[sormik] party don't stop till he walk in

[ofseraphim]

[ Sometimes -- just sometimes!! -- Sorey wonders why he’s friends with the likes of Rose.

Except, not really. He loves his friends! All of them! Unconditionally! Even when they drag him off to parties he’s quite sure he has zero business being at. Which, on that note, what is he doing here?? It’s dark, overcrowded, and most of all, loud. As in, this is an apartment and they’re definitely breaking some noise ordinances kind of loud. Arguably worst of all? No sooner than they walked in together, Rose slipped off into the distance, led by the hands and arms of people obviously grateful to see her. ”I’ll be right back! You wait here, I’ll introduce you to everyone!”

Uh-huh. Suuure.

Honestly, Sorey doesn’t fault her. Plus, that’s nothing he can’t take into his own hands, right? Right! He’s friendly enough to have a good time and make conversation with strangers! ...But he can’t even hear himself think with the thump of that bass, let alone chat someone up. Seriously, for a social affair, it’s a pretty impractical setup.

So, after a while he grows tired of being a smartly over-dressed fly on the wall simply smiling amiably at fellow party-goers -- oh, and of not being able to hear himself think, as mentioned above -- and politely squeezes past pairs of tangled bodies and couples in various stages of... things... to the bar. Er, kitchen, but. Mostly a bar, for the moment. Wherein, he can finally breathe out -- without the risk of smelling (or inhaling) something funny.

It’s quieter here, and he fits in alright, doesn’t he? If only for purposes of camouflage, he’s got a drink in his hand: The good ol’ cliché garden variety welcome to the party now here’s your red solo cup of mystery juice special™. And that’s exactly why he’s sniffed it more than swallowed it -- it even smells like an all-nighter in the bathroom. Yikes. No thanks.

So, in summation: He’s here, (wherever here is), he’s tragically sober, and he knows no one in eyeshot. But! At least he can think again. That’s a plus. And, now that he’s a bit more removed from the music, he might be able to actually converse with someone! The possibilities are endless. ]

Comments

[dickleo]

[ in a similar vein, mikleo doesn’t want any part of this.

the worst part? the worst part is that this is his apartment. His roommates, mostly Zaveid, and through suggesting eyebrows and promises of breaking their little third-roommate out of his shell, Edna as well, had insisted this wasn’t normal and good for their College Experience.

the broken glasses, garbage, stains and sights were something out of nightmares and blog posts rather than dreams.

but mikleo sucked it up. ducking out in his room seemed to be useless - the bass pierced through the walls and shook his pencil and desk - and leaving also seemed ridiculous. so he finally forced himself out into the fray, wearing an oversized sweater and dark jeans, his hair a fluffy mess. likely the opposite of put-together.

the red solo cups scream bad decisions but he swipes one anyway. knowing fully well he won’t like it, he takes a sip and immediately coughs, his free arm swinging forward to cover his abrupt fit before he coughs all over someone. ]

Is this grain alcohol?

[ WHO MADE THIS DEATH CUP??? ]