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𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘢6𝘥! 𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘶 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦

𝘵𝘸: 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘯-𝘤𝘰𝘯 (𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘪 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵) 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴? 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰 𝘪 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘪'𝘮 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘪 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘦! 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘪'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢6𝘥'𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘨𝘶𝘺. 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘤𝘦/𝘢𝘳𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦! 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘤𝘦/𝘢𝘳𝘰 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯!

𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦 <3

                                 -

vincent hated parties. absolutely fucking hated them.

hated getting drunk, hated being around people, hated the half-assed expectations of horny teenagers and the boredom of standing around watching other people enjoy themselves; though how you could derive joy from a party was a mystery to him.

so why, you could ask, was he standing awkwardly outside a pretentious manor house with trashy music blaring and blinding chromatic lights flashing wildly; wishing that he was back home with his cat. it was one of the richer kid's houses: poor, unsuspecting parents out for the weekend, unaware of the havoc that was about to commence in their posh suburban household. he almost felt sorry for them.

the sun was dipping hesitantly over the horizon, reminding him of the time and he sighed reluctantly. if he was honest, he'd rather be anywhere else but fucking zak had promised him twenty bucks if he came along for supposed 'emotional support'. whatever that meant. so of course he agreed after a couple hours of pleading from the older, moaning at the sheer unfairness of it all while zak cheered with delight.

aighing, he figured it was best to get it over with and pushed the polished brass handle inwards, opening the gaping maw of the beast.  like a lamb to the slaughter.

the place was a mess of sweaty teenage bodies and smelled so badly of stale alcohol that he almost gagged. decorative lampshades covered in streamers hung jauntily above flickering bulbs and antique vases lay smashed to pieces on the ground. the sound was deafening, a horrific cacophony of shouts and screams mixed with the bassy tones of some generic rap artist. it was worse than he'd imagined.