fjordicswagger | 74 Godiva Street, AKA Tamsin and Death's Home Of More Alcohol Than Last Year, Saturday Evening

Okay, this party had been born out of actual need (for alcohol and getting laid) last year; this year, those factors weren't as urgent for Tamsin, who figured she could always drop in on Jessica or Mike if the night was a spectacular failure.

But hell, it'd been fun last time. Why the hell not?

There were black sheets hanging in front of the windows again, and pillows and sheets scattered all over the floor to make for little makeshift sitting spaces and nooks. There was an empty bottle (in case someone decided to play Spin the Bottle) sitting somewhere in the middle of the room, and in a fit of generosity Tamsin had thoughtfully supplied a bunch of bags of chips in case people wanted to eat stuff.

The glitter clinging to the sheets and the walls and whatnot: not her fault. Who'd ever heard of impromptu localized glitter storms before? At least the winds had died down well before the party actually started, but there was no way in hell she was vacuuming all that stuff up.

There. Party time.

[[ OPEN! ]]

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The central area of Tamsin's ~~refurnished storefront~~ house is covered in pillows for people to sit on. The table of drinks is nearby, as are the snacks, and the lights are on.

Sarah was just fine with sitting a little off to the side of the well-lit area, with a beer in hand.

Well. As happy as she was with anything this week. She wasn't even sure why she'd shown up, to be honest.

"Hey, I haven't seen you since the picnic," Fred noted as a greeting. "You're looking even better tonight."

"It's because there's a fuck-ton of pollen in the air," Sarah rasped.

Not that she minded the compliment. She just liked being difficult.

"And I've got a little bit of beer goggles going, but it's still true," Fred said. "I'd be trying to chat you up even without this stuff in the air."

"Mm, bet you would." Because he gave off kind of a Devlin-type vibe. It was not really a compliment, but she was a lot more likely to forgive that this week. "And yet you didn't even bring me a fuckin' drink. Tsk."

"Here's where I show off just for fun," Fred said, pulling a boomerang out of his pocket and throwing it at the drink table.

Moments later, it came back with a beer attached to it. "I wouldn't open it right away," he said, handing the can over.

"Okay, that's borderline impressive," Sarah decided as she took the beer. It was pretty impressive but he hadn't earned the right to hear that. "Still, the old-fashioned way wouldn't have made me have to wait."

"Hey, I guess that means we have to find some way to waste some time," Fred said. "I'm open to options."

"Really. And I bet the options you're thinking of are perfectly PG, too."

Sarcasm was her real best friend.

"One of the options is watching me do fancy boomerang tricks, so that counts," Fred argued. "The rest are rated much higher. A couple didn't even get submitted to the review board."

"Well," Sarah replied, eyeing the can of beer before glancing back up again, "I'm intrigued."

"Wanna find a nice spot in this place away from prying eyes so I can show you what I have in mind?" Fred asked. "Or people can watch. I have very little shame."

Sarah shrugged. "Yeah, sure." A beat, and she added, "To the first option."

Her standards were low right now, but not that low.

Fred got up from his seat on the floor with a smile on his face. "That's the one I was hoping for," Fred said. "But I like giving options."

Cara was by the booze, it seemed the safest place.

If you asked nicely she might even pour you something to drink.

"Do we still have any cinnamon schnapps?" Didi asked, leaning past Cara to peruse the bottles. "And hi."

"That bottle there, the nearly full one." Cara had taken one whiff and her sneezing had somehow gotten worse.

Hello, I'm Cara, and I have manners like a normal person.

"Not enough people appreciate cinnamon," Didi said thoughtfully, and poured a generous measure into her cup to make up for it. (There was already something in it, but she was past the point of caring.) "Thanks. How's the party treating you?"

Clearly the cinnamon schnapps was too pure for this world.

"No one's acted like an idiot." Which was really all a girl could hope for.

"Is that good or bad?" Didi wondered.

"It's either less annoying or less entertaining," Cara replied. "Depends on whether their idiocy is directed at me."

Fred settled onto a pillow with one of his beers and took a look around so he could rank every person he saw. In fairness, it was a pass-fail ranking. And everyone here passed.

Except Tony Stark. Fuck that guy. Not... not literally. Like, screw that guy. But... You knew what he meant.

Éponine dropped off all the bottles of alcohol she'd brought with her, then helped herself to something else (bourbon by the look of the label) and settled down in a corner. She enjoyed people-watching on a normal day, and this week . . . well, it was more people-ogling, really.

74 Godiva Street, AKA Tamsin and Death's Home Of More Alcohol Than Last Year, Saturday Evening

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