Shall we Dance?
WHO: Gilbert and Elizaveta
WHEN: April 1st, Friday, Late Evening
WHERE: Francis' Party
WHAT: Apologies come best in the form of slow dances.
It was close to midnight, last time Elizaveta checked on her watch. Or someone else's watch, she didn't quite remember. Her third beer mixed with the excitement of the crowd clouded her mind, making her memory bleak. She shook her head, knowing she had a long day ahead of her with the re-opening of Chueca. If she was going to survive it, then she had to get her sleep tonight. Saying goodbye to the person she had been casually dancing with, Elizaveta slipped out of the crowd to stand at the crowd, tugging at her hair to make sure it was still okay.
She hadn't known what to expect when she'd gotten Francis' text. After all, his blog had sounded pretty desperate, and she didn't know what she was supposed to do if he was honestly in that much despair. However, when the taxi rounded the corner of the salon and Elizaveta heard the thrumming of a loud bass, she immediately got the car turned around and went home to put on something easier to move around in.
Once she finally stepped into the party, her black dress was swallowed by the crowd in a mix of dancing and babbling. She swore she saw a flash of silver at one point, making her think of Gilbert. Was he there? Of course he was, pretty much everyone in Liberty was.
Which was the reason she was still hanging around the edges of the dancing, stepping over kissing couples and discarded bottles. Elizaveta located him soon after, lurking around the punch with a scowl. Grabbing a beer from a table, she sauntered over to him, offering it.
"Having fun?" She smiled nervously, wondering if he was still angry about what had happened the last time they had met. At least his eye was better, from what she could see in the dim lighting. "Drink this, I wouldn't trust the punch!" She yelled, putting the beer in his hands.
WHEN: April 1st, Friday, Late Evening
WHERE: Francis' Party
WHAT: Apologies come best in the form of slow dances.
It was close to midnight, last time Elizaveta checked on her watch. Or someone else's watch, she didn't quite remember. Her third beer mixed with the excitement of the crowd clouded her mind, making her memory bleak. She shook her head, knowing she had a long day ahead of her with the re-opening of Chueca. If she was going to survive it, then she had to get her sleep tonight. Saying goodbye to the person she had been casually dancing with, Elizaveta slipped out of the crowd to stand at the crowd, tugging at her hair to make sure it was still okay.
She hadn't known what to expect when she'd gotten Francis' text. After all, his blog had sounded pretty desperate, and she didn't know what she was supposed to do if he was honestly in that much despair. However, when the taxi rounded the corner of the salon and Elizaveta heard the thrumming of a loud bass, she immediately got the car turned around and went home to put on something easier to move around in.
Once she finally stepped into the party, her black dress was swallowed by the crowd in a mix of dancing and babbling. She swore she saw a flash of silver at one point, making her think of Gilbert. Was he there? Of course he was, pretty much everyone in Liberty was.
Which was the reason she was still hanging around the edges of the dancing, stepping over kissing couples and discarded bottles. Elizaveta located him soon after, lurking around the punch with a scowl. Grabbing a beer from a table, she sauntered over to him, offering it.
"Having fun?" She smiled nervously, wondering if he was still angry about what had happened the last time they had met. At least his eye was better, from what she could see in the dim lighting. "Drink this, I wouldn't trust the punch!" She yelled, putting the beer in his hands.