#verpstarter

Shit’s fucked. Which was why Ben was spending so muchctime away from O’s place. He knew King was upset with him. He should’ve known what vices he’d get into as soon as he stepped on the dirty concrete for the first time in two years. Now, he was right near Central Park, a place he hadn’t been to in years, looking at The Pond. Ben was extremely neurotic but sometimes watching water calmed him down to a certain extent. His impulsiveness pretty much trumped everything else. 

With a halfhearted smile at the barista in front of her, Nathalie handed over her money with one hand while the other clenched her phone a bit too tightly. Hanging up from a phone call with her mother where she endured the same questions about her wedding that she’d been answering for months already, all she could look forward to was getting a bit of caffeine in her system so she could keep her eyes open for longer than ten minutes. While she was waiting for her coffee to be handed over to her, she felt like someone was standing close behind her and when she turned her head to ask them to take a step back, recognized them. “Could you move back a bit?” Nat asked. “You’re hovering.”

Quite frankly, this had been one of the only events in the last few months that Tate had dreaded attending simply due to the fact that Chessie had been “hosting” it, if you could even call it that.  The only reason they even bothered to show up was to show support for HAUS of Freya and Ms Ophelia Atanas herself.  Tate had took it upon themselves to glance upon Arlo’s artwork throughout the gallery and despite their disinterest in the event, Tate had to admit that he was quite the artist.  After Tate became familiar with his work, they took it upon themselves to treat themselves to a flute of champagne and retreat into the quietest corner of the room in attempt to avoid anyone they did not want to interact with.

Nightingale Prep wasn’t a place Chessie had hoped to find herself in again, but in some strange way -- She felt obligated to show up to the charity event. It was Celia’s last hurrah, and even if she didn’t like the other woman, after spending a week with Monty, she felt it necessary to show up. Freezing rain didn’t make the blast from the past any easier, given that she couldn’t sneak outside for a cigarette. The open bar was something she wanted to welcome with open arms, but given that Chessie was still in the midst of making herself ‘brand friendly’ for FREYA, she was hesitant to start drinking vodka sodas.

“Fuck me.” Rowan enunciated around the cigarette danging from his lips as he stumbled out of the back door of Blur, his shoulder making painful contact with the brick wall on the opposite side of the alley. The sidewalk seemed none to steady under his feet, and he wondered how in the world he was going to get back to his apartment, as he certainly wasn’t about to drive in the state he was in, and walking was out of the question unless he wanted picked up or mugged. Straightening after a moment, he noticed a person standing at the mouth of the alley, and after peering past his blurry vision, realized it was someone he knew. “Oh, hey.” He muttered, fumbling for his lighter. “What’re you doing here?”

text @ everyone (wren's entire contact list)

Christmastime was Sheridan’s favorite time of the year. Or it used to be, before everything that happened happened. Now she didn’t feel very much up to celebrating. A very large part of that was bitter. Thanks a lot, Dad. You ruined everything. Her favorite holiday was tainted, she couldn’t feel happy anymore and that alone was even worse. Because she was aware of it. This time of year, she’d be walking the streets of London, admiring all of the extravagant displays (Caranaby’s did a Queen inspired light show this year), sipping cider and laughing with her friends. Now she was standing in front of the tree in Rockefeller Center, watching family, friends, lovers, move around her. They were taking pictures, laughing and hugging, enjoying every moment of their time together. Sheridan simply stared on numbly, until she realized that she was blocking the way. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to just stand there.”

He looks at his phone and it takes him reading the message once, twice, three times for him to fully comprehend the words on the screen. Quinn’s not the type to get easily nervous, but he feels powerless in that moment, mind replaying the secrets he had waiting to be exposed like a scratched record. “Honestly, I preferred the sex tape,” he says only half-sarcastically to the person next to him. “You know, if we go now we can still make a run for it. That food truck down the street is looking more and more promising, despite the fact there’s no way it could pass a health inspection.”