miralalbhai¡:
It was an easy question to answer, whether or not she had enjoyed the evening. She had, and there was no way around it. But Nastia didnât know that she had enjoyed it because at any given moment she was thinking about smashing something, and she didnât need to know. It wasnât lying exactly, just omitting certain extraneous details. âHow is that not your idea of a good time? I loved it. Nothing like a bit of aimless destruction to kick off the school year and keep everyone on their toes. This place needed livening up.â
Mira took the champagne as Nastia wobbled, simultaneously steadying her friend while being careful not to spill a drop of the alcohol. It was very expensive, after all. The compliment made her smile, but their differing levels of drunkenness was not going to make this a productive conversation. Besides, Mira had already had her budding friendship with Daniel ruined that evening (admittedly mostly due to him, but even so), she was not planning on ruining an already established friendship that had grown meaningful to her. As sheâd said, her friendships were few and far between. Couldnât let her libido ruin all of them.
âHmm⌠Had a chat with your roommate on the way to the theatre, actually - sheâs a strange one, by the way. Watched the second half of Midsummer and tried not to fall asleep. Poked around the crime scene with Kellan, stole you this ââ She raised the bottle slightly. âAnd then sat here and drank red wine for half an hour waiting for you and thinking about⌠oh, life, I guess.â She took a long swig, happy to have moved on from the wine though the bubbles made it much harder to drink quickly. After placing the bottle between them, Mira awkwardly kicked off her shoes and lay back in the grass, one hand under her head. âWhat about you, what alibis do you have for the evening?â
Nastia snorted; she agreed that Astor could do with a shake-up, but had never fully shared Miraâs devil-may-care apathy toward aimless destruction. It was likely due to the fact that Nastia was incorrigibly preoccupied with aims; she had to concoct purpose and meaning where it perhaps didnât even exist. Sure, she liked to turn the world on its head in a Twelfth Night reign of mischief, but always to highlight the underlying message: what is normal? Or, more accurately: this place isnât. She was a little too tired to think, at this point in the evening; it was a rarity for her, but she felt too burnt-out to philosophise on anarchy with her friend. Better to simply drink.
âStrange doesnât begin to cover it,â Nastia chuckled derisively. âThereâs something going on there. Perhaps she ate her twin in the womb and has never recovered... who knows. And now that sheâs -- one of us, I donât know... she never struck me as the type. I mean, you remember the uh,â she chewed her lip, casting her eyes up to the stars, âthe blood thing?â Theyâd never discussed their initiations so baldly. âMaybe I ought to check my arms for pin-pricks,â she muttered, a wolfish grin breaking across her face.Â
Nastia shrugged again, turning about on her heel and kicking in the grass. She bent to pick up the bottle, hugging it to her chest as she sat down, legs crossed, looking down at Mira. There was something on her mind, she could tell. She debated whether to pry. âThe ethics major, thinking about life? Take some time off,â she teased. Her eyes darkened when asked about her alibi -- the confidence sheâd felt in her lie had waned a little, the memory of Andrewâs fury at the disarray gnawing at her a little. âStrange ones,â she said, âI ended up third-wheeling with Andrew Rose and Isla Kensington -- you know, one of the twins?â She frowned, taking another deep swig of champagne. âA minor run-in with Florian goddamn Deschamps, too,â Nastia scoffed, one hand touching her arm as she remembered his phony chivalry. âGuy thinks heâs a regular Edward Cullen. I wouldnât be surprised if he was a vampire -- blue blood, and all...â














