@ryanid, halloween party, middle of the night, status: pretty drunk ( event )

-- dare, do a body shot off the person to your left.

the whole party seems to have turned into a personal race that san’s started with himself to see just how completely smashed he can get before someone decides to cut him off from the bar. he’s gotten to the point where mixing alcohol with energy drinks sounds like a good idea, which usually means he’s well on his way to drunk. his costumes gone, jowi’s spirited off with it. he’s only a little bitter about it, he’d liked tucking himself under all layers. at least there’s enough people around where his t-shirt doesn’t seem entirely ill-advised. the ribbon still tied around his neck, however, does. 

it’s probably only a testament to how loud the club is that he hasn’t torn the bell-attached-ears jowi had worn to the party off and discarded them at a half-empty table long ago. instead, he fits himself -- once again -- at the bar. this time he finds an empty stool. to be fair, he’d only known about it because ryan had texted him back and told him that she’d saved him a seat. but details had, at that point in san’s night, become negligible. 

“how’s your night been?” he asks, and his voice out slips slightly underneath a slur. tongue starting to get just a little clumsy behind his teeth. he slides himself a little closer, chin pressed to the bony just of her shoulder to glance down at the empty bar glass in front of her. “i was promised drinks,” san tacks on, like ryan somehow wouldn’t remember sending him that promise five minutes ago. like he even needs anymore drinks. but ryan is often a trusty enabler, so he send her one of those off-kilter smiles that are usually reserved just for her and hums to himself when she waves down the bartender for the both of them.

@ryanid, dance practice in the midas building ( prompt ).

there aren’t a whole lot of people who can get san to sit still in the middle of a practice room. not when he has a promotion on the horizon, a special stage to prepare for. the compulsion would overwhelm him in most circumstances, would peel himself off the floor and dance until his feet went numb. would still be disappointed in his efforts. but ryan’s never really been like that, and they’ve been together long enough that it can sometimes be a push and pull. she’ll heft herself up to practice, and he’ll let himself collapse to talk, even if he can still breathe. 

it doesn’t mean he’s still not all movement. unless he’s exhausted he usually is. a bobbing foot, a water bottle rolled between his palms, a bounce of his shoulders along to the music they still have streaming quietly from the corner of the room. a playlist set up with a few of his new songs he needs to practice for, some of jinx’s latest set so that ryan could practice. so that san could theoretically help, the same way that she’d occasionally tried to help him vocally whenever he got dragged for sucking while he was still a trainee, the beginning years of olympus. 

he almost pries open his jaw, suggests they practice for maybe twenty more minutes when pinocchio starts up again. but when he turns to glance at her, ryan’s got a look trapped up in her eyes, like she’s a mind reader pre-pissed off with the predictable thoughts he’s about to recycle for the umpteenth time. san bites his tongue instead. stretches his legs out and grabs at the toes of his sneakers. “what have they got you up to, then?” san asks, means in turns of promotions -- group or otherwise. there hasn’t been a lot of time to hang out lately. he’s been too busy, but that’s not foreign to them. it’s why they broke up, once upon a time.