legend.

felix’s eyes catch on a particularly elaborate dress worn by… he thinks it may be one of the vasiles, but really— his brain is so jumbled up that he couldn’t tell his own boss from the girl beside him. when his gaze finally breaks, blown out pupils dragging themselves to get a good look at the stranger, he wonders first what her name is and second if she wants a hug. right now, a hug sounds better than anything—better than the best food, the best drugs ( though, that could be because he’s already partaken of the best drug ), the best sex. he’d swear it all off for the rest of his life for just one hug with this stranger. 

“It’s just f—ucking incredible, d–ude.” so, that author-like vocabulary that he usually prides himself on dropped somewhere between five and… whatever time it is now, but that doesn’t matter. he swears there must be a live pianist and he’s pretty sure he might cum in his pants if he touches an instrument. 

“Sh—are–??” if there is one shred of reason left in felix’s mind, it is screaming not to reveal that he is, indeed, rolling out of his mind right now. “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

Oh, he’s adorable.

His speech is the easiest to blame for it. He can’t help it, she figures, but Bree mistakes it for naivety. His choice of language too. They sound foreign on his tongue, foreign to his age group too. Not many men pushing forty (give or take), still use terms like dude. Not the ones who Bree spends her time with anyway. And he’s high. Stupid high.  Something, some inkling, tells Bree this guy is a tad out of his element. She’s banking it. 

Bree laughs, careful not to kill his fun. Yet, she’s a little annoyed. She’s used to asking, then immediately receiving. But, she’ll play along, if that’s what it takes. “Oh, come on,” she giggles, “Do I look like a narc to you?” her smile widens. “I swear, I’m not.” Bree shrugs. “I know how to keep a secret.”

“Oh trust me, darling, if I had a dead person’s head in one, I wouldn’t let anyone find it.”

He says, grabbing two drinks from the served tray and handing one to her, “Doesn’t matter though, let’s just enjoy the night shall we? I’m Daniel.” He says, holding out his right hand while his left holds onto the glass he took, “And you are?”

 Notice how he doesn’t deny the possibility? Bree sure does. It cause a smirk to grow wider on her lips. She doesn’t how good his word is, after all, it seems like he already lost one cooler. “I certainly hope not,” she jokes. She has more questions, curiosities too, but her attention is strayed by the pretty glasses in his hand. “It’s great to meet you, Daniel.” Who knows if she means it. Her eyes turn kinder, and so does her smile. “I’m Bree.” 

open starter location: roaring 20′s party, main entrance

Rae had never been to a party this big before and certainly not one in a place so big that her bakery and a apartment could fit in it. She had to get a second opinion for her outfit; Rae was the sweater and jeans type and the only dresses she owned did not fit for the theme of this party but she was happy none the less with the outcome. Another plus for the night was being able to contribute a little bit to the food for the party, just the Honeycomb cupcakes, but still the exposure here was good for the bakery.

The decorations were mesmerizing and Rae was becoming overwhelmed trying to take it all in, from the ceiling to the floor and everything in between. She was so wrapped up in trying to see everything that she didn’t realize she was walking into someone until it was too late and she bumped right into someone, “Oh, god, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t even paying attention and that’s totally my fault. The decorations, as lame as this excuse sounds, are just…a lot.”

Let’s set the record straight, Boone does not make habit of using Tinder. The guy’s an old soul, at least, he considers himself so. He prefers the beauty of meeting someone in the flesh, rather than the convenience of connecting on a screen. But shit, sometimes the easiness of the app is too good to deny. And when loneliness calls, he finds himself swiping.

Swiping.

And swiping.

It becomes so mindless. Over time, he stops deciding with his heart so much, and thinks with his dick. The bios become a bore. They’re all they same, just said differently. His interested ages go down, down, and down, until it’s set ten years younger. The faces all start to blur together too.  Boone hardly remembers them. 

But there was something about hers that stood out him.

Her kind eyes. When their worlds collide, and bodies too, Boone places her immediately. Tinder, they matched on there. He sent her message. Probably something like. Hey, what’s up? Did she reply? He can’t remember. He hasn’t checked in a while.  

Boone flashes her a grin. “Aye, no need to apologize.” He can be so friendly when he wants to be. His blue eyes take a look around for themselves. “I don’t blame you,” he continues. “They sure are pretty.” And so is she. 

“I think I know you,” Boone says, “It’s Rae... right?” 

Bree steps away from the party. Her lungs are desperate to take in their last few breaths of 2019. Though, there are plans to poison them in a just a few moments. She’s not a regular smoker, but Bree knows they’re a delicacy after some drinks. Fumbling fingers pull the brand new pack from her clutch, along with her scratched up lighter. Click. Nothing. Click again. A baby flame, which perishes before she can do anything with it. “Shit.”

Thank God for fate. Just as she’s about to lose all hope, Bree notices someone else needed air too. “Yoohoo!” Bree calls to her peer, with a wave, as she begins her way towards them. “I don’t suppose you have a lighter, do you?” She flashes her pearly whites, as she waves hers in the air. “Mine’s dead.”

open starter || the roarin’ 20s || eli 

all work and no play makes eli a very, very, pent up little copper. it’s not just out of sheer obligation that eli is attending. for example… well, juliet’s here, so that’s one reason… and it’s an open bar. that might be an even better reason– though he isn’t planning on letting that one slip. the last two hours have been one, incredibly long, meaningless, and incredibly boring conversation about the decorations and how everyone cleaned up ( ha ha even the chief dressed up a little–!! ) and best: how smart the hosts were to tighten up security since, well… you know. and then it’s eli’s turn to talk about how sad it all is — how it seems like no matter how calm things look, you never really know what’s going on under the surface.

speaking of the bar, though, he’s sat firmly in the center stool, two glasses of champagne deep and telling himself that he really should keep it light tonight. his sunglasses hang from the denim shirt that a nordstrom stylist told him was totally casual chic. now, it feels like a straitjacket. politely hailing the barman doesn’t seem to be doing him much good either—-

“Can you believe this guy–??” he asks… well, whoever the nearest soul not occupied by texting happens to be.

As he steps foot into the building, his feet leads him to directly where he needs to be. The bar.  No plans of getting shit faced, just one to settle the nerves. Boone hates these kind of parties. Monkey suits aren’t his favorite, neither is the lurking danger. Didn’t Halloween night teach anyone a goddamn thing?

Where Amelia goes, Boone will follow. She’s not expecting him for another fifteen minutes, so he has time for a drink. One. If not, the worries will get the best of him.

When Boone approaches the bar, he finds a dark haired man, having a difficult time alerting the bartender.  He doesn’t have all night to wait. He raises his hands to lips, and whistles sharp. “Yo!” he hollers, and the bartender comes running. “Bourbon neat,” Boone orders, eyes hover to his fellow patron, “And whatever this guy wants.”

@ghosstts​

The party is Roaring 20′s themed. Reminds her of Gatsby. Jazz. Wealth. Decadence. Not the death of the American Dream though. Amelia refuses to let Chicago be the place where the American dream goes to die. Not while she’s captaining the O’Sheas. She’s wearing emeralds that night - an homage to the green light at the end of Daisy’s East Egg dock. Amelia thinks it’s clever, but she spends absolutely none of the night telling people it. She’s much more focused the feeling of unease that crawls up her spine. She’s on edge to put it plain. She swirls her old-fashioned.  It’s a lie - the drink. She raises it to her lips and pretends to take a sip. She’s decided to stay sober for the night, after the Halloween party…. well. Amelia would rather keep her wits about her.  Matty’s nearby, he’s having a mini-dance party on his own, and Amelia is just about to join him when she catches a glimpse of Boone from the corner of her eye. 

It’s wild, that this is where they’ve ended up - this is how they’ve ended up. She raises her untouched drink towards him. 

“I feel… like I’m going to put a bullet through the next thing that breaths in my direction. Does anything about this,” She gestures at the party. “Seem wrong to you?”

Boone Walsh is a man who wears his heart on his sleeve and his thoughts on his tongue. Tonight, he wonders why they’ve chosen to attend this glittery affair. Perhaps, FOMO got the best of Amelia, but after the attack on Halloween, couldn’t this been worth a miss? A party filled with aristocratic assholes is clearly not bulletproof. Yet, when instincts beg him to leave, he stays. Boone stays for her. 

Amelia may be sober, Boone’s had a drink. Just one. It’s the only thing to kill the worrisome thoughts, so they don’t become hastily shared. He wants to keep them to himself, because it won’t lead them anywhere good. Things have been tense between the two, since her return, but Boone wants peace. They deserve it. 

As he enters, Boone greets Matty with a ruffle to his hair. He slips in a small smile, not entirely sure if Amelia’s joking or not. But the feeling is mutual. “We ain’t gotta stay all night,” he tells her. “I can take you and the kid home.” 

open event starter | @crimsonstarters​

Long, flowing golden locks trailing behind her as Ingrid sauntered into the room, the sequined 1920′s garb clinging to her curvacious body as the mischevious honey eyes flitted around the room. Now, this was the type of event she could get behind; a 1920′s themed party with every rival family in attendance? It was a recipe for drama and Ingrid was positive she would be the secret ingredient. The glittering, silver heels clicking on the floor as Ingrid passed through the party, making sure her hips did that enticing sway with each practiced step as she made her way towards the bar- the first and perhaps most important stop for the evening, leaning against the bar. Her painted crimson lip curling up into a devilish smile as she cleared her throat. “Whose a girl gotta screw to get a drink around here?” She finally declared loud enough for an audience to hear her. “Make it a double shot of your finest spirit, bub!” Hoping her voice the starlet’s of the 20′s, she had been practicing for the past week afterall and wanted to not only look the part, but breathe the part too, wasn’t that all part of the fun?

He stands at the bar, sipping on the bourbon he ordered. With enough time to finish this drink, Boone wonders if he can down another. Amelia is expecting him soon. He knows he needs to keep his wit, but a little bit never hurt much. Alcohol may fire others up, he’s hoping it will relax him.

 Boone doesn’t like parties like these. Not a fan of getting dressed up, but the suit does him justice. He’s leaning against the bar when he’s joined by the blonde. He snickers to himself at her order. Cute. 

“You sound like you know what you’re doing,” Boone comments, after he takes a sip from his bourbon, with a brow raised. “I’m impressed.”

The last time that Blue had been dressed in drag and at a party, he’d nearly died. Thanks to Teddy, his wonder Bear, he had some how made it out a live. Hopefully, fucking hopefully, tonight didn’t end up in all our war. Blue couldn’t take that right now. He barely hanging on to sobriety as it was. Being at this party wasn’t exactly easy. Booze everywhere and free at that. His boyfriend, the love of his life, was off with some other woman and to top it all off the family he worked for was also around. Which meant that he had to be very careful who he was seen with. 

Everything inside of Blue wanted to get drunk. To toss his clutch down and give up. What would it hurt? To have a drink or two? It wasn’t like he was running off to shoot up. He just wanted a goddamn drink. Fuck this. Heels clicking a long as he walked, Blue quickly found the nearest bad and took a seat. Crossing one smooth leg over the other, He looked to the bar tender. “Vodka on the rocks.” He ordered smoothly. “And I’ll pay for whatever this one is having as well.” Blue offered glancing to the person beside him. He winked and payed out of his clutch before receiving his drink. This was one way of making new friends.

Oh, there are things Bree enjoys more than free drinks. She’s sure of it. Yet, now when she thinks about it, good and hard, her thoughts comes up blank. It’s as if when she already has a few, one thing stays on her mind. At his offer, she smiles accordingly. “Vodka soda,” Bree barks at the bartender, before turning her attention back her new friend. Her eyes shamelessly take a good look at him, up then down. Not her type, but not bad to look at.  When the bartender returns, Bree swiftly grabs hers. “Cheers,” she toasts, raising her glass to clink, “to a Good Samaritan.”

After a sip, Bree asks, “Are you having any fun at this thing?”