[h1]Reagan Beliakoff[/h1]

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[hider=Jet - Are You Gonna Be My Girl][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kReTYdkeZZY[/youtube][/hider]
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Growing up rich was hard.

You were expected to be all pretty and proper to everyone and thing. Everyone else would always expect you to be entitled. They weren't wrong either. Judging by the sight of a good portion of the adults here. She could see it in the way people carried themselves. How their eyes moved and how they walked. Shifting their weight from their foot up their leg and downward again in a way that was unlike the other social classes.

So she, in a way, disowned that part of her past. She didn't like dresses- she like leather jackets. She didn't like heels- she wore steel toed boots. She looked the person she wanted to be. Hard and in charge. The seemingly limitless credit card was a nice touch though.

When she found out about this party from a few of her more high class friends, she had decided to show up. Casual wear was her thing, even when it wasn't appropriate. Judging by the man dancing with the lampshade in his hand, she had dressed for the occasion. It was a big mansion. The person who owned it was a fairly typical person from their social class. Everything looked unnecessarily expensive. She had always dislike that. Why buy an expensive version when buying a cheaper one worked better and lasted longer? The expensive cars outside put her Honda Accord to shame in looks, but hell she'd payed less for it than it would be for any of them to get an appointment for their brakes and it would still last five times as long as theirs.

Her first stop in the building was the snack bar. Cheap beer wasn't her thing, but bite-sized Cuban sandwiches? Yes. Ohhhhh yes... She ended up wolfing down three before moving to a different room to people watch. She wasn't as much as a partier as some of these people were. She preferred to remain mostly sober, so she'd know when to get her phone to start recording for blackmail later. Drunk people were fun.

She wiped off her hands to clear any crumbs and sat down on the first thing that looked comfortable. That thinb being a couch. She took the small silver whiskey canteen out of her jacket's inside pocket and took a small swig of it. Out of the corner of her hazel eyes she caught a young blonde girl with an over-the-top white cocktail dress sitting on one of those chair-couch things. Chaise, was it? She got up and left to go greet her friends, but she walked differently than the others. She was more comfortable here than the sober people, and too well placed to be drunk. Her weight shifted from her heel, up her leg, through her hips and down her other leg in that special way the overtly rich do. Reagan was willing to bet she lived here.

She stood up and followed. Staying several feet behind her and using other groups of people to traverse the house. Her dress was too bright to lose anyways. She made it... almost too easy. Reagan was glad she followed though. Because when she moved in, there was a small drinking game doing on. Some woman was chugging a bottle of something or another and others were egging her on. She eventually did, however, finish the bottle. The crowd erupted and the only thing Reagan could think about was how drunk the girl was and how bad the poor girl's hangover would be. But then the one girl who had been with the white-dressed owner departed to address the victor over the bottle. An opportunity, to go in for the kill.

She walked up to white-dressed-girl's side, watching the crowed laugh and cheer.

"Quite the crowd you've got here. What's the occasion?"