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Post by paris ackerley on Feb 2, 2009 15:45:38 GMT -5
 
When it came to parties, Paris was never one to say no - no matter what kind of a mood she was in. Alright, so perhaps throwing a hissy fit because your husband had to work late for the fourth night in a row wasn't exactly...mature. But he'd promised that he'd finish early and yet again she'd received an owl to tell her that as sorry as he was, work was too important. So now Paris found herself more than a little drunk and not really giving a toss what she was doing. True, this certainly was not the way her parents brought her up but everyone was free to let loose once in a while. Though Paris seemed to "loosen up" every other weekend...
She was on her seventh drink, or possibly eigth, she hadn't been keeping count. Her friends had asked her to go out but it hadn't taken much convincing on her part; they were at a party of somesort - an acquintance of hers was celebrating a birthday or an engagement...She honestly hadn't been listening though was glad just to be around her friends. Stuart could sit in his office and do what needed to be done; Paris was happy dancing and making a complete fool of herself. Yes she was happy now, but she'd remember and regret it in the morning. Same old story.
Her dark hair had been scooped back and twisted into a tight knot at the nape of her neck, it was such a hastle when it got in the way sometimes, though it didn't stop her checking to make sure it was still in place every few minutes while she'd been dancing. Her feet had grown tired and she'd kept bumping into people while she attempted to dance without causing bodily harm to herself and those around her. After half an hour of funny looks, she gave in and headed toward the nearest seat possible. That was the thing about house parties - your home was literally taken over and everywhere you went there would be people, mess and booze. Paris had refused to have a party in her home after her 21st birthday resulted in half of her kitchen going up in flames. Eventually she'd pushed and kind of wriggled her way toward the empty sofa - everyone seemed to be standing or dancing or talking or...doing some things that Paris couldn't quite explain even if she wanted to.
See, now she was in one of her...moods. But not one of anger or frustration it was more of a childish, giggling mood. One that happened often when she'd been drinking and she was well aware of what she was like after a drink or two; it was like a completely different Paris. True, it was amusing, but she always ended up doing one thing that was completely idiotic and..memorable to say the least. As she sunk into the plushy exterior of the sofa, a grin spread across her face and she closed her eyes. If the music stopped and everyone shut up she might have even falled asleep; but to anyone who walked past or looked at her may have been under the impression that she was High or possibly ready to pass out. When in actual fact - it was a little bit of both.
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Post by damien welcott on Feb 3, 2009 5:22:00 GMT -5
one day you'll wake up ;
TO FIND THAT YOU'RE MISSING ME [/font][/center][/size]
It was already dark outside and the moon already out. The noises of people outside were dying down slowly and eventually, it'd be quiet. As he stood under the street lamp in front of his apartment, he watched everybody as they walked by him. He noticed people shooting him awkward glances. He smirked in return. They probably feared him. Great, he was glad they did. It made him somewhat superior that people did fear him. He felt on top of the world. In fact, he did think he deserved to be on top of the world. Come to think about it, he's always been rather great at what he does. Not to boast or anything but he has always be good at - well, mostly everything. Like back in school when he was quidditch captain. He must've been good at it to be elected captain, right? Also, when he wrote in to some Witch Weekly as some lame joke with his bunch of mates. No one expected to be bothered about the letter he wrote in but in two weeks, the letter was published. It was rather disgraceful, him voicing out all his opinions on everything. He mentioned something about the bars in Hogsmeade being boring and such a dreadful place (he didn't work in one back then). He mentioned the streets in Central London being dirty and littered. He mentioned how annoyed he was with the way the school was only allowing them out of school grounds every two weeks. It was a pathetic and embarrassing letter and honestly, he didn't mean for anyone to read it. It was just something he was writing out with his friends as a joke. Well, it was published and doesn't that just show he was pretty opinionated in his own way and that he could write a full article?
Damien leaned against the lamp post and sighed heavily. He wished dearly that he was still a kid - being able to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted and someone would always be there to clean up the mess he made. Now, at twenty, he had to take care of his own messes and he didn't really like that. Scowling, he glanced around. The many people had disappeared, all probably safely home with their families having dinner. He grew up in a broken family. His mother was too engrossed in her job as a journalist and his father, too much of an alcoholic to notice everything he did. Whatever.
He strolled down the sidewalk, holding a beer bottle in his hand and staring at the ground. Dressed in a black shirt and jeans, he was suppose to be at a friend's party ages ago. He was already late and yet he wasn't in a rush. He wasn't even sure why he was attending the party. It seemed like a waste of time. Didn't he have more important things to do - like sleep, for one? He shook his head, letting his blonde hair fall over his forehead. Not that he wasn't sociable, he was. He had his group of friends that he went out drinking with. But this particular girl, he wasn't close to. They were only friends through Paris. Ah Paris, he thought. Now he knew exactly why he was attending the party. Because Paris had asked him to.
The two - himself and Paris - have known each other for ages. Since - well, he couldn't remember but it was years ago. They were still studying when they met. He was introduced to her at a work event/party his mom was throwing when he was only around sixteen? He met her then. They're pretty tight now but he does get annoyed with her at times. He finds her to be naive in a way. Like, she doesn't know the dangers of the real world. They've been friends for years and then, she got married to that fucking loser. He honestly did disapprove of their marriage but he had never mentioned anything about it to her. He let her do whatever she pleased. He did care about her but if she wanted to get into a long term relationship with that boring man, it was fine with him. Her problem, not his.
He stopped in front of the doors to the exquisite club. Taking a long and deep breath, he closed his eyes for a moment. It's alright, he told himself feeling rather foolish, you'll survive the night. And with that, he pushed the doors open and stepped into the club. [/blockquote] |
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Post by paris ackerley on Feb 3, 2009 18:00:35 GMT -5
She reached into her bag, rummaging around until she found that little rectangular saviour. Cigarettes were her vice, true she hated being so addicted and Stuart didn’t seem to approve but they were like her oxygen; she simply couldn’t live without them. Though, if she tried she most certainly could but there was not likely to much chance of that happening anytime soon. Most of her friends would roll their eyes whenever she went to light a cigarette up and always made a comment along the lines of “It’s so common” or they’d make reference to how “muggle” something was. But Paris would shrug her shoulders every time and progress to put it in her mouth. Then there were other friends who didn’t seem to care what she was doing, or those who didn’t voice an opinion over such mediocre things.
Damien was first to come to mind when she thought of such people. Not that he didn’t care, well Paris hoped he’d care at least somewhat…Though they’d been friends for years, they seemed quite different. While Paris sees him to be a typical, jerk but in a loveable kind of way. As most of her friendships, they met through their parents but at first Paris hadn’t liked Damien – he was an arrogant little twat. Now, she could not quite imagine her life without knowing them; they weren’t best friends but they were quite tight. He was always good for a party or if you just needed someone to talk too.
She’d called him earlier demanding that he get his ass down to the party, but she was pretty pissed that he hadn’t shown up yet. Paris wasn’t exactly the most patient of people and those who knew her well…really knew what she was like when it came to waiting for things or people. Pulling the cigarette from her lips she exhaled slowly and allowed her eyes to wander around the crowded floor – her friends had barely noticed her escape from the dancing but after a while she was growing bored of being on her own. Not that she attempted to do anything about it, she was drunk, tired and pissed off to say the least so Paris was faced with the choice that she could remain sitting or she could find something to do, or go home.
Going home sounded like the best idea but there was no such thing as a one-person party, unless of course you were being pathetic and lonely. But she grabbed her bag and put the cigarette back between her lips anyway before making her way round the crowd and toward the door. She stumbled a little, bumping into quite a few people on her way – not that she cared and they didn’t seem to care much either. If she wanted to, she could always duck out and head to another bar –it wasn’t as if Paris was dressed extravagantly; merely a simplistic little black dress which would probably fit in anywhere.
Though before she could make her grand escape someone pushed through the doors and all thoughts of going home were completely out of the window. “Damien!” Her face spread into a wide grin and she laughed. Well. At least he managed to come and hadn’t completely ignored her request. The music was loud so she stepped closer, holding his arm to steady herself and she raised her voice to make herself heard. “Didn’t think you were going to turn up.” She truly hadn’t – hence why her Great Escape plan was in motion before he came in and disrupted it. “What took you so long?”
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