Rodeo / Open
Rodeo couldn't stand the ridiculous music pumping over the speakers, only making him long for Muddy Waters or Son House, for the hum of a slide guitar and the twang of moody blues. In his old life, Rodeo wouldn't have gone to a party like this. He would have found a sleazy dive bar, pounded back Dixie beer and Jack Daniels, and ended the night with a raucous fight or a random fuck. In truth, he wasn't even sure why he went at all. No one had invited him, and he only knew of the party's existence thanks to his compulsive habit of eavesdropping on other people's conversations. There was some bored, restless part of him that itched for trouble, but he was trying valiantly not to pick any fights that night.
Bypassing the champagne for a bottle of George Dickel he picked up on a recent outing, Rodeo found a wall to lean himself against and observe the party. His hair messy and his face rough, he wore a beat-up leather jacket over a dark green flannel and worn-out jeans. He certainly didn't look festive, or as if he had any sense of excitement about ringing in the new year.
Some of the girls looked awful sweet and pretty, but Rodeo hadn't decided on approaching any of them yet. He figured he'd only get a couple shots, considering the fact that there wasn't enough people at the party for him to get away with jumping from girl to girl without some of them noticing. He needed to strategize. He didn't necessarily expect any of them to sleep with him that night-- though he certainly wouldn't object to it-- but some company seemed welcome, and would likely distract him from his restlessness. Still, considering the way the girls he'd encountered up until that point responded to him (entirely without warrant, in his opinion,) he figured he'd have to plan out just who he was going to approach.
Slumped against the wall, off in the shadows, Rodeo sipped his whiskey and waited. There was only a couple hours left before the start of another year, and he wanted to make sure he headed into it on the right foot.