@jucles.
CLOSED.
a vast majority of ‘pixie’s’ drinking could be chalked up to rini’s expert acting skills and her extensive knowledge of the media game and how it can be manipulated into her favor. not a drop had to pass her lips to swing the headline the way she wants it. the few times she actually has dabbled in alcohol carried enough dire consequences to scare her off of doing anything beyond the occasional social half-glass of something light. tonight is, evidently, a special occasion and with two and a half drinks bubbling in her system, she already feels appropriately inebriated to celebrate it as such, her grasp on her surroundings swiftly fading.
she’s such a typical lightweight – smile bright, eyes glassy and a flush tinting her cheeks a vibrant pink. it’s a stark departure from rini’s stoic brand of pristine perfectionism which is probably why, when she spots jules’ unmistakable figure across the dimly lit room, she heads towards him excitedly and not away. it’s why she greets him with a giggly tip of her head and even sidles up to him to wrap slim arms round his middle before he can recognize she’s there. “ look who it is! ” rini gasps dramatically, squeezing in close. “ i hardly even recognize you, you look so good! ” it’s a backhanded compliment at best but that’s still a step above an insult. “ and you’re not bruised! i’m so proud. ”
the burst of raucous laughter and thump of unruly boys’ boots on hardwood flooring beats out the heavy drumming overhead. there’s laughter, distant though only footsteps away from where pixie stands, and the crash of breaking glass. the cruel drag of his voice is familiar to anyone under the soft-raw haze sliding through the venue. easy to spot -- even without towering height among the middle of such a rowdy crowd, with those he’s spent, they’re sprawled among the love seat before him, watching with intent. he has someone's head tucked in the crook of his arm, pressed threatening to the muscle and bone of his narrow chest; though the shine of pearly white among ruby lips tells it’s not so much a fight as much as it’s drunken horse play. within a minute of fumbling, the man is released and being pushed away, replaced by a bottle of heineken. jules is halfway through downing it until a grip is set around his ribs -- pressure just enough for him to flinch his body away from the source, an instinctive movement. the muscles at his jaw work in a tempered pace, dual toned irises finally looking down at the familiar lilt in tone. his eyebrow quirks up, corner lip following at such an unfamiliar situation. “sabrina, it's almost like fuckin' fate,” he pauses for a beat. caught offguard by her shift in appearance. he hadn’t been away from her for long, but it was clear that her stiff posture had been exchanged for something more affable. present moment had her hair an unruly crown, skin flushed with drink, and mobility stuck in miscalculated steps. he arches up like a provoked cobra at her oblique comment. the glow of neon lights that hang above their heads is hazy in the screen of pot smoke & toxic drink that coils tightly in the air. everything that doesn’t dissolve into greytones in the shadows is awash with glitter. “what would gossip say about you if they heard it,” the blonde tells her, lips peeling back into a jackal’s grin. heat lights a path beneath his skin, settling low in his stomach. he inhales, eyes mere dark marbles rolling in his skull, gleaming when his gaze latches onto rini’s. his lids are so heavy that he can barely maintain the eye contact, so he allows the curling of her fingers to stay around stocky build; holding both upright. silver-ringed fingers come up to thread through rini’s messy strands, doing what he could to put them back in place and maintain a clean image. the scene should be intimate, though the mood that jules is in suggests it’s just the way he behaves when under the influence rather than him attempting to to get specific action from her.
