(Untitled)

[bitchofthejulii]

It was a party Atia could be proud of. It was not Rome of course, not truly a Roman gathering. Yet, for this place and what she had to work with, it was stunning

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[abandonedpie]

After the events of the previous week, Olive was unsure if she should be drinking again any time soon. She had vague memories of stumbling into Ned and Chuck's hut, and while she woke up in her own, she had no memory of how exactly she had gotten there.

Still, a costume party was hard to resist, and Olive had decided that she should go. She had even found a costume, though her drink, for the moment, consisted only of juice.

It seemed safer that way.

[andsadofeye]

A party is a terrible thing to waste. John stood to one side, a glass containing just juice in his hand. He'd heard that there was a theme, but had made little concession to it. His tie was neatly knotted, though loose, and he had wrestled a clean dress-shirt from the box o' doom. He stood back on the edge of th party and watched people come and go.

Four hundred years and change and people watching still wasn't boring.

[seeking_g]

"You haven't paid attention to the theme," Georgie says, her fingers brushing over the bottom of his tie. Her own dress is short, but that's how she likes it. It's Roman enough, Roman inspired at least. The guy is the one that Serena pointed out to her, to try and get to dance. She has to convince him first, before Serena convinces Bert. "I guess I'll overlook it. This time."

[andsadofeye]

John took a moment to look down at her, as her fingers brushed against his tie. He bought this tie from a guy in Brooklyn. Must have had it thirty years, if he's had it a day.

"How old are you, kid?" He said, bringing his glass up for a sip of juice. "Twelve?"

[seeking_g]

Her laugh's really more a snort of disbelief, eyebrow raising toward her hair. "Excuse me? Hardly." Her fingers drop off the tie, regaining composure and smiling again. The couple bumps of coke she's had make her feel warm, boost her already high confidence. "How old do you want me to be?"

[playingsmart]

Sam could remember the last time he wore a toga. Duke Law, first year. It had been a bit of a tradition, all the new students in togas, a party, beer... Really, it had been a recipe for disaster. But they'd done it, as hundreds had done it before them, and hundreds had done it after.

He'd sworn he'd never do anything quite so humiliating ever again. Then he'd ended up in politics.

Now he was on an island. A tropical island, in a toga. Hosted by a Roman woman. None other than the mother of Augustus Caesar. That- Yes, that was a good reason to get into a toga again, he figured. Even if he was sure he looked like an idiot. "Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears," he mumbled grabbing a cup of something alcoholic. It made this bearable.

[playingtheenemy]

"I don't think this is what Shakespeare exactly had in mind when he wrote that play," Ainsley criticized lightly around a glass of something or other. She had managed to tame her dress into some kind of submission and had begun to make her rounds to say hello to her friends. Sam just happened to be first on the list.

[playingsmart]

"She would have known Caesar. Julius and Augustus. Julius would have been an uncle, Augustus her son," it amazed him, to be faced with history like this. Sam barely noticed the dress Ainsley was wearing, focused on his thoughts. "I'd always heard she was a stai-' he trailed off and his eyes widened. Finally he realised he was standing with his mouth open. "You look nice."

[playingtheenemy]

Ainsley just stared right back at him, though she had the forethought to actually seal her lips shut and managed not to even smirk too much at him. "Thank you, Sam," she accepted the compliment pleasantly. "And the people around here are varied and strange. I would've thought you'd be accustomed to that by now."

[resident_alice]

The dress was fucking terrible and Alice didn't have the first idea why she was at the goddamn party, or a second idea, or a third. All she knew was that she was wearing a dress and the last time she had worn one she'd ended up trapped in a Hive full of zombies. That one had been red, though. This one was blue. Blue and little more than a skirt and a couple of strips of cloth covering her tits.

"Jesus Christ," Alice muttered, adjusting them for what felt like the fifth time since she had turned up. She was going to kill Eden for this. Assuming the bitch actually turned up.

[gotacigarette]

"That dress is fucking terrible," says Eden, stepping up behind Alice's shoulder. Her own dress was long and white, draped across tits and hips. It made her feel like somebody's fucking bride, but, worn with combat boots and her eyepatch strung around her neck, it was almost palatable.

She offered Alice a glass, with what could best be described as a shit-eating grin.

"Wine?"

[resident_alice]

Alice rolled her eyes and turned, opening her mouth for some snarky retort, but it never came.

Fuck that box. It had 'gifted' her with this aquamarine monstrosity and Eden looked like she was going to the goddamn Oscars. Not that they had those anymore, but still.

"You don't look so bad yourself," she offered. "Nice boots." Alice had gone for sandals. They were comfortable, at least.

[gotacigarette]

"They can bury me in fucking heels," says Eden, pleasantly enough, still holding the glass out for Alice to take.

"Nice..." She looks Alice up and down pointedly. "Sorry, mate. I really can't do it."

[patriotqueen]

It occurred to Guy that the air of this party rather resembled one of the Roman themed parties at the only club in London who would hold such a party. In that sense, he should applaud the effort, for this was a party hosted by a Roman. The torches the drinks, the dancers; all featured. In fact, all it lacked were naked men wrestling in a small arena and, well… a dark room in the back whereto retire.

The wine was - in Island terms - quite good. A sweet batch gathered and ready at the right time. He smiled and took a gulp. All in all, this was quite a good party.

[andsadofeye]

Over forty years sober, and, occasionally, alcohol was still tempting. John moved through the party, touching a shoulder here, a hip there, to move people out of his way and came to the table loaded with glasses. He hadn't had a drink since 65, two years before Coltrane died mad at him, twenty-two years after Lily breathed her last.

Slowly, John picked up the a glass of wine and inhaled the scent.
Wanting couldn't hurt. It was doing that bought the house tumbling down every damn time.

[patriotqueen]

Guy had been over-looking the party, but looked back when a man approached with determination only to take a glass and sniff at it. "Is the bouquet not to your liking?" He asked poshly.

[andsadofeye]

"More the alcohol content," said John, with a certain measure of regret as he set the glass down.

"Sometimes, it's nice to remember."