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Post by Deleted on Jan 4, 2014 20:28:09 GMT
♪ it surrounded him: the cigarette smoke curling all around in the darkened room, the stench of cheap alcohol sloshing in plastic cups, the bright eyes and wild laughter of the partygoers (poison in their lungs and venom in their veins), their inhibitions dropped like the bass that rattled his bones. he was dizzy, and he was nauseous. he watched with a critical eye the inelegant motions of the inebriated youth, felt sweat dampen his throat in the sultry house. nate didn’t hate it though. he’d been standing in the same corner of the living room for the past ten minutes as a disinterested observer, body language plainly closed off to any drunken advances. he knew he didn’t belong here—him, a diligent pre-med student with a perfect gpa, him, who’d spent his teenage years philosophizing rather than partying it up. it was a stranger’s house, an university student who could afford a spacious lodging in the suburbs. he might’ve been in nate’s classes, he might’ve not. nate had caught wind of the house party leaving campus the prior week. he went today because he woke up with a migraine, because he’d finished his paper, because the internet router was acting up, because why not? nate knew of everyone in the room, knew no one. they cast him suspicious looks; he wanted to laugh. (always the black sheep in the mindless herd.) then someone stumbled into him, hard, and spilled their cup of beer all over the front of his shirt, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. @nath |
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Post by Deleted on Jan 6, 2014 19:30:34 GMT
It was true, every word of it.
Nathan Saunders was a homeless stray with no home sweet, no sweet home. It was a thing that only troubled him if he didn't happen to have a roof over his head; he was fine with it otherwise. If he was intoxicated, the drugs and the drink could fuel his dreams for him. He didn't have to think, didn't have to feel, sure, sometimes he felt like one of those days he was gonna puke out his guts but hey, everyone has a bad day. No one was except, unless it was coming from some kind of Mr Shitty Optimism.
There were times, especially after a long dry patch, where Nathan'd find himself score a particularly promising party. Often it'd involve clueless rich boys and girls, and Nathan knew a long enough chain of people to get himself into parties somehow, unless people were being particular strict about it. That rarely happened and Nathan'd been on the party scene long enough to know.
So he was here in the suburbs, in a fancy house, half admiring mile long curtains and half admiring the drunk university girls. The music was booming in his ears and he didn't need to be drunk to feel rancid already. (Although he was already, say, pretty drunk. Not that he'd admit that.) He was dwindling to the back of the living room, body swaying, until some guy knocked into him, causing some kind of knock on effect to another guy who he didn't even notice. The drink look pretty good on his shirt though.
"Yeh alright?" Nathan scoffed, edging a little closer, not one bit apologetic. "Why you not partyin' like everyone else?"
@nao1
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Post by Deleted on Jan 6, 2014 21:06:31 GMT
nate had expected the stranger to plod on blindly. he was convinced half the room—probably more—couldn’t tie their shoes in the present moment. so when the blond turned to face him directly, the faint slur in his unrepentant question betraying his intoxication, nate took the lingering lull of silence after his words to appraise him. it went without saying he was several steps past buzzed; his pupils focused with a bit of difficulty, his body rocked almost imperceptibly, yet he reveled in it. every body tic measured, habitual. an experienced drunk, then.
he was also completely unfamiliar, and nate never forgot a face. they stuck in his mind’s eye like flies to honey. nate shifted his weight, then back again. the soaked shirt clung unpleasantly to his skin. he didn’t bother glancing down to survey the damage, not when it was replaceable. everything was.
the question still hung in the air. he considered simply leaving it there, suspended and noosed, until the flies came to play. then nate blinked, chased away idle thoughts, and arranged his features. his smile gleamed emptily. “honestly? i’m not drunk enough.” he wondered, enviously, if the magic liquor could bring him the same blissful oblivion. maybe.
@nath |
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Post by Deleted on Jan 11, 2014 1:20:20 GMT
Nathan made a face. Some sort of face, including the thing he did with his eyebrows. It was reserved for people who he could not for the life of him, understand.
Then again, with the pounding music and the drink in his veins, it was a little hard to make sense of his words. But he did make out three: 'not' 'drunk' 'enough'. In which Nathan frowned, shook his head, grabbed his arm and pulled him from his corner.
"You fuckin' come with me, y'little shit." He spat out, but it certainly didn't sound angry. He managed to lead the man to the kitchen, avoided the 'couples of the night' making out on the floor or doing anything beyond sanitary. He groaned something incoherent, and turned, himself with a beer and for the non-drunk, a full bottle.
"Enjoy mate, y'll love it." He slurred, already opening his beer bottle with his teeth.
@nao1
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