The punch was a little off, but when was it perfect at a dance? Even though she complained after the first two, the next few didn’t faze her as much (probably because the odd after taste wasn’t bothering her anymore).
Amelia gave Carter and Sasha time to be alone to walk about and mingle like the little devil she was. And she literally felt like one with the hair color she decided to go with this time. Her up-do was staying up surprisingly throughout the night – telling herself over and over again not to touch it or else something will go wrong. But with alcohol swimming in her lightweight system, she was twirling a few strands around one index finger while drinking from her… she lost count on what number punch this was. At least she had some now!
What made her stop everything, literally, was what she hoped were fingers and not something else pressing against her back and hearing Gio made a stupid grin appear on her still fresh painted red lips. “You joined the what now?” She was having a hard time holding back her laugh. And as she looked him over, giving a pout when finally coming back up to his face, she said, “wouldn’t you being wearing pink and red if you were with their squad?” Then she looked down toward her cup before turning a little to look at the big bowl that held the punch. The ‘pffft’ sound came out a bit louder than she wanted and that in itself made her snort. It really wasn’t that funny, but something in her thought it was. “How do you know it’s spiked? The punch isn’t screaming ‘Oh my, lord! I’m spiked and I can’t get up!” Her hands came up and waved them a little as if emphasizing what it was she was trying to declare.