden. Paris supposed being too sudden was a habit he sometimes had.
"Huh, cool! I should follow more of those types of folks on Instagram. Like you, for example." Paris nodded cheerfully. "If you want to show off some of your work I'm totally cool with that! Photography's always fascinated me but whenever I take a picture it comes out all dull and lifeless. People who have the talent for it are pretty awesome." He recalled a few photos he'd taken in the past months, of his face and other people's faces. Maxwell's might also have ended up in a photo or two. As he thought about all those photos he definitely concluded they were less nice looking than the ones this girl had up on her phone.
The guy with the beanie showed up with a beer in his hand. Lot of drinkers in these parts. Even cute photo girl was working on something alcoholic. Oh well. The toxic yeasty smell was one of those things Paris couldn't help.
Paris vaguely gestured, from Chuck's face to Yaz's phone.
"Hey dude." Paris thought his name could have been Chuck.
"If you're cool with it I bet Chuck here would also be interested in your photos," Paris said at the girl whose name he was way more unsure about.
The girl now in front of Paris cussed a bit and seemed surprised. She responded to the question he'd asked and breathed really loudly somewhere in the middle. He wondered a bit why she was so seemingly tense, but maybe it was because he'd been a bit too sudden. Paris supposed being too sudden was a habit he sometimes had.
"Huh, cool! I should follow more of those types of folks on Instagram. Like you, for example." Paris nodded cheerfully. "If you want to show off some of your work I'm totally cool with that! Photography's always fascinated me but whenever I take a picture it comes out all dull and lifeless. People who have the talent for it are pretty awesome." He recalled a few photos he'd taken in the past months, of his face and other people's faces. Maxwell's might also have ended up in a photo or two. As he thought about all those photos he definitely concluded they were less nice looking than the ones this girl had up on her phone.
The guy with the beanie showed up with a beer in his hand. Lot of drinkers in these parts. Even cute photo girl was working on something alcoholic. Oh well. The toxic yeasty smell was one of those things Paris couldn't help.
Paris vaguely gestured, from Chuck's face to Yaz's phone.
"Hey dude." Paris thought his name could have been Chuck.
"If you're cool with it I bet Chuck here would also be interested in your photos," Paris said at the girl whose name he was way more unsure about.
Upcoming:
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
Second Chances V3 (deconreconfirmed):
Relations Thread!
Olivia Fischer (original handler, Maraoone)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (original handler, Frozen Smoke)
Memories: 1 Pregame: 1
Sayuna Lewis (original handler, Cicada)
Princess McQuillan (original handler, Cicada)
Pregame: 1
Oh god no, another person had shown up. Yaz knew who Chuck was, the hat was his signature, she wasn't sure she had ever seen him without it. He had just appeared from somewhere with a beer.
Oh and Paris was inviting him to look at her photos. That. Wasn't. Good. Yaz could hardly say no to the request. Ok that wasn't entirely true, she could have said no. But that wasn't the right answer. She was at a party so she had to say yes and socialise.
She looked up at Paris quickly.
"Yeah...yeah I guess I can." She flipped back to her instagram page, trying as hard as she could to contain the nervousness in her gut. She always got nervous when she had to show others her work. The fear of being told it was bad or she wasn't any good.
That rejection was one of her biggest fears when it came to her art. So she took a big gulp of her drink and waited.
Oh and Paris was inviting him to look at her photos. That. Wasn't. Good. Yaz could hardly say no to the request. Ok that wasn't entirely true, she could have said no. But that wasn't the right answer. She was at a party so she had to say yes and socialise.
She looked up at Paris quickly.
"Yeah...yeah I guess I can." She flipped back to her instagram page, trying as hard as she could to contain the nervousness in her gut. She always got nervous when she had to show others her work. The fear of being told it was bad or she wasn't any good.
That rejection was one of her biggest fears when it came to her art. So she took a big gulp of her drink and waited.
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General Goose
- Posts: 318
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 2:51 pm
"Oooh. Photos." Chuck always liked art, and looking at art, and offering his uncultured opinions on it. If it showed skill and dexterity, he would praise it to kingdom come. And if not, hey, Chuck appreciated art as a mode of self-expression, as a vernacular for someone's desires and anxieties. So he always stuck to praise, really. Unless it was, like, a collage of swastikas or a compilation of shit or he was behind a keyboard or asked in a serious capacity rather than as smalltalk. Then he would preface his criticism by noting his lack of expertise. And criticise away.
But he was slightly abuzz with the tickling tendrils of the flames of intoxication. In his own words. And that predisposed him to be very nice. And also very vague.
He leaned in. It was a weird look. Blurry. Indistinct. Maybe the phone was acting up. No. Couldn't be it. No-one else seemed to notice. Was the blurriness intentional? If so, cool. Chuck was okay with that. Maybe was a little bit too blurry. Especially for a photo.
Oh wait. No.
His glasses had fallen off. "Oops. Sorry." He knelt down, and picked them back up, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. "Anyway, yeah, show me whatever ones you like. I love photography." He didn't understand it, but he was easily impressed by visuals.
But he was slightly abuzz with the tickling tendrils of the flames of intoxication. In his own words. And that predisposed him to be very nice. And also very vague.
He leaned in. It was a weird look. Blurry. Indistinct. Maybe the phone was acting up. No. Couldn't be it. No-one else seemed to notice. Was the blurriness intentional? If so, cool. Chuck was okay with that. Maybe was a little bit too blurry. Especially for a photo.
Oh wait. No.
His glasses had fallen off. "Oops. Sorry." He knelt down, and picked them back up, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. "Anyway, yeah, show me whatever ones you like. I love photography." He didn't understand it, but he was easily impressed by visuals.
"Oh."
Clio bit her lip. Her face flushed in embarrassment. She'd been all ready to pick a fight with Maxwell, take out some of her leftover undirected annoyance, but now she felt kind of deflated.
Of course, he could be lying, and Clio wouldn't put it past him. Still, it didn't sound like he'd made it up on the spot, so she'd give him a pass there. But besides that, "Well you could at least look at me when I ask you a question!"
Clio's snippy tone was accompanied by a tilting of her head and a snap of her fingers. A loud snap, at that; finger snapping had been part of her PT when she broke her hands.
"Hello? Don't freaking ignore me."
Clio bit her lip. Her face flushed in embarrassment. She'd been all ready to pick a fight with Maxwell, take out some of her leftover undirected annoyance, but now she felt kind of deflated.
Of course, he could be lying, and Clio wouldn't put it past him. Still, it didn't sound like he'd made it up on the spot, so she'd give him a pass there. But besides that, "Well you could at least look at me when I ask you a question!"
Clio's snippy tone was accompanied by a tilting of her head and a snap of her fingers. A loud snap, at that; finger snapping had been part of her PT when she broke her hands.
"Hello? Don't freaking ignore me."
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Wham Yubeesling
- Posts: 1256
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:15 pm
- Location: there is a man standing behind you
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
- Contact:
“...”
Clio Gabriella was a person that Maxwell used to know. Well, technically he did still know her, but given the… mistake he had made, he felt as if it was best that he acted like he didn’t. She had been popular. Cheerful. Bubbly. It had only been natural that Maxwell asked her out when she had shown interest in him. It had only been natural that he saw her as the Cleopatra to his Julius Caesar. And, when it was clear that Clio was not what she seemed to be, it had been only clear that the relationship would be a failure. A poor choice of Maxwell’s. A regrettable experience.
And when they broke up, once he had learned to avoid those eyes of her's, it had only been a week before she was hopping onto someone else.
That, to Maxwell, told him more about who she was more than anything else she’d done while they were dating.
She was yapping on behind him. Being her usual egotistical, toxic, constantly-need-to-be-the-center-of-attention-in-order-to-get-over-whatever-abandonment-issues-I-have self. Telling Maxwell to acknowledge her even though he had just done so, a moment ago.
He didn’t really want to have to bear with this anymore.
He stood up. Looked around. Took his steps to where Paris’ group seemed to be.
Proceeded to reunite himself with better company.
“Hello, may I ask what we are talking about?”
Clio Gabriella was a person that Maxwell used to know. Well, technically he did still know her, but given the… mistake he had made, he felt as if it was best that he acted like he didn’t. She had been popular. Cheerful. Bubbly. It had only been natural that Maxwell asked her out when she had shown interest in him. It had only been natural that he saw her as the Cleopatra to his Julius Caesar. And, when it was clear that Clio was not what she seemed to be, it had been only clear that the relationship would be a failure. A poor choice of Maxwell’s. A regrettable experience.
And when they broke up, once he had learned to avoid those eyes of her's, it had only been a week before she was hopping onto someone else.
That, to Maxwell, told him more about who she was more than anything else she’d done while they were dating.
She was yapping on behind him. Being her usual egotistical, toxic, constantly-need-to-be-the-center-of-attention-in-order-to-get-over-whatever-abandonment-issues-I-have self. Telling Maxwell to acknowledge her even though he had just done so, a moment ago.
He didn’t really want to have to bear with this anymore.
He stood up. Looked around. Took his steps to where Paris’ group seemed to be.
Proceeded to reunite himself with better company.
“Hello, may I ask what we are talking about?”