"I'm so not a punk!" Mao wrinkled his nose and tossed his head in offense. "They have terrible taste in music. You can't fuckin' dance to that shit." He flapped his hand, waving away such horrible implications that he'd be a fan of toneless screaming and graceless stomping about. "I'm more into, like, Michael Jackson or something." Mao acted blase, but he was more than a little into Michael Jackson. What dancer wasn't? "I just dress this way because it looks cool." But of course, Ariel found that debatable.
The drink station was located in the kitchen. All the chairs were either occupied or missing in action, so Mao helped himself to jumping up and sitting on the counter by the sink. The way his legs swung over the edge, feet not touching the ground, made him look amusingly young. He wasn't old enough to be drinking in the first place, but now he looked like someone's kid brother who woke up and snuck downstairs to join in.
"So, like, you go to school?" Mao made a face at himself. Small talk was not his forte, it wasn't often he found himself in a situation where someone was around to have a real conversation with. He sort of flitted about socially, but Ariel was his band mate, and being in a band together gave them an actual connection. It'd be weird to be in a band and not be friends with anyone in it.