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[ Guvernment Nightclub - Toronto, Ontario ] [ 12:05am ]

A good lay?

Perhaps he did, perhaps he didn't, but he wasn't about to find out which it was. All he wanted to do was go home, or at least back to something a little quieter than the entertainment district in Toronto. The hotel would do, he assumed. The stranger was thoroughly ignored, save for a rather wide wave of his middle finger over his head as he walked ******** you too, random a*****e. <******** you, too.

He wasn't even his type anyway; he never did care for clean shaven and buzz cuts.

[ New York City, New York ][ 10:49 p.m. EST ]

Evidence indicated that Clerise also believed this was intentional, which elicited an uncomfortable combination of thoughts between wounded and validated. Nothing but 'why' resonated in her thoughts for a long moment of contemplation, an echo of a desperate necessity for an answer that she had (apparently) not earned.

"Thank you." Then silence, which was immediately filled by the sounds of the street in the absence of her voice, until she cleared her throat and continued.

"You are welcome to do that to him, I suppose. Something more permanent might be more beneficial." She stared out into the crowd moving down the street, eyes unfocused, and saw nothing. "Do...ah, do you have a show, or are you celebrating tonight?"

[ San Francisco, CA ][ 7:51 PM PST ]

She waited, with bated breath, for something more. In the meantime, Clerise wondered how much plane tickets were going for to get back home. She'd spent a lot of time, in that backyard and around that house, and all its tired walls and aching doors. That house had a hurt in it, one that had never quite healed after Mimsy's mother. It was almost like she still lingered the halls, a presence that just poisoned everything around it.

But it hadn't been her fault. There had been something very, deeply wrong with her. (Like there was something very, deeply off about her daughter, and that's a thought Clerise does not chase away, but drinks in, acknowledges, and loves her, neither for nor despite it.)

Mimsy was a few years her junior, and Clerise remembered her Mother from sleeopvers, from the other sides of doors and the soft sounds of crying, deep into the night.

But finally, Mimsy spoke, her voice crackling over the line.

"You're telling me," Clerise bitched, flopping back onto her hotel bedspread. Ooh, a mint. "Had an afternoonsies, but it's done and s**t. I'm all free to party hard, but you know, I'm just gonna get room service and eat till I'm a fat ******** possum and then watch porn till I pass out, frankly. I'm getting old, I think. I'm two shy of thirty and I already wanna just retire to the beach, you know."

A pause, and the sound of rifling through the bedside drawer. In search of the room service menu, of course.

"You should go somewhere, live it up. Where are you at, anyway? I hear a ton of noise, you."

[ New York, NY ] [ 9:27 PM ]


Trying to ignore Nora’s teasing while simultaneously respond to Lina in a timely fashion was difficult. Gale gave his cousin a scowl, his lips turning downward, and said indignantly, “That was because my date was Libby from next door, and she kept calling me Gala. I was standing in a corner because I was trying to get away from her, not because I liked her or anything.”

It was mostly true. Gale kept walking determinedly in whatever direction Nora was leading him and tried to act casual as his phone dinged again.

His heart gave a little leap of happiness.



He hesitated a moment, thumb hovering above the screen, and then screwed up his courage to type the second part of the message.

[ University of Florida dorm party, fl ][10:05]

The hey probably wouldn't have gotten his attention, but the mention of a professor dickhead and grading papers was enough. So Zeke turned his head and, catching sight of the pretty thing with the blazing blue eyes smiling up at him, grinned back at her. "Could be. If the dickhead you're referring to happens to be Rutherford." Zeke personally liked the guy, he was direct, no none-sense, and rude as ******** to to the students in his lectures, and that provided hours of entertainment to someone that delighted in watching drama unfold. Dickhead wasn't inaccurate though, he had to admit.

Green eyes dipped, taking her all in, before twitching up again. "I know you." Her name at least. Stuck with the arduous task of grading papers, Zeke had managed to commit many names and faces to memory. "Harley, right?" She was, unless his was mistaken(and he wasn't), a very sharp young woman. Her papers were always easy to ready, and managed to stand out in a sea of hundreds.

[ University of Florida dorm party, fl ][10:07]



He nodded when she got his name right, grin growing a touch, then gave a soft snort as she thanked him for any assistance she suspected he'd given her in order to pass their last semester. "No thanks needed, you passed that s**t all on your own." It had been Zeke's pleasure to go over her work, and that was high praise from the TA. The majority of the work he'd been tasked to grade had been tedious and mind melting. Harley stood a chance at excelling, where Zeke considered her peers to be wasting their time.

The offer had a brow raising, and he glanced out into the room as if expecting to see a bartender. There was not.

"Sure." She was a curious girl. Quirky and energetic, and carried herself with a certain sort of self deprecating confidence Ezekiel could charming. "Maybe even three."

The night was looking up.

[ Fort Worth, tx ][9:50]

Horace sighed, suddenly wishing they were celebrating the new year one-on-one. He fiddled with his phone for a second before popping out into the cold night air.





Grinning, he grabbed Peyton about the waist. "Cold, sugar? Let's go." Estevez was greeted with a (manly) half-hug and Horace watched the other man's eyes widen as Horace introduced Peyton. His fingers had slipped just above the waistband of her skirt and stroked the skin there. The party was loud and packed - people already drunk on youth and alcohol filling every corner. Cups were shoved in their hands, the contents some dubious mix of beer and grape kool-aid. Gross. He set his down as his phone buzzed.




"Beer pong, some kinda board game, dancing, there's weed on the back porch - what d'you wanna too?" He leaned close to her so he wouldn't have to yell, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Pick something where I can keep my hands on you."

[ University of Florida, fl ][10:09]

Sweet? Sweet was not often how others would describe him, but Zeke would take the compliment.

She was certainly a bundle of energy, it was vaguely endearing, and the man flashed a smile at her as she upped the number to a round four, then bounded off to go find said drinks after a rather firm request that he stay put. "Wouldn't dream of leaving," he called after her, reclaiming his comfortable slouch against the wall. It took a little longer than anticipated, but there was plenty to around that served as temporary entertainment. Intoxication was spreading. Poor decisions were everywhere.

When Harley did get back to him she was carrying four beers in what had to be the most ill thought out way possible. Brows arched up, and he reached out taking the two she offered out to him with one hand, long fingers looping around their necks. "Mission was a success, I see." The second beer was set on the floor by his foot, and the first was twisted open and lifted immediately to his lips. It wasn't the first drink of the evening, and it seemed Harley was determined to make sure it wasn't his last.

Things were looking up indeed.

"So where do you hail from?" And this was the part he liked. Information gathering, getting to know a person, seeing what made them tick. He very much wanted to see what made the energetic red head in front of him tick.