to balthazar, parties were little more than vessels for free food and booze. it almost made it worth entering the belly of the beast if it meant he could mooch of them in front of their faces. especially if it was oz lamar, the douchebag. perhaps this was a strange and adversarial way to look at the world in general, but zar was nothing if not strange and adversarial.
he spent this party like he spent every other; in the corner, with the food an arm's length away, the perfect perch for people watching. as someone with a general distaste for humanity and a more specific distaste for the st. etienne student body, he took a particular schadenfreude in watching his peers flounder and fail. here, a woman walked her fingers up some football player’s chest, as he looked at the party above her head, completely disinterested. there, a man conversing ardently with a woman, who was smiling with her mouth and screaming with her eyes.
and even further still, sat a trio on a couch, two men on either side and a woman in the center. the woman and the leftmost man were close, knee to knee, nearly cheek to cheek, and the rightmost man was trying, desperately, to enter the conversation. his every attempt was met with an awkward pause and visible distaste. zar hid a grimace behind his solo cup lid as he watched the pair stand up, escorting each other to the dance floor, while the lone man watched in despair. the man stared at them for a few moments, before his gaze flickered around the room, looking for something, anything to distract him.
zar noted the platter of jello shots incoming. he was already two rum and cokes in, so he was just tipsy enough to nudge the person next to him without a second thought, “hey, five bucks says lonely hearts club over there is gonna grab a shot. no,” zar put a finger to his lips in thought, “two shots. he'll shoot one, and then go back for seconds. you in on that action?”
