#134vb

He'd had a few beers, and it had loosened him up enough to venture out of the corner he'd been hiding in for the first hour or two of the ball. He had been on his way to find Slate, because he hadn't had a chance to actually talk to him properly since he'd gotten out, and he knew it needed to happen, he needed to find out how well, or not so well-- he'd been dealing with things. He had many victors in his tattoo shop over the years, and they all seemed to carry this darkness to them, he hoped Slate might have found a way to escape it, but deep down he knew it was unlikely.

“I feel so confused” Rush admitted with a sigh that didn’t quite suit him as he played with the outside of his glass of cold water, drawing patterns in the ridges. “I’m so happy Slate won, honestly— he’s one of my closest friends— but, I really miss Bramble and Nettle, they were so wonderful, it’s just, I don’t know how to feel” he sighed again, unable to put exactly how he was feeling into words, but maybe Leighton, who was the unfortunate person stood next to him while he spilled his thoughts out loud would get it.

“I think naming one of the cocktails on the menu tonight Da Bomb is a bit too on the nose, even for me” Abel twirled the liquid around his glass with a small frown. “I mean, it tastes great” it didn’t, but Abel had long lost his taste buds, hours into the night already. “I think I’m going to rename it” he concluded, finally looking up from the glass. “We’ll call it, Da Bonk?” He suggested, finally smiling.

“Would it be weird if I took my shoes off?” Rush had leaned in to Link, so he could whisper, as he moved from foot to foot uncomfortably. “They’re too small, they’re pinching my toes” he added, but looked around the room and couldn’t spot anybody else that was rocking the barefoot look. He hated shoes at the best of times, but tight fitted, dress shoes were the absolute worst, in his opinion.

Luca was hiding. His usual tactic at these balls, especially when he didn’t have the pleasure of following Hestia around to keep busy. He almost frowned in disappointment when someone entered the space he’d taken up in one of the corners, not because he didn’t like them, but just because he never knew exactly what to say— especially after a whole load of kids had just died so one could live— even if that one was Slate, who he’d wanted to win, it still felt awful to celebrate that kind of thing.

“Mox” Abel half slurred as he slung an arm around her shoulder, doing his absolute best not to tip them both over as he found his footing. He’d done his usual, downed all the drinks on the menu before any food had even appeared, and now everything was a little fuzzy and off centre— just how he liked it. “Cheers to Slate?” He offered, although his glass was empty as he held it out towards her, looking for a clink. “He’ll never be the same again” he laughed, even though it wasn’t funny— anything could be funny if you drowned it in alcohol.