Post by Charles Deen McIvey III on Sept 5, 2011 17:36:57 GMT -5
Oooh how long had it been since he'd been to a sizable shindig? A year? Maybe even two? Naw... couldn't be two. If it were two that would mean he was old, and at twenty five, that was the /last/ word he wanted associated with himself. He was not 'old', he hadn't even started to reach his prime as of yet. As if to fortify himself as to this thought, he popped the collar on his leather jacket. If nothing else, that jacket was proof he wasn't old. Would an old man ware something as rad as that? He didn't think so. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he dug around all the crap that accumulated in them (he really needed to remember to clean them out at some point...), and finally located his wallet.
Flipping it open, he thumbed through the mass of plastic (credit cards, debit cards, gift cards, random ass cards) until he came to a folded piece of paper. Popping it out using his thumb, he unfolded it as gracefully as he could with his wallet in one hand. Glancing at the paper in hand, he compared the adress scrolled there to the one before him (the task that had been delayed by his random... moment). Now that he had confirmed his whereabouts, he crunched the paper in his fist, and stuffed it along side his wallet into his jacket pockets, before heading in towards the place.
***
His first impression was 'people'. People, people everywhere. Some were drinking, some were dancing, and others were on the prowl. For a moment, he was flashing back to High school, a time when a party could get helluv fun, helluv quick. Yet, as he entered further into the lounge, he realized that actual highschoolers were few and far between. Either that, or he was just subconsciously trying not to see any of his students there 'indulging'. Regardless of who was or wasn't there, he started to weave his way into the fray. Every so often, a familiar face would pop up and he'd exchange a few party specific pleasantries, before slipping away. Though he did plan on enjoying the crowed, at that moment, the thought on his mind was some good scotch to start out the night with. Every brilliant party had to start with scotch, that was one of his many rules.
Reaching the bar, he flagged down the bartender with a wave. 'Balvenie' he said to the man when his attention was caught. For as loud as the place seeemed, it wasn't too hard to talk. He'd noticed it with the people he'd run into as well. For as many people were there, and for the music and general hollar, speech wasn't too badly impaired. Glancing around the place, he stoked it up to acoustics, and forgot about the thought in entirety when his glass arrived. Grinning in a boyish way, he thanked the bar keep, before beguinning to savor the drink he held. God he missed this stuff. The dang people that ran this institution wouldn't allow drinks outside of a glass of wine for dinner. Whatta scam. Nothing in the world made him happier than his glass of scotch. Taking another inhale of the drink, he leaned an elbow on the bar, and sat back to take in the party.
Flipping it open, he thumbed through the mass of plastic (credit cards, debit cards, gift cards, random ass cards) until he came to a folded piece of paper. Popping it out using his thumb, he unfolded it as gracefully as he could with his wallet in one hand. Glancing at the paper in hand, he compared the adress scrolled there to the one before him (the task that had been delayed by his random... moment). Now that he had confirmed his whereabouts, he crunched the paper in his fist, and stuffed it along side his wallet into his jacket pockets, before heading in towards the place.
***
His first impression was 'people'. People, people everywhere. Some were drinking, some were dancing, and others were on the prowl. For a moment, he was flashing back to High school, a time when a party could get helluv fun, helluv quick. Yet, as he entered further into the lounge, he realized that actual highschoolers were few and far between. Either that, or he was just subconsciously trying not to see any of his students there 'indulging'. Regardless of who was or wasn't there, he started to weave his way into the fray. Every so often, a familiar face would pop up and he'd exchange a few party specific pleasantries, before slipping away. Though he did plan on enjoying the crowed, at that moment, the thought on his mind was some good scotch to start out the night with. Every brilliant party had to start with scotch, that was one of his many rules.
Reaching the bar, he flagged down the bartender with a wave. 'Balvenie' he said to the man when his attention was caught. For as loud as the place seeemed, it wasn't too hard to talk. He'd noticed it with the people he'd run into as well. For as many people were there, and for the music and general hollar, speech wasn't too badly impaired. Glancing around the place, he stoked it up to acoustics, and forgot about the thought in entirety when his glass arrived. Grinning in a boyish way, he thanked the bar keep, before beguinning to savor the drink he held. God he missed this stuff. The dang people that ran this institution wouldn't allow drinks outside of a glass of wine for dinner. Whatta scam. Nothing in the world made him happier than his glass of scotch. Taking another inhale of the drink, he leaned an elbow on the bar, and sat back to take in the party.
