Wrenabernathy‌:

kingkirbey‌:

King watched Ben work himself into a state, hating how helpless she felt. As much as she wanted to tell him that Quinn would eventually forgive him — that he had to — she knew her words would be empty. Quinn was practically a stranger to her, she knew only as much about him as Ben had told her, and she definitely didn’t know how quick he would be to forgive something that had taken such a toll on his life. “Being here is trying. And if he doesn’t see that you’re doing what you can to make it right, maybe his friendship isn’t meant to be.” King hated to be so blunt about the situation, but in her eyes it was the truth. If Quinn couldn’t see the obvious effort Ben was making to make things right, then screw him. “As much as I would really, really love that, I think it would be rude of us to ditch this party when the hostess’ are letting us crash in their guest room and drink all of their coffee for free. But we could take shots out here until your face doesn’t hurt anymore?” Moving to the counter, she plucked a bottle of tequila from the mess of half empty alcohol bottles held it up with a triumphant smile. “Isolating ourselves in the kitchen doesn’t technically count as ditching.”

Out of everyone he’s ever known, King could always cheer him right up and get him out of his own funk. Who knows where he’d be now if she didn’t find him in some shit bar in Italy? Having to accept the loss of such a close friendship wasn’t something Ben could swallow. This wasn’t supposed to end like this. Then again, what happy ending ever happened to him? “You’re right,” He admitted, at least he was offering Quinn an olive branch. It just sucked that this wasn’t going to work out. He slid off of the stool he was on and dragged his feet as he walked, “Damn us for being so polite,” He joked, “And for having a coffee addiction,” He rubbed his hands together in excitement at the mention of shots. “If we were in Germany, we’d be having Cinnamon with these shots, I miss tequila oro,” He pointed out. No one would probably miss them in here anyway. “Here’s to getting punched in the face.”

buffy-seymour‌:

Buffy narrowed her eyes. “Let me guess, you studied philosophy in college, didn’t you.” She was simultaneously too drunk and too sober for this conversation. “Here’s the thing, time has a definition. Time can be measured. One-one thousand.” Buffy held up a finger. “See? One second has passed. And  scientists have studied time. Your pretentious pessimism is also a social construct but nothing’s stopping you there, are they?”

“I wish. I don’t think my mother and father would’ve been very happy about that,” He was tied to their command when they paid for college. “How do you even know that that is real?” He insisted, “Seconds could be fake. We could think that time is moving on when it’s really not.” Her words then really began to sink in. Pretentious. That wasn’t the first time he was called that tonight. “I think it’s time for me to open up another beer.” He said as he began to shuffle his feet before walking away. 

duchessb‌:

   “They might let them believe in Santa longer then. Beer is more accessible to most father’s sitting around wrapping presents for kids. And to be honest let’s think about this… children with dads did have a Santa Klaus if you think about it because it’s some man who drinks and shows up to give you presents and acts like he’s owed something for it.” A shrug lifts Beau’s shoulders as she glances over to Ben, pursing her lips for a moment. She wasn’t sure what caused her to go off on that tangent, but she could blame Chessie’s plying her with Champagne, if nothing else.

“Or their father might just tell them the truth.” That’s what Ben’s dad did after he moped one too many times about not being able to see Santa deliver gifts. “Good for them for still being able to wrap nicely. Maybe we should just be getting rid of the Santa myth and giving the load of work to dads. ” Were all dads that fucked up? “Yeah, that’s the difference between milk and beer. Milk makes Santa seem so pure, I guess and beer makes me think he has an alcohol problem.” Ben said with a shrug. “At least if he was having champagne, it’d make me think he was a man of superior taste.”

Ben was thankful for BYOB. He finally got to bring himself some microbrew. None of these people ever experienced how amazing beer was like he had. He donned a white suit. To the outside world, he felt as if most of them knew him as little pure Benjamin Vanderbilt. Or at least they did. He used his bottle opener to open his beer up and took the cap into his free hand. “By the end of the night, I think that I’m going to need to carry around a garbage bag for all of these,” He said as he showed his bottle cap to the other person. “Time is also just a social construct, but that’s another lecture for another day. It’s probably hard for Americans to grasp that.”

seboriley‌:

“That is what I’m here for, my friend,” Sebastian assures, clapping his hand down hard on Ben’s shoulder blade, tapering it off with a couple more pats as he prepares a couple of the aforementioned shots with two easy pours. Well, easy if you didn’t pay too much mind to the little puddle forming beneath them, slicking up the bottoms of the glasses. “I’m a lot younger than that tower,” Seb mocks, feigning a cheap English accent he’s definitely learned from Harry Potter marathons. “Ugh. Can’t it be your New Year’s resolution to take shots without a chaser or something? I’m getting very tired of tracking them down for you.” His temper dissipates just as quickly as it forms, though, and he’s already turning towards the kitchen to start a hunt for limes, shot glasses balanced between his thumb and forefinger on either hand. “But, since it’s the holidays, I’ll make an exception.”

He wanted to be as drunk as Sebastian was at this point. A shot or two would for sure send him that way. “You need to work on your accent.” Ben could probably do a better accent than him at this point.  “Can it be your resolution to stop complaining so much? I’m asking for one thing. It’s good that you’re exercising that brain of yours.” He teased. If Sebastian was going to tease him, he was going to do it right back. “I’ll take pretty much anything at this point, my regard for taste is going out the window.” 

 taterodriguez‌:

With everything that had been going on in Tate’s life in the last few weeks, any excuse to drink was welcomed in fact encouraged so they weren’t spending their evening alone with a bottle of vodka at Howl.  When they received their invitation from O, it was a hard offer to turn down.  So, Tate slipped into a simple but elegant jumpsuit and threw on their favourite pair of Stuart Weitzman booties before they made their way to O’s apartment.

Upon their arrival, Tate made a beeline to the kitchen to prepare their self a double vodka soda, skipping the wine this evening and shooting straight for the hard stuff.  They were unsure of what events would unravel this evening, but Tate honestly couldn’t care less since there was free alcohol and many places for them to hide.

Instead of seeking an immediate place of refuge, Tate hoisted their self onto the counter of the island in the centre of the kitchen in attempt to remain close to the free booze.  As Tate sipped on their vodka soda, the sound of approaching footsteps went unnoticed until they heard a voice beside them.  “Oh,” Tate exclaimed.  “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Living with Chessie and O for the past few weeks meant that Ben was pretty familiar with the kitchen. And since he had to throw away a napkin, he figured he could do it himself. Ben stopped in his tracks when he saw Tate. He was caught off guard that someone else was in the kitchen. Nevertheless, he gave them a slight smile. 

"Surprisingly, you’re not the first person who has said that to me tonight,” Ben added with a shrug. “I’ve been crashing with O and Chessie so I know where a lot of things around here are. I even know which toilet is the best to use in the house,” He joked. “What are you doing in here? I’m honestly thinking about copying you and staying here for the rest of the party. Do you mind if I join you?”

monty-santos‌:

“I don’t know, not all mall Santas are that way.  Or I”m assuming, I don’t actually know,” Monty shrugged, though he couldn’t really imagine places hiring drunks for a job that required them to be around children all day, “I don’t think so, it’s jsut for the donkey.  Though any kid who sends letters to Santa gets a response, which I think is pretty cool.” 

He was just going by the reputation that mall Santas had. They were always a version of a bum. “Who the hell is writing all of those letters back to those kids?” Someone had way too much time on their hands. “I think France should be focusing on other things, if it were up to me,” Then again he wasn’t in the French Parliament. “I spent some time there, I would know. They also aren’t huge fans of Americans, especially when I told them that I was from the City.” 

arlovasquez‌:

“It wasn’t too busy when I was there. Or if it was, I don’t think anyone was going to push me around because I must have looked really deep in thought.” He chuckled. “I’m a firm believer that the Mona Lisa was actually da Vinci on drag. I don’t know why I believe that, but I do.”

They probably really thought you were taking a good review of the painting. Little did they know you were just high as fuck,” He joked. “What did he even look like? I always pictured him with a really long beard.” Ben said with a shrug, not that he thought of da Vinci a lot in the first place. “Is that a real theory? Honestly, I don’t even know why a portrait’s so famous.” 

seboriley‌:

Sebastian decides to roll his eyes in lieu of dignifying the accent comment with a response. He has more pressing matters to deal with than perfecting his fake accent that is an awkward mish-mash of the loose-lipped slur of Rupert Grint’s accent and the prim, articulated poshness of Emma Watson’s. Not that prioritizing has ever been Sebastian’s strong suit. “I’ll stop complaining so much when you give me less to complain about, how ‘bout that?” Sebastian retorts just after a little scoff jumps up his throat. “Got ‘em,” Seb cheers, snagging a bag of lemons and limes from the bottom drawer of the fridge. “Find me a knife?”

“For the record, no one’s making you talk to me.” Ben was over pleasing everyone around him. He did that when he was under the Vanderbilt rule, which caused him to virtually live a double life. He didn’t care about pleasing Sebastian or giving him things to complain about. He started digging through Arlo’s kitchen, hopefully, he wouldn’t mind. Finally, Ben hit the jackpot and handed the knife over to Sebastian. He didn’t trust himself to open a bag at this state. “Are you going to have a lime too or just let the tequila burn your mouth?”

monty-santos‌:

“Yeah, I should. The problem is that any job that would actually pay me is one that I can’t really see myself doing,” Monty admitted, even though he knew exactly how strange that sounded.  He didn’t mind that he didn’t have money, at least most of the time, and he’d figured out ways to really survive without it.  And while there were times that he really missed the luxury of being able to do whatever he wanted, for the most part, Monty was content with the fact that his life was never going to really be that way.  Which was just another reason he didn’t fit in the upper east side.  “I want to go back someday.  Coming back to the city was always a temporary thing, I just haven’t gotten back to the point where I can yet.  But I’m sure that it’ll happen someday,” Monty replied, though the longer that he stayed in the city the farther away someday felt.  “And to be honest, there’s not,” he sighed as he looked out the window, “the winter is actually the most dangerous time to be homeless because the shelters are always at capacity and if you don’t get there in time there might not be room. And if you get turned away from multiple you don’t have a choice but to sleep outside.  It’s a good part of the reason that I’ve been working on the clothes drive with the shelter that I volunteer for because at least it gives them clothes that might be able to help them survive the night.”

To him, this made no sense. Why would Monty not want to get paid while doing a job? That was volunteering and he was not here for it. “I don’t know if it can be considered a job then,” He pointed out to the other male. “How long have you been back for?” Ben didn’t know much about the people he left behind, their whereabouts, or who kept up with whom. “If you go back to France, at least let me show you the best places to get a drink around there.” He added, looking for an excuse to see the male again. As long as it was in a different country. “That’s pretty fucked up,” He said honestly. He never thought much of homeless people, except for those late nights he’d come back high as fuck and see them sleeping on the street. “You should make everyone in here give away at least half of the closets. You’d end up with a bunch of clothes.” He was chuckling but it was probably true.