Billy has absolutely no delusions; he can hardly imagine living up to any of Chris's parties, but he's still going to try to throw the best party he can for Tony
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It's a long fucking walk through the boonies to get from the hut to the Green Arrow Estates, and Cook hesitates in front of the house for half a tick, wondering who's cock this bloke sucked to get a high rise. "Fucking hell," he mutters as he walks in, but it doesn't faze him for long.
The shortage of alcohol does.
He nearly spits out the punch when there's no bite to it, but only just restrains himself. It's not like he's got a costume to ruin. He's a devil dressed in red jeans, red tank and red Doc Martens, a tail stapled onto his backside and face paint carefully applied by Grace. He swings his head back around to actually look at the refreshments table and notices the bottles, usable but separate. He stares at this puzzle for two seconds before opening the first bottle and pouring whatever the fuck it is into the punch bowl. It's Effy's brother's birthday and he's not going to be a complete ass.
That doesn't stop him from asking aloud, "What the fuck kind of party is this?"
There are certain advantages that come with being Odile for the evening. The first is that she can do whatever she likes. The second, is that Grace has already come prepared for the shortage of alcohol.
Of course, that will remain her little secret, at least for now.
"I suppose you prefer the raves, then?" she asks, walking up behind Cook.
Cook glances over his shoulder, hearing Grace's voice, just sees just a shitload of black tulle, low cut, and freaky makeup. He shakes his head, the quick image of her startling.
"I prefer anything with alcohol," he replies. One bottle empty, he grabs another and pours again. "What's the point of a Halloween party without getting fucked up? What's the point of any party that doesn't get you fucked?"
"Conversation, perhaps?" she says, idly picking up a bottle as well. She won't pour this one into the punch like Cook is doing; this one, she'll keep for herself.
Really, she's just playing devil's advocate at the moment, she'd prefer if there were more alcohol at this particular party too.
She's closer, which means Cook can steal a glance at her tits in that costume before shaking out the last drops of alcohol from his bottle.
"Conversation's bollocks," he says, grabbing a new bottle of his own. "What's the point of saying when you can be doing?" Cook opens up the bottle, ignoring the fact that he's just made the punch lethal, and takes a healthy swig.
"Lots," she responds, but isn't terribly concerned with elaborating at the moment. "There's still some left in this one, if you'd like."
She holds the bottle out to him, if he wants it. Perhaps he'll pour it into the punch like the others, or perhaps he'll drink it. Either one will make the night more interesting than it's been so far.
He grins broadly, the first rush of alcohol hitting him, not enough to make him drunk or unsteady, but there's a warm looseness he can feel trickling over him.
"I like whatever you give me," Cook replies, reaching out to take the bottle. He gives her a playful wink and takes a swig. "What are you doing with tonight then? If there's lots to do with."
"I'm not sure I've decided yet," Grace replies, then takes the bottle from Cook again to finish it off. "It's the one night a year that you can be whoever you like and do whatever you like and no one can say anything about it. I want to be sure that I don't waste it."
"That's every night for the Cookie Monster," he says with a toothy grin, but it's encouraging, too. "Don't think too long now. You could waste half the night deciding. I say-- Just do it. There's always next year."
"Or perhaps not," she replies, and it's an idle thing she's said, but more true than she'd like to admit. Maybe there's not next year. At least, not on the island.
"But for starters, I think I might ask Lady Gaga over there if he's brought any pills with him."
"All the more reason not to think," Cook counters. He grabs the last bottle off the table, looking in the direction Grace is as he opens it. "Think you could ask for a pair?" he asks of her. "Or are you gonna leave me by my lonesome?"
"You'll have to say 'please' first," she teases, though she'd never intended on asking for just once. Yes, she's the black swan for the night, but pills are still no fun by yourself.
The shortage of alcohol does.
He nearly spits out the punch when there's no bite to it, but only just restrains himself. It's not like he's got a costume to ruin. He's a devil dressed in red jeans, red tank and red Doc Martens, a tail stapled onto his backside and face paint carefully applied by Grace. He swings his head back around to actually look at the refreshments table and notices the bottles, usable but separate. He stares at this puzzle for two seconds before opening the first bottle and pouring whatever the fuck it is into the punch bowl. It's Effy's brother's birthday and he's not going to be a complete ass.
That doesn't stop him from asking aloud, "What the fuck kind of party is this?"
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Of course, that will remain her little secret, at least for now.
"I suppose you prefer the raves, then?" she asks, walking up behind Cook.
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"I prefer anything with alcohol," he replies. One bottle empty, he grabs another and pours again. "What's the point of a Halloween party without getting fucked up? What's the point of any party that doesn't get you fucked?"
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Really, she's just playing devil's advocate at the moment, she'd prefer if there were more alcohol at this particular party too.
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"Conversation's bollocks," he says, grabbing a new bottle of his own. "What's the point of saying when you can be doing?" Cook opens up the bottle, ignoring the fact that he's just made the punch lethal, and takes a healthy swig.
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"So what exactly is it that we're supposed to be doing?" she asks him.
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"Getting fucked," Cook replies, spreading his arms wide. "What the fuck else is there?"
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She holds the bottle out to him, if he wants it. Perhaps he'll pour it into the punch like the others, or perhaps he'll drink it. Either one will make the night more interesting than it's been so far.
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"I like whatever you give me," Cook replies, reaching out to take the bottle. He gives her a playful wink and takes a swig. "What are you doing with tonight then? If there's lots to do with."
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"But for starters, I think I might ask Lady Gaga over there if he's brought any pills with him."
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