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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"Éponine," Tamsin greeted, mostly with a nod of her head. "It's been a while. What have you people been getting up to with the mail?"

"Nothing like that, if that's what you're thinking," Éponine said with an amused snort, "or at least I haven't, and I don't care if anyone else has. Good lord, but we've had some interesting deliveries this week! It's silly, there's a perfectly good shop for that right here, but I s'pose some people don't want to be seen going into Dite's."

"It's also not open as much as it used to be," Tamsin muttered. "I'm thinking about bribing someone to open it up every year when this thing hits."

"The piles of money to be made," Éponine said, half-distractedly, then added, "S'pose you could call it a public service, too."

She gestured around the room with the arm not holding a bag of booze. "Public service -- that what this is too, again?"

"This is me getting bored and figuring at least half the island deserves to get laid," Tamsin said, shrugging idly. "I'm getting soft in my old age."

Éponine laughed, a low, rough chuckle. "'s that so? I won't let on, if your reputation'd suffer for it. Nice of you to think of us, though, that's for sure. Can't say the same for some mayors."

"I do get all kinds of hot people showing up to my house with free booze," Tamsin said, giving a slight shrug. "It works."

"And it's a chance for me to unload a few bottles before my place is covered in them," said Éponine, who dug into the bag and pulled out an unopened bottle of some kind of flavored vodka -- she wasn't sure which, she'd just grabbed it at random but it was possibly pomegranate -- by way of demonstration. "I'd drink 'em all myself but as if I've got that kind of time."

"Are you cleaning up your act?" Tamsin asked. "I don't know if that's cute or not."

"That's ridiculous," Éponine scoffed. "No, it's only that there's only so many hours in the day, isn't it? And I don't care to clean up glass if my cat gets it in her head to knock bottles off things."

Tables, shelves, stacks of books, whatever.

She shrugged. "'s true, though, I haven't had quite as much lately."

"I don't know whether to congratulate you or ask you what the hell is wrong," Tamsin said. "But I'm going to go with the former. Takes less effort."

"In that case, you have my thanks." Éponine nodded her head in an only partly serious gesture of appreciation. "I've got no idea why, really. Maybe it's just that I've other things to do."

Which sounded more like she had a social life than she meant, but oh well.

"Like delivering the mail?" Tamsin asked dryly.

"Seems they're particular about us not drinking while we're on the job," Éponine said, and the way she rolled her eyes said that she clearly thought this was unreasonable. "And as I don't care to go hungry again I've just got to put up with it. Just as well, with all the stairs."

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

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