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@nolafoxcroft-blog
@sum-yama
solo‘s question was too easy. “who else but my a1 since day one?” they answered without hesitation, turning to their right to cheekily grin at sum. nola raised the ready shot glass in their hand toward the girl. “you want to just take mine?”
artisticfade:
dxne-aries:
Dane rolled his eyes as the question was whispered to him—TYPICAL, he thought. Drama. P e t t i n e s s. The need to stir something up; of course she’d ask such a question. His eyes darted quickly among his peers, a discernation in his eyes, before they landed on the other just four people to the left of him. “Sammy-boy hands down. With a face like that, who couldn’t be that?”
( @artisticfade )
@desmondbeaumont
at first sam wants to smile, wants to understand; there’ssomething almost complimentary in the way dane says it, but then again “whocouldn’t be that” makes sam wonder… is this a slut joke? he’d almost understandbut he’s not one for taking chances and yeah, he just needs to know what thefuck people are saying about him. “okay, yes, i’m weak,” he picks up his secondshot of the night and downs it quick, hissing a bit at the burning and thensteeling himself. “what was the question, what was it, what did this little shit ask you?”
wind chime giggles fled their lungs. they couldn’t deny that yeah, maybe, possibly, they were a little shit sometimes. judging by dane’s blatant eye roll, they sensed that he felt similarly, albeit in a less joking manner. nola let it roll off their shoulders; live and let live. "who’s broken the most hearts,” they replied with a light shrug. “there are worse things.”
Aries: Basically, I'm a badass.
Aquarius: Basically, he's a moron.
temporary bliss
desmondbeaumont:
Des was was already three steps past wasted when Nola grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the barstool. Surprisingly, he was having a pretty good night so far. He was the perfect level of drunk and was having fun dancing and generally being an idiot. He was ready for whatever Nola had planned. Taking a seat beside them, he took the lime and moved to the next step like he was on autopilot. He knew how to take tequila shots like he knew the alphabet. “One, two, three,” He counted them on before throwing back the shot and sucking on the lime. “Woo!” He cheered as he threw his hands in the air. “What next?”
they dropped the used lime into their empty shot glass. the warm sting of the tequila and des’s palpable buzz made their soul sing. carefree nights like this were their absolute favorite. “now, monsieur, we dance,” nola proclaimed with a drunkenly faux posh air. they hopped down from the stool and took both of des‘s hands in theirs. shoulders shimmying to the beat of the booming bass, they danced the two of them into the core of the club, right beside the dj’s table. colorful lights splayed across their skin, limbs moving freely to the music. “oh my god!” they squealed as a familiar intro played over the speakers: sir mix-a-lot’s ‘baby got back’. an inarguable classic. they tiptoed to shout into des’s ear, “if you don’t know the lyrics to this one, we’re not friends anymore!”
everyone’s a coward when you look them in the eyes
@justicenotpeace
growing up on nola’s side of the tracks, learning how to throw a proper punch was a rite of passage. for days and weeks in the shade of the schoolyard, their older brothers had patiently stood as tall, brawny punching bags until nola left a worthy bruise by gritty city standards. they’d memorized the way their wrist tilted and fingers clenched, and the smart, quick aim to match. (always the chest before the face; a gorged ego was never worth the risk of breaking a hand on the edge of a jaw.) it was an art that many failed to imitate. though nola preferred to float high above conflict, whether out of apathy or conscious avoidance, they knew a sloppy fight when they saw one.
that’s what this was, the drunken brawl outside the hole-in-the-wall pub on the way back to the house. the ganglier of the two men spat at the other, “fuck off,” mouth dragged into a rigid frown. his lip was cut and his knuckles pink. a fresh bruise was blooming around his left eye. the man was brunet and fairly well-dressed; a younger, knockoff colin firth, marked with the strong stench of cheap beer and cheaper cologne. the front of his button-up shirt was balled up in the fist of a larger, bulkier but baby faced man in a torn armani exchange tee. from what nola’s curious ears could discern, thrift shop colin firth had cheated baby armani in some way. (drugs, maybe? nola wasn’t too sure.)
the brown-haired man pushed away his assailant with a heavy grunt, teeth gritted and eyes steeled with anger. his right arm drew back behind his shoulder before hurling forward, fist crookedly smashing into baby armani’s nose with a distinct crunch. both men yelped at the impact, the instigator shaking his hand with a wince as the other glared, shocked, trying to process what had transpired. nola flinched inwardly at the drunken execution, nose crinkling slightly. before they could bite their tongue, the vodka willed a sharp, soprano laugh out of them. they shot an amused look at justice as the pair made their way past, a look that said, can you believe this mess?
“oi! what’re you fuckers laughin’ at?” baby face slurred just before they were out of earshot. he was holding his nose in his hand, wild panic and heated frustration both storming across his face. blood leaked between his dense fingers. he stepped toward nola and justice, dropping his grip on his nose to forcefully shove nola’s shoulder’s with both hands. a rush of adrenaline twisted their insides as they stumbled backwards, knocking into justice. “answer me, you little shit,” he demanded, towering over nola. his breath was thick with the smell of alcohol. his hand flew out to his side and snatched colin firth junior’s shirt into his fist again. he snarled, “or my mate cracks open your friend’s nose next.”
faye‘s question was a welcome contrast to kelly‘s hilariously risqué inquiry from round one. still, they smirked, bearing in mind the name of the game. “ooh. well, sober or drunk?” nola pondered aloud, hesitating on sum at first, followed by des. they hummed in thought, and their eyes ricocheted across the circle to—“imogen. probably imogen. but i think i'd place myself as runner-up,” they said, their tone shameless with an unmistakable hint of pride.
artisticfade:
sam bursts into laughter, his whole face turning bright red( the alcohol not helping ) and he really can’t help cringing. he covers hisface in his hands again, shaking his head. “what the fuck, these lies!” he’sstill laughing though, picking up his napkin and throwing it at nola. “howwould you even know that, you pervert! you’ve never seen me naked! you’re not even supposed to be thinking these things anyway, youare too smol and innocent! i think you ought to drink as a penalty, for lying.” he pushes a shot towards her.
they immediately put their hands up, claiming innocence. their chin turned away, petite nose crinkling at the vodka’s bitter scent. “hey, i wasn’t the one who asked the question!” nola exclaimed in defense. “besides,” they added, tone somewhat matter-of-fact in between all their laughter, “how do you know you don’t have the smallest? have you seen the rest of them naked?” nola spun their gaze back to sam to raise their eyebrows at him and gestured toward the remaining boys in the circle.
fireworks
sum-yama:
@nolafoxcroft
there was talk among the group, just mild chatter as they all drank and played games. she was deftly ignoring sam, trying not to let on to everyone else that they were having a little bit of a fight in order to not ruin anyone else’s holiday. that was when she heard someone mention fire, and immediately sprung out of her seat. “NOLA!” she yelled at them from across the room, trying to capture their eyes. “do you remember that time? when we were seventeen? on the beach?” she asked, a grin spreading over her face and her eyes lighting up like they’d already lit the fireworks.
head perking up toward the sound of their own name, their eyes immediately reflected the sparkle of mischief found in sum’s. a knowing look materialized across their face. “oh my god, we have to!” nola urged. without hesitation, they abandoned their current conversation and found their way to sum. the memory of that night played back in their mind and soon enough, electric excitement was sprinting through their veins. “d’you think there’d be any in the house? or—” they paused in thought. “—we could diy?” whatever it took, they would make it happen; they had to make it happen, nola decided.
artisticfade:
“i hate this game, i hate this game,” sam mutters, sighing,because why the fuck are they picking on him? the room is already starting tospin a bit as he mulls over his options. hearing his name on nola’s lips setshis chest fluttering for the third time tonight, and samuel has to reallywonder about whether it would be good for him to take this next shot. is itworth it? everyone who knows him knows he is absolute shit at holding his liquor—whyare they doing this to him? his bright blue eyes shoot up at the other,weighing his options “nola, why?” he sighs before taking and swallowing thenext shot. “i’m doing this because i just don’t trust kelly… what was thequestion?”
they couldn’t contain the laughter that came with sam’s misfortune. (well, the devil on nola’s shoulder countered, was it really misfortune when he chose to take each shot?) “okay, please don’t hate me,” they half-jokingly pleaded. “out of all the boys...” they drew out their response, always a sucker for a bit of melodrama. they kept an eye on sam’s expression, amusement in their gaze. in retrospect, perhaps nola should’ve answered des to mess with his ego. too late now. underneath their flippant smile, nola braced themself for sam’s reaction. they finally said, “who has the smallest package.”
they knew it would be juicy the moment they saw just how wide kelly’s grin was. they weren’t disappointed. their head briefly tossed back in a fit of giggles; kelly did not stutter. nola’s eyes flitted from jude to dane—solo? unlikely—and, finally, landed on their final answer. it was a difficult choice, but they felt alright with their decision. “sorry, sam.” with a smirk, they warned, “take that shot at your own risk.”
temporary bliss
@desmondbeaumont
“des!” they shouted, twinkling eyes and a loudness charged by alcohol. nola tugged their friend’s hand, yanking him from the dense crowd to where they sat perched on a barstool. in front of them on the counter were two tall shot glasses of tequila and a salt shaker off to the side. “look what some rando bought me!” nola squealed gleefully, handing des his respective slice of lime. they swiftly licked the back of their hand and sprinkled a mild amount of salt. “on the count of three?” they suggested, shot glass already in hand.
dxne-aries:
The games of paranoia was going to spread, THE TWELVE were all preparing for the night. Some with alcohol, others with some green, while the rest focused of letting go of their layers—both material and emotional—and went on their way to the pool. Dane wasn’t one to hesitate either, since he was one of the first to find himself shirtless and shorted up while in the kitchen mixing up punch for whomever. He sported proudly his fraternity’s colors with gold shorts, the hem shyly somewhere between his knees and thighs, while in black print his letters were printed across his waist. While he mixed himself up something along the lines of a margarita he stared down at the cup for a moment.
Tension pulled at the edge of his eyes His focus built Then he waved his hand thinking of the locket.
Within moment the edges of his drink began to freeze; a soft sheet of frost encased his cup with most of his drink instantly becoming colder; but barely the slushie constancy he wanted it to be. “Damn-it” he said softly to himself, wishing he would have made that work. To control whatever this was better. —Yet he pulled his attention up to the person that had enetered the room, wondering if they saw anything.
“cool party trick, elsa,” nola breezily quipped as they floated into the kitchen, a blithe smile adorning their damp face. the rich maroon towel draped around their shoulders complemented their simple yet sleek bikini. their two-piece swimwear mimicked a sports bra and boy shorts, each item plain black with a thick white border. beads of pool water lingered on their caramel skin. they had slipped out of the pool and into the house to refill the ornate glass pitcher held in their careful hands. sights set on the liquor cabinet at the edge of the room, they hopped up onto the countertop and set a mental timer for dane’s reaction.
there would be a consequence for their comment. not that they cared. ain’t no rest for the wild and free, especially when presented with someone like dane. nola could easily prod him about his power, his magic, and stumble them into a conversation about whatever enigmatic force had brought them all together. (did he even know about their magic? the illusions?) but a conversation between the two of them was never just a conversation. keeping up the sunny disposition with him, all the teasing and giggles, was like scaling a branch, higher and higher, until—finally—it snapped. there was something satisfying about it.
nola tucked one leg underneath them, the other swaying to-and-fro to a silent beat, and swung open the heavy wooden cabinet door. motley bottles of bacardi, absolut, cîroc and the like stood side by side in the shadowed cabinet. as nola surveyed the collection, a rapid-fire list of potential recipes whirred in their hazy, tipsy mind. they paused, index finger lightly tapping their chin, considering their options. “oi,” they plainly called out to dane, not bothering to turn their gaze away from the liquor stock. “what kind of chaser’ve you got left down there?”
notkellyrowland:
eltoromagico:
Jude’s expression wrinkled with amused confusion as Nola’s voice hummed in his ear. What a weird question! He bit his tongue as he considered his answer. “I can’t choose…” His eyes darted from Dane, to Kelly, to Justice, back to Kelly, again to Justice. “I’m sorry,” he sighed. “Kelly, darling.” His smile was tweaked with embarrassment.
Kelly almost forgot that she was a player in this drinking game. She was leaning on Imogen and giggling at everyone’s frantic reactions. Kelly wasn’t big on secrets, honesty was always the best policy in her book. A game revolving around secrecy kind of tripped her out. He slowly raised off of Imogen when she heard her name escape Jude’s lips. She downed the shot like her life depended on it, and shuddered a bit. “Just spill it.” She bluntly spoke, her eyes lurking between Jude and Nola.
the ghost of a guilty pang spilled into their stomach as jude deliberated, the feeling not quite manifesting before evaporating twice as quickly as it‘d arrived. his answer was… interesting. nola filed it away for later. their proclivity for detachment paved a road for tequila-fueled curiosity tonight. it was a different breed of dangerous, but wasn‘t every drinking game? their dreamy expression was unaffected by kelly‘s bluntness. “who‘d be the last person he‘d invite to his wedding,” they divulged, tone as lackadaisical as the tipsy smile on their face. they took a sip from their mixed drink.
of foxes and henhouses
@solobyduality
the joke had grown stale after the first three times they and solo circled the house scouting for a way in. “s’like reverse ding dong ditching,” nola had slurred. when their knocking went unanswered, the pair decided to take matters into their own hands. they looked under potted plants and decorative stones and door mats, drunkenly hollered outside every door and window, and even looked up a lock-picking tutorial. via text, their friends claimed to have opened the front door, but found no one outside. “bullshit,” was what nola muttered as they pounded on (what they and solo believed to be) said door. why the fuck wouldn’t they just let them in?
desperate times called for desperate measures. head slightly tilted, mind swimming in vodka-induced thoughts, nola proposed, “d’you wanna try to crack a window? like, crack crack, with a rock or somethin’.”
let’s go to perfect places
@veraharper
“morning,” nola chirped as they settled into the seat beside vera. their standard sunshine smile was a bit sleepier than usual, having returned to durham from home not twenty-four hours earlier. their left hand cradled an iced coffee (black, less ice, two and a half sugars), while the right worked to wind their earbuds around the base of their phone. “i downloaded eight e-books and five different podcast seasons for this trip. who do i think i am, honestly.” they gently shook their head, hair springing to life with the motion, and chuckled at their own absurdity. “but enough about me.” they turned to vera. “you excited?”
and haven’t you a sweet tooth?
@eltoromagico
nola’s eyes ardently bore into jude’s, their eyebrows raised in earnest. their hands firmly gripped his shoulders. “listen, mate. you’re the hero this ice cream shop needs,” they insisted, referring to the poster on the wall behind them. the advertisement was loud with color, a lively typographic jumble revolving around a centerpiece image of a massive eighteen-scoop sundae, topped with six bananas and an immeasurable amount of chocolate fudge, caramel sauce, brownie bits, vanilla wafers, whipped cream and cherries. TAME THE BEAST, the poster read in bold rainbow gradient text. devouring the concoction within one hour came with a promise of a sixty quid prize, free t-shirt, no meal charge, and a picture on the parlor’s wall of fame.
the wall of fame was surprisingly sparse. nola wholeheartedly believed that with jude by their side, they could be the next victors to grace the parlor; perhaps more accurately, jude (and his void for a stomach) taking the lead with nola by his side. they gently squeezed his shoulders, the gesture warm and hopeful. “so, are you in or are you in?”
