Ari ♫ ♪ ♬ (gracenotes) wrote in emillion, |
One party had bled into the next, and then the next. Sometime during the course of the evening, Ari’s dress had wound up with an impromptu slit to the hip, which might have bothered her more had she any ability left to sense the cold. Fortunately, as full of wine and various mixed drinks as she was, the weather was not a deterrent (public decency, too, had fallen in importance as the number of drinks consumed rose). Now, with the sky a pearly gray and tending towards dawn, she found herself arm in arm with Audrey, stumbling drunkenly down a Commoners’ District street, singing a very loud (and slightly out of tune) descant to her best friend’s current song of choice. Audrey had already taken off her heels, dangling by the straps on her fingers. It was far too difficult to walk on cobblestone in such an inebriated state. It wasn’t often that she liked singing over Ari, but in situations like this, she couldn’t help it. “Promises!” she screamed. “And they still,” her voice cracked at the high note, “feel all so wasted on myself!” It was difficult to hear herself, not that she had even bothered to try in this state. Audrey had let out a laugh that quickly turned into an ugly snort, stumbling forward and pulling her friend forward. As soon as she looked up, she saw a familiar porch, grin dragging her drunken lips up. “Should we see if he’s home?” It took Ari a few moments to focus properly on the door (for a time, there were two) before she fully recognized exactly where they were. “Well,” she said, a pretense at sober logic where none could be found, “my house is… somewhere that way and we could get lost and your sister…” The thought of prim and proper Juliette Coulombe faced with them in this state was so utterly hysterical that she had to grab on to the wall so as not to topple over in her sudden fit of giggles. “So,” she said, “we not only should. We must.” She turned her energy then to pounding on the door, using the full volume available to her trained voice (which was rather a lot; it would be a miracle if she didn’t wake the neighbors) to call out, “Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiles, let us in, we’re blitzed and barefoot and possibly a little naked!” Never let it be said she didn’t know what to say to a man to catch his attention. Apparently her drunk alternate identity had no issue with Miles Baines as she threw herself next to Ari, banging on the door in the beat of the song she had been singing. “Miiiiiiiiiiiiles!!” she cried out as well, but after no response, she pressed her head against the door, looking at her friend. “He’s probably sticking it in Damia,” she laughed, her hands fiddling with the door knob. It was locked and she didn’t have her lockpicking kit, not that she could have successfully picked the lock with how blitzed she was. “Shhh, I have a better idea,” she grabbed her friend’s shoulder to try and get her to stop yelling. Stepping back, she threw on of her spiked, five-inch heels at the window, successfully breaking it before bursting into laughter and into Ari’s arms. “He’s going to shit himself he’s going to be so pissed.” Her other heel came in handy as she she began to chip away the rest of the glass around the edges. Climbing through, she didn’t think of the glass on the floor as she stepped through and unlocked the door from the inside. She waved her arm to motion Ari inside, “And the after party begins now.” “You,” Ari said, stepping into the house and attempting (with only partial success) to avoid the glass on the floor, “are a genius. And if he got lucky tonight, well, we’ll still have the better party.” She was far too inebriated to consider the downside of breaking into their friend’s house this way. “And,” she proclaimed proudly instead, “it’s not our house, so it’s not our... window.” She grinned and swayed her way towards the kitchen. “Think he has wine? Or vodka. Or... anything. Last call was invented by spoilsports. We should --” She bumped into an end table, and whatever had been resting on it went crashing to the floor and shattered. “Whoops,” she said. “Well, we’re cute. He’ll forgive us.” |