bitters & begonias -- semper [lyonel+lou]
Jan 2, 2018 19:28:20 GMT -5
Post by shrimp on Jan 2, 2018 19:28:20 GMT -5
LYONEL
The room sways like a waltz; it caresses him gently, carrying him across the living room. Bass throbs in his eardrums, half lidded eyes taking another glance around the house party. Some Training Center kid's, parents away for the weekend or off at the hospital or some shit like that - it's not like he really cared why there was an invitation, just that he got one.
Saturday, 10pm, Platinum Rd. House with the gold trim. He'd spent that afternoon refurbishing a leather jacket, ironing on the pièce de résistance: a patch the size of his freaking head: roses, diamonds, thorns - paired simply of course, with black skinny jeans and a white (deep) v neck, because what's the point of a statement piece when everything's a statement? Then finishing touches: brow touchups, eyeliner, nails laquered the color of tar, jewelry polished as the stew boils on the stovetop. And of course, the 9pm pregame.
His friends are with the wind, out on the patio getting their fix of a pathetic excuse of a joint - it's why he'll never share his own; they don't know what's good for them, can't appreciate it. His hand rubs the lip of his cup, back and forth, the sensation grounding him back to now; he takes a long gulp of the juice, the sharpness dulled by the fog. Then his eyes linger back on the crowd once more, searching for his prey.
There's one, he notes, spying a wallflower. Blonde hair turned technicolor in the lighting, tall, toned. Lyonel vaguely recognizes him from the halls - a name almost at the tip of his tongue, although he supposes it's not as sharp as it'd normally be. Ah, fuck it, who cares. But first--
A few minutes later Lyonel walks up to him, two glasses in his hand. A smirk on his face, he hands one over. "You look thirsty," he says over the raucous music.
