Eighteen wasn't so different from seventeen thus far, except for the fact that it was kind of a big day to be turning eighteen. Olive had gone out and done her civic duty earlier that day, and somehow the rite of casting her very first vote hadn't been all that exciting. Maybe she was too cynical, or maybe she was too ADHD in general. Either way, she'd spent most of her time in line, texting, before finally, painstakingly filling out her ballot.
She was now in the common room, as she'd
emailed she would be, with a festive birthday hat cocked to one side on her head. She'd put on NBC -- though at eleven she'd change it to Comedy Central, because Jon Stewart was both more palatable and kind of hot -- and was vaguely watching the screen in between texting with Rhiannon (who was waiting in her own voting line -- god help them all.)
There was a stack of pizzas as well as some moddable snacks and drinks, and Olive was fine with going ahead and terming this a 'party.' As long as no one brought a case of beer again, Sparkle. And...Cade. And Atton. (It was hard to be narratively accusing when there were so many guilty parties last time.)
[party is open to alllllll.]