open starter
open to: anyone (pref to mutuals)
character: finn roy, early 30s, oc in the succession universe
setting: new year's eve party (likely a rich, boujee event. otherwise, she is there out of pure obligation)
new year's eve had to have a fucking fantastic public relations team. the holiday—not even a real holiday, just a day that led up to one—had somehow maintained a rather positive reputation. branded as a fun, enjoyable evening. coveted by partiers and raging alcoholics alike. except for the fact that new year's eve was none of those things. it was, inevitably, the perfect night to find yourself stuck. if it wasn't the manhattan traffic, a lovely byproduct due to thousands of lunatics hoping to catch a glimpse of ryan seacrest in times square, it was a hopeless party. the use of that word being extremely loose, considering the highlight of the event would always be the countdown to the fucking end.
the best way to ring in a new year was to avoid the shit show entirely. but, clearly, finn wasn't so lucky as she found herself trapped at another one of these functions, fingers clutching whichever number champagne glass this was. because there was always champagne. lukewarm and worthless for getting hammered.
"uhp -" catching someone approaching from her periphery, finn held up her hand. "before you speak, know that i will write you a check for fifty grand tonight if the word 'resolution' doesn't fucking come out of your mouth."
