Stranger in a strange partyland

>You stand there for a few seconds, bottles in hand.
>Gathering the courage to knock.
>It's hardly your first time, but you had to do this every time. Fight the words within your skull telling you that this was a pity invite, that you should just go home and be by yourself. That you'd just be awkwardly standing in the corner of the room complaining about your hurt feet.
>You glance to one of your bottles.
>A litre of vodka.
>You grit your teeth and open it with a single hand, before swigging it like you're a cool action movie star
>You immediately spit it out.
>To be fair, you're seventeen. This is one of the first times you've ever had vodka. Perhaps you shouldn't drink it neat from the bottle.
>Coughing and wincing from the pain, you take a quick look around.
>Doesn't look like anyone saw that.
>So you quickly put the lid back on and stand tall.
>You weren't afraid.
>You were a little scared.
>But you hopefully could turn fear into adrenaline. Y'know, because nothing gets a party going like the flight or fight response.
-
>You make your way up the garden path, the setting sun behind you lighting your way.
>Until finally you reach the door and knock.
>For half a heartbeat you expected the host, but honestly, you shouldn't have been surprised when a complete stranger opens the door instead.
>”Hey... Amon?”
“Anon. Hi”
>The blue haired guy looks you up and down, his eyes falling particularly on the vodka and beer in your hands and shrugs, opening the door further and letting you in.
>You're hit by the music
>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8Iqskd_Vq8
>You squeeze your way through the throngs of people. The place wasn't packed yet, but the night was young.
>Eventually by blind luck you make your way to the kitchen, which still had about ten people inside. The only one you knew was the bubbly pink girl who invited you, and you couldn't see her.
>You weren't really here to talk to her anyway. All you do is store your spare drinks in the already overstuffed fridge, open a beer and walk away.
-
>A few weeks ago, you had moved to Canterlot. From another country. Not only were you, well, a stranger in a strange land, but you were already missing your real home back in England.
>You had only been going to the High School for a few days. By which time everyone had gotten used enough to you to essentially ignore you, but not enough time for you to make any friends.
>And then she appeared. Telling you her parents were out of town and she was inviting everyone to her house for a party. And indeed, by the looks of it as she and her friends made their way around the cafeteria she did mean literally everyone. You're pretty sure you saw her hand an invite to the janitor. Who grumbled about how he wasn't paid enough, or apparently at all, for this and had thrown the invite into the bin.
>Of course, the moment your parents had found out that you had been invited to a party they had been ecstatic. You couldn't fault them for that. They were acutely aware of how difficult the move had been for you. Being set back a year, unused to the country. How much of an arse-hole you were.
>They were kind enough to buy you the alcohol since in this bat-shit country you could die for it at eighteen but couldn't legally become an alcoholic PTSD ridden wreck until you were 21.
>And that had been all they did. No hurried and pointless shopping trips, no father-son talks that simply embarrassed you both and got suppressed deep within your memories only to be revealed a few decades later in a Psychologists office and making you cringe in embarrassment all over again.
>What the fuck were you talking about?
>You snap back to reality, and make your way to the front room, passing all the people on the stairs either making out or drinking in their small cliques.
>Since you were new, that wasn't much of an option for you.
>But this was hardly your first rodeo, and you knew what you had to do.
>Drinking games. Or at least watch some.
-
>You sit down on the periphery of one such game. A beer pong tournament. Three girls you didn't know Vs three guys you didn't know. Truly scintillating to watch.
>You take a glance around where you were sat.
“Who's winning?”
>You were next to that same blue haired guy who'd let you in, his brown-haired friend and some purple haired girl
>The Blue haired guy turned to you and shrugged.
>”The Girls. I think Thunderlane is letting them win though. He likes to get completely wasted.”
“That sounds like fun.”
>You take a swig of beer, and notice the wry smile on Blue-hairs face.
>”I'm Flash.”
“Anon,” you reply.
>”Yeah. We meet. What accent is that?”
“England. I'm from London.”
>”Oh shit yeah! You're that new guy right?”
>You take another sip of beer and smile awkwardly.
“The same.”
>”Shit man. Well, I'm Flash. This is Norman, and that lovely lady there is Berry Punch.”
>You nod towards the two of them from behind Flash, and the two of them nod in return.
“So. You guys know... whoever that Pink girl is?”
>Flash laughs.
>”Holy shit you are new if you don't know who Pinkie Pie is.”
“She popular?”
>”Well. She got most of our year in her house. I'd say she's pretty popular.”
>You shrug and return to watching the girl team smash a ping-pong ball into a table, almost breaking it before it plops into one of the guy's cups.
“So who are these people?”
>Flash smiles again.
>He points to the guy team
>”That's Thunderlane, Pokey and Soarin. Or future Alcoholic, Faggot and Steroid abuser as they like to be known by.”
>You can't help but laugh.
“Ah man, that's a great idea. I'll be sure to call them that the very first time I meet them.”
>You can hear Norman giggle like a girl as Flash grins.
>”And on the girl's team you've got Applejack, Redheart and Derpy.”
>”Or as they like to be known by, Hick, Nightingale Syndrome and Derpy.”
“Well now, I'm pretty sure you're deliberately trying to get me killed by telling me that.”
>Flash grins.
-
>The four of you watch the game as it unfolds, as future Alcoholic fucks up his throw and sends the ball flying across the room.
“Fuck me. It's like he's never played Beer pong before.”
>”As I said, he just wants to drink.”
>You shrug your shoulders as you watch the blonde haired girl with grey skin and crossed eyes take a shot.
>To your amazement and utter confusion, she manages to sink the ping-pong ball into one cup, then somehow have it bounce out of that and land in another.
>Even the other three are stunned.
“That shouldn't be physically possible.”
>”That shouldn't be physically possible.”
>You and Flash turn to each other, having said that at the same time, and grin.
>“I think watching this game is going to give me a fucking aneurysm. Do you smoke Anon?”
>You think carefully and shrug.
“Why not?”
>Flash laughs.
>”So no then?”
>You fight the blush on your face.
“No. But hey, first time for everything right? Can't be any worse for my health than watching this game.”
>Flash laughs.
>”Too right. Fine. But you owe me Anon.”

>The four of you are in the frankly massive garden. It was weird enough for you coming from a massive, cramped, polluted city to even have a garden. This was frankly terrifying for you. But you kept such thoughts to yourself.
>Flash hands you a fag... sorry, cigarette and a lighter.
>All right Anon. You've seen this done enough times on TV and IRL. Shouldn't be too difficult.
>You place the cigarette in your mouth and spend a good minute trying to keep the lighter alight long enough to actually use it.
>Once it's finally alight you hand the lighter back and take a drag.
>You... don't know how to pace yourself.
>You cough up and nearly puke from the sensation as smoke fills your lungs. The other three laugh at you.
“That's... Why do people do this to themselves?”
>You ask, of course, after trying another drag.
>”I don't know man. To look cool?”
>You turn to Norman.
“Well. I fucked that up.”
-
>The four of you stand around in the enormous garden, smoking.
>You've gotten the hang of it. After embarrassing yourself a few more times.
>”So. England?”
>You figure that's probably directed at you.
“Yeah. Um... It's very grey. Everyone is sarcastic all of the time and hates each other but pretends not to.”
>”Sounds... lovely?” Berry Punch says carefully.
>You smile.
“It isn't all bad. You can buy alcohol at eighteen. You can go to the cinema without a designated shooter. Have to licence your cutlery with the government though.”
>Only Flash laughs as the other two looked confused.
>”I heard England was a totalitarian dictatorship. Good to know that's true.”
“Yeah. God bless the land of the free. And Walmart. And drive-ins. Truly a land of high culture.”
>”As opposed to terrible food and teeth? Losing any war without our help?”
>You shake your head with a wry grin.
“Well. Could be worse. We could be Ireland.”
>You and Flash laugh as Norman and Berry Punch share another confused look.
-
>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KDxJlW6cxRk
>You reach into the fridge for another beer as Flash bombards you with questions.
>”Chips?”
“Crisps.”
>”Fries?”
“Chips.”
>”Well that's just confusing.”
“Tell me about it.”
>You finally dig through the fill to bursting fridge and pull out your beer, and one of Flash's.
>The kitchen is still nearly full of people cramped together shoulder to shoulder, barely able to move. You and Flash dodge and weave through the crowd, finally breathing out as the two of you stumble into the hallway.
>You both sigh with relief and take a solid swig of beer.
>Flash's phone vibrates and he glances down at it.
>”Ah shit. Hey, I've got to go out for a bit.”
“That's cool man. I figure I ought to socialise some more with different people.”
>”You're breaking up with me?”
>Flash's face looks like a puppy told he can't go for walkies, but you see the smile he's fighting against.
“It will never work Flash. The scandal!”
>He chuckles.
>”All right Anon. I know a dumping when I see one. You stay safe.”
“You too.”
>You too? Really Anon?
>As he makes his way out of the house, you realise you are right back to square one again.
“Shit.”
>You glance towards the cramped kitchen, and decide against that. Besides, your only a beer down. Hardly even tipsy enough to risk that room.
>So. It's time to see what else is happening. To your left is the front room, where last you knew there was Beer pong
>It'd certainly get you drunk at least.
>To your right, the conservatory, where you could see a bunch of people playing some card game.
>...
>Fuck it. Conservatory it is.
>You make your way there, apologising as you move past people coming in the opposite direction.
>As you enter the glass room you see that about six people are playing what looks like cheat.
-
>You take a hearty swig for courage. And because, you know, it's a party and you want to get drunk
>And sit down next to a pale blue haired girl.
“Can I be in the next game?”
>The girl you're sat next to turns to you.
>”Do you know the rules to Bullshit?”
>Bullshit? Well, it sounds suitably American.
“If it's the same as Cheat, then yeah.”
>She nods and you wait as you sip beer.
>No one is looking at you. You almost feel calm. But that's the calm before the storm. You know they are judging you for every sip, every breath you take. Everyone brief glance....
>You take a fucking swig of beer
>Fuck off Brain. I'm going to kill you slowly tonight just to shut you up.
>You watch as cards are discarded onto a pile on the table everyone is sat around.
>As people shout “Bullshit!” at the top of their lungs and are either massively and bitterly disappointed or infuriatingly smug.
>The girl on your left is shockingly good. She might speak in the weirdest fucking manner, referring to herself in the third person, but damn can she lie her ass off.
>She gets rid of her cards first through some fucking ballsy lies. As everyone else is to busy trying to play, she has nothing to do but drink her... is that straight Whiskey?
>Well, she has nothing to do but show you up as a drinker and talk to you.
>”You're that new guy right?”
“Yeah. I'm Anon.”
>You hold back your inherent Britishness and stop yourself holding out for a handshake.
>”I'm Trixie.”
“I heard.”
>You grin, referring to her talking in the first person and gloating about how the Great and Powerful Trixie wasn't bullshitting this time.
>If she was annoyed at that she certainly didn't show it.
>”So this your first party in Equestria?”
“Um yeah. Sort of surprised at how much alcohol there is.”
>Trixie has a quizzical expression on her face as she sips from her shot glass. You can't help but smile as you watch her hold back a wince.
-
>”Do they not have much alcohol in England?”
>You can't help yourself.
>You just about manage to stop yourself from laughing your head off and settle for a cool chuckle.
>Smooth as ice. Maybe.
“Oh, we do. We're a Nation of alcoholics. And don't let the Irish, Germans, Italians or French tell you differently. Just I thought Americans were Puritans who thought that Under-age drinking was worse than burning flags.”
>”Well, both are pretty bad.”
>She grins as she takes a sip of whiskey.
>And winces again.
>The game ends, and Trixie collects up the cards and begins to deal them out, dealing a bunch to you.
“So where'd you learn to cheat at cards?” You whisper to her.
>You can hear her gulp.
>”I... I wouldn't.”
“Don't worry, I'm not exactly complaining. I mean, I get to go after you. I'm definitely calling bullshit.”
>She smiles.
>”We shall see Anon.”
“We shall see Trixie. May the best card-cheat win.”
>You didn't know how to cheat at cards.
>You weren't awfully good at this game.
>But she didn't need to know that.

>Turns out she worked it out pretty quickly that you were no professional card player.
>Something she took great joy in. Loudly.
>”In your face Limey! The Great and Powerful Trixie tricked you!”
>You shake your head with a grin as you collect her cards from the central pile.
“Hey. Only three times. Eventually, I'll get you by accident.”
>”Oh I doubt it. You may as well just pick up the cards every time.”
>You laugh. A hearty, honest laugh of mirth.
>You turn to her, looking her directly in her pretty pale blue eyes.
“All or nothing.”
>She looks a little confused, but still very smug.
>”And what, pray tell, could you possibly put up against The Great and Powerful Trixie?”
>Don't look at her thighs don't look at her thighs don't...
“A wager? You have to drink a glass of whiskey without wincing. I have to do the same for my Vodka. Best drinker wins.”
>Now, you were no card-sharp. But you had experience with drinking.
-
>”How about the first to stop? Straight from the bottle.”
>You shake your head, but grin. The others around the table are egging the two of you on as you stare into each other's eyes.
“Fine by me.”
>She nods and smiles wolfishly.
>”And what do I win when I kick your ass.”
“When I kick your arse... I don't know. You got anything?”
>”When I win, you have to do one favor. Whatever I say.”
>You smile. It's strange. You're honestly happy. Excited. You almost forgot you were thousands of miles from home and the life you knew. You don't know if its the... pitiful two beers you've had, or just the atmosphere of the party. But you were having fun.
“When I win you mean. Deal.”
>A stranger in a strange land. You could get used to this.
>As the crowd gathers and shouts for their favourite contender, all thoughts of pretty tedious card games forgotten. To your hidden joy, a fair few voices were shouting your name. Sure some of them were getting it wrong, but that was a minor detail.
>The song changes on the speakers
>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDVW81bXo0s
>You and Trixie, followed by a few fans, make your ways to the kitchen. You move past the boring crowd within, talking and mumbling about life or whatever, and chuck her bottle of whiskey as you grab your nearly full Vodka.
>Well, at least you have more to drink.
>Surely that guaranteed victory.

>Flash pats you on the back and wishes you luck before moving away from the small table you and Trixie were sat at.
>Two buckets had handily been provided for you two, but you hoped it didn't come to that.
“Ready to lose?”
>”Trixie is never ready to lose. It's served her well.”
“First time for everything.”
>Flash holds out three fingers and you place you grip upon your vodka.
>”Three.”
>You roll your shoulders and glare into Trixie's eyes. Both of you fiercely concentrating on each other.
>”Two.”
>She mouths something to you, but you can't quite read her lips, as pretty as they are.
>”One!”
>”GO!”
-
>You share one last wry grin with Trixie and steel yourself for what you were about to do.
>And chug that Vodka like a motherfucker.
>It burnt. It tasted foul.
>But you drank.
>You faltered briefly. But there was no way you were going to lose. The honour of your nation was at stake.
>So you drank.
>It burnt as it ran down your throat. How the Russians successfully replaced their blood with this stuff you had no idea.
>You spare a glance at Trixie.
>And realised she had been playing you the whole time.
>The little winces, the shaking grip on her shot-glass.
>All a ruse.
>She had the biggest shit-eating grin on her face as she gulped down her whiskey like an Irishman.
>She was playing the long con, and you had fallen for it.
>You nearly snaffle and some Vodka goes down the wrong way.
>Tears form in your eyes as your body screams at you to cough.
>Or perhaps to chuck up.
>For England.
>For the Queen.
>For Pride.
>You kept going. Your stinging eyes glanced to your bottle as nearly a quarter was gone.
>Trixie was about even, but she was having a much better time of it.
>Come on Anon. This isn't your first Rodeo.
>Come on.
>You realise this isn't just the voice in your head, but the crowd around you.
>Clearly, as usual, the Americans like an underdog.
>”Come on Anon!”
>Give me your strength.
>Oh god who were you kidding.
>You know when you are beat.
>You cough and wheeze as you slam the bottle down on the table.
>You don't stop coughing even after Trixie holds up her hands in victory and as the crowd shouts out.
“Goo... Goo? Good game.”
>”Ur welcome.”
>You realise, perhaps a little late, that you might be drunk now.
>You try and search your mind for what the wager was again.
>Oh yeah. 'A favor'
>Fudging...
>Fumping...
>Fucking American spelling.
>You look at her as people gather around and congratulate her. You feel the pity slaps on your back.
>A 'favour' huh? Might not be too bad.
>You wobble as you put the cap back on your bottle.
-
>Someone, you cannot remember who, poured you a vodka coke instead of straight vodka.
>You'd have to tank them.
>Thank them
>Fuck you were drunk.
>Well, only one way to go from here.
>Just don't embarrass yourself too much Anon.
>”Well... Limey.”
>You were not the only one.
“Well, Yankee?”
>Trixie stands there, wobbling slightly, with one hand on her hip and another on a glass of what was probably Whiskey and Coke.
>”Schall I collect now? With s'all these fine people around?”
>You consider the question, glancing down at her thighs for only the briefest of moments.
>You know, like a gentleman.
“Sup to you.”
>She smiles wolfishly.
>”I'll be back to collect Anon.”
>And with that, she stumbles away.
>You smile and take another swig.
>you feel a hand on your shoulder, probably a couple of seconds after it landed there, and turn to its wielder.
>”You good?”
>Good? Are any humans good? Does morality exist? Should we attempt to constrain ourselves to such base understanding of our actions and their consequences? What is good? Good for the collective? Good for the self?
>Does morality exist in a universe where there was no free will? Do we have free will? Or is time merely a flat circle only to endlessly repeat?
>Oh wait. Flash probably just meant if you were able to stand. Fuck, you were drunk.
>You roll your shoulders, and stand proud, steeling yourself.
“I... Am good.”
>Hell yeah you were.
>Time for everyone else to get as drunk as you were.
>The night was young. The booze was plentiful. The music was loud.
>And the people...
>You glance around and settle down against a wall for a moment with a content smile on your face.
>Were happy.

>You snap out of that thought.
>To your surprise, you are not stood leaning against a wall in the conservatory
>Instead, you have suddenly found yourself sat outside on the grass, in a circle of people you cannot quite recognise, beneath a starlit sky.
>You glance towards the heavens, the interplay of shadow and light playing above you
>For a few moments you watch the world pass
>You cannot remember the last time you just watched the sky
>In a big city, the lights of civilisation had long pushed aside the natural beauty of the world
>Here, in the expanse of suburbia, you could...
>”Here you go Anon.”
>You take the blunt with a smile and take another drag
>That might explain the time jump
>And why exactly you are so focused on the night sky
>Once you've had your go you pass it around the circle
>That's just basic manners
>You return your gaze the universe above your head and take a drink of Vodka and Coke.
>Leaning back into the cool grass, you place your hands around your head
>You can hear the soft sound of conversation in the circle you are barely a part of
>Before another person to your right lies back with you, starring at the celestial expanse of eternity.
>”It's pretty isn't it?”
>Her voice cuts to the heart of the matter
“It is.”

>The two of you lay there for some time. You couldn't say how long, you were high and drunk
>The others had moved on, perhaps to go inside.
>But to you it was one of the last summer nights, the wind picking gently at your and your friend's hair
>Without looking away as a shooting star cuts a path across the void you ask your fellow star watcher a question
“I'm Anon.”
>Okay, technically it's not a question.
>Give yourself a break
>”Limestone.”
>She sounds chill
>Probably the weed.
“That's a good name. I like it.”
>”How wasted are you Anon?”
>She turns her body to face you, and you follow after her.
>Light grey hair frames her face, her amber eyes boring into you
“I am absolutely hammered. Barely conscious.”
>”First of my sister's parties?”
>Her tone is mocking, but you can hardly care
>She is right after all
“Yeah. I'm new to this place. Wait... Is that Pink girl your sister?”
>”Oh wow, you are new.”
>You shrug, which is admittedly quite difficult while you are lying in the dirt on your side.
“Yeah, I am. Sorry I don't remember her name.”
>She looks at you weirdly for a few seconds. You expected a little hostility in those amber eyes, but that wasn't quite what you got.
>”It's all right. She's Pinkie Pie. Got to say, that's a first.”
“What is?”
>”That someone knows my name before hers.”
“I'll endeavour to try and remember your name. If you remember mine.”
>You try to wink. You have no idea if you succeeded in that noblest task.
“So are you in the same classes as her? That must be weird.”
>She chuckles. It sounds nice.
>”No. I'm in the year above. I just like to use the beer and weed of the people she invites around.”
>You laugh
“Now that's genius. All of the fun of the party, none of the stress.”
>”I am not nearly as big on these parties as her. I just hang out outside. You kids flock to me like Moths to a flame.”
>You look confused for a second before working out why
“Because you're older than them and people want to look cool by hanging out with older kids?”
>She chuckles. You think that it would be weird for her to giggle. Her laugh sounds right
>”Exactly. To a bunch of sixteen-year-old kids, seventeen is some far off maturity they can only dream of. I hate it, but they give me free weed and beer.”
>You are confused again, before remembering you were a stranger in a strange land
“I'm being held back a year cause of the move.”
>”Move? Where you from.”
”England.”
>”Ohhh. The accent. Right. It's cute.”
>You laugh.
“Cute? Can't I get at least a 'Dignified' or whatever it is Americans call us?”
>She pokes your nose with her free hand not trapped beneath her body.
>”No way Limey.”
“I thought that was your name?”
>She grits her teeth and laughs through them.
>”Don't you start. I can ditch your ass and go score some weed from some of Pinkie's cooler friends.”
“Sure. Don't let me stop you.”
>You turn and return your gaze to the late night sky.
>For a few seconds you don't hear anything until she rolls over herself to follow your gaze
>”I can't be assed to stand up.”
“Hey, Fair. I'm... Still too fucking hammered.”
>You check, holding out your hand in front of you, covering the moon with your fingers. Your ability to track your own slow movements with your hands is pitiful
>So you two lay there in the grass.
“You ever move house?”
>She turns her head to you for a moment, then back to the stars.
>”Yeah. We moved here from our family farm a couple years back.”
“Was it difficult?”
>”To drop everything you ever knew to set up shop in a place that still... Doesn't fit.”
>Her tone drops with those last words.
“I moved thousands of miles. I don't really understand this place. I don't get the culture. I don't know my way around. I don't know anyone. It's like... It's like living in a dream. And the dream is fading. And I keep thinking I'm going to wake up back in my bed in London. But every time I dream and awaken...”
>She turns to you, her stare intense. You keep looking up.
“It's here. Beneath a ceiling I hardly recognise. In a town I don't know. As a person I don't... Quite know. Like I was only ever a response to my surroundings. And as the surroundings change, the person that was Anon is dying, to be replaced by someone not quite the same. Someone I don't know.”
>She stares at your for a few seconds.
>Then she turns her head to the sky as another star darts across the cosmos.
“You ever get the feeling your in the best years of your life? Or can you only know that later? When the future's behind you?”
>”My sister never quite adjusted to life here.”
>You turn to Limestone.
“Pinkie? She seems pretty well...”
>She shakes her head
>”I have two other sisters. Maud... Is a solitary person by nature. She enjoys being alone. But Marble... She's afraid.”
>”I lashed out at the world. Still do. She... Turned inwards. She needs people, but she can't reach out for herself. I... I need people. But I can't help but push them away. Pinkie needs people, and draws them to her easily.”
>You watch the sky in silence for a few seconds, feeling the wind on your face and the sound of the two of you breathing.
“We're all afraid. Deep down, other people terrify us. I'm scared to open my mouth half the time. But fear is not the end of a chain of emotion. It is a catalyst. It's up to us to decide what to do with fear.”
>You run a hand through your hair.
>”Are you afraid now?”
>She turns again to face you, her amber eyes staring at you
>Into you
>You turn yourself.
“Terrified. But I can work with fear.”
>She blinks
>”You are so fucking high.”
>She giggles as she thumps your shoulder.
>And Snorts
>You were wrong earlier. That still fits her
>You giggle with her
>Two giggling idiots laughing in a garden of a party
>You cough eventually and force yourself to sit up.
>You place your hands behind you as she repeats what you did.
>You stare at the bottom of the garden with her
“Are you afraid?”
>You turn to her. She's looking anywhere but your face.
>”I... I don't know.”
>You smile softly.
“I know you're not.”
>She turns to you, and you can see a hundred and one thoughts rushing through her head.
>She purses her lips for a moment, thinks, then sighs as she turns her head down.
>”You're a good man. Anon. I... I need to get Marble to leave her room. Make some friends here.”
>You smile.
“You're a good woman. A good sister.”
>She smiles.
>”Fuck it.”
>And leans in, placing a chaste kiss on your cheek before standing up.
>As your face glows red, she pats down her skirt and speaks.
>”Don't be a stranger Anon.”
>And with that, she walks away.
>You stay there for a few seconds.
“Wait. Did I just talk my way out of...”
>Well.
>You stupid.
>You...
>Are getting dangerously sober
>You stand up carefully, grabbing the small glass from the garden, and do as Limestone did. Wiping off the worst of the grass and dirt from your jeans, shirt and jacket.
>And make your way back inside towards the party.

>As you pass the double-doors into the conservatory, you feel the warmth and the heat of the house again
>You take off your jacket and throw it down onto one of the sofa's as someone passes you a drink
“Thank you.”
>With a smile, you sit down, joining your new fri...
>People you've met tonight who have agreed to be in your presence.
>”Sup Anon.”
>Flash smiles as he moves up on the sofa slightly to make room for you.
“What's up?”
>”Just cooling down for a bit. Norman was chucking up pretty badly earlier...”
>”No I wasn't.” He moans
>”And we thought a bit of calm and just being away from anything else to drink would do him good.”
“Fair.”
>Part of you wants to polish off the half of Vodka you've got left, but that would mean standing up again.
>And as much as the weed and being outside for an hour might have sobered you up a little, it certainly did not actually make you sober.
>You stare across the room and look at your reflection in the glass
>Red eyes, swept hair and a soft smile play upon your face. You look...
>Well, high and drunk
>But behind those far more obvious things there's a...
>Contentment.
>Like you were happy.
>Like you belonged here. Sitting on this sofa, drinking someone else's beer
>Someone else's beer?
>You glance down at your hand in the reflection, then down into your own real hand.
>Sure enough, a bottle of Coors sits in your grasp.
>Part of you wonders if you should be worried about being spiked.
>Part of you wonders if you hadn't accidentally stolen it and already forgotten you had done so.
>But mostly, you were just glad you had something to do between content silences.

>...
>Content silences bored you.
>If Flash, Norman and Berry weren't going to do anything, you would.
>And there was one place, other than the stairs of underaged banging, that you had yet to spend any particular length of time in.
>That same place also guarded your last reserves of alcohol.
>So with some excuses to Flash and Berry, and a gentle kick to a nearly comatose Norman, you made your way into the Kitchen.
>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sRC--2qC_Qs [Embed]
>You carefully move through the kitchen, still filled with the same people that had been drinking and talk in there all night. Perhaps they were trapped. Perhaps that's what being inside a kitchen during a party did to you. Unable to leave, unable to do anything but drink and talk.
>For one last time, you reach into the fridge to grab your half bottle of Vodka. As you close it and stand, you debate grabbing a glass from one of the cabinets you could see.
>You shrug and take a swig straight from the bottle before moving out of the way of the fridge and leaning against a countertop.
>Honestly, you're surprised how easily that went down.
>You feel eyes fall upon you, and you turn to where you feel they are.
>It turns out to be right beside you.
“Sup.”
>”Um...You're that new guy right?”
>You chuckle.
“Yeah. Et Tu?”
>”...Mar...”
>She whispered that last part, far too quietly for you to possibly hear.
“I'm sorry, I didn't catch that.” You say as softly as you can, above the sound of the music and conversation around you two.
>”Marble.”
>You smile.
“Anon.”
>She mumbles something. You think she's trying the name out for herself for some reason.
>”How...”
>She's clearly quite awkward. You absolutely cannot hear her.
>You take another swig of vodka.
>You need to talk about something that might interest her. Something that you could talk about yourself for a bit, but that still included her in the conversation.
>And finally, you figure it out.
“Do you like the music?”
>A poet laureate, you are not.
>She seems confused herself by the question, tapping the glass in her hand as she thinks.
>”Not really. It's my sister's playlist. She likes to play normie shit for parties.”
>You laugh, then take notice of what exactly she said.
“Wait? Normie shit?”
>She blushes and glances to someone you can't quite see on the other side of the kitchen before swallowing and continuing.
>”I mean... People are allowed to like this...”
>It's your turn to grin.
“As opposed to... Say, Death grips?”
>Her eyes light up as she turns her face up to look at you.
>”You... Have get got?”
“I do sometimes think my existence is a momentary lapse in reason.”
>She giggles softly before pressing her clothes down.
>”Oh shit. I'm feeling it.”
“I am the beast I worship.”
>You both turn to watch everyone else in the kitchen gossip amongst themselves and continue to quote Death Grips at each other.
>”I got this pregnant snake.”
“Teaching bitches how to swim.”
>She finishes off her fruity cider and swipes your vodka from your free hand, drinking straight from the bottle.
>She is not nearly as inebriated as you are, and almost chokes on the burning ethanol, turning to the sink behind her to spit it out.
>”Aghhh!”
>Even her screams are barely audible.
“That wasn't water.”
>”How can you drink that stuff?”
>Now, part of you wants to say something stupid like you're just that tough, that you're a heavyweight and been drinking for years because at your age that's cool apparently.
>But you were self-aware enough, even now, to realise how pathetic that sounded.
“I think I've killed my taste buds and gag reflex for tonight.”
>To your shock, her reply is lightning fast.
>”Don't let Pokey Pierce hear that.”
>You can't help but explode into laughter, nearly snorting out of your nose and needing to grip the counter top to stay upright.
>After a few moments you successfully wipe the tears from your eyes and calm down.
“Thanks for the warning.”
>You smile at her as she softly but smugly grins in return.
>Take a quick glance around the kitchen.
“It's a bit loud in here. Do you want to go to the conservatory?”
>She glances again to somewhere on the opposite side of the room, and once again you feel eyes upon you, but you do not look away from Marble.
>”I'm not allowed to leave.”
>You still can barely hear her, but that at least was a complete sentence
“Why not?”
>Marble blushes.
>”My sister wants me to socialise. She... She won't let me leave.”
>You smile softly.
“Fair enough. Well, if you want to, we can share the remainder of this.”
>Marble turns to you, shaking the Vodka in your hand.
>She winces
>”I... will see.”
>You smile. For some reason, the hairs on the back of your neck stand. A quick glance around the kitchen doesn't suggest anyone staring at you. You briefly glance at someone alone on their phone who locked eyes with you, but he quickly glances back down, covering the red handprint on his face.
>Your unease does not go away.
“See you around Marble. I have to try and socialise as well if that's any consolation.”
>”Wait, really?”
>Just as you were walking away she steps forwards, placing her hand on your arm as she nearly stumbles
>You smile softly at her
“Yeah. This is my first ever party here in America. I didn't really know anyone's names till tonight.”
>Dread still lingers upon your thoughts, try as you might to ignore it.
>You look towards the guy who was on his phone earlier, who is now gone.
>”Anon?”
>The question didn't come from Marble, but someone you didn't recognise.
>You ignore it and turn back to Marble.
“I'll be right back.”
>You try and smile as you leave the kitchen and make your way to the hallway.
>Left, to the conservatory and garden
>No sign
>Right, to the Stairs, front door and front room.
>No sign.
>But you are drawn inextricably towards that front door.
>Every step lingers for slightly longer on the laminate beneath your feet, tension sharp in the air around you.
>Eventually the front door looms before you.
>Carefully you open it, and the front garden devoid of people and the street stand before you.
>There's nothing. The street is empty, quiet.
>And yet you linger.
>You cannot help but notice some light bouncing off the wall of one of the houses around the corner, towards the main road.
>Blue.
>And red.
>Oh fuck.
>If that was the police, not only was every single person here under-age drinking, which was apparently pretty harshly treated in this country.
>But that was small time to the other problem.
>Inevitable for a party filled with teenagers, there were a fair amount of drugs floating around.
>No way. No. They'd need a warrant or something to search the house. At most all they can do is ask people to keep it quiet or disperse.
>You shut the door, content in your safety. Taking a quick swig of Vodka as you stumble back to the kitchen.
>You would be fine
>If someone hadn't been looking over your shoulder.

>”FUCK! COPS!”
>Oh come on. They weren't...
>Then the screaming starts. The rush of people.
>You can hear them from all over the house shout the same thing, literally following the message as it passes from group to group strewn across the house.
>Then the running starts.
>You let one guy go past you, some nerdy guy with shockingly great legs.
>But even this over-eager kid is followed by a dozen coming from the front room.
>And then the cops knock on the front door.
>And the tension breaks. Pandemonium ensues.
>You quickly screw on the lid on your Vodka.
>Fuck if they aren't going to be able to do shit, even just your parents knowing you were smoking was probably bad enough, and if everyone else were running, you'd be dumb not to.
>Well you'd be dumb to do it as well.
>Who knows man.
>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uoZgZT4DGSY [Embed]
>Oh shit Marble got control of the iPod.
>You're stopped in your tracks by everyone running out of the Kitchen. Like a stampede, they charge and squeeze past one another to go right, into the conservatory and probably towards the garden.
>You wait. A few people gather impatiently behind you.
>And then the fucking front door opens.
>”STOP!”
>Ah shit.
>This is how you become another Police death statistic, isn't it?
>All sense has left everyone by now, and you're pushed into the stampede.
>Run.
>Or die.
>Well, get arrested.
>You may as well Run.
>As the lone officer moves into the house you manage to break through into the conservatory
>You can see people climbing out of windows, jumping from the roof of conservatory into the garden and breaking into a sprint.
>People were pretty fucking desperate not to be caught.
>You're a tall guy, you manage to push through and nearly trip into the garden, bottle of Vodka still in hand. You look behind you.
>And three police officers have managed to move around the side of the house. One woman stares at you for a few moments, before shouting at everyone to stop.
>Fuck.
>That.
>”Anon!”
>Thanks for saying my name A'hole.
>You turn to the voice.
>”C'mon man! We need to go!”
>Flash is already sprinting off to the bottom of the garden.
>But you can't go.
>Not yet.
>Stand ready. Feet shoulder's width apart.
>The Policewoman who locked eyes with you is charging towards you.
>Ah man this is going to suck.
>But here you stand.
>She tries to rugby tackle you.
>At the last moment, you jump back as she skids into the floor, before you step away.
>A quick glance around confirmed you were the last man standing, and all three officers were descending on you.
>You turn in the dirt and break off into a sprint.
>You bolt it for the bottom of the garden, towards the same fence almost everyone was climbing over.
>Those that had been in the garden originally or got there quick enough had hoped the fence to the right to cut through a neighbour's garden and flee back onto the front road. Or maybe to keep going through people's gardens.
>Everyone else, knowing they had to put as much distance between themselves and the cops as possible as quick as possible.
>And that meant going for where you were going.
>Right to the back of the garden, hoping the fence and legging it.
>As you ran, past those unfortunately slower than you, the bottle of Vodka still in hand, you feel the cool wind smack against your face, play at your hair.
>You feel...
>A rush.
>Alive.
>Your blood is hot and running, and all sense of being stoned or tired evaporated in that mad dash to keep a clean criminal record.
>Dodging and weaving through people slower than you, you finally reach the fence and begin to climb.
>When you're sat at the top you hesitate to drop to the other side.
>Flash looks up at you from the back door neighbour of Pinkie's garden, their security lights shining behind him.
>”Anon! Come on man, I ain't leaving you here.”
>You turn back.
“I'm not leaving anyone behind.”
>That sounded cooler in your head, but probably real dorky IRL.
>You reach down for those that aren't quick climbers and help pull them up.
>Up the garden you can see a few unfortunate souls being tackled to the dirt.
>But you don't care, you keep pulling up people by their arms and nearly throwing them over the other side of the fence.
>Marble reaches up to you, her eyes pleading.
>You smile as you grab her hand and heft her up.
“We'll talk later. Go on.”
>She nods and jumps down the other side. You hear Flash sigh and finally leave you, but only after wishing you luck.
>The police are pretty clearly gunning for you now, the female officer especially furious.
>You sweat as you pull up the last two girls up and over.
>Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you smile smugly at the cops, hold up your middle finger and drop down the other side just as she tries to pull you down by your leg.
>You slam into the dirt on the other side, then scramble to your feet and follow the rush of people.
>Oh wait.
>You pick up your discarded Vodka bottle from the dirt just as an enraged officer begins to climb the face. Murder in her eyes.
>You smile and run.
>Through an innocent stranger's garden, no doubt ruining his lawn care, and down the side passage beside his house.
>You come onto a street, everyone else that made it catching their breath in the middle of the road, lit by the orange, warm glow of the street lights above them and the moon in the heavens.
“They're still coming. We've got to go.”
>There's a round of expletives across the group of you.
>And once again, you all break into a run, more of a stampede or mob than an organised group. You had no idea where you were going, you had no idea what the plan was or how fun you were going to run for.
>But you were having the time of your life.

>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_UTznjanFpc [Embed]
>*(1) New message
>Your finger lingers just above the screen.
>It's a message from an old friend from back home. A quick glance through squinting eyes told you it was about 2 in the morning here, which meant...
>You don't know what time it was back in England, but it would be daytime.
>Your friend would be awake. You could talk to them.
>”Anon. You got the...”
>You tear your face from the screen, smile at Cheese and hand him the bottle of vodka, putting the phone in your pocket.
>Leaning forwards, you take in exactly where one half of the party had migrated to.
>Turns out drinking in the park was an activity shared by the homeless and Teenagers. Though you and your group had taken over the playground, and the homeless were content with shooting up drugs in the public toilets away from you.
>So, a bunch of stoned and drunk teenagers were swinging on swings, pushing round merry-go-rounds and immediately throwing up after, or smoking on climbing equipment.
>You smile to yourself
>The bottle of vodka you had managed to grab had been one of the only reserves of alcohol left in your group, and it was being passed around just as much as the weed usually was.
>You were currently alone, sitting on one of the benches in the playground.
>Frankly, you needed the rest. It had taken nearly half an hour to get the cops to give up chasing everyone. That was a lot of running, on top of being early morning, on top of everything else you had been doing tonight.
>You did not remain alone, however, as Flash sat next to you on the bench.
>”You all right Anon?”
“Better than I have been in weeks.”
>He blanches at the honesty behind your words, then smiles as he leans back into the bench. You do the same.
>”That's good to hear dude.”
“Yeah man. Thanks.”
>”Thanks?”
“For... Y'know, hanging out with me tonight. I'm not good with strangers, so it's nice for them...”
>”Not good with strangers? Are you kidding me, Limey?”
>It seems Trixie's nickname for you had caught on quick. You wonder where she is. You still owed her...
>”I saw you with Limestone, I saw you dance in the front room...”
>You don't remember that. Maybe that was when you lost time between the drinking challenge with Trixie and smoking with Limestone.
>”Hanging out with that other sister of Pinkie. You've been doing well for yourself by yourself.”
>You tap the bench with two of your fingers, trying to form the words in your head.
>”Dude. Don't worry about it. I get it. Let's just party.”
>He's right.
“Thanks. Is Pinkie going to be okay? You know, with the police and...”
>Flash laughs.
>”This isn't the first time this has happened. She's doubtlessly somehow managed to hide every spare bit of drugs and Alcohol and come up with a convincing cover story to tell them.”
“That's fucking impossible.”
>”That's Pinkie.”
>You wryly smile and shake your head.
“So... Seriously?”
>”I know it's hard to believe, but if its to do with a Party Pinkie is essentially a goddess.”
>You raise your eyebrows, then lower them and sigh as you lean back.
“That sounds like bollocks, but whatever. So we're going to go back to hers later?”
>”Perhaps. Honestly, at this point, I might call it a night. Berry dragged Norman home during the chase, and I figured that the party's pretty dead now.”
>You shake your head, looking around as people keep partying, using shitty phone speakers for music, half a bottle of Vodka for social lubricant, a couple of roaches left for people to try and get stoned with.
>The party doesn't end.
>Not until you're kicked out.
“I honestly don't know how to get home from here. Like it or not, I have to go back to Pinkie's to go back home.”
>”You don't know... Oh right, moved here recently.”
“That, and I am barely conscious right now. I see black stars rising dude.”
>”Black stars? Ain't that from Lovecraft or something?”
“Something. I don't know man.”
>You lean forwards, the cool winds blowing through your hair.
“You ever feel...”
>”Oh good, one of those 2 am talks.”
>Flash rolls his eyes. You don't need to look towards him to know that. You chuckle, but continue none the less.
“Ever feel like the world's yours. That the future is ahead of you. Like you could reach out and take it.”
>”You sound like a super villain.”
“Not like that. Like you've been walking forwards all your life, and only now do you bother to look ahead instead of behind of you.”
>”Fuck me, Anon, how high are you?”
“Oh, incredibly so. Limestone has some strong stuff.”
>”Fair. Well. I think just for your mental stability I need to stay and make sure you don't start mainlining the secret truth of the universe or something and unmake reality.”
>You laugh.
“I was thinking about how to achieve CHIM and ascend to become the Godhead, true.”
>Flash shakes his head and laughs.
>”You're a fucking nerd Anon.”
“Damn right. C'mon, let's see if there's anything left to drink.”
>The two of you groan as you stand up off the bench and make your way around the playground. A few voices call out to you and Flash, but both of you are only after the last of the booze, and you can tell these groups don't have it.
>At long last, you see a familiar face about ready to polish off the final dregs of Vodka. She turns to you and smiles.
>”Hey Anon. Long time no see.”
>You smile at Limestone and smile to the girl next to her, Marble.
“Hello. Mind if we sit with you?”
>Limestone chuckles while Marble giggles. Then Limestone shrugs before saying;
>”Free country.”
>”Anon's not used to that. Being from England.” Flash jokes as he sits down on the same bench as them. You manage to squeeze in next to Limestone.
“You two know each other?”
>Limestone is confused by the question for a few seconds, before glancing to Marble and laughing again.
>”You didn't know? Oh shit, I figured... Marble is my sister. Marble Pie. Say hi Marble.”
>She elbows the girl, who you now realise is Limestone's sister.
>”Hey again...” Marble whispers, barely loud enough for you to hear.
“Hi Marble. So, the reason you were stuck in the kitchen was her?”
>Marble nods.
>Flash is thoroughly confused.
>”Want to finish this off? I know it's yours.”
>You glance to the last few millilitres of Vodka, then lean forwards to look at Flash behind Marble and Limestone.
“Flash? I should probably actually stop drinking.”
>Flash smiles and thanks you as Limestone hands him the bottle.
>”Do you want a smoke at least. One more for the road?”
>Limestone offers up a final blunt.
“Sure.”
>Marble seems to flinch upon hearing those words, but you and Limestone make to move away. You're mostly just following her.
>”Marble doesn't smoke. Just giving her a few fruity drinks and some Vodka was enough to get her drunk, I'm scared what weed would do to her.”
>You chuckle.
“Fair. I don't usually either.”
>”Just a social smoker?”
“No. Just one of those nights.”
>She lights the blunt, takes a deep drag, then passes it to you.
>The amber glow warms your hands briefly before you take your own drag, succeeding in not coughing up your lungs this time, and inhaling correctly.
>You pass it back and relax a little even as you stand.
>”I managed to get Marble to leave her room.”
“So I saw. She all right?”
>”She told me she talked to a nice guy earlier. And that it was nice not being the one having to talk to the police after a party gets broken up.”
“That's good to hear.”
>”Thanks.”
>You're a bit confused by that, but she's taking a drag as you ask
“Why?”
>She looks at you strangely.
>”For talking to her? For talking to me?”
>Your face heats up for a few seconds.
“I... Didn't actually know she was your sister.”
>Limestone takes a second to notice your response, then smiles warmly.
>”Don't... Damn Anon, you are fucking stupid.”
“I know.”
>The two of you stand there in comfortable silence for a few moments, enjoying the dying night.
>Finally she breaks that same silence
>”Be good to her.”
“Hmm?”
>”I... Nothing Anon.”
>You stand there and watch as she walks away dejectedly.
>Your mind reels, trying to decipher what exactly that meant.
>But it was three o'clock in the morning
>You were baked
>Drunk
>Tired
>And cold.
>You stand there, like an idiot, for perhaps five minutes before a voice shouts out
>”All right everyone! Let's head back!”
>You watch as everyone grabs their things and makes their way out of the park, back towards Pinkies'.
>And so the long march begins
>You join your friends, those still left with this group of the party, and talk one last time as the stars move around you.
>Your vision begins to dim, as the long night takes its toll on your body

>When at last you awaken, you find yourself within...
>A fucking wheelbarrow?
>Really? This is what drunk you decided was a decent place to sleep? Fuck that guy.
>Oh god
>Your head is killing you.
>Your breath stinks of alcohol
>And as you look around, you see all the dozens of people far too wasted to walk home strewn across the garden. Some in bundles to try and keep warm, others in bushes. Some with puddles of...
>Yeah, just going to stop there.
>You click you neck and desperately try and remember last night.
>Bits and pieces come back to you. But it mostly blends into a mess of alcohol, talking and getting high.
>Perhaps that's pretty typical.
>As the early morning sun seems to be directly trying to burn out your retinas, you smile, even as you wince.
>It was a good night. But all nights need to end, and you need to...
>Wash.
>Throw up
>And go back to sleep.
>You try and find your jacket you brought, give up, and stumble out of the garden.
>You make your way down the garden path, the rising sun lights your way
>Until finally you reach the street.
>It had been a long night.
>The first night in what was going to be a long year.
>You stand there for a few seconds, your hands moving into your pockets to keep warm
>Perhaps it wasn't just a pity invite. Sure, your feet hurt now, and you were going home by yourself.
>But it wasn't your first time.
>And as you smile, and as you begin to head home, down the street.
>You can be certain it won't be your last.