Arrow: The Party of the Century
Arrow:
The Party of the Century
--------------------------------------
CONTENT:
Rating: Teen
Flavor: Humor/Drama
Language: some
Violence: yelling
Nudity: semi, implied
Sex: implied (teen)
Other: alcohol use (teen)
Author's Note:
I was re-watching 'The Huntress Returns,' and in the double-date disaster from hell, Oliver and Tommy mention a humorous incident from when they were teens. I decided I wanted to write it up. I've been working on a Malcolm/Tommy story about the disaster that is their relationship, and mentioned to Astra that I really felt like writing a scene where they actually get along for once. Um... this isn't it. In fact, this is going to appear, in an extended form in that story.
But this part is pretty funny, though perhaps not to poor Malcolm, parent of a teenaged boy. With a LOT of money. :X
The Party of the Century
Tommy trotted to the front door when Oliver and Laurel rang. He ushered them in. "My dad is out of the country on one of those sabbatical things, and the servants all have the weekend off." Tommy grinned like the fox left to guard the henhouse and led his two friends through the mansion to the back door. With a flourish, he pushed open the double French doors and went out onto the back porch. "Behold the venue for the Party of the Century!"
"Oh, wow, Tommy," said Laurel, her eyes sparkling as she took it all in. "You really went all out!"
And he had: laying out speaker cables to power huge stacks, stringing lights through the trees and hedges, setting up long tables piled with chips and pretzels, vats of dip and guacamole, towers of lunchmeat and cheese slices. And through it all, nary a sign of any bottles, cans, or kegs.
"Where's the booze?" Oliver asked.
Tommy raised a hand, forefinger extended. With a smug suppressed grin, he led them down through the yard towards the pool. Oliver took Laurel's hand to help her down the steps. As they hit the ground, she entwined her fingers with his.
They came to the concrete deck of the in-ground pool and stood staring down a long moment.
"Dude," Oliver said; "Somebody peed in your pool."
Laurel laughed and leaned on his arm. Tommy chuckled. "That's not water."
Oliver leaned over, taking a cautious whiff. "Seriously? Beer?"
"Yep!"
"Oh my God, Tommy," Laurel laughed.
"That's... a hell of a lot of beer," Oliver said, duly impressed.
"Well, you invited everybody in our high school class, didn't you?"
"Yeah-- well, no. Not everybody. Only everybody who is anybody." Oliver looked at him. "I didn't invite the dweebs." Laurel made a face and poked him for being such a jerk. He hardly noticed.
"Come on, man," Tommy said. "This is the last weekend of our last summer in high school. I'm a freaking billionaire; I can afford to entertain the dweebs. Man, at our 40-year class reunion, when they're all fat and balding, they're still gonna remember this and talk about it! The Party of the Century!"
Oliver had to be jealous. Tommy was always his wingman, and never 'the man.' The Oliver Queen parties were the ones everybody talked about, but this stunt... this would put Tommy in the annals of history right up there with him. No, topping him. Even if Oliver had conceived of filling an Olympic-sized swimming pool with beer, he could never have pulled it off. Not with his attentive father and caring mother. No, after all these years, having an absentee dad was going to pay off! Tommy grinned.
"Yeah, okay." Oliver grinned back. Jealous or not, they were still friends, and this was going to be one hell of a party. "I'll have to make a few more calls." He kissed Laurel and untwined her hands from his waist. Before he set off on his new mission, he asked, "How much beer is that?"
Tommy shrugged nonchalantly. "Eh, I lost count after two trucks."
"You think we can really drink all this?"
"Don't worry! It's light beer!"
The Party of the Century.... It had been grand! Cannonballing into the pool -- swimsuits were optional -- had gained new popularity. The place was packed with hundreds of teens, dancing to the pounding music. Laughing and smiling, and having the greatest time ever. Tommy slept with a big smile on his face. But that sleepy bliss was being eroded by something that sounded like sledgehammers in a tunnel, coming closer and closer....
"Tommy...? Tommy! TOMMY!"
"Eh?" He twitched and nearly fell off the couch, saved only by the fact that his legs were pinned down by a couple of cheerleaders. He twisted his head around and squinched up one eye, trying to focus. "Dad?" His father's scowling face came into view. "I thought you weren't due back 'til... uh... what day is it?" He levered himself up a little and peered around blearily at the dimly-lit room piled with bodies of -- to be fair, mostly-dressed -- teenagers. "What time is it?"
"Tommy," his father snapped, causing another lance of pain to drill through his skull. "What the hell? Who are all these people?"
"Some kids from school."
"'Some'? It looks like all of them!" Malcolm Merlyn looked around, and Tommy had to admit, his dad had a point.
"I had a party...." He rubbed his head, but he might as well not have bothered. His father's yell could split rocks even on a good day.
"Listen up!" the senior Merlyn addressed the mansion at large. "Everyone who is not dead, you have exactly five minutes to get the hell out -- OR YOU WILL BE!"
This pronouncement was met with a chorus of groans, moans, yelps, and a general scrambling to grab personal items -- shoes, keys, purses, brassieres -- and get out the door. Tommy gripped the arm and back of the sofa as his buxom paperweights fled. His dad marched out onto the back porch, his voice thundering at the hapless revelers.
Tommy groaned and reached under the couch for a bottle to take the edge off his hangover. Then he remembered -- there weren't any bottles. He groaned again.
The mansion cleared out in a rush. Then Oliver came downstairs, hand in hand with Laurel.
"I better get going," she said. "Hey, Cheryl? Give me a ride, wouldya?"
"I'll take you home," Oliver said, leaning in for a kiss.
"My dad will shoot you," she said playfully, shoving him away. "And get out, you have serious morning breath!"
"But you're still an angel of beauty," he called out as she managed to wriggle away from him.
"Yeah, right!"
Tommy snorted, then wished he hadn't. Oliver came in and flopped onto the couch next to him. "Damn, your dad can yell."
"No shit. You heard him?"
"Oh yeah."
"I thought he wasn't coming back 'til Monday night," Tommy said, scrunching his face as he tried to do calculations with a hangover. "It's not Monday night, is it? We didn't accidentally party all the way through Sunday, did we?"
Oliver pursed his lips. "Uhm... maybe?"
Tommy concentrated harder. It was a blur. So yeah, maybe. Then he cocked an ear towards the foyer. When he was sure it was empty, he cut a look at Oliver. "You get lucky with Laurel?"
The blond teen grinned. "Oh, yeah."
"Heyyyy!" Tommy shared the grin and a high five. "All right!"
"How about you?"
"Definitely!" Or at least, he was pretty fairly certain that... something had happened. "Two... Three...." He tried to work it out. "How many, exactly, would constitute half the cheerleading squad?"
Oliver laughed. "That lucky? Seriously?"
"It was one hell of a party." Oliver must still feel jealous about that.
"You were drunk. You probably got it on with Jason."
"Hey!" Tommy punched him on the arm. "I'm not gay -- Queen!"
"Ow! Okay, okay, 'whizzer!'" Oliver snickered. "It was probably Ginny MacIntire. Easy to get those two confused."
"God, you're such an asshole. Why am I even your friend?"
"I'm the only one who will put up with you."
"More like I put up with you, out of pity for your inability to stop being a jerkass."
Oliver's retort was interrupted when Tommy's father stormed back in. "Tommy! Where -- how -- in the hell did you get...," he sputtered for a moment, "however much beer that was!?"
The two boys snorted and collapsed against each other in mirth.
"You think this is funny?" His dad's face got redder by the minute. He cut a glare at Oliver. "What are you still doing here?"
Oliver made a Herculean effort to act serious and come up with a plausible excuse. "Well... everybody's parked in front of my car. I have to wait until...."
"Go wait outside!"
Oliver ducked his head and moved to get up. "It was nice knowing you," he muttered out of the side of his mouth. "See you at your funeral."
"Seeya."
Oliver sloped out, and the brief respite of silence stretched thin. Tommy must still have an elevated blood-alcohol level, because the more his dad fumed, the harder he wanted to laugh.
"You didn't answer my question," his father growled.
"Well, you know, you keep going on about how I should apply myself to stuff, use my brains, accomplish something. So I did! I used my ingenuity." He grinned flippantly.
"Dammit, Tommy!" His father raised his hand, but only raked it back through his hair. "Where's Annette?"
"I gave everybody the weekend off." His father choked down another curse. "You gonna ground me again?"
"Is there a point?" He looked down at Tommy. The man was at the end of his rope, his hair messed up and sticking out a bit. "Will you actually obey my strictures this time? Or are you just going to sneak around behind my back again?"
Tommy sullenly shrugged one shoulder. If his father had ever really wanted to enforce his rules, he should have been there to do it! And if his dad couldn't be bothered, why should he? "You said I could have a party," he offered lamely.
"I thought," his father said raggedly, trying to rein back his temper; "I could trust you to behave like a responsible young adult. Clearly, I was mistaken." Tommy slouched further down on the sofa. "You disappointed me."
Again. The word hung in the air between them, unspoken. Tommy stared at his feet. And somewhere in the back of his mind, a selfish little voice said, Good. Now you know how I felt all those years. Aloud, he said nothing. His dad wouldn't listen, anyway.
Finally, his father gave up. He turned away with a frustrated sigh. "Well, since you sent the help on holiday, you can start cleaning up!" He stalked out.
Tommy slouched down even further, until his shoulders were in the crease of the sofa, with only his neck and head upright against the back. It was an entirely uncomfortable position to sit and sulk, so before he got a crick in his neck, he got up and, cursing underbreath, started picking up the mess.
The Party of the Century
--------------------------------------
CONTENT:
Rating: Teen
Flavor: Humor/Drama
Language: some
Violence: yelling
Nudity: semi, implied
Sex: implied (teen)
Other: alcohol use (teen)
Author's Note:
I was re-watching 'The Huntress Returns,' and in the double-date disaster from hell, Oliver and Tommy mention a humorous incident from when they were teens. I decided I wanted to write it up. I've been working on a Malcolm/Tommy story about the disaster that is their relationship, and mentioned to Astra that I really felt like writing a scene where they actually get along for once. Um... this isn't it. In fact, this is going to appear, in an extended form in that story.
But this part is pretty funny, though perhaps not to poor Malcolm, parent of a teenaged boy. With a LOT of money. :X
The Party of the Century
Tommy trotted to the front door when Oliver and Laurel rang. He ushered them in. "My dad is out of the country on one of those sabbatical things, and the servants all have the weekend off." Tommy grinned like the fox left to guard the henhouse and led his two friends through the mansion to the back door. With a flourish, he pushed open the double French doors and went out onto the back porch. "Behold the venue for the Party of the Century!"
"Oh, wow, Tommy," said Laurel, her eyes sparkling as she took it all in. "You really went all out!"
And he had: laying out speaker cables to power huge stacks, stringing lights through the trees and hedges, setting up long tables piled with chips and pretzels, vats of dip and guacamole, towers of lunchmeat and cheese slices. And through it all, nary a sign of any bottles, cans, or kegs.
"Where's the booze?" Oliver asked.
Tommy raised a hand, forefinger extended. With a smug suppressed grin, he led them down through the yard towards the pool. Oliver took Laurel's hand to help her down the steps. As they hit the ground, she entwined her fingers with his.
They came to the concrete deck of the in-ground pool and stood staring down a long moment.
"Dude," Oliver said; "Somebody peed in your pool."
Laurel laughed and leaned on his arm. Tommy chuckled. "That's not water."
Oliver leaned over, taking a cautious whiff. "Seriously? Beer?"
"Yep!"
"Oh my God, Tommy," Laurel laughed.
"That's... a hell of a lot of beer," Oliver said, duly impressed.
"Well, you invited everybody in our high school class, didn't you?"
"Yeah-- well, no. Not everybody. Only everybody who is anybody." Oliver looked at him. "I didn't invite the dweebs." Laurel made a face and poked him for being such a jerk. He hardly noticed.
"Come on, man," Tommy said. "This is the last weekend of our last summer in high school. I'm a freaking billionaire; I can afford to entertain the dweebs. Man, at our 40-year class reunion, when they're all fat and balding, they're still gonna remember this and talk about it! The Party of the Century!"
Oliver had to be jealous. Tommy was always his wingman, and never 'the man.' The Oliver Queen parties were the ones everybody talked about, but this stunt... this would put Tommy in the annals of history right up there with him. No, topping him. Even if Oliver had conceived of filling an Olympic-sized swimming pool with beer, he could never have pulled it off. Not with his attentive father and caring mother. No, after all these years, having an absentee dad was going to pay off! Tommy grinned.
"Yeah, okay." Oliver grinned back. Jealous or not, they were still friends, and this was going to be one hell of a party. "I'll have to make a few more calls." He kissed Laurel and untwined her hands from his waist. Before he set off on his new mission, he asked, "How much beer is that?"
Tommy shrugged nonchalantly. "Eh, I lost count after two trucks."
"You think we can really drink all this?"
"Don't worry! It's light beer!"
The Party of the Century.... It had been grand! Cannonballing into the pool -- swimsuits were optional -- had gained new popularity. The place was packed with hundreds of teens, dancing to the pounding music. Laughing and smiling, and having the greatest time ever. Tommy slept with a big smile on his face. But that sleepy bliss was being eroded by something that sounded like sledgehammers in a tunnel, coming closer and closer....
"Tommy...? Tommy! TOMMY!"
"Eh?" He twitched and nearly fell off the couch, saved only by the fact that his legs were pinned down by a couple of cheerleaders. He twisted his head around and squinched up one eye, trying to focus. "Dad?" His father's scowling face came into view. "I thought you weren't due back 'til... uh... what day is it?" He levered himself up a little and peered around blearily at the dimly-lit room piled with bodies of -- to be fair, mostly-dressed -- teenagers. "What time is it?"
"Tommy," his father snapped, causing another lance of pain to drill through his skull. "What the hell? Who are all these people?"
"Some kids from school."
"'Some'? It looks like all of them!" Malcolm Merlyn looked around, and Tommy had to admit, his dad had a point.
"I had a party...." He rubbed his head, but he might as well not have bothered. His father's yell could split rocks even on a good day.
"Listen up!" the senior Merlyn addressed the mansion at large. "Everyone who is not dead, you have exactly five minutes to get the hell out -- OR YOU WILL BE!"
This pronouncement was met with a chorus of groans, moans, yelps, and a general scrambling to grab personal items -- shoes, keys, purses, brassieres -- and get out the door. Tommy gripped the arm and back of the sofa as his buxom paperweights fled. His dad marched out onto the back porch, his voice thundering at the hapless revelers.
Tommy groaned and reached under the couch for a bottle to take the edge off his hangover. Then he remembered -- there weren't any bottles. He groaned again.
The mansion cleared out in a rush. Then Oliver came downstairs, hand in hand with Laurel.
"I better get going," she said. "Hey, Cheryl? Give me a ride, wouldya?"
"I'll take you home," Oliver said, leaning in for a kiss.
"My dad will shoot you," she said playfully, shoving him away. "And get out, you have serious morning breath!"
"But you're still an angel of beauty," he called out as she managed to wriggle away from him.
"Yeah, right!"
Tommy snorted, then wished he hadn't. Oliver came in and flopped onto the couch next to him. "Damn, your dad can yell."
"No shit. You heard him?"
"Oh yeah."
"I thought he wasn't coming back 'til Monday night," Tommy said, scrunching his face as he tried to do calculations with a hangover. "It's not Monday night, is it? We didn't accidentally party all the way through Sunday, did we?"
Oliver pursed his lips. "Uhm... maybe?"
Tommy concentrated harder. It was a blur. So yeah, maybe. Then he cocked an ear towards the foyer. When he was sure it was empty, he cut a look at Oliver. "You get lucky with Laurel?"
The blond teen grinned. "Oh, yeah."
"Heyyyy!" Tommy shared the grin and a high five. "All right!"
"How about you?"
"Definitely!" Or at least, he was pretty fairly certain that... something had happened. "Two... Three...." He tried to work it out. "How many, exactly, would constitute half the cheerleading squad?"
Oliver laughed. "That lucky? Seriously?"
"It was one hell of a party." Oliver must still feel jealous about that.
"You were drunk. You probably got it on with Jason."
"Hey!" Tommy punched him on the arm. "I'm not gay -- Queen!"
"Ow! Okay, okay, 'whizzer!'" Oliver snickered. "It was probably Ginny MacIntire. Easy to get those two confused."
"God, you're such an asshole. Why am I even your friend?"
"I'm the only one who will put up with you."
"More like I put up with you, out of pity for your inability to stop being a jerkass."
Oliver's retort was interrupted when Tommy's father stormed back in. "Tommy! Where -- how -- in the hell did you get...," he sputtered for a moment, "however much beer that was!?"
The two boys snorted and collapsed against each other in mirth.
"You think this is funny?" His dad's face got redder by the minute. He cut a glare at Oliver. "What are you still doing here?"
Oliver made a Herculean effort to act serious and come up with a plausible excuse. "Well... everybody's parked in front of my car. I have to wait until...."
"Go wait outside!"
Oliver ducked his head and moved to get up. "It was nice knowing you," he muttered out of the side of his mouth. "See you at your funeral."
"Seeya."
Oliver sloped out, and the brief respite of silence stretched thin. Tommy must still have an elevated blood-alcohol level, because the more his dad fumed, the harder he wanted to laugh.
"You didn't answer my question," his father growled.
"Well, you know, you keep going on about how I should apply myself to stuff, use my brains, accomplish something. So I did! I used my ingenuity." He grinned flippantly.
"Dammit, Tommy!" His father raised his hand, but only raked it back through his hair. "Where's Annette?"
"I gave everybody the weekend off." His father choked down another curse. "You gonna ground me again?"
"Is there a point?" He looked down at Tommy. The man was at the end of his rope, his hair messed up and sticking out a bit. "Will you actually obey my strictures this time? Or are you just going to sneak around behind my back again?"
Tommy sullenly shrugged one shoulder. If his father had ever really wanted to enforce his rules, he should have been there to do it! And if his dad couldn't be bothered, why should he? "You said I could have a party," he offered lamely.
"I thought," his father said raggedly, trying to rein back his temper; "I could trust you to behave like a responsible young adult. Clearly, I was mistaken." Tommy slouched further down on the sofa. "You disappointed me."
Again. The word hung in the air between them, unspoken. Tommy stared at his feet. And somewhere in the back of his mind, a selfish little voice said, Good. Now you know how I felt all those years. Aloud, he said nothing. His dad wouldn't listen, anyway.
Finally, his father gave up. He turned away with a frustrated sigh. "Well, since you sent the help on holiday, you can start cleaning up!" He stalked out.
Tommy slouched down even further, until his shoulders were in the crease of the sofa, with only his neck and head upright against the back. It was an entirely uncomfortable position to sit and sulk, so before he got a crick in his neck, he got up and, cursing underbreath, started picking up the mess.