Dec 24, 2014
Merry Martinis.
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Merry Martinis.
Victoria had made her way over to Steven's apartment, snow coming down quite hard. Wearing only her flannel pajamas she had of course taken from Steven in the last visit, and an oversized sweaters with boots, topped off with her beanie on her head, she was buzzed into the apartment building easily. Climbing up the stairs, she couldn't wait to be warmed up by Steven, the freezing cold weather outside making her shake. Knocking on his door, she waited, excitedly, to see his face. That handsome, beautiful face that she adored.
Victoria was muttering to herself, angrily, snarling. "Son of a bitch made me sell my fucking shoes. Gonna murder him in his sleep. Fucking Prince of fucking..." She looked up, when she heard someone enter her room and plastered on a fake smile. "Hey! What up?"
Four Seasons and a group of hot ladies? That was a happy Thanksgiving for me.
I have been formally invited to a Baizen penthouse Thanksgiving, and I can't drink? Someone pray for me.
Manhattan's like a fine scotch, yo. Only gets better with age.
It was so bright, Victoria couldn't barely open her eyes, and when she did, she wish she had kept them closed. Her chocolate eyes fluttered open and she could not, for the life of her, figure out where she was. She tried so hard to focus on what she last remembered and for a moment, she couldn't remember a single thing. That was until she tried to sit up, and was crashed down by utter weakness, her body not allowing her to move quickly. Flash of the party, flash of her doing drugs, flash to the ambulance for the brief time she was conscious, and begging for her brother. Her heart beating incredibly quick, hearing the monitors next to her beep faster and faster, she felt her hands shake and tried to speak. It scared her half to death, taking her a few tries, and when she did finally speak it was hoarse, broken. "...Carter? C-Carter..." She found herself trying to get louder, her heart beating faster, frightened. "Where...What happened? What's...Someone tell me, please! Please!"
Just a green tea for me...Yeah, Max, don't look at me like that. I know you're a bartender, honey, and you're used to serving up drinks, but I'll have a hot tea. Want me to order in French for you? Fine. Puis-je avoir un thé chaud? Merci.