'till the break of dawn

“Snorting rice? Is your need for attention really that bad? Maybe someone should hug you more often.” Allison said sarcastically, a soft noise of surprise escaping her pink lips when he decided to dip her. She was quite surprised with his dancing skills- but of course she would never actually admit that. The last thing he needs is another compliment to boost his ego. “Would I really be deprived? I’ve gone this long without needing your dick, I don’t think I will need it anytime soon.” She pointed out, biting her lip. She turned to glance at the people once she was up right again before rolling her eyes. “They’re probably envious I’m dancing with you. Maybe you should go ask one of them to; I’m sure theyd love to be this close to you..”

Brett’s forehead immediately wrinkled. “You know what, Allison?” He dropped her hand in a heartbeat. “In the words of Abraham Ford, rest in fucking peace by the way, suck. My. Nuts.” Disgust flared his nostrils as he pushed her impatiently away from him like a mere germ in his personal bubble. “I’ll have you know my dick is like a prime sirloin fucking steak and your vagina? Quorn that fell down a dirty old gutter. Nobody’s stooping to fish it out of there any time soon.” Adjusting his tie, Brett hacked out an arrogant laugh. “You’re right, they probably would. I’m sure they want to hear all about how I danced with the ugliest pig I’ve ever seen and lived to tell the tale. Oink, oink, bitch. Go back to the barn.” With that, Brett immediately swivelled and stormed away to find Percy.

A light, playful smirk spread on her lips as she heard his reply. Finally, someone wasn’t acting like a party pooper. “I guess those are things we could discuss. What would you like to get from it?”

Brett made a point to lean closer, charm slathered onto his expression as overbearingly as a whole tub of margarine on a single white loaf. “I think you know what I have in mind.” Deliberately pausing, his eyes dropped to her lips before he shed the act entirely in one blink. “A slice of quiche, if you know where to find one.”

“Enough said,” was all she said in reply, reaching down to pat the goats lower back in a congratulatory way. “Congrats on your life, champ,” she said. “This is where you peak,” she mumbled, glancing around as if expecting to see someone running for them. “Maybe your mother is a goat. Bestiality in your family would make a lot of sense, Breast,” she nodded solemnly. “Ew, you just went full Blackwell. I’m gonna mcfreakin’ puke.”

“I’m shaken to my very core by that suggestion, Ember, although I have to say... sometimes when I catch myself in the mirror there’s a stray piece of hay hanging from my mouth. An alter ego snack? Perhaps.” Guiding the goat along the back terrace, Brett peered in through the windows and ignored the shriek of a girl that just got the bottom of her gown torn off by wayward barnyard teeth. Pink tulle poked out from Albert’s gums as he gleefully made a meal out of couture. Lapsing into Dwight asking about Justice Beaver, his head spun Ember’s way. “Who is Phil Blatchwell?” Forgetting the question as soon as he asked it, he paused outside the next doorway. “It’s now or never.” Sliding on his Gabbana shades to rest ridiculously over his mask, Brett raised a single eyebrow at her. “Carmen and Juni vibes.”

Cigars weren’t something that Finley was used to having thrust at her, but it was better than the other long, bad smelling things you can have thrust at you at a party, so she decided to stick around, looking at the cigar with only minimal disgust. “Why not?” She asked, staring at the big, black sky as if she was thinking over this one hard. “Okay, so once I got arrested, my parents are devout Christians and I hate this game so very much. Your turn now or do you guess the truth first?” 

Noting her disgruntled expression, Brett let out a brief chortle. “It’s not like I just flashed you. Relax.” Sucking on his cigar again, he squinted as if in deep thought at her provided answer. “Truth is you hate the game -- which, by the way, is an incredibly boring truth. I was expecting something spicy.” Sighing dramatically, he pondered his options. “I once had a threesome with three girls from three different sets of twins, called them all by their counterparts names and consequently got slapped three times. I rode a camel last summer. Hm...” Trailing off, he propped himself against the wall to survey her better. “And I have a thing for girls that lie about having Christian parents.”

“Oh yes. WWDT.” Allison hummed, gently resting her hand against his shoulder. “What would Dalton think if I, his beloved and over protected little sister, told him that you asked me to blow you in the most crude and disrespectful way?” She asked, a playful smirk on her lips as she looked up at him. Of course she would never hurt their friendship like that, but a little joking wouldn’t hurt anybody. “I’m sure he would believe me over you and I can guarantee you would no longer have a cock by the time he’s done with you. Ahh the joys of having annoyingly protective brothers.”

“I have that tatted on my bicep, as a matter of fact,” Brett informed with faux sincerity, eyes casting out over the dancefloor to momentarily linger on another girl’s ass. “Dalton knows I’m a stand up guy. He’s seen me snort six grains of rice for the Vine. He has faith in me.” Making it his mission in life to be as extravagant and obnoxious as possible, Brett dipped Allison towards the floor to the next sway of music and loomed closer with the hint of a grin. “Now that would be a shame, wouldn’t it? We’d both be deprived in that situation.” Pulling her gently upright again, he nodded to the soft clapping his two lacrosse minions had lapsed into at the sidelines. “Fans everywhere. Can’t escape them.”

Drew: "The only true wisdom is to know that you know nothing."

Drew: Socrates. Deep shit, man.

Drew: Anyways...did I leave my NuvaRing at your place?

Brett: What the fuck is a NuvaRing?

Brett: Nvm. Just googled. Taking a moment to be understandably repulsed

As expected -partially- the ball was a bore. Nothing seemed to be happening. At least nothing fun. And she was in the mood for fun, blame it on the many glasses of champagne she had. A sigh leaving her lips, her head shot in the direction of the person standing beside her, like she just had the most brilliant idea of her entire life. “Let’s play a game! Truth or dare, spin the bottle, just something to spice things up around here! Are you up for this?”

Tugging impatiently at his cuff link, Brett narrowed his eyes once he’d zoned in on the source of the suggestion. “Mysterious. I suppose I could be convinced. What’s in it for me?”

“Cretin? I am not stupid.” Allison defended herself, turning her head to glare at the male next to her. How Dalton was able to deal with his arrogant comments, she had no idea. She had let the cigarette in her hand fall into the slightly damp grass and turned towards him as he talked. “You mention how charming you are, but you ask a girl to dance like that? You will have to be a hell of a good dancer to make me risk getting evident bruises on my knees. Especially since I wouldn’t be really getting anything out of it anyways.” She commented, but her small hand soon found its way in his as a way of accepting his offer of dancing. 

“Is that what cretin means? Didn’t know, just liked the way my tongue rolled when I said it.” Brett crunched his cigar up against the brick wall with no care paid to how much money he’d just wasted, tossing it out for the grass to lunch on as his warm fingers clasped hers. “I’m offended. It was a figure of speech, I didn’t say anything about bruises. Get your mind out of the gutter, Weird Al Yankovic.”  Steering her gently through the crowds, students parting like a red sea for their cherished Moses, Brett eventually swung her closer once they’d immersed themselves in the thrum of music. “I’m in half a mind to report your lewd comments to the faculty,” he chastised, palm slipping slowly to rest at the small of her back as he swayed her in time to one of the many tear jerking classics the ball had sprung for. “WWDT: what would Dalton think?”

Isabella raised her eyebrows at the suggestion but she wasn’t going to lie – it did sound a little fun. Especially since her night had been a bore so far. She nodded her head and sipped on her champagne, “Who’s going to start?”

“Ladies first, of course,” Brett elaborated his words with a wiggle of his brows. “I’m a gentleman like that.”

“Thats the best thing ive heard since they announced the dual camera on the 7 plus.” 

“The fucking dual camera on the seven plus?” Brett blinked in sheer disbelief. “That’s what gives your life joy? No, the mere suggestion of a game is the best thing you’ve heard?” Head shaking, patronising amusement wrinkled his brow as he sucked on his cigar again. “That’s incredibly depressing. Get laid, man. You need it.”

Allison looked up at him, a cigarette in her hand. She usually only smoked in stressful situations and tonight was most definitely one of them. The fact she could barely tell who was who made her feel fairly anxious, though she wasn’t really worried about the dare. She doubted the Zine had anything on her, so she wasn’t even bothering trying to find Damon. Plus it was freezing out, there was no way she was going to take a swim in the fountain. “Oh yes. The game middle schoolers play.” She said bringing the cigarette to her lips and taking a long drag. “Can’t we play something more interesting and not a ‘get to know you’ game? I already know you. I already know the dumb things you and my brother did and you really don’t need to know about me.” 

“Don’t harsh my vibe, cretin,” he scolded, expression barely amused as he cast his eyes out over the dark, sprawling scenery. A gentleman might have offered her his suit jacket after the midnight breeze rustled past them. Brett, however, was not a gentleman. “We can play ‘how long will it take Allison’s knees to buckle after she’s danced with Brett’, if you’d like. I’m very charming. My bet’s on three minutes.” Sucking in another plume of smoke, his gaze darted her way to finally assess her get up for the evening. An undecipherable grunt acted as his opinion on the outfit. “What do you say?” Plucking his cigar down, he twirled it between his first fingers before stretching out his free hand towards her in offering.

Ella couldn’t hide the shock that fixated itself upon her face. “I-what?” She said, almost stuttering. The petite girl couldn’t bring herself to look into the man’s eyes, and instead focused her confused stare on the cigar he almost brutally slapped away. “What did I do to piss you off?”

Brett clasped his chest as he recalled his favourite meme. “She eyebrows too big for she got damn head.” Focusing once more, he swilled his whiskey around his glass before slurping up a portion and obnoxiously smacking his lips. “What didn’t you do, frankly? You sucked on my cigar like a lamb on a sheep’s tit. If I wanted to harvest germs from the gutter I’d lick one.” Fanning his fingers at her, he shooed her in another direction. “Go and find Belle to have a slow dance, beast.”

Ember laughed to herself, staring down at the goat between them. This was so absurd, it was almost entertaining. She pulled a travel-sized brush from her purse, waving it around enthusiastically. “Saving grace!” she said, leaning down slightly to brush it through the mangled mane of the goat. She jumped at Brett’s outburst, resisting the urge to laugh so not to be judged by lurking SJWs. They were everywhere. Pests. “I can’t believe the zine loves us so much,” she said, shaking her head. “This isn’t even a punishment. Today, I am blessed with a new friend. He may be slow, but he is kind. Also, I hear goats are demonic.”

Brett pursed his lips, judgement furrowing his brow like a stern old Gandalf overlooking his unruly hobbit. “That’s terrible, Strait. He looks like Jim Halpert in season one.” Leaning down, he prodded expertly at the scraps of hair, eyes widening as the goat savagely snapped the air for his fingers. “We have a live spirit in young Albert tonight.” Brett tugged on his leash to urge him further, impeccably shined shoes glinting as he trotted like a show pony up the marble steps. “Makes sense. My mother looks like a goat and when she does karaoke sometimes it sounds like Tuvan throat singing to summon the Antichrist.” A rumbling noise reverberated in his throat like the sound of an engine revving up in perfect impression. “Fuck.” Beating his chest, he frowned. “Nearly just gagged. Ember Strait sucking a dick roleplay.”

Allowing her fingers to gently scrape along the soft skin on her shoulder, Billie glanced over at him, cocking her head“Of course I will partake in your sensational offer, however I would like to know the name of the person I am about to spill my deepest darkest secrets too.”  

Brett let out an obnoxious scoff. “Brett Aldana. You’d know that if you had a Vine account or, you know, didn’t live under a rock,” he tutted, peering out over the grass made into a bed of dusky blue by nightfall. “You don’t seem all that deep and dark. In fact, you remind me of a dandelion. One light blow,” he punctuated his pause with a puff of smoke in her direction, “and the whole thing falls down.”

With an eye roll, Nickolas looked at the other through his mask. “Are you 12 or something?” He had stepped out of the mansion to get some fresh air, to prepare himself for the task he was given. Although, there was no preparation necessary, since it was quite easy, he just had to find his partner. “I’d rather not, but thanks for the offer.” Nickolas raised his glass to the other before letting the cold liquid slip down his throat. 

“Close. Sixty-six and six months. Satan’s favourite.” Brett curled his cigar into his finger and thumbs possession, letting it hang casually at his side as he inspected his latest company. “Interesting. Here I was thinking Atticus was full of intriguing personalities. And, well, here you are…” He gestured with his smoking hand. “Sourly proving me wrong. I’ve dipped my dick in apple pies that had better conversation skills.”

“Um-,” Min-ji started, laughing uncomfortably. She was already blushing, the simple act of conversing making her nervous. “Okay. How do you play?”

Brett pursed his lips like McGonagall surveying an unruly Malfoy scheme, puffing out a mouth of smoke again as he studied her before he answered. “You say two lies and one truth about yourself. I have to guess which is which. Extra points if you throw in something steamy. Then, we switch.” Tipping his glass to his mouth, he maintained eye contact all the while. “What do you say? Want to play with me?”

Percy twisted the Signet ring on his pruned finger, considering making Charles kiss it for good luck in the sporting game, but he thought better of it. Champagne always brought out the darker side of his nature. As if with every bubbling golden gulp, he was devouring another page from Lord of the Flies. “Indeed,” Percy drily commented, summoning over their pack of rowdy bow ties. “Brutal honesty is better with an audience.”

Brett swirled the whiskey around his glass like the teacher from Wild Child, a sarcastically goofy smile stapling his lips up. “I love a bit of brutality. I should have been cast instead of Russel Crowe in Gladiator.” Raising his beverage, a more jaded take on Gatsby overlooking his swarm of drunken guests, Brett cleared his throat. “First up: Nathaniel. Your mother? I fucked her on your yacht last summer. Next, I despise hot dogs. If I wanted to eat a dick I’d unzip my khakis and gobble like a turkey. Lastly... Lastly? Both of those were true and I don’t care enough to make up a third.” Pinky erect, he hitched his glass once more. “To Mrs Langford. She rides like a purebred stallion but she still wasn’t quite good enough to be worthy of winning the race.”