#partylight

Lampert can hear the music from beyond the Regretevator’s doors, and it only grows in volume and clarity the closer she gets. It becomes near-deafening, even with the door in the way.

And then it parts. It should be illegal for this many people to be in the same apartment. She needs to squeeze by a couple of guests---a fruitaur and CRT-headed rabbit girl---to even get out of the elevator. Lampert immediately kicks over someone's drink as soon as she seems to find her footing, pissing off the stranger on the couch.

She throws out a quick "Sorry." before scurrying away. There's no room for her, trying to navigate the swaths of people dancing in the middle of the room with the music so loud. Someone crashes into her and she bumps the table, rocking the bottles and cups. Lampert looks around frantically, fighting to navigate the raging tide of bodies. At least find somewhere to stand so she doesn't drown.

A stray arm pulls her aside too quick for comfort, and Lampert bumps into the beetle that pulled her to safety.

Pest chitters, "Watch it."

Lampert apologizes, pressing her back to the wall beside Pest, who, based on how tight their brows are, seems to be having an equally-shit time.

They at least have the decency to pass a cup of water from the drink table.

She takes a sip, realizes it's only vodka, swallows it anyway, and grimaces at the taste. Pest chuckles dryly, a smile beneath their mandibles.

"You're an asshole." Lampert frowns.

They mumble something in response, looking away from Lampert before walking away.

She stands there, drink losing it's coolness.

Stupid, she's so stupid.

Lampert finds her way into the bathroom to escape everything. The music is still audible in here, but it should be okay until she can compose herself.

She keeps throwing herself head first into parties she knows she hates, surrounded by people she doesn't know, and drinking alcohol that tastes like shit. Deep breaths. Lampert takes only two before someone breaches her veil of privacy.

"Do you mind?" Lampert says too harshly.

But when Partynoob steps inside and shuts the door, Lampert wishes she could pull the words back into her mouth. They aren't friends, necessarily. Friend-of-a-friend is more applicable, each knowing the other with Kasper as the intermediate.

"O! Lampert, whut a surprise! :3" they smile, though it seems to take more effort to flex the necessary muscles.

"…Hey."

Partynoob sighs, their bad smile faltering as soon as they shut the door.

"srry, I'm tired. r u ok?"

Lampert instinctively crosses her arms, her tail flicking behind her. "I'm fine. Just thought K…Infected would be here. She's not, so," Her sentence tapers off to silence. Her tail doesn't stop.

Partynoob frowns, shrugging. "shes not answering my txts either. I miss her. :( "

Lampert can't even muster a reply, staring down at the tiles, and Partynoob's cute pink slippers.

"You seem, uhh, down?"

"mmm. yah, real tired…"

…Lampert doesn't know what to say anymore. If this bathroom had a window, she would contemplate climbing out of it while Partynoob was distracted. She looks anywhere but the host.

"mmm, lampert…u hav rlly beautiful collarbones, u kno?"

The woman in question lifts a thin brow, thrust from her thoughts.

"Uhh, thank you?" Lampert replies lamely, eyes flicking to Partynoob.

Their attire for their two-dozenth party this month is practically ribbons. A micro-bikini top with plenty of accessories decorating their arms, with a matching bottom peeking out from under some shorts, their signature hat donned, and some shutter shades obscuring their eyes. They have a small plastic bag pinched between their fingers, and a rolled dollar held like a cigarette. They pad closer to Lampert, who has spent the better half of this party thinking about how to leave because Kasper didn't show face.

"do u mind if i…?" Partynoob's sentence falls quiet, their pupils blown out like dinner plates. They bump into Lampert, legs tangled. "srry. do u mind?"

Lampert tries to move out of the way. Maybe they need the sink she's been moping around, but Partynoob stops her. They set their things down. Except for the bag.

"nono, no, wait pls." Partynoob says, "can i borrow ur collarbone for a sec? just 1 sec. please? i need it."

The other's face contorts, confusion wrinkles her brow. Partynoob can hardly stand anymore. An east-coast hip-hop track plays from the other room, and Lampert can feel the bass rumbling up from her feet. Lampert gets a closer look at the bag Partynoob is toting around: smaller than a sandwich baggie. Filled with a fine white powder.

"You still do cocaine?" Lampert prods. "I thought you were quitting."

Partynoob's expression falls. The track changes in the next room, cheers erupt. They rub their face and Lampert notices the white powder around their nose. There's dried blood mixed in.

Their fingers deftly slide across Lampert's metal collarbone. Entirely artificial, as there are no organs to protect nor musculature to support. She shivers nonetheless.

"F-Fine." Lampert huffs, a flush creeping up her face. "Do whatever it is that you need to do. Then… I'm gonna go."

"dats ok. im glad u came." They hum, a weak smile gracing their features as they dump a thin line of coke into the divot of Lampert's collarbone.

A shudder wracks her entire frame. She tries to suppress it. Tries to stay still. Partynoob takes an agonizing amount of time spreading the powder into a perfect line like water in a moat. They ditch their credit card and baggie on the table, rolling their dollar bill between their thumb and forefinger. Lampert sucks in a breath as the dollar brushes against the edge of the line, Partynoob stabilizes Lampert's face with a hand on her shade. They guide her to crane her neck, opening her shoulder for easy access.

And, god damn it, Partynoob laps their tongue across a stray trace of powder. There is a one-two punch as they snort the bulk of the powder in the first pass, then finishing the line with a second. Lampert shudders as Partynoob's grip suddenly tightens, a gleeful smile carved across their face. They wipe their nose, blood pooling on the pad of their index finger. They lick it off, then press their wet finger to the leftover dust. They suck the blood-coke mixture off their thumb.

"thank u, Lampert!!!!" They cheer, cupping her lampshade and kissing the side before allowing their fingers to slide across the underside. They skip out of the bathroom back into the fray before Lampert has a chance to say a word.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Lampert presses her fingers into the groove, panting. She grumbles to herself, her face too hot. She tightens her jaw and pushes off the sink towards the door. She needs a drink. Or a smoke. Something.

She emerges from the bathroom, the couch to her left sardine-d with guests. Smoke fills the air, both tobacco and weed. She approaches the kitchen area carefully, dodging stray empty solo cups scattered across the carpet. The music is suffocating the closer she gets to the large speaker atop the fridge. Every square inch of the countertops is covered in liquor and snacks. Lampert grabs a plate and a knife, stabbing into a large Entenmann's cake tin. She doesn't bother with a fork, using her fingers instead.

She recognizes Poob's… friend(?) leaning on the TV, chittering as someone encroaches on their space. They catch Lampert's glance and scowl, turning away.

Lampert pivots to the drink table piled high with liquor.

…

Partynoob is in Lampert’s arms at the moment. She was coaxed to dance by them, and who was Lampert if not a woman with unmatched self-control? They grabbed her hand almost as soon as she turned to leave. Lampert's head was still spinning, and the way Partynoob squeezed her hand and dragged her to the center of the room happened all too fast.

She's being handsy, she knows it. She's got Partynoob up against her, so close she can smell the sweat on the back of their neck. Though she wishes it did, the proximity doesn't disgust her. They share their drink with her, and a joint that comes her way. Partynoob ends up facing Lampert, their arms wrapped around her neck. Lips connect, Poob’s tongue slides against Lampert’s teeth, licking the backside up toward her gums. They split, still dancing. Lampert’s head is in the clouds.

"Mmm, Kas---" Lampert whines.

"whuh? what'd u say?"

"Oh. N-Nothing. Nothing."

"whutevr u say. do u want another drink?"

She nods. God, watching them glide effortlessly through the crowd to pour them both a shared drink? Lampert feels no better than a man.

After dancing together some more, the pair end up on a couch, mouths interlocked.

Between a couple more shots and nursing off of other people's drinks in between, Lampert is fucked. Fucked up. She stumbles bleary-eyed through the kitchen, vision fading a dark unfocusedness. A few stray partiers are chatting. Lampert shoulder-checks one of them pretty hard, but they don't say anything.

She ends up in more hallway. Even more hallway.

She looks back, the party near-impossible to hear. She doesn't remember grabbing her coat. It's too warm for the winter. She stumbles into door after door, pushing mostly with her body through each. As she places her hand on the next door, a strange rumbling under her palm, Lampert pushes forward.

…

"Get up."

Someone taps her side with their foot. They spit something in a foreign language, obviously irritated.

"C'mon, the party's over."

Lampert opens her eyes, meeting four deep red ones. Before she can register the bug looming over her, they bend down and pull her to her feet. They're walking now, back to the living room. They find Partynoob collapsed over the couch, a blanket haphazardly thrown over them by a third party. It's a mess, but seeing them ignites something in her. Something other than Lampert's throbbing hangover.

Pest pushes her through the elevator doors, and Partynoob lifts their head and smiles towards her with a soft "bai…" as the doors close, blood leaking from their nose. A beat of silence hangs in the air until the elevator rumbles to life.

Lampert's face is noticeably warm. There's a pink-and-yellow kandi bracelet on her wrist she doesn't remember receiving.

God damn it.