1, 2, 3, Drink - [ Sunny | Julian ]
Pandora Mae Scamander wanted to be lots of things: loved, respected, not treated like a steaming pile of dog shit, but she definitely never, ever wanted to be that girl. You know, the one crying a the party over a boy or girl, looking like a hot mess. Unfortunately for her, that evening she was neither loved, respected, or treated nicely. In fact, the only thing she was at that moment was a crying mess.
She sat outside of the party on the stairs, hoping the fresh air would help her feel better about her stupid, fake, two-faced, so-called best friend betraying her and hurting her feelings like she always did. Okay, maybe Dominique was always a bad friend, but that didn’t change a thing. Sunny was still heartbroken over a stupid boy and hated herself for it. She had thought that, maybe, she should go home and cry in the tub with a glass of wine and drown herself in cookie dough ice-cream, but she wanted to get shit-faced drunk. She could be an easy party girl like Dom, that’s what guys like him wanted, right?
The sound of footsteps made Suns freeze in her tracks. Okay, okay, get your shit together. A sigh escaped from her lips, pushing stray hairs out of her face, helping her stop her crying and stand strong. “I thought I told you not to follow me, you –” her head snapped towards the person, expecting it to be Dominique. “Shit. Sorry, mate. Thought you were someone else… obviously.”
The margarita was left abandoned on the table, only for Julian to realize long after he had wandered away from the cups game. The margarita can stay abandoned. It wasn’t like the margarita ever did him any good, anyway.
This time, he opted for an Old Fashioned. He hoped Finley had good taste in liquor, though he wondered if Vivienne was the one picking out the menu for this event now that Finley had gone… and disappeared. Julian made his greeting with Vivienne quick, but she seemed to be another of the few that was keen on avoiding him—but at least he understood the reason why: the Prophet was looking for another story.
Instead he made his way to the garden, only familiar during the day when he would follow Vivienne out for walks when the weather was good. Much like how the rest of the house was full of unfamiliar people, so was the stranger at the step who snapped at him. He lurched back a bit and felt the liquid slosh in its tumbler.
Julian could detect sarcasm and he raised a brow. It was almost as if she wanted their companion to follow them, half-prepared to make a scene over it. “If someone were following you--why not hex them? Can’t be too safe these days.”
