the crux to getting through parties is to act like you're not really there. here one second and gone the next -- she possesses the opposite of a one-track mind, a bulldozer with no identifiable finish line. moving too fast means nobody can spot you but moving too fast means nobody can avoid you, either. a turn too abrupt when she's trying to weave through the crowd turns into the tip of her boot knocking against the heel of the other. her glass catches against someone's shoulder, half of its contents spilling over onto the unfortunate victim's arm, and even the strobing lights of the room do little to conceal the mess raon's somehow managed to create in the mere twenty minutes that's elapsed past midnight.
she knows him in spite of his mask but the recognition is misty, not quite there. her mouth parts for the apology that never comes because the words die on her tongue, and the bitter aftertaste left behind is almost enough to ground her. her outstretched hand retracts immediately like she had touched fire. "oh." stunned, because it's been three years and she realises he still doesn't like wearing a tie with his suit. passive, because the anger hasn't sunk in yet. quiet, because she doesn't know whether he'll listen to her now when he didn't last time. her head spins with the belated effects of too much alcohol, and the accompanying thud of her heart against her rib cage is that much louder. "i think i need another drink."
@jscariot/ 01.
