Chris Argent and OTA
Chris did not do parties. At least not parties like this. He wasn't a teenager, he wasn't young and carefree, and hopeful about the future. He'd done his time courting, he'd been married for close to 20 years before he'd killed his wife in the circle of his arms while her eyes turned yellow with the rising moon. Parties were so not his scene, not anymore.
But he was here, leaning his back against the wall with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. He was here as a member of the camp's line of defense. He was armed and dangerous, and ready to fight, if anything out of the ordinary should occur. He hoped he could just stay where he was, head tipped back, eyes closed, and wait the party out.