CLOSED FOR @enj-rps
“Man, Derek’s already so fucking loaded,” he informed with a grin, almost as if it was the best news he’d heard all weekend. And in a way, it kind of was, because all the best parties had hosts that were already blackout drunk and forgetting to hide their parents’ good liquor by the time you walked in the front door. “Have you seen his last Snap?” Dylan turned his head, neck craning back in an attempt to spot Maris around her room from his reclined position. He’d been flopping around on her bed since he first arrived, taking sips of vodka and Sprite while waiting for her to get ready and for it to be late enough that they wouldn’t be the first to arrive at Derek Howard’s houseparty. Currently, Dylan had his socked feet resting against the wall above Maris’s headboard, pillows pushed aside to make room for his ass while his head rested somewhere in the middle of her mattress -- taking up just as much space as humanly possible. “We should hustle him,” he called to Maris, glancing back at his phone to take a screenshot while he rambled. “I think we could crush him in beer pong if he already looks this shitty. Win a couple hundred bucks, maybe.” Not that Dylan really had the cash to lose, but that was the best thing about Maris -- money wasn’t such an issue for the rich. He stretched out his arm, holding out the device to Maris so she could get a look at their mutual friend making a fool of himself.
