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.

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"Hey, I heard there was a party, so I brought beer. You can never have enough," Fred said, carrying a couple six packs of something Australian because he really just wore that on his sleeve. "And if anyone's really desperate to make out right now, I'm willing to oblige. You know, to be helpful."

Okay, he was kind of hot, but the Australian immediately subtracted like five full points.

Out of what, Tamsin wasn't sure. But they were subtracted. "It was starting to get too classy in there, booze-wise," she said, taking the pack. "Place is filling up, I've heard at least half the people bitching about being horny, so hey, you might be in luck."

"That's the problem. Things get too classy and people don't want to just go for it. It's the wrong mood," Fred said. "But since I'm bringing things down a notch anyway, we could always give them a show to get the mood just right."

He was as bold as a boomerang on the forehead. And since he wasn't wearing one of those right now, he was showing the boldness in other ways.

"Normally I'd say you're a little too Australian for me," Tamsin said. "And you're definitely not the hottest person at this thing."

That was a toss-up between Mike and Jessica, depending on who she was looking at while she was making that call.

"So sure, what the hell. Just don't talk too much."

"I know how to shut up when the time is right," Fred said. And then, instead of talking, he leaned in for a kiss.

Well, he leaned in for a heavy makeout session, a little bit of moaning, and, eventually, a personal recommendation from Tamsin to all the other women at the party that Fred was the best she ever had. But you had to get to step one first.

Edited 2016-02-20 18:44 (UTC)

What he was getting was a light makeout session (look, it was sex pollen week), a pat on his Australian head, and a, "Eh, it'll do."

"I've gotten worse reviews," Fred said. "Thanks for throwing this party."

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

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