fjordicswagger | Tamsin's House of Sharp Things And Presently Not Enough Alcohol, Thursday Evening

For a couple of minutes, Tamsin had contemplated the idea of just opening up Town Hall for the party, but... what would be the point in that? People were fired up on hormones, people wanted to get laid, you needed a space small enough to get 'em close together. So to speak.

Also, this way she got free booze out of the deal, so-- win win.

She'd hung the black sheets back in front of the large store windows (partly to keep the light out, partly so it was slightly less obvious the house was technically a shop she was technically maybe squatting in). She'd tossed a ton of pillows and an old mattress on the floor, since she didn't actually have a sofa, per sé. The rooms upstairs were... well, okay, they were rooms.

And there was a table for incoming booze. With solo cups. Of course.

Perfect. Time for a party. If anyone had seen the posters...

[[ ocd ~~incoming...~~ up! adults only party is a go! eta: i should probably note browse responsibly, since there might be hints of nsfw in the comments at some point, i have no idea how this post will roll ]]

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Here, let Kitty not help:

"You know, he thought I give you details on what we do," she said. "I guess that kind of counts..."

"You should tell him that I give you details on my dirty lesbian dominatrix exploits in return," Irene told her. "Just because it'd be funny."

...and because she could, Kitty, if you were curious. Speaking of totally not helping and all.

Yep, definitely not helping. Not that any part of this conversation had.

"I think he might short-circuit."

"I see no bad there," Irene replied with a grin. "That kind of thing works for him? You should tell him I helped you practice kissing or helped you try on lingerie yesterday or something. See what that gets you."

It got you awesome visuals is what it got you. Also, Irene, that was really obvious, you are grown-ass ladies who don't need kissing practice.

"I don't really need kissing practice," Kitty said, maybe bragging.

"You can't say things like that this week without my asking you to prove it," Irene pointed out, crooking a smile at her. "Just saaaaaaaying."

"Still have a boyfriend," she said, partly to remind herself.

At least until/unless she and Clint had a Conversation, dear lord this week.

Tamsin's House of Sharp Things And Presently Not Enough Alcohol, Thursday Evening

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