il cervello

Arabella: I knoooow! All I needed was one look and I was about ready to knock it on the floor.

Arabella: We should 1000% do that. Do you think they're going to be picky or can we just get everyone the same thing? Cause that might be an issue.

Charlotte: a tantrum's a good form non-violent protest. I would've supported you

Charlotte: knowing them, I can say with a degree of certainty that they're probably all gonna be picky.

Marc: Why wouldn't it?

Marc: Drinks, more drinks, and me

Marc: Sounds like a party

Charlotte: sounds to me more like an average night. your standard seems to be slipping. prove me wrong?

Aria: well, shit! that's an hour of my life i'm not getting back.

Aria: if i had known there wasn't going to be an after party i wouldn't have wasted my time here pre-gaming.

Aria: let me know asap because i'm about to blow this popsicle stand if nothing's happening.

Charlotte: i hate to be the one to tell you but this here's water, not vodka. you can't pre when there's nothing to pre on

Tonight, draped in silken alabaster and strung in freshwater pearls, Lauren felt less discarded pearl and more bramble rose. Pale and beautiful with whetted thorns silhouetting a waved figurine in place of smooth and rounded edges. Like shaken up seltzer rather than sticky, tepid honey and milk. A pop! a fizz!  and oh , no! She’s overflowing. White spume spilling over whiter garments, pooling into bubbling puddles at well-heeled feet as she entered the room’s gilded expanses an hour and a quarter past commencement. A faux pas of abysmal measures, for her tardiness had since exceeded the point of being fashionable. An embarrassment that flowered into a nauseating cocktail of humiliation and disscontempt within the belly of the girl dipped in molten gold and swathed in perennial elegance, but what little revolt she had left within thick, floret veins, swelled.

She moved with a tender languor, lilted her chin with an aristocratic superiority and flashed a million-watt simper ( practiced, perfected ) in the direction of her newfound company: “I don’t suppose I’ve missed anything too exciting, have I?”

The night had been, so far, uneventful, and, so far, Charlotte could not go so far as to say she’d been enjoying it. BUT there was something about how the sea of white swallowed individual persons, blurring them all into an anonymity that one could call solidarity, that she appreciated. It made her feel lighter. Like everyone else, she was just part of the white foams as the waves rolled to the surface. She was being drifted along. Lulling and ebbing cyclically -- tranquilly -- as the chatter enveloping her had its similar moments of crescendo and diminuendo.

And then she hit a wrong note. A cacophony. Lauren, whose very appearance caused the waves to retreat, clouded the natural, ruined her symphony. Why could nobody else see it? Maybe it was that her appearance -- and she meant this now as her physical being, with her golden hair cascading in ripples down her back, and a sculpted dress -- clouded their perception. Not Charlotte’s howsoever. She rolled her eyes, hearing the voice brimming with meditated perfection; it was too full, and would soon spill all over the marble floors. “Have you only just arrived? How scandalous of you,” she said. “I’m afraid you have, actually. The whole ball. Might as well turn around and go back home to rehearse your lines for the next event.”

Sophia: exactly. and running out is embarrassing. thus the preplanning

Cordelia: I wish I could say that I was expecting otherwise but in my experience most of these events turn out a little too average.

Charlotte: yeah, they do, don't they? yet I can't help but hope the next one will be better. every time.

Charlotte: but I suppose the point of these events is to be average

Arabella: oh there are always ways to be disappointed. for example! i thought the food was going to be better but it was just a very generic selection. you could always try to keep it from reaching that point by your own means as well.

Charlotte: what? that's felonious. they can take the drinks but not the food!!!

“Why would I be giving you the key to my heart?” He wasn’t even fond to that extent of orange juice, but now that the conversation had been launched about it, he was ready to improvise and treat the beverage as his religion, for the vine. “I had to see if you are worthy first, and frankly, I’m a bit hesitant sharing my beloved orange juice with you. Maybe next party, if you behave nicely.” Grinning at the prospect of ‘anything can happen in Barcelona’ as if he was getting flashbacks worth turning melancholic at the thought of, Jamie pretended to consider if he could have made the mistake of taking somebody else for Isaac Newton. “No, I’m absolutely sure. Though he was more of an apple juice fan, and that almost didn’t seal the deal,” he made the smart remark after her showing off, knowing the year of his death. “Don’t worry, nobody will ever want to steal it away from you. It’s safe and yours.”

“Really, because there’s nobody better to entrust it with,” she said, as if it were something not to be given to the flippant, yet her tone remained lightly derisive. “Are you saying I wasn’t behaving nicely at this party?” How long had they been talking about this? Charlotte was curious as to how long their thread about fruits would last before being cut -- probably by her, who was far more irresolute than she supposed Jamie was. She laughed in appreciation of his joke. “He’s an apple juice man? Not surprising, but still, disappointing all the same. I’d hoped he was better than that -- Adam and Eve probably did, too, but I guess we’re all suckers for the temptation of a good apple, right?” Feigned sadness grazed on her features, with a slightly pouted lip and eyebrows knitting together. “That’s what you said last time before stealing the ‘funny’ title away from me. How can I ever believe you again?”

Sophia: a good party needs to be planned, i agree

Sophia: can't run out of anything that looks bad