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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She's doing mental Is It Worth Staying At My Own Party Math if she isn't drinking.

"Good party so far," Didi said, between sips of something fruity and highly alcoholic."Do you think you're going to ask anybody to spend the night?"

Didi didn't think she herself would, but it was always nice to be flexible.

"I'm trying to pick between Jessica and Mike," Tamsin sighed. "Though I might just get out of your hair if we're going to do more than swap spit."

"Good taste. And as long as you stay out of my room, you can swap whatever you want with whoever you want," Didi said, glancing over the guests. "I don't judge. I'm thinking about Constantine. Mostly because it'd scare the shit out of him if I tried."

"... You know, I'd actually pay to see that," Tamsin said. "... Not the naked parts. Just you scaring the shit out of him by being flirty."

"Watch me," Didi said, smirking. "It's not even personal. He just has a thing about my family."

She sipped her drink and added, thoughtfully, "Not that he's completely wrong. But still. I'm a fluffy bunny next to him!"

She so was not.

Tamsin shrugged lightly. "I don't really know the guy, besides that he thinks he's some kind of charming rogue," she offered.

Largely because it was more polite than pointing out that Didi was Death.

"He's a sorcerer," Didi explained, as matter-of-factly as someone else might say 'he's a Methodist' or 'he's a barber' -- which were probably actually less likely on the island. "Tends to end up tangled in things bigger than he is, you know?"

"Walking disaster?" Tamsin guessed. "Ugh. Those always get complicated."

"Yeah, but he's kind of a hot disaster," Didi said thoughtfully.

"He does have that scruffy blond English guy thing going for him," Tamsin mused.

"I have a weakness for scruff and English," Didi said, rubbing at her chin. "You'd come out of it smelling like cigarettes, though."

"Eugh," Tamsin muttered. "Never did understand that habit."

"It's very slow-motion suicide," Didi shrugged. "But a lot of things they do are."

"Drinks, I can get," Tamsin said. She shrugged. "But you know me. Warriors were always my specialty."

"You like the ones trying to be heroes," Didi nodded. "I don't blame you. I just, y'know, always end up liking everybody."

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

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