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At this point in time, Andeon had become accustomed to waking up in strange places. Locker rooms. Football stadiums. The bedroom of a woman who had looked like Ursula Johnson when he'd gone to bed and woke up looking like Janice Fitzpatrick. Why, he had practically perfected the art of easing his arm out from under the pillow without waking Old Horseface from a deep, drooling slumber and slipping out unnoticed. Still, waking up in some unknown place was far from a new experience.

Only now, there was no door to slip out of. There was no janitor to prod him awake with the end of a broom handle. There was no creepy homeless man to stand over him, mouth-breathing loudly until Andeon jolted awake and ran like hell, fueled by the desperate hope of not being hobo-raped. There were only four white walls, four students, and four shotglasses.

And one wonderful, fantastic, glorious bottle of vodka.

It had to be a joke, clearly. Or a present. Perhaps this was Fallon's way of getting back at him for training Snuzzles to steal her panties from the laundry room. Perhaps this was Janice's vengeance for his relentless habit of slipping pictures of Woody Harrelson with 'This is You!' written on them under her door every morning. Either way, the joke was on them, because never in his life would Andeon Djordje Mihajlo Boskovic consider being trapped in a room with vodka to be a punishment.

Upon noticing that the other three occupants of the room were the ladies, Andeon couldn't keep the smile from his face. Even if one of them was that creepy chick who he frequently checked his closets for late at night, just to make sure she wasn't there.

“Ladies,” he began, picking up the bottle and beginning to pour out the shots, “I feel it only fair to warn you that I get handsy when drunk. So as we begin our joint adventure down the Goosey Road, I would like you all to feel free to unfasten your belts, stow all panties at the space in front of your feet, and please remember that it is a maximum of two at a time on the Andeonmobile.”

Once the shot glasses were filled, Andeon plucked his from the table and held it out before him, “Cheers?”

As the two before her, Mackenzie "Micky" O'Connell was not unused to waking up in rooms that were not her own. It came with being a flirt. It came with being a drunk. Combining the two didn't help the matter. So when her green eyes flickered open, she didn't yelp or anything. The white walls were a little creepy, but overall the situation didn't seem too strange. (Yet.) She did, however, think it was just a tad odd that there were three other occupants to the room, instead of the usual one. On any other day of the week, no, any other day of her life Micky's mind would have immediately gone straight to the gutter and made a cozy place, because this just screamed foursome. But this was not any other day, this was this day, and the only thing she could think of was how she wished she was waking up in a certain Elle Hammel's bed, instead of here.

This only further depressed the auburn-haired girl.

Sitting up slowly, carefully, Mack groaned, one hand rubbing the spot where her ponytail-thing had ground into the back of her skull as she peered around at the others a little dejectedly. So far so good. She didn't really know any of the other occupants -- she only knew two of their names, and only because their reputations preceded them. The pink haired boy (was that that guy from the play?) seemed to be living it up, his underwear comment causing her to crack just a slight smile. She had a feeling that, had circumstances been different, she might have liked this guy. He seemed to have similar tastes as she. Or maybe she would have hated him. Who knew.

And that was the Elle circumstance, not the 'trapped in a room with two girls, a guy, and a bottle of vodka' circumstance.

Picking up the glass, Micky downed it in a heartbeat, shaking out her head as it burned her throat -- a familiar friend. Usually, being offered alcohol by a suspicious ceiling-box was a 'no thanks' kind of scenario, but at the moment she was in a very 'to hell with it' mood. Smacking her lips a little, she shook her head again, this time a double-take, blinking as the girl she knew only by name as Frankie began to remove her underwear. a slightly amused, slightly embarrassed look flashed across her expression, and she reached out to clap her shoulder, laughing dryly.

"Oh hun, don't listen to that t**t."

"Excellent!" the voice crackled. "Very nice. Apparently you can follow instructions. This is good, this is very good. You may get out of this yet." Another crackle. "Here's the next I Never: I never kissed somebody of the opposite sex on the mouth."

Crackle. "No relatives allowed -- unless your relatives are a little more creepy than I imagined."

Frankie was quite partial to listening to people and doing what they told her to do. One would find this rather hard to believe, but no one really tried to tell Frankie to do things without an inflection of fear and pleading in their voice. Posters that told her to "Say no to drugs" were met with skepticism from other students but Frankie took these as the gospel. Frankie listened to announcements, Frankie supported the local Barren Pines Track team when asked to (though they really wished she wouldn't), Frankie Reduced, Reused, Recycled; now all of these things were done in regular Frankie fashion so this wasn't much of a virtue whatsoever, so Frankie found herself pulling her panties back up.

And then back down again yet again, sorta huffy with this whole thing. Besides, she would rather have Edward's face nearer to her anyway.

The voice asked another question and Frankie reached for another shot happily. Anyone viewing this would wonder who in their RIGHT MINDS would ever make out with one Frankie Del Rockham. And then Andeon was hitting on her, and suddenly, oh right. Teenage libido's through rose coloured glasses and all.

Frankie smiled as charmingly as she could manage back to Andeon. Which was never a good sign.

"Molotov Cocktail's are my favourite occurrence when vodka is involved."

Alease sighed, man this dream was boring her and she already had a nasty taste in her mouth. Then she heard the next question this was great! simply amazing! Even Frankie had kissed someone and she... had not. She was saving herself for Grayson at one point her childhood best friend and when that went up in her face then she was pretty distant from people. Except Sam, maybe if you asked in a week or two something might of happened between her and Sam but as it stood she had never kissed anyone besides her brother and even that was just on his forehead before bed.

She closed her eyes and looked over in the corner maybe if she was lucky then no one would notice. Then she mumbled.

"No devil water for me then...."

Andeon wondered who it their RIGHT MINDS would ever make out with one Frankie Del Rockham.

Oh, right. He would.

While Andeon knew what a Molotov Cocktail was, he seemed largely unphased by Frankie's response. After all, who didn't like to violently set things on fire when drunk? Or when sober? And Frankie had always been a little on the weird side. Well, Frankie had always been ten steps to the weird side. Fourteen miles. Distance from the earth to moon. A couple of light years.

Alright, alright, Frankie Del Rockham was a ******** creeper.

Still, being a creeper did not exclude her from Andeon's list of “people I want to see without panties on”, and thus her response still drew a wide grin. At least, until that wide grin was covered by Micky's lips. In his many, many, many drunken experiences, never had Andeon gotten one woman out of her panties and seemingly turned another one straight within the first two shots. By the time Micky pulled away, Andeon was grinning from ear to ear. He let out one long, low da-hurrrrrr of idiotic laughter.

“Your hurt face is pretty,” he said with a wink.

“Oh, Alease,” that stupid, goofy grin turned lecherous, “We can fix that.” Another wink. Clearly, Andeon liked to wink at pretty girls. Even Onion-headed, vodka-hating girls. He snatched the vodka bottle up from the table and leapt to his feet, clearing his throat with one hearty harumph.

“Kiss me,” Andeon began the song in all of his tonedeaf glory. Was he drunk? Not even close. Did he need to be drunk in order to obnoxiously serenade a woman using a bottle of vodka as a microphone? “Down by the broken treehouse. Swing me, upon it's-.” Andeon stopped abruptly as the loudspeaker crackled to life once more, and his expression crumbled into a disappointed and slightly embarrassed frown. He dropped back to a sitting position as though the weight of the command was too much to bear, and sighed heavily.

“I would like to preface this,” he began, his expression strangely solemn, “by saying that I do not like the c**k. I am, with the exception of my own, c**k-free. Free from the taint of the one-eyed beast. Cockaphobic. I am in no way, shape, or form a cockaholic. I do not smoke the pole, ride the bar, or play two-man tether ball. However, I was drunk, and in my defense,” he threw back the shot mid-sentence, “It was a trap.”

Oh great. That look. That look of 'I sweep all the women off their feet.' Mack grinned broadly as the boy stood up, grabbing the bottle to use as a microphone. "Siddown and shaddup, you're no Leigh Nash!" She called, waving him away, blinking in surprise when the speaker crackled to life. Another round, huh? To her, this one was no different than the last. No biggie, she'd just take another shot. Amidst the festivities, however, she couldn't help but feel a tad... suspicious, however. "Why are we doing this, anyway?" She murmured, mostly to herself, eying the four blank walls in a surprisingly sober manner.

Oh well. It wasn't as if she could suggest an escape. Might as well do what the black box said. Picking up her own shotglass, she looked around at the others, offering another silent toast.

"Pinky may try to pass this off as 'not his fault,' but I will admit my escapades with the same sex were completely intentional. As were my escapes with the opposite sex. Sorry babe, but contrary to popular belief, I am not exclusively into women." Tipping the glass up once more, she swallowed the shot, feeling the warmth radiating through her chest, her cheeks feeling especially hot, and not because she was embarrassed. There was very little that could embarrass Mackenzie O'Connell.

Frankie quickly discarding clothes was starting to climb its way up the list though.

Giving the creepy girl a quasi-nervous laugh, she watched like it was a train-wreck. Despite how it was, fundementally, a girl getting naked, it was also FRANKIE. Even Mack, who prided herself on being diplomatic and friendly to all, felt a little creeped out by the Twilight-lover. So it was with both horror and amusement that she watched the scene, wanting to cover her eyes yet unable to. It did bring up a good point though. They were all starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. Save... one. Micky had not failed to notice that Miss Alease had not taken a drink the previous round. The look on her face at the time eluded to the fact that she had probably never been kissed before, and probably would not be drinking this round either. And while she had made it obvious she didn't like the vodka, Micky felt a pang of sympathy. She hated that the other might not be included in their game -- ostracizing anyone was a sin, in Micky's book. Always had been, always would be.

"Hey sweetheart."

She leaned over in the blonde girl's direction, giving her a genuine smile. Resting her shoulder against Alease's with a sense of comradery, she nudged her gently with her elbow. "I know you're probably not thrilled to be playing this game, but I hate to see a pretty girl sit out..." Micky paused, winking good-naturedly, hoping the girl wouldn't take her invitation in a perverted vein, "You could always blame my shamelessness, if you wanted a chaste kiss this round. I don't mind taking the fall for you."