Oct 12, 2018
↳ INSTAGRAM: @lopezcarmen uploaded a photo.
one night in paris? more like one night in carmen HEYO
↳ 521 LIKES, 21 COMMENTS:
@highflyingcheerio: what does that even mean?
seen from Türkiye
seen from Australia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Yemen
seen from Malaysia
seen from Kazakhstan
seen from Türkiye
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Kuwait
seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Malaysia
seen from France
seen from Germany
seen from Mexico
↳ INSTAGRAM: @lopezcarmen uploaded a photo.
one night in paris? more like one night in carmen HEYO
↳ 521 LIKES, 21 COMMENTS:
@highflyingcheerio: what does that even mean?
@OHSUSANNA: has posted a picture
#OneNightInParis photo credit: @holyquinnity
124 LIKES ♥, 19 COMMENTS:
She was only here for Carmen. That was it, plain and simple. The only reason she was here was to be a good cousin and support Carm.
The thing was, Flor still didn’t know where she stood with the school -- she didn’t know how to fit in, or if she was supposed to fit in at all. Everybody had already formed their own opinions of her as it was, and that was what had driven her to the Skanks in the first place.
Did she even fit in there? Or anywhere?
Were they even here tonight? God, was she lame for coming?
She was such an idiot.
Flor paced around a little, twisting and spinning on the heel of her stiletto (it granted her a whole four inches, and she would take all the extra height she could get), before making her way to the punch bowl and pouring herself a glass.
A glass that she almost immediately spit back in her cup, before remembering that, hi, yeah, she was supposed to be cooler than that.
“Okay. Yeah. Spiked.”
The sheer fact of the matter - plain and simple - was that Sebastian Smythe looked good. I mean, let’s be honest here - just between the two of us? - he always looks good. But right now, he was wearing Tom Ford (certainly not his best, or even seventh best, Tom Ford, because Jesus Christ, this was McKinley High School’s Homecoming Dance with the most cliché theme in the world) and he was adjusting his Bulgari cufflinks, and he was peering, unamused and mostly unimpressed at the room of his peers in front of him.
He would likely only stay long enough to make his appearances, get his crown, take the necessary pictures, and get out of there. After all, he had a dick appointment at eleven, and he wasn’t looking to miss it. And it wasn’t like he had any options around here anyway, right?
He grabbed his drink, punch, clearly spiked, and swallowed it down, before hearing the squeaky microphone overhead, calling him to attention and, also, calling him to the stage.
He sat his drink between two freshmen playing Fortnite on their phones and brushed himself off. “You guys can clearly use this more than I can.”
Making his way to the stage, he could see Quinn’s gaze burning a hole straight through him and he briefly wondered if she possessed the powers to, like, cut a hole into the ground and send him straight to Hell, but he brushed it off and went for the mic stand, and straight to where the crown was waiting for him. A speech. Was he really supposed to make a speech?
“You clearly didn’t have any better options, so, it’s nice to see whatever brain cells you do have still manage to serve their purpose.”
His next plan of action? Get off the stage. Get another drink. Get out of here.