[ cxltxn ] [ rxghtfulheir ] [ godfrxy ] [ guns-are-too-quick ] [ redrumed ]

❝I literally have only twenty minutes. What do you want?❞

     {She wasn't looking up from the latest edition travel magazine in her hand, finding it more entertaining than the other in front of her.}

          A couple hundred dollars (probably a thousand, really) later and Elis is stumbling through the door, hands full of shopping bags. She was never one to dress up, seeing as she never really went anywhere. Parties were never her thing, see. She hated the atmosphere of being in close quarters with a bunch of sweaty junkies hopped up on whatever she had been asked to bring; and though she was never one to turn down a shot or a hit, it was all to easy to do that in the comfort of her own home.

          Still, when a rather handsome and influential son of a mafia boss implores you to go to a Family gala, one is sort of obligated to go. So, that explained why one Elisabeth Yorke was struggling to sort out her shoes with her dresses and her eyeshadow palettes with her earrings. But there was one thing that she hadn't managed to plan for.

          Who the hell was she going to bring to this thing?

         Suffice to say, her usual roster of friends would probably not be up to accompanying her to this sort of shindig -- but someone did happen to owe her a favour.

          She quickly tears off the old sticky note from her fridge and punches the numbers into her phone, hoping that this request wouldn't be too ridiculous to fulfill. 

Fiji water bottle in hand [and a chocolate bar she was already regretting,] the Boston rich-girl approached the cashier and placed her things on the counter. “For a town smaller then Boston, it’s really hard to find your way around, eh?” she laughed as she pulled out her wallet. “I’ve been looking for a Marriott for an hour or so.”