#promptz

Write 1826 words

Three characters. Person A and Person C are in an argument over something drastic (you choose what it is). Person B is the middle man, and it turns out they’re the guilty man.

There must be: a fallen tree, a smashed house, and a tray of burnt cookies

bonus: someone dies!

Ooh! I like these! 

I'll post the first one attached to this ask, and the others in the morning when I'm awake and competent.

"Where are you taking me?" whined a newly 21-year-old Dwight, who wanted to celebrate the occasion with a box set of Supernatural and Chinese take-out.

"We can't just tell you, Knight," said one Tweedle, holding hands with the other as he readjusted the blindfold. "That would defeat the purpose." David and Wes murmured affirmitavely.

Dwight groaned, hearing the telltale beats and feeling the spotlights of a club.

"A club? Really guys? I don't even have my salt..."

"Knight, just come with us." Evan and Ethan took his arms, pulling off his blindfold, replacing it with an elegant eyemask, and all but dragging him to the front, where the bouncer took one look at the pair and opened the front door widely, grinning.

"Ah, Mister Evan and Mister Ethan. So nice to have you here! And your guest, too! David, Wes, nice to see you!" 

The group was ushered into the thrumming room.

"How the hell did you get us in here like that? And on Masquerade night?" Dwight shouted over the subwoofer.

"We've got connections!" The Brightman twins grinned, and tossed him onto the dance floor. 

"We'll get drinks!"

"We'll see you in a bit!"

"And if anyone asks your name, it's Amadeus!"

"Everyone has a masque ball name, don't worry!"

"Dance, Knight!"

"Dance!"

Everywhere Dwight turned was a squirming mass of people, all wearing masks of some form. There was no way out. Everyone was thrusting and moving to some throbbing, head-achy beat controlled by a DJ in a booth high above the crowd. Dwight could feel sweat being rubbed off onto his classy clothes from various sources; the strobe lights pulsed inside his head; he was thirsty and hungry and not having fun.

That is, until a slender hand touched his arm. It belonged to a young lady, the top half of her face obscured by an elegant Venetian mask. Two stormy blue eyes peeked out, and a smattering of freckles trickled down her cheeks.

Wow.

"Hi," she breathed. "I'm Antoinette."

"H-hello," he stuttered.

"What's your name?"

"Amadeus." 

She nodded. 

"Well, Amadeus, care to dance?" 

"Ah, uh, sure?" Sidling up to him, Jay placed his hands on her hips as she swung them in a circular motion.

As for Dwight, his brain short-circuited the second her ass was pressed to his crotch.

From the DJ booth, two tall, blonde boys watched the scene unfold. 

Dwight's inner hormonal teenager was being coaxed out by this yonder sex demon, feeling his hips starting to swing with hers. He just prayed he was doing it right. Probably not of his own accord, and it was totally the vodka shot the Tweedles forced down his throat before being shoved into the limousine, Dwight pressed his lips to her neck shortly and softly, a light bit of scruff scratching at her cheek.

She giggled.

She giggled.

And fuck if it wasn't the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

Songs passed and the club started to empty. 

They separated slowly.

"Antoinette?" 

She giggled again.

"Uh-huh?"

"I want to get to know you." Another laugh.

"Me too." He pulled at the ribbon holding her mask up, as did she.

The festive costumes fell to the floor as they stared at each other.

"...Dwight?"

"Jay!?"

He hadn't seen her in so long... they'd been hunting partners for a year back in high school, but then her parents moved back to Australia and they'd lost touch.

She jumped into his arms.