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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Mike brought a bag full of booze. He'd been such a good boy all week, he was allowed, dammit.

(You know. Like he actually cared whether anyone was judging him.)

Edited 2016-02-20 14:54 (UTC)

Tamsin grinned wolfishly at him as soon as she spotted it. "I knew there was a reason you were my favorite," she said.

Still a little dry, but she meant it.

Mike grinned. "Like to make a good impression." And parties were kind of his element. Particularly ones with sexual undertones. "Hey, Tamsin. How've you been?"

"Horny, mostly," Tamsin said, pulling a face. "You?"

"Horny with a sideorder of 'fuck, I need to get this dining set done by Monday'." This was why they got along. "Which, by the way, I did."

Tamsin thought about that one for a moment. "How sturdy is this dining set?" she said.

... Just asking for a friend.

Sure. Mike looked amused. "Well I built it to last for generations, so..."

"Cool," Tamsin mused. "If this keeps up, I might have to come check it out."

"That's definitely an option." That he would never object to. Unless he somehow miraculously gained a girlfriend. "My door's open and my table is sturdy as hell."

"Why haven't you added a stripper pole to the house yet?" Tamsin mused. "You could do good business at least on week out of the year."

"Dunno, maybe I will," he replied with a chuckle. "Would you come claim private shows?"

"I am the mayor," Tamsin pointed out.

Snort. "Wasn't aware it was a mayorly duty, and I sure as hell am glad the previous mayor didn't try to fulfill it. But sure, I'd make sure you were properly impressed."

"It's a mayorly duty because I say so," Tamsin said. "Isn't that how it works?"

She was joking. Mostly.

Mike smirked.

"I don't know, but I will respect your authority."

"You'd better," Tamsin judged. "We know good things happen when you respect my authority."

"Oh, trust me, I remember." Good times. "So yeah, if you want to flex your authority, you know where to find me."

"Maybe I'll be by next week," Tamsin mused. "Everyone's heading off anyway."

"Ah, yeah, spring break," he replied, nodding, as that particular realization dawned on him. "Well, my door's going to be extra open."

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

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