[OPEN] ain't no party like a D̴̡̀R̶̵̶A̷̵̡̛͜G̷͟ ̀҉̸̀͢Q͝҉͟͏U҉͘͟͜͡Ȩ͜҉͞E̷͢Ņ ̷̷̕Ṕ̷̧̛͞A̷͟R̸̛̕Ţ̀́Y̵̴

[fuckingcool]

Who| Oceana Gunn and all you party people
What| Oceana's throwing the craziest party of the year to celebrate the end of the Arena, and you're invited. Feel free to mingle, post open starters, and tag around to your heart's content!
Where| Her bachelor(ette) pad in the Capitol
When| Post-Arena, pre-Crowning
Warnings/Notes| Uhhh. Drugs, alcohol, sex, language, etc are all possibilities within!



It's high time that someone threw a really great party in this town.

Oceana's been laying low, working on costumes for the upcoming Crowning and watching her babies kick ass in the Arena, but after a while she gets an itch. An itch to invite hundreds of strangers to her penthouse apartment, dress up in her most sickening clothes, and let the booze pour. So that's exactly what she does. Invitations are sent out, crates of liquor are ordered, food is catered in, and the lights are dimmed way down low.

Her apartment is spacious, minimally decorated because it looks fucking cool and she's barely around anyway, and full of dark corners. The living room has a huge table full of finger foods along one wall, a champagne fountain, and a full bar with virtually endless liquor. The music is loud as hell, and the drag queen has even gone to the trouble of paying people to come early and dance, so that the dance floor is never empty.

The hostess herself will be mingling all evening; the glass of vodka in her hand is never empty, and always garnished with at least six olives. She may not be the classiest bitch in the capitol, but it's apparent by looking around that she knows how to throw a killer soirée.

Comments

as long as there's booze in that cup

[fuckingcool]

Oceana's in her element, grinding her ass up against some sexy off-duty Peacekeeper's groin, eyes nearly shut as she rides the wave of sweaty bodies that has taken up residence in the middle of her living room. Or at least, she's in her element until some rude little shit bumps his bony fucking hip into her. Her eyes fly open, ringed in smokey black and purple with rhinestones dripping down her cheeks to resemble tears, and narrow at the really shitty pick-up line she's being graced with.

"Sorry," she yells over the music. "I've already got a twink in my life."

this can be arranged

[a_minute_younger]

Gary gets the distinct impression that he's just been rejected, but that would be unpleasant, so he decides that it must have been an illusion from the music. He glances over and cups a hand to his ear for emphasis.

"What?" Two can play at this shouting game. "A mink? You know tribbles are in right now, don't you?"

perf

[fuckingcool]

The queen just rolls her eyes. "Twink," she calls back, over enunciating the T and the K. "I mean, look at your scrawny little ass. And that haircut. I'm surprised I've never seen you in a porno, honestly."

[a_minute_younger]

That's slightly more difficult to ignore--still not unworkable, though, not in Gary's eyes. A wide, toothy grin splits his face.

"Maybe you just don't recognize me," he offers. "They doll me up as much as you are when I'm on-set, you know? This is just my casual face."

[fuckingcool]

The queen lets out a raucous cackle. "That'a boy. But really, aren't you kinda young to be out partying like this?"

Not that she can talk. She was out sneaking into drag bars when she was a 17-year-old mega-twink, herself.

wow rude that wasn't the icon I picked

[a_minute_younger]

This is a pretty normal Tuesday for Gary. It was a travesty when curfew was up--evenings in the suite were fun at first, but then everyone got annoyed with him and it was so boring. Crazy rave parties in strangers' flats are so much better.

"Are you kidding?" Gary scoffs, spinning on his heel as if to emphasize how completely legit and fine and not questionably legal this all is. "I can buy drinks and I haven't been thrown out yet, right? That's enough for me!"

[fuckingcool]

Good lord. This kid has so much Capitol swag it's ridiculous. Oceana rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

"Alright, fair enough. I'm not going to kick you out. As long as you don't OD in my fucking bathroom. Nuh-uh, not gonna be dealing with that shit."

[a_minute_younger]

Gary allows himself a quick fist-pump of victory before he bothers with the qualifications. "Yeah, unclogging a drain full o' puke can be a real hassle," he says, nodding emphatically while straight-faced. "How do you feel about kitchens? Can I OD in there?"

[fuckingcool]

Oceana wrinkles her nose. "Shit. That's gross, don't say that shit." She shakes her head. "There will be no fucking ODing in my apartment, got it? If I have to call an ambulance on your scrawny ass, I'mma make sure your Stylist puts you in fishnets and high heels for the rest of your time here." She gives Gary a little grin, though, to take away some of the venom. "That being said, what are you drinking?"

[a_minute_younger]

Gary puts on a face like he is very disappointed to hear this and mumbles something about how he prefers tights before he decides to drop it. He's pushed his luck, now he's smart enough to back off, even if Oceana still seems to be in a joking mood.

"Whatever they're passing around, I guess," he shrugs. Gary takes a moment from dancing to wave over a passing Avox and grab one of the ubiquitous glasses of vodka, which he gives a testing sniff. His face scrunches accordingly. "Rubbing alcohol?"

[fuckingcool]

That earns him an eye roll to slay all other eye rolls. "Vodka," Oceana corrects scathingly. "Expensive vodka. You want I should put a splash of somethin'-somethin' in it? Make it a little less scary?"

Her? She just dumps half a jar of olives in hers and calls it a day. It's a preference.

[a_minute_younger]

Gary chuckles sheepishly and shrinks back to try and diffuse the situation. "Vodka's like cigars, you know? The better it is, the more it smells..."

He trails off and quickly abandons the defense.

"--Right. Yeah! Sure." Gary proudly holds out the vodka. "Surprise me."

[fuckingcool]

The queen huffs. "That's not even remotely true," she counters, but she takes his glass away from him anyway, marching toward the bar in the corner and nabbing a bottle of peach juice and a bottle of grenadine. The bartender doesn't even bat an eye; this is her party, after all, and she's paying for all this shit. She pours a little of each in Gary's glass, turning it a rather pretty gradient from red to pale orange, and then shoves it back in his hand.

"There you go, baby. I call it a Sloppy Bottom."

[a_minute_younger]

Gary isn't too distressed about having his bluff called; he's far more interested in seeing what Oceana has in store for his drink. He trots after her and crowds her back, looming over her shoulder while she mixes the concoction together, and looks generally impressed by the pleasing colors right up until she mentions the name. He frowns suddenly and gives the glass a suspicious squint.

"...Please tell me that's not because of how it comes out the other side."

[fuckingcool]

Oceana wrinkles her nose. "That's fucking gross," she quips. "It's because it's the preferred drink of whores like me." Whores who happen to enjoy having their asses pounded like a jackhammer, natch.

"Now drink up, and quit being a little bitch about the alcohol. You wanna roll with me, you're going to do it right."

[a_minute_younger]

It's Gary's turn to cackle now. He's settled comfortably into his typical role of (slightly) younger sibling and finds himself immensely entertained by idea of grossing Oceana out. Everything else, he's not too surprised by.

"I guess I'll fit right in, then," Gary smirks. No, he won't. Gary is a lying liar who lies and has no idea what he's talking about, but he likes to pretend that he does. Rather than waste time trying to consider whether or not calling himself a whore is a good idea, Gary kicks back the drink.

...It's not bad. Really he wouldn't have complained even if it was fucking terrible, because he's been to plenty of basement parties and had his fair share of shitty booze, but this is actually pretty acceptable. Gary nods his appreciation.

"If I keep being a bitch, will you make me another one?"

[fuckingcool]

"Sure," Oceana drawls, not really paying attention. She's too busy mixing up a Sloppy Bottom of her own, forgoing her usual vodka-and-olives for something sweeter, for once.

His question makes her grin. She likes this kid, she decides. He's sheisty, and he reminds her of her, before she was ever Oceana. "Why the fuck not. I have nothing better to do at my own party than mix up drinks for you." She's being heavily sarcastic, but she actually doesn't mind. Why the hell not.

[a_minute_younger]

"Peacekeeper Porn-Stache can handle not having you grinding on him for another five minutes, I promise," Gary jokes back, rolling his eyes as he slides his empty glass across the bar for Oceana to take. He's got a feel for what the magnanimous host of this fantastic party is like now, he thinks, and that gives him an extra boost of confidence--one he doesn't realize he was lacking until it hits him. Flying by the seat of his pants often does that. Now, though, Gary can think.

He leans heavy over the counter and offers a fist to bump in solidarity. "Oceana, right?"