Evelyn Noblezada
Evelyn offered Chad a grin at the prospect of getting Henry to black out, although behind her mask she found the idea less than appealing. One rampaging golem had been enough for a semester, and Titus and Henry both seemed less than fully stable at the present moment. The notion clawed into her mind more than she had thought it would. Before Friday, the idea some idiot would immolate her with a sneeze or knock out an eye with a laser or some such had never bothered her. No one in Leesburgh would be a big enough idiot to not only socially suicide themselves into Evelyn, but bury their family under more law suits than the Brooks Brothers.
But alcohol made people do stupid things, she thought, lifting her drink to her lips and taking a quiet pull. If she wasn't grotesque beneath her clothes at the moment, like the statue of David covered in fresh blood, she may well have come with the plan to do something stupid tonight. An out-of-towner wandered up, and Chad and Jaime briefly chattered. Evelyn's eyes wandered again. Chad may have been pretty, but the conversation was not exactly riveting. Neither was being this close to Titus.
The rest of the room could have been fooled. Evelyn had been standing there for a quarter of an hour now, and whether their semi-conscious minds noticed, their bodies did. The dancers had only continued to speed up; the couches seemed impervious to stains; dizzy brains and stumbling legs steadied.
Chad asked about Friday. A lesser thespian, like the mere mortals who numbered among Evelyn's co-comets (they did not merit the title of star) in the theater department would have faltered. Evelyn's smile only sweetened. "It was exciting," she said, swirling her near-empty bottle in her hand. "Honestly, I don't even know why we have cops in Leesburgh. We had it under control soon enough...though I do wonder what something like that was doing around here." Evelyn left the question unanswered, though she suspected a few possibilities, none of them pleasant. She'd long figured most of Leesburgh's adolescents would wake up after graduation a mile under the Rockies full of syringes. They had neither lawyers for fathers nor foresight. And I don't recall seeing you there, Chad, Evelyn mused. She let her eyes explore the twenty-foot-glass windows bordering the living room. I do wonder what an audit on the Gatsbys would turn up. "I was so worried we wouldn't be able to get everyone out, but I think I did. The worst of the damage seems to be to buildings. All those poor mom and pop stores." Literally, poor. Jaime asked New Gay a question, and Evelyn took the opportunity to bow out, asking if anyone else needed another drink.
Besides, he had to work for it.
Evelyn stepped around a pair of girls, whom Evelyn was entirely certain were heterosexual when they weren't within thirty yards of Lady Dionysus, making out on the couch. Even 5's deserve love. She spotted Mateo. He was reeling in place, leaning against the walls, and Evelyn, ever the social hammerhead, could make out sniggers half a room away between the bassline. Evelyn sidled up to Mateo and put a hand on his back. She would need to be brief. If you pet a pig, you get covered in shit.
But Titus was ten yards away, and she supposed that rule didn't apply when you were already in the slaughterhouse.
She was never one to bother actively learning to manifest her powers (did she really need to, after all?) but she had a vague idea of how to amp it up. "You good?" she asked, flashing him with the enamel equivalent of 12 Hope diamonds. She could feel the smell of alcohol-infused sweat on him diminish a bit, but she didn't think anyone short of Jesus could ward off a suicide-inducing hangover the next day. "There's a bathroom around the corner," Evelyn said, quietly enough not to be heard, "And if you keep going, a little patio area nobody's hanging at, if you need some fresh air." The air carrying her words to his ears was near 100% pure oxygen, and what remained was an aerosolized form of the waters of the Fountain of Youth. Mateo was too thick in every sense of the word to suspect her motives, especially as drunk as he was. She spotted Dexter a ways away, eyeing Mateo and pouring a drink all over his pants. The rest was easy to intuit. The brains of this operation, it would seem. The music was loud enough to avoid being overheard, and Mateo wouldn't remember in the morning, but a jab might endear him for the night. "Looks like he shit himself too," Evelyn slipped to Mateo before leaving the future john to go to the john.
It didn't hurt that, upon leaving the bathroom, Mateo would have a twenty-foot hallway to build up momentum, with one Titus MacArthur standing in front of an unmissable glass window at the end of the path's trajectory.
Evelyn sidled past, ignoring Dexter. She had a suspicion he'd want to talk about Friday, which was a concept she could not begin to wrap her head around (her ribs itched and ached as she turned sideways to slip between two seniors discussing some delayed dragon game) and into the kitchen, where the Breakfast Club was well on their way to fulfilling their adorable little nerd crushes. Whether supernatural or social senses clued her in, Evelyn could not have said, but she'd seen enough awkward fumblings directed toward her to not notice them on others. It was like the colorblind trying to finger paint.
Evelyn made herself a vodka lemonade, with double vodka to make up for her slow showing so far. As she did, she grabbed a gin and tonic for Jaime. He was a pretentious fuck, but a fun one. Evelyn eyed the beer pong table as she did so. The lizard's back was to her, the suitress to the giants facing her way, and the little ghost girl watching the game. They were all almost cute. The little misfits.
An idea occurred to Evelyn. She leaned over the sink, offering any waiting for a drink a view unmatched outside the Louvre, and opened the window. The last gasp of summer air seeped in, and Evelyn turned back to watch the two at the pong table, catching Elle's eye for a moment. The breeze carried Evelyn's aura toward them, and perhaps offered a bit more a headwind than it should have by the purest standards of physics. She's one who wants a challenge, and the lizard's stammering enough as it is. A jitter danced its way along the others in line. The ghost girl's edges looked sharper than they had a moment before. Evelyn gave Elle a knowing nod and walked back past, humming along under her breath. The sound was lost to the bumping Bluetooth stereos around them--nearly. The little extra touch, she found, was often the most important part. For a brief moment, a faint hint of a bewitching charm drifted lazily along the soundwaves, a psychic nudge so faint as to be near-imperceptible.
It wouldn't make anyone do anything they hadn't planned on, but it might help Henry grow a pair of balls a minute or two faster. Evelyn let herself brush past Elle as she went, murmuring a quiet, "Good luck." It didn't hurt her any to play matchmaker, and she found the little skateboarder interesting in much the same way you did seeing a new animal at the zoo. What would it get up to if she gave it treats?
Evelyn resumed her position in the center of the room, in the eye of the summer storm. She offered Jaime his drink and resumed chatting with Chad, though she was now positioned to keep a better eye on the group by the table, as well as Titus off at the periphery, the hallway Mateo would come stumbling out of in a few more minutes, the boy who matches played with and his jolly green giant. She took a sip, and enjoyed the acidity more than the liquor.
Evelyn offered Chad a grin at the prospect of getting Henry to black out, although behind her mask she found the idea less than appealing. One rampaging golem had been enough for a semester, and Titus and Henry both seemed less than fully stable at the present moment. The notion clawed into her mind more than she had thought it would. Before Friday, the idea some idiot would immolate her with a sneeze or knock out an eye with a laser or some such had never bothered her. No one in Leesburgh would be a big enough idiot to not only socially suicide themselves into Evelyn, but bury their family under more law suits than the Brooks Brothers.
But alcohol made people do stupid things, she thought, lifting her drink to her lips and taking a quiet pull. If she wasn't grotesque beneath her clothes at the moment, like the statue of David covered in fresh blood, she may well have come with the plan to do something stupid tonight. An out-of-towner wandered up, and Chad and Jaime briefly chattered. Evelyn's eyes wandered again. Chad may have been pretty, but the conversation was not exactly riveting. Neither was being this close to Titus.
The rest of the room could have been fooled. Evelyn had been standing there for a quarter of an hour now, and whether their semi-conscious minds noticed, their bodies did. The dancers had only continued to speed up; the couches seemed impervious to stains; dizzy brains and stumbling legs steadied.
Chad asked about Friday. A lesser thespian, like the mere mortals who numbered among Evelyn's co-comets (they did not merit the title of star) in the theater department would have faltered. Evelyn's smile only sweetened. "It was exciting," she said, swirling her near-empty bottle in her hand. "Honestly, I don't even know why we have cops in Leesburgh. We had it under control soon enough...though I do wonder what something like that was doing around here." Evelyn left the question unanswered, though she suspected a few possibilities, none of them pleasant. She'd long figured most of Leesburgh's adolescents would wake up after graduation a mile under the Rockies full of syringes. They had neither lawyers for fathers nor foresight. And I don't recall seeing you there, Chad, Evelyn mused. She let her eyes explore the twenty-foot-glass windows bordering the living room. I do wonder what an audit on the Gatsbys would turn up. "I was so worried we wouldn't be able to get everyone out, but I think I did. The worst of the damage seems to be to buildings. All those poor mom and pop stores." Literally, poor. Jaime asked New Gay a question, and Evelyn took the opportunity to bow out, asking if anyone else needed another drink.
Besides, he had to work for it.
Evelyn stepped around a pair of girls, whom Evelyn was entirely certain were heterosexual when they weren't within thirty yards of Lady Dionysus, making out on the couch. Even 5's deserve love. She spotted Mateo. He was reeling in place, leaning against the walls, and Evelyn, ever the social hammerhead, could make out sniggers half a room away between the bassline. Evelyn sidled up to Mateo and put a hand on his back. She would need to be brief. If you pet a pig, you get covered in shit.
But Titus was ten yards away, and she supposed that rule didn't apply when you were already in the slaughterhouse.
She was never one to bother actively learning to manifest her powers (did she really need to, after all?) but she had a vague idea of how to amp it up. "You good?" she asked, flashing him with the enamel equivalent of 12 Hope diamonds. She could feel the smell of alcohol-infused sweat on him diminish a bit, but she didn't think anyone short of Jesus could ward off a suicide-inducing hangover the next day. "There's a bathroom around the corner," Evelyn said, quietly enough not to be heard, "And if you keep going, a little patio area nobody's hanging at, if you need some fresh air." The air carrying her words to his ears was near 100% pure oxygen, and what remained was an aerosolized form of the waters of the Fountain of Youth. Mateo was too thick in every sense of the word to suspect her motives, especially as drunk as he was. She spotted Dexter a ways away, eyeing Mateo and pouring a drink all over his pants. The rest was easy to intuit. The brains of this operation, it would seem. The music was loud enough to avoid being overheard, and Mateo wouldn't remember in the morning, but a jab might endear him for the night. "Looks like he shit himself too," Evelyn slipped to Mateo before leaving the future john to go to the john.
It didn't hurt that, upon leaving the bathroom, Mateo would have a twenty-foot hallway to build up momentum, with one Titus MacArthur standing in front of an unmissable glass window at the end of the path's trajectory.
Evelyn sidled past, ignoring Dexter. She had a suspicion he'd want to talk about Friday, which was a concept she could not begin to wrap her head around (her ribs itched and ached as she turned sideways to slip between two seniors discussing some delayed dragon game) and into the kitchen, where the Breakfast Club was well on their way to fulfilling their adorable little nerd crushes. Whether supernatural or social senses clued her in, Evelyn could not have said, but she'd seen enough awkward fumblings directed toward her to not notice them on others. It was like the colorblind trying to finger paint.
Evelyn made herself a vodka lemonade, with double vodka to make up for her slow showing so far. As she did, she grabbed a gin and tonic for Jaime. He was a pretentious fuck, but a fun one. Evelyn eyed the beer pong table as she did so. The lizard's back was to her, the suitress to the giants facing her way, and the little ghost girl watching the game. They were all almost cute. The little misfits.
An idea occurred to Evelyn. She leaned over the sink, offering any waiting for a drink a view unmatched outside the Louvre, and opened the window. The last gasp of summer air seeped in, and Evelyn turned back to watch the two at the pong table, catching Elle's eye for a moment. The breeze carried Evelyn's aura toward them, and perhaps offered a bit more a headwind than it should have by the purest standards of physics. She's one who wants a challenge, and the lizard's stammering enough as it is. A jitter danced its way along the others in line. The ghost girl's edges looked sharper than they had a moment before. Evelyn gave Elle a knowing nod and walked back past, humming along under her breath. The sound was lost to the bumping Bluetooth stereos around them--nearly. The little extra touch, she found, was often the most important part. For a brief moment, a faint hint of a bewitching charm drifted lazily along the soundwaves, a psychic nudge so faint as to be near-imperceptible.
It wouldn't make anyone do anything they hadn't planned on, but it might help Henry grow a pair of balls a minute or two faster. Evelyn let herself brush past Elle as she went, murmuring a quiet, "Good luck." It didn't hurt her any to play matchmaker, and she found the little skateboarder interesting in much the same way you did seeing a new animal at the zoo. What would it get up to if she gave it treats?
Evelyn resumed her position in the center of the room, in the eye of the summer storm. She offered Jaime his drink and resumed chatting with Chad, though she was now positioned to keep a better eye on the group by the table, as well as Titus off at the periphery, the hallway Mateo would come stumbling out of in a few more minutes, the boy who matches played with and his jolly green giant. She took a sip, and enjoyed the acidity more than the liquor.