Re: PRE-RAID MINGLING
Trenton was just fucked up enough to think that this was normal. Well, normal might have been a strong word considering the situation, but for Bellum, this seemed right on par.
Our playboy had no tolerance for headaches of any kind. Hangovers were dealt with swiftly; typically with a handful of xanax upon waking, chased down with an import beer so that he could coast through the next twenty-four hours in a clueless haze. That was the only way to deal with pain; tie it up and toss it in the backseat of your mind, like a forgotten hostage.
In fact, shortly before midnight, Trenton was so fucked up, that for the first time in days, he had a smile on. The trial was far from his mind. Boyd and Aaron, they might as well have never existed. Outkast was blasting from his speakers, and Trenton was laid out on the floor making carpet angels. Eyes drifting, grinning his way to hell and back.. until somebody bumped into him.
He begrudgingly opened his eyes to realize that he was no longer lying on his penthouse floor, but was resting against a crowded bar. People were milling around him, toasting drinks to one another or to the band on the stage. Trenton barely processed it before embracing it. His suit was niiiice, even by Trenton's standards, and he straightened his tie carnivorously when a pretty brunette in a flapper dress danced into him with a laugh. Dorian's laugh echoed somewhere in the back of his mind when the girl pushed a drink into Trenton's hand, nearly hostile because she saw that he didn't have one yet. Oh, he liked this one.
Check it; fifteen minutes later, hedonist on parade. Was he dancing on top of a table? Hell no, and redheads could learn a little something from Trenton here if they wanted to have a good time. He had the brunette lifted onto the polished edge of the bar, her head dropped back to receive some gin that the bartender freely poured into her mouth, while Trenton chewed his way up the inside of her bare knee.
He liked freedom. He'd almost forgotten how rich it tasted.