#palms:start

cori was having a great time, surprisingly, well for her at least. she’d spent majority of the evening getting drunk and dancing with strangers. maybe it was the whole la feeling of the place, prompting her to let more loose than she might’ve otherwise, feeling like, hey nobody knows me here, except a lot of people did, but that had faded far back in her mind. — maybe also the fact that she wasn’t wearing a chainmail of a dress anymore. as she was dancing away from the makeshift dancefloor, she collided with someone else, managing to spill the remainder of her drink over herself. “ aw man.. ” she whined looking down at herself as her hands ran over the fabric of her dress, “ it’s my favorite. ” she sighed before looking up to put a face on the wall she’d collided with, a smile spreading on her lips at the sight of the familiar face, “ i should probably attempt to get it off. wanna help or just keep me company ? ” she wondered, even if it was old she’d rather not see it ruined.

It was the first proper party he’d attended since arriving in the Hamptons, and he aimed to make an impact, slipping dark sunglasses onto his nose and locking his car door with a press of the key and a loud beep. Fashionably late had been his aim, but as he walked towards the ramp that lead up onto the boat, the promised jet-ski caught his eye. Not a chance, Trev thought, smoothing down the front of his shirt and walking aboard, this is Prada. He was tall, enough so to peer over the crowd and try to seek out familiar faces, but as he turned, his elbow caught against someone else’s side. “Whoops,” he said sheepishly, offering a wry smile instead of an apology. “My bad.”

            there’s a magnetic aura that slips down the girl’s shoulder like honey, nearly anyone coming within speaking distance of her falling captive of her charm. the infectious smile she wears putting helen of troy to shame, sparking a war and worthy of launching a thousand and one ships in her honor. a platter balances in the palm of her hand as she weaves herself around the party as if she’s the host - when she’s anything but. she’d been looking for some chase and instead found a tray of brightly colored fun that’s tucked into plastic shot glasses and feels the need to share it. “h'ordeuvres?” she chimes in a dramatic british accent, holding out the plate, each plastic glass holding at least six mini gummy bears - infused with vodka. her hand waves it slightly in front of them before pulling her hand back slightly, lips coiling into a smirk “-before you take one or before you politely decline, riddle me this - do men who don’t go down on women deserve to have rights? i’m leaning towards no, but i can’t show up to class in september with only one opinion.”

        she’d spent the majority of her day out in the greenhouse of the floral shop, rearranging the flowers and cleaning up the aisles. it was a sticky day in august that called for an iced cold lemonade after her shift. there’s a small daisy that sits behind her ear, one that she’d forgotten she’d place there, her eyes glued on the menu above the baristas as she waits next in line for her turn. a grande blueberry black tea lemonade she finds herself repeating over and over in her head until a voice prompts her out of her thoughts and her feet are taking her to the till. she says the order, an uh still tucked between her words, despite the practice and one gets tossed in before she gives her name - as if she’s unsure her name even is rowan - or as her parent’s have named her um-rowan. the thoughts are quickly shaken aside as a grin overtakes her features as the barista tells her the person in front of her has already paid for her order. pay it forward - she loved the idea of it, as she chances a look behind her to make sure someone’s in line waiting, she pulls out a twenty dollar bill from her pocket, handing it to the barista, “can i um, pay for the person behind me? and however many that pays for as well?” she steps aside, waiting for her drink wishing the person who had paid for her drink was still there so she could thank them. instead, she fiddles with the wrapper of the straw as she waits for her lemonade. 

Waving goodbye to the owner, she left with a plastic bag in hand, containing all the fixings to make a mean mojito. She’d bought a bottle of rum earlier and had a half cracked idea of making her own cocktails, a venture she’d likely give up on if her first try came out terrible. As Jac fumbled with the keys to the company car she was being lent for the summer, she shoved a stubborn lock of dark hair that had fallen forward back behind her ear, losing grip of the bag. The half dozen limes she’d bought (overkill probably, but one can never be too careful) rolled across the lot, a few stopping right before another car just shifting into park. As the owner stepped out, Jac motioned at the ground as she stooped to toss her belongings back into the bag. “You gotta watch your step, some idiot made a giant mess.”