#sasha002

Izzy strutted into the party, her costume obviously getting plenty of attention for the night, considering half of her ass-cheeks were showing in these shorts. The fake guns to either side of her also made for some interesting looks in a town like Olympus but she was here to impress so she would do just that. Waving at a few people and complimenting a few costumes, Izzy made her way to the bar to get herself a drink as soon as possible. Peering over at Sasha she smiles at her costume. “Would you look at you, hot thing?” she remarks. “Really getting into the spirit, huh?”

Raleigh doesn’t care about parents weekend. She doesn’t care about the upcoming game. The Everharts aren’t coming, old enough that they have to be more discerning when it comes to their travel, saving the trip from Houston to Palmetto for graduation. And the Foxes had shown her during the first game of the season that hoping for a win was futile, was just begging to be disappointed—and since the Vixens are throwing this party before the game, she’s not depending on them for an excuse to celebrate. She doesn’t need them for anything. 

She does care about the spraypaint on the house she used to live in. She does care that people are whispering that it was her. She cares that it wasn’t, that someone went out and got revenge that could be oh-so-conveniently pinned on her, all while she sat on her hands, chained into inaction by her all-consuming need to be good. She does care about the pep rally, where she’ll have nowhere to hide, both squads face to face, and Raleigh on the wrong side—with the squad that’s smaller, poorer, and worse. 

So tonight she cares about getting drunk. Maybe drunk enough that she won’t look around and think about how much she doesn’t belong, or wishes she didn’t belong, or about how much she doesn’t want to be where she is. Drunk enough that she can forget how many mean things she’s thought and continues to think about the people she’s getting drunk with. And if she doesn’t have much to contribute in the way of cheer or morale, she at least has discerning taste when it comes to alcohol, used the Everharts’ credit card to keep this house supplied with something other than bottom-shelf. It makes it go down easier, even when she tops up her cup so it’s more vodka than Diet Coke. 

A bottle in one hand and a cup in the other, and there’s a Fox with nothing in either. A Fox that she’s already tangled with before, as Foxwatch won’t let her forget. “I thought people said Foxes knew how to party,” she says, taking in Sasha standing alone with a tilt of her head, an offer of the bottle in her hand that’s more challenging than friendly. “But it looks like you need a little help.”