Mid-Summer Beach Bash

Black Cypress Beach
The sand underfoot is loose and fine, the white earth littered here and there with driftwood and small white sand shells. Behind and to the west looms the Forest, its thick tree life and bushes casting an eerie darkness over the passageway inside, seeming to block out both the light of day and the beaming glow of the night. To the east looms the camp site, the flicker of lights and the soft shuffle of activity often echoing on the breeze. The sound of waves lapping against the shore is peaceful and soft, the waters seeming to dance as you watch them.
The sunlight seems a little warmer over the lake. On the beach rests an old boat, the bottom rotted out, revealing the soft white sand and sparse plant life inside it, where the floor should very well be. Along the dark wooden frame of the boat perch a few small white birds, their loud calls echoing over the waters.
The summer heat beats down no matter the weather. Be it musty, hot, or dry outside, the summer brings with it the feel of youthful energy. Everything is pale grey, veiled by mist. It's warm, humid, and still. Only the nearest tree branches show their full color; more distant trees and branches are colorless and indistinct in the pallid grey fog, looking ghostly and not quite real.

As night approaches, the shores of Black Cypress Beach are roaring with the life and enthusiasm of Cane Bayou's youth. There are bodies scattered all around the sand, laughing, smiling, playing, even drinking in subtle ways so as to not attract attention to their less than legal activities. It looks like a typical afternoon: there are games of beach volleyball here and there, other outdoor sports and general frivolity all around. But, one particular stretch of the beach has been reserved for different activities.

And Brooke is the one in charge. Here, there are tiki torches being set up, ready to bit lit the moment the dark overwhelms them. Here, there is an area that has been cleared off as a 'stage' area specifically, for dancing and performances alike, and it is separated from the rest of the beach by the Christmas lights that surround its perimeters. But, most impressive, is the giant pile of wood that has been amassed. The fire pit is…structured differently than normal ones. Instead of being one pile, the wood has been divided into two, with a narrow pathway in between them.

"Okay, Brock, add some more to the left for me sweetie, it looks pathetic. Todd! Are the speakers all set up and everything?" Cupping her hands over her mouth to project her voice better, the girl throws out commands like the Queen of Sheeba. For the moment, she's wearing flipflops, a white cotton mini-skirt, and her navy blue and white striped bathing suite. Large, fashion forward sunglasses protect her eyes from the sun's rays, but practically everything else is left exposed, displaying an impressive tanned physique.

Mid-afternoon, Lincoln had shown up, rolling right out onto the sand in his pickup. Aiming for the most northern part of the beach, where he could have a little peace to sleep when he finally got tired. Not that he was anticipating on ducking out early while everyone else continued to party. He quickly set up a tent, threw sleeping bags and other stuff inside, dropped off a cooler on the sand and then had taken a sign he had apparently made ahead of time and placed it where anyone from either side could see it. It reads simply: "Lincoln Pierce's." No warning is given, but should anyone be stupid enough to mess with his stuff, they will now be aware of who they have crossed.

That done, he actually disappeared again for several hours. Only to return as night approaches and Brooke is barking out orders. He pulls off into tall grasses with the truck and gets out, grabbing things out of the bed of the truck and pointing to the distant tent as they walk towards the beach. "There's Brooke," he tells the girl at his side as they walk, and he then points at the tent again and says, "That's the chateau, I put your stuff inside." Then he makes his way along the beach to see what has already been set up, not ignoring Keeley, but knowing that she doesn't need to be seen to constantly. She isn't that kind of girl.

"Hey Brooke," he calls as they get a bit closer. He is wearing a pair of khahki cargo shorts and a white wife beater which shows off his even more impressive tanned physique. Take that Bee.'.

The not as tanned, but still colored nicely Keeley nods towards Lincoln as he talks, she is yawning as if she had just had a nap before she was picked up this afternoon. She's carrying a small bag that she's not let Lincoln take just yet, and is dressed in a short blue jean skirt, and like Brooke has on her bathing suit. Her's is golden in hue, tied at the back and held in place by an extra tie around her neck, making it close but not as large as a halter top. Her hair is up in a pony tail and woven though the back of the small cap she wears that keeps the sun out of her eyes and off the top of her head.

Brooke seems to be the path that the pair are heading to, and as they get close, she offers Brooke the bag she's carrying, it's one of those cloth bags that is holding more than one thing it seems. "For doing all this.." She admits with a half grin, comfortable it seems at the moment.

"I got it! I got it! I-D'ohfuck!!" As tends to be the case whenever he gets around a large enough group of people who know him well enough to know what a mixture of vodka and Red Bull (supplied prior to his arrival) will do to the boy, Evan is at the tail end of doing something stupid. In this case, toppling to the ground at the foot of the woodpile at the conclusion of a sprint and leap that were part of his attempt to catch a frisbee in his teeth. This owes to the fact that the acquaintances he came here with have a dog who will not perform this trick, and he was trying to show the pooch how it was done. So far the end result isn't doing much to recommend the practice.

He lays sprawled on the ground for a moment, first raising his hand to his mouth and groaning as he tastes blood, and then rolling up to sit, smacking his lips and making pained faces. He's in swim trunks and a nipple ring, and in no small amount of pain. "Nevermind!" he calls out to the spectators, including the unimpressed bulldog. He blows out a sigh and looks around, to take stock of where he's ended up.

See, Brooke /is/ that kind of girl. She feeds off of attention - requires it in the most basic sort of way. And if she doesn't find it here, she'll flit around until she meets someone else who is willing to give her the attention she desires. This is just how she works. Currently, she is in the middle of calling someone incompetent (except in a not quite so eloquent manner), when Lincoln approaches her. "Hm?" She begins, swirling around to face the large boy. "Oh, hi, Tiger! Where's your Tamer?" She inquires glancing around curiously until she finally catches sight of the girl. There is a bemused smile on her face as she peers back to Lincoln. "I /knew/ you'd have the old ball and chain around. It's too bad, really. I've been looking around for someone to go skinny dipping with later. Oh, hi, Keeley!" As the woman approaches, Brooke offers her a bright, genuine smile and a wave. Until, that is, she is presented with the purse. Beat. "Oh! Like, you got that for me? Aw, you're such a sweetie, you shouldn't have!"

She is in the middle of gushing when, all of a sudden, there is the crash collision of a certain lycan and a certain pile of wood. Immediately, she turns to he heels to stare at the wreckage. "Ugh! Someone get the drunk kid out of the pit of fire, please!" She calls out with exasperation, running a hand through her hair as she frowns mildly at Evan. Eventually, she lets out a small sigh and works up the motivation to walk over to the boy. "Are you like, okay?

This sort of commentary doesn't even arouse a blush out of Lincoln, he just says two words, "Jealous, much?" and glances over his shoulder towards Keeley who is looking rather foxy in her bathing suit. Looking back then to Brooke, he adds, "Be nice." In truth, he likes Brooke as a person, he finds her slightly bitchy attitude refreshing in a way, and that she is brutally honest at times is just downright amusing. At the commentary about Evan, he moves over towards the other boy, who turns out to be Evan McDaniels. Approaching, he reaches down, grabs him by an arm and hauls him to his feet. No commentary is offered. "Hey Evan," he says and takes a step back to give the other boy a little air to catch his breath.

Turning then, he looks back towards Keeley and Brooke and shrugs a little. Not sure if he needs to defend his fellow, or not. Just content to have done his part.

Well, it's not like Keeley didn't hear Brooke's words, and hell maybe that was the point. So the new girl simply arches an eyebrow at Brooke and then Lincoln as she held out the bag to Brooke. As Brooke doesn't take the gift and heads over towards Evan, and Lincoln follows the other girls call to get the boy out, she just has to stand there. Yep, foxy or not she looks pretty damn stupid holding out a bag to a girl who walks away. So what does she do? Settles the bag on the ground, maybe assuming if Brooke is at all interested she can find it later. Then hands go into the pockets of her skirt and she wonders a little to the side and ends up just watching the little scene between Evan/Brooke/Lincoln.

Evan's not really as drunk as all that. It doesn't take much to get him acting loopy, and inebriation has little to do with it. "I'm okay!" he announces a moment later, waving an arm which is conveniently grabbed within the Lincoln's sizeable mitt and used to haul him to his feet. He emerges from his tangle with a yelp and a momentary look of alarm, which subsides as he recognizes the face of his rescuer. "Thanks, bro," he murmurs with a grin, before turning to regard Brooke with a bright, dopey and slightly bloodied smile. "Yep, I'm fine. Just kinda-" he gestures fitfully toward the ruin he's made of the woodpile, "fell." There's a pause between the time he spends looking at her-an unabashed appreciation of what she offers to look at-and the time he recognizes the party's hostess, or at least She Who Barks Orders And Is Obeyed. "Great party!" he affirms, once he does realize who she is.

Brooke is nice! Brooke is always nice! Until you attack her person, then she's not quite so pleasant. So, she doesn't even acknowledged Lincoln's warning, having written it off as unnecessary. The whole fiasco with Keeley was not intended to go down that way. A girl with a small attention span, Evan's collapse had simply distracted her. Lincoln is thrown a 'thank you' when he helps Evan up, and she steps back, looking between the boy and the pile of wood. Almost as if trying to assess which one needs her immediate attention more pressingly. "Brock! Fix it up for me, sweetheart? And, are you /sure/ you're okay? You're totally bleeding." Concerned, the female furrows her brow heavily and walks up to Evan, appraising him in kind. Except, where she is simply being checked out, Brooke it actually looking for injuries. It's a sad, sad day when Brooke is the example of morality and virtue in a situation. When he offers the 'great party' bit, the girl's entire expression brightens. "Aw, thanks!" She beams over to Evan. "Wait until it gets dark - which should totally be in a few. I've got this whole ritual planned and - …well Yeah. You'll just have to see." She cuts herself off immediately after she realizes she has nearly spoiled the evening.

After looking between them all, Lincoln makes some sort of silent decision and smiles at them all, polite like and moves over to Keeley. "You want to go and drop the rest of your stuff off at the tent?" he asks, and reaching over, takes her by the hand, giving it a slight tug. Then he starts to walk down the beach in the direction of said tent, attempting to lure her away and perhaps put a smile back on her face. Being around Brooke seemed to have deflated her attitude a little, and he isn't into it. "I'm going," he adds, in case she decides to hang out and make friends.

Towards Brooke and Evan he calls, "See you guys in a while, I'm going to get my stuff set up so I don't have to do it slightly intoxicated." He clues them in as he evaporates.

Keeley isn't really upset, just withdraws a little, becoming the more wary-self that she was last week, nothing huge or anything, just a little more closed off. But as Lincoln comes back over, she blinks at him and allows her hand to be taken before she thinks about it. "Sure, I mean, most is already there right?" She says softly, glancing back over towards the group by the wood and then catches a passing person. Some guy who looks more geek than jock. "Hey, can you make sure Brooke gets that bag.." She points to the one she set down and then looks back up at Lincoln. "Sure, I probably should change anyway.." She says softly, a pondering look on her features as she waves towards anyone paying attention and moves off with the big guy.

Evan would prove, upon inspection, to be rather fit and sturdy, built along lean lines and suffering no evident bruises or anything other than a smattering of dirty or sandy spots from all the roughhousing he's already managed to squeeze into his afternoon. The blood comes from having taken a frisbee to the face, coming from his gums, and the exercise of sucking that away and swiping at the afflicted area with his tongue lends him a regrettable, if slight bovine seeming as he becomes distracted by the coppery taste in his mouth. He's enlivened by Brooke's contagious enthusiasm, his eyes widening from their habitual squint as he listens with an open-mouthed grin, poised in such a way as to wordlessly prod her for details. "Like what?" he asks, missing the bit about how he'll 'just have to see'. "Is there gonna be fire?" The fact that there are a pair of firepits -one of which he just collided with- seems lost on him. Evan is reputedly not the brightest candle on the cake.

"Later, man," he says upon being distracted by Lincoln, throwing up a hand in a fitful, sloppy wave, noting the big guy's departure with Keeley before he turns back to Brooke.

When Lincoln and by extension, Keeley, announce their upcoming departure Brooke looks a little confused, to say the least. Blinking innocently, the girl peers at them as they make their retreat. "Oh, okay. I'll see you guys later, then! Have fun, kids, but be safe!" Beat. "…Oh, and thanks for the bag!" With the parting shot given, Brooke returns to smile broadly at Evan, allowing an easy laugh to fly out of lips when he asks if there's going to be a fire. Clearly, she has figured that he's just teasing. It doesn't occur to her that he's actually just a little dim. "Oh, tons. And fireworks for midnight. And circus midgets and all." The last is clearly a tease, delivered with a grin as she places her hands upon her hips in a rather sassy display.

Of all the things that come out of the head cheerleader's mouth, or go in, the most offensive to Lincoln is how she insists on referring to him as 'Tiger, kid, or boy', instead of his name or one of the many acceptable derivatives. But he doesn't say anything, just walks off along the beach. Skipping through the sand a little, he reaches down to pick up a rock as he goes, takes up a rock and skips it out across the lake. "Change?" he asks, as the words settle in and he turns over his shoulder to look at Keeley. Stopping for a second, he waits for her to catch up and asks, "We're at the beach, you don't need to change, you look great. Really," as if it needs to be said.

At the tent, he grabs that sign he had painted to ward off drunks and drops it on the sand infront, like the sign on a mailbox, in case someone is looking for him. Which wouldn't surprise him, what with all the football types around, and drops inside to start sorting things out.

See Keeley isn't that withdrawn, she turns as she hears Brooke, and flashes her a little smile. "Open it sometime.." she calls back and waves before she wonders on down the beach with Lincoln, and then picks up her own rock, tossing it after this and watching to see how far her's goes compared to his. It's then that she hears him and there is another blink and then a soft chuckle. "Yes, but.. well, I have something abit more comfortable.." Whatever the heck that means.

The girl then tosses another rock before turning to make her way into the tent, heading towards her side of it with a little grin to her lips, tossing around a few things till you finds a bag almost like the one she gave Brooke, this one is just abit bigger.

Evan buys the bit about fireworks completely. The midgets, not so much. He gives Brooke a baffled look at that part, but then quickly shrugs it off as he gets distracted by something. By the time he's got a new train of thought he doesn't remember what distracted him, but it probably had something to do with boobs. It usually does, with Evan. "Sounds badass!" he enthuses, after that noticeable pause. "Is like, everybody here? I don't even know half these people! And where's the beer?"

Brooke offers Keeley a grin from afar and a nod to acknowledge her words. "Bye hun!" And with that, the couple is written off as they disappear to tent land. This of course, draws Brooke's attention to things a bit closer to home - such as the grumbling of a nearby boy as he starts to restructure the bonfire. Shooting the poor worker bee a gracious, slightly apologetic smile, the cheerleader reaches over to make a grab for Evan's wrist and drag him away from the work in progress. "Huh?" She begins with distraction, glancing around as she tries to decide where to relocate to. "Oh. Well, I don't know. I think most of the school is here - some kids from Haven - and…well. There should be more coming." Blink blink. "…It was B-Y-O-B, silly. Looks like you're going to have to pull some /pretty/ impressive tricks if you want to grab a beer from someone. /I/ have a stash around here somewhere…what will you do for it?"

What saves Evan from being nothing more than a candidate for a Darwin Award is a hint of self-awareness, as if on some level he knows well how stupid the things he does are. This is evident as he is drawn away from the firepit and told he shall have to work for his beer. He just grins from ear to ear and gestures over to the beach blanket where the people with the bulldog are getting on famously without him. (Their role was to /bring/ Evan, not to keep him entertained. Certain people treat him as a natural disaster or easily influenced party favor, and his tendency to get distracted and find his own fun only facilitates this.) "I just caught a frisbee in my mouth," he answers Brooke. "What /won't/ I do? Ask anyone!" It's true.

Brooke steps up, climbing to the tips of her toes as she squints in the direction Evan points to. Clearly, she doesn't seem to get what she's supposed to be looking at, so after staring quizzically for a couple of seconds, she finally turns back to Evan, looking a little lost. "Oh god," she says, laughing when he explains himself and shaking her head slightly, allowing her fingertips to linger a second longer than necessary on his forearm before it trails away. "Well that's…okay, that's kind of weird. But cool, I guess. And, I don't know! Just like…impress me or something." With that prompt, the girl smiles slyly to the lycan, watching him with self-assurance as she takes a step back, allowing him room to woo her.

Evan looks alarmed as he's put on the spot, blinking helplessly at Brooke as the slight grin that had crept onto his face as her fingers trailed along his arm gives way to a vaugely lost look. He looks around for some kind of inspiration, skewing his slack jaw to one side to lend his visage a thoughtful mien. "Uh….um…Well…Okay," he claps his hands together and rubs them quickly as he drops his shoulders just a bit, as if gearing up to take off at a sprint. "Dare me to do something. That usually works." He rarely has to dream up his own stunts on the fly. That's what his 'friends' are for.

Brooke seems to be lacking inspiration as well. Her creative juices have already been exhausted, invested as they were into planning and setting up the whole shindig. And Unlike Evan, she doesn't even have the muse that is alcohol to fall back on. No, for now, the girl is stone-cold-sober. Slowly, her brows hike upwards as she bites her bottom lip with consideration, peering around much like Evan did with the hopes that some sort of genius will suddenly strike. "Uhm…uhm…why don't you-" Beat. She's got it! Suddenly, an impish curl appears at the corners of her lips, and she turns to Evan confidently. "Ever been streaking, buddy-boy?"

The boy's shoulders sag in relief, and a vague smile lights his face as he turns it skyward in wordless praise to whoever put the idea in her head. She picked an easy one. With a barely audible clearing of his throat he turns to her with a shrug. "Couple times," he answers nonchalantly, before proceeding to thrust his thumbs into the waistband of his trunks and shove them down his thighs to pool at his ankles. He's only deficient in the brains department-nature saw fit to compensate his flesh where it skimped on his mind. "How far do you want me to run?" he asks, once again easing into that ready posture, and wiping his thumb across his nose.

Brooke had figured it was an easy enough dare, humiliating enough for the more self-conscious and shy to back out of, but not lasting in its effects. Tat being said, she didn't really expect Evan to take to it /so/ easily and confidently. When he drops trou like its nothing and asks this question's variation of 'how high', the girl can only blink. "Oh wow!" She lets out finally, a delighted laugh following her exclamation and her hand moving to clamp over her mouth. Apparently, she approves of his willingness to throw himself into the situation - and of other things as well. After giving him a curious look over, the girl motions for a yellow and red-striped beach umbrella in the distance. "Til there, I guess?"

Shame is for people who think about stuff, like the consequences of their actions or the sensibilities of the people around them. Evan is blissfully unencumbered by such sophistication and perfectly comfortable in public stripped down to his nipple ring. Her laughter gets him grinning, and he raises his brows expectantly as he waits for instructions. He doesn't wait long once he has them though, kicking up fantails of sand as he pelts down the beach as fast as his long legs will carry him, hurtling over encampments and dodging passersby, whom he greets with a wave as he passes. He has a few fans out there, and a few people who just like to throw things. Running clear of the concentration of people doesn't inspire him to slow down, either. He runs to the umbrella and scrambles to a stop, turning around to bounce on the balls of his feet and wave triumphantly upon achievement of his goal. Then, after pacing a circle to catch his breath, he smooths largely imagined sweat from his face and turns to sprint back, following a slightly different course.

"Well!" Brooke begins once he has sprinted back into earshot. "You /totally/ deserve a beer or five after that! And, if you do other things with that kind of enthusiasm, I'd have to call it a pretty successful interview on your part." She is still giggling mildly to herself, grinning from ear to ear at the lad as she offers him his own swimming trunks off of the floor. "So like - how well do you swim?"

Evan comes in fast and jogs to a halt, looking a little winded and flushed from exertion but nonetheless quite pleased with himself. He bobs his head and shoulders slightly as she praises him, only to pause a moment and blink uncomprehendingly at the mention of an interview. His smile broadens and he shrugs, deciding not to think about it too hard. He thinks he got the gist. "I love to swim," he answers eagerly, accepting his trunks as if-for a moment at least-not sure what to do with them. He puts them back on, looking up at her as he bends to restore his decency. "I was totally on the team last year, except I got kicked off for like..uh.." he's trying to quote "..'conduct unbecoming'..or something." He wrinkles his nose and dismisses the thought with a shake of his head. Too many words.

Any time Evan hears the word 'perfect' in relation to himself his pride swells to the point where he can't help but grin like a little kid. Or a puppy, if they smiled. He's a sucker for praise-as well as pretty much anything else. "Cool," he replies softly as he obediently takes hold of her hand. Her shift of attention spares (and distracts) him from relating the swim team incident, so it shall remain a mystery for now. He's hastening along with her, eager to claim his prize, and looking around as he notes the thinning of the populace as they travel. Now his smiles are a little bigger, and he drops down to a knee next to the cooler to root through the ice and find something. He pulls out two beers, but thoughtfully puts one back. For later. "Oh, hey," he asks, as she points out how dark it's getting, "are the fireworks gonna happen soon?"

Brooke watches Evan, her lips curling into a mysterious sort of smile. "Well…something's going to happen. C'mon, we have to get back. I've got an entrance to make, okay?" With that said and done, the girl turns on her heels with a flip of her hair, strolling back towards the crowd before disappearing with the hustle and bustle that's suddenly picked up.

The moment the sun goes down, a new atmosphere starts taking over the beach. All of a sudden, lights flare up and appear all along the beach, flames that flicker upon the poles of their torches. In addition to the natural lighting that is strewn everywhere, christmas lights are lit, hanging from beach umbrellas and the like.

"Hi, everybody!" From nothing, Brooke's voice appears. Electronically magnified, and she strolls out behind the two log piles with a lit torch in hand and a microphone in the other. "Welcome to the summer bash! You know, the summer's heat is pretty epic. I think all the locals would agree to that. And, where most people would write it off as a bad thing, I don't. See, there's something about heat, and about fire, that's amazing. How fire manages to consume everything in its path, and overcome every foe to thrive. So, this summer - /our/ summer - I'd like to propose a new start. Let's let the fire burn away everything that we don't like about our past, and move onto the future. And let that start right /now/." With her speech given, the girl lights the two piles separately, smiling as two pillars of fire ignite so close together. She disappears behind the flames for a second, before all of a sudden, the girl appears to /cartwheel/ through the flames. She is unharmed, and hams it up, enjoying all the applause the movement garners. "C'mon! Let's get this party /really/ started!"

Historically, when 'something happens', Evan forgets things. With that in mind, he hastily reaches into the cooler for that second beer before he follows Brooke back to the gathering proper. With something to occupy him for the next little bit, because even he can only chug -one- beer at a time under his own recognizance and nurses the other and in the process she manages to escape his dogged pursuit. He's not too put out by the disappearance, especially once the lights come up and the fires are all lit. Everything's so pretty, he's content to drift from place to place.

He's not lost for long. No one can be, with the voice from the speakers to orient themselves toward the as-yet unlit pyres. He moseys toward the center of attention, attentively and cluelessly hanging on every word.

Most of what she says passes through his ears with nary an echo. It's some deep stuff, but stirring all the same. He hoists his can into the air in a salute as she emerges from between the pyres, bellowing at the top of his lungs. She said the magic words!

And, party it is. From the speakers that were previously hosting Brooke's monologue, music is blared out, ministered by an up-and-coming DJ with a fair bit of talent. All of a sudden, alcohol is much more accessible as well, as kegs are pulled out of seemingly nowhere and solo plastic cups are spread around like an STD in a whore house. A mass of people start marching to the designated 'dance' area, where they begin to grind and feel each other up in what is considered a publically acceptable way.

Brooke doesn't reappear again until she has a couple of beers in hand. She has ditched the sunglasses for the obvious reason, and is clearly playing 'catch-up' as best as she can as she pounds back the alcohol in an attempt to get as drunk as her peers as quickly as possible. Giggling, laughing - she has now resigned her role as the party host and is gladly taking up the more familiar partier uniform. Or lack of uniform, if you will. Before long, one of her beers is gone, and she finally catches sight of Evan. "Hey!" She greets brightly. "Hi! So - want to go skinny dipping with me in a bit?" It's forward. It's out there. It's Brooke.

Evan's been holding up well enough on his own, having conversations as long as his attention span and the chaos of the party will allow with groups of friends, receiving accolades for his latest bold stunt-and criticisms on its lack of originality, and generally gathering his energy for the next big adventure. He's gotten ahold of a longneck since they last met up, and he hoists it in the air to greet her from across the human traffic of dancers and meanderers and such. He'll hasten to meet up with her, because she is shiny and interesting and called him 'perfect'. He reacts to the invitation to swim nekkid with the same ease that he took the notion of streaking, offering up a bright, eager grin and an emphatic nod. "Yeah!" he agrees. "Let's go!" He's ready now-and is sizing her up with an eager, transparent sort of anticipation.

Brooke grins, looking at Evan with he head tilting to the side slightly, amusement dancing in her eyes. Evan is adorable! He's like a giant puppy! With a really nice body! When he so readily agrees to her suggestion, she lets out a laugh, shaking her head slightly as she reaches out a hand to place on his chest, a signal for him to calm down. "Slow down, Buddy. I /just/ like, got here, you know? I want to get buzzed at least. I mean, I haven't really gotten drunk in /ages/." As if to demonstrate this need for alcohol, she pauses here to down half of her bottle in one blow. "So could you like get me another drink? Please?"

D'oh! The look of protest on Evan's face as Brooke applies the brakes has the beginnings of a pout. There's enough of a grin left that he doesn't look pathetic, and he bobs his head as she explains her rationale. After a momentary sidelong glance across the crowd he nods once, firmly, agreeing to the logic. When prompted to secure her a drink he brightens again, and looks around for an immediate liquor source. The sooner they reach Drunk Time, the sooner it's Naked Time, after all. Lamely, he offers her his beer, even as he turns to go hunt down more tribute to offer the party's hostess.

Unfortunately, being somewhat of a veteran to the party scene, it takes more than a couple of beers to get her tipsy nowadays. Luckily, it also means that she's either a fan of the taste of beer or immune to it, so it's as easy as downing water. Her speed will be an advantage, no doubt, because it does not take her very long at all to finish up her own beer and start working of Evan's. Conscientious as she is, she does not litter - instead she gives her empty can to a younger boy, smiles at him, then walks away like she owns the place. Which, in her mind, she does. She's half-way done with the long neck when all of a sudden, her ass starts ringing. Blink. "Uhm, hello?" She begins after fumbling to pull out her small, silver cell phone. "Brooke speaking."

Meanwhile, the promise of Nekkid Time has lit a fire under Evan, and he has not been lax in his duty to obtain beverage for Brooke. He returns with a pair of bottles and a can-reasoning that whichever quantity she doesn't want, he can drink himself. He jogs to a halt in front of her just as her phone rings, and settles in to wait with his best pretense of patience despite a clear hurry to be doing something. He's in a silly mood, and holds the can to his ear to pretend to talk on the phone, making faces and otherwise trying to distract Brooke.

Brooke waits, listening to recognize the sound of the other end of the phone, and once she does she beams, seemingly pleased. "Oh! Hi! I- oh, haha, stop it!" Evan's antics do not go unnoticed. No, in fact, they are recognized rather quickly and met with a torrent of giggling on her part. Trying to somber up for the conversation, she turns away from him. "What? Can you-…" Suddenly, all the humor is sucked away from her face. Her brows furrow, and she frowns slightly. "What? Who?" Beat. "…I mean, that's fine. Because I'm totally going skinny dipping in like, a minute." Indeed, her tone is slightly challenging.

Evan runs the gamut of 'Oh!' 'Wow!' 'Oh really?' 'You don't say!' 'He put it /where?/!' in his pantomime of an enthusiastic phone conversastion, and Brooke's reaction to his hijinks only serves to egg him on. He giggles his way to a contented sigh as she turns away to talk in peace, only to settle into a sober silence as he feels the chill of her mood from where he stands. "Dude, am I gonna have to make somebody jealous?" he inquires, leaning on his tiptoes and craning his neck quite unnecessarily, as if trying to see over some imaginary partition erected by Brooke's phone call. "'cos I'm /totally/ down for that."

Evan's antics once again manage to produce a smile on Brooke's face despite herself, but it's slightly distracted. She's too somber to laugh again, and is paying acute attention to her cell phone. "Sure she is," she responds, aloof in tone as her entire posture cleans up. She's standing straighter, more authoritatively. The stance of a cheerleader who looks down at everyone in her path. Of a Queen in front of her subject. "And I guess that means you better get here in the next, say…ten or so minutes. Because if you're not here by then, then I'm going. And, I don't know. I /was/ having fun. No thanks to you, Mr. I'm Not Going To Help Out and Am Going To Miss The Grand Ceremony. Ass." To Evan, she nods, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "Probably. Don't worry, it'll be fun though."

Shamelessly eavesdropping, Evan nods along to Brooke's end of the conversation, supplying wordless encouragement with gesture and expression, both exaggerated. It's serious business, sure, but not to him. He learns everything he needs to know from her response to him, bouncing in place and nodding confidently. "Always is," he agrees with an impish grin. He sidles up within her space, sliding an arm around her waist. "When do we start?" he asks, whispering into her free ear.

"Uh - yeah, Taylor. I wanted /you/. But if /you're/ going to be an ass and not care about anything, then fuck /that/." There is a very specific sort of emphasis put on these words, and clearly Brooke's entire mood is starting to plunge entirely. No longer is she happy and carefree. Now, she's glaring quite angrily to the air, much more tense in tone and body. When Evan's arm snakes around her, however, the girl lets out a little sigh, leaning up against his torso rather comfortably. "I'm tired of putting in all this effort and getting shit back. If you don't care, that's fine. Then just don't bother showing, and I'll get the message loud and clear. Bye." Just like that, the phone is snapped shut, leaving a very tired Brooke in Evan's arms. There is a pause, before she puts her cell phone away and looks upwards to his face. "How about right now?" And with that, she leans forward, looking to capture his lips in a kiss.

It's a sad world where a sixteen year-old with barely two brain cells to rub together can be an old hand at this sort of thing. There are some kids in the circles he associates with who don't even bother getting jealous anymore. He welcomes her close, rubbing her shoulder consolingly as she leans against him, nodding along as she goes through the familiar motions. He's smiling fondly down at her when she looks up, after the call, and dives in readily to her kiss, raising a hand to cradle her cheek as he murmurs consoling sounds and lets the hand upon her shoulder traipses in a leisurely fashion down her back, steadily lower.

Fuck that. Fuck everything. This is the mindset Brooke has adopted. And for Evan, this is a very good thing. Hell, for /everyone/ on the beach, this is a very good thing. But this isn't all that great for herself. It's like she shuts down the rationale part of her brain, and the only thing that remains is this insane self-destructive nature. It's exactly this nature that prompts her to throw herself into the kiss, that prompts her to push for a deeper, more intimate connection as she presses her body up against him. It's wildly passionate, almost feral in nature. It's like she's drowning, and he's the only source of water around. It's like…

Done. As soon as she pursued the kiss, Brooke cuts it off. Just like that. Immediately. She just looks disconnected, and she glances around the party with a searching eye. "C'mon. I want a shot." Or ten.

The aggressive strain of Fuckititis Brooke appears to have contracted is rather similar to the chronic condition Evan suffers from all the time. The difference is that his is a passive sort of apathy born of a desire to enjoy life and let nothing stop him. For instance, the eagerness with which she gives herself to him, however briefly, is met in kind with a fearsome appetite that lies hidden beneath his 'happy puppy' exterior, and to grind his body against hers to let her unequivocally know just how eager he is to pursue this course as far as it'll go.

If anything saves the moment from being a total buzz kill, it's the boy's vague awareness of Brooke's simmering discontent and the bitterness that tainted the sweet taste of her kiss. Fingers tense upon her flesh and he growls a soft protest before relaxing, and stepping back to give her breathing room. "Aight," he agrees readily, a bit disgruntled, but by no means any less interested. He even wisely refrains from asking about the skinny dipping thing.

Simmering discontent is one way to put it. On a whole, Brooke appears to be emotionally disconnected from the entire situation now. It's no longer fun, but it's not boring her. It's just…there. And dutifully, she just seems to be going through the motions. Without waiting, or looking for Evan's approval, the girl reaches over to grab at his hand, clamping on it rather tightly as she carves her way through the bodies that crowd the beach. She may not have the powers a lycan has, but this girl can spot a bottle of Smirnoffs from half a mile away. That's /got/ to be something!

"Hi. Move please." …Okay, so Brooke is a bit of a bitch, but at least she's polite about it. She has just stumbled across a couple of her classmates, crowded around their bottle with a handful of shotglasses, and she pushes her way into the circle at the same time releasing Evan's hand. Now, Brooke has enough stock and enough popularity to go unchallenged when she makes her command and even snatches a glass for herself, pouring herself a shot before knocking it back like an alcoholic in training.

Maybe it's osmosis or maybe there's a kernel of insight somewhere in Evan that isn't wired to his stomach or his genitals, but he is beginning to feel a sense of investment in this undertaking and it brings with it a sort of sympathetic concern. He helps clear the way-unassuming and goofy though he is, he can part a crowd when necessity demands as much. So far it's still fun, with a slightly dark, moody slant he rarely dabbles in, and somehow more fascinating than his usual escapades of this sort. He settles in across from her in a comfortable squat, watching her knock back shots. He grabs up a glass to help winnow down the contents of the bottle, nodding periodically. After his third he deems it a fit time to speak up. "So-um…this is serious business, huh? I mean, this- y'know." He shrugs. She knows. He honestly doesn't have a clue.

Brooke is most feared in these spells. Where as she is normally a kind-hearted, if a little self-absorbed - this Brooke is completely different. This Brooke revels at the chance to socially humiliate and black-list people who cross her paths. This Brooke likes to make out with committed guys and call up their girlfriends in the middle of it, just to reveal how shallow their relationships are and how their boyfriends are sleazebags. This Brooke is near heartless and her negativity and callousness builds up an invisible force-field around her, repelling everyone away. In fact, the group that was originally there suddenly decide they want to go dance, AWAY from Brooke.

When Evan pours his shot, Brooke is restless. Instead, she starts ruffling through everyone's belongings rather impatiently, smiling humorlessly when she pulls out a bottle of bacardi that was being saved for later. "What?" She responds, not even looking to Evan as she struggles with the cap of the bottle. "This what?"

"Oh, y'know, the—" He sets his shot glass down and deftly snares the Bacardi bottle from her, just long enough to twist it open and hand it back. In so doing, he sees enough evidence to convince himself that he doesn't want to push. That would risk dragging the evening toward unsalvageability. If he treads lightly he might still get to see Brooke naked…or see /somebody/ naked, anyway. "This bottlecap," he amends. "It was on there real tight. So-um..wow. Bottoms up, huh?" He offers her a toast with a shot, chuckling lamely.

When the bottle is snatched away from Brooke, she immediately jumps on the defensive. Her face contorts into a rather negative expression, and she prepares to sneer harshly over to the boy and demand HER property - cough - back but she catches herself just in time. He's just opening it, is all. Relax. The sigh that she lets out is long and sour. "That. No, it's nothing serious. I'm just disappointed. Again." And god, is she tired of being disappointed. She takes the shot, barely going through the motions of the toast, before throwing back the bacardi and grabbing the bottle for herself, drinking straight from it. "Look," she begins, blinking down to Evan. "You're really nice and sweet, but I just want to get fucking trashed and be on my own for a little. So I'll see you around later, alright?" And with that, she gets to her feet. Or rather, stumbled onto her feet.

Evan soaks up all that, lazily attentive and too warm and fuzzy to be stirred to any great emotion over the matter. "Amen," he muses, on the subject of disappointment, which he wears openly and shamelessly as it becomes clear there will be no skinny dipping-at least not with Brooke. He raises his shot glass in another toast as she excuses herself. "Rock on. I'll be- uh…around." He blows out a sigh in a sort of horselike sound, and picks himself up off the sand. He hesitates though, looking over his shoulder. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay? I mean, seriously."

Brooke pauses, cradling the bottle into her arms and tossing a glance to Evan. When her answer comes, it's quite easy and slides off her lips like she's used to constructing the sentence. Her tone is cold though - monotonous. "I'll be fine. I'm used to this kind of shit. It's all I know." The last sentence is tinged with a sort of empty melancholy, but she leaves it at that and turns around, walking through the crowd to find a secluded corner to mope in.

Later, about an hour or so, she will reemerge. She will be all smiles and giggles. She will trip over her feet, and spend most of her time either in the sand, or stretched out on a guy. She will be jabbering non-stop, or shoving her tongue down someone's throat. Later, she will be the 'typical' Brooke that everyone is familiar with, on crack. And that's how she'll be until she passes out somewhere around 1, huddled up somewhere in the sand with a beer bottle in hand.

Hmm. Sadness. Evan shrugs as soon as Brooke has turned away, and addresses the crowd. "Who's up for skinny dipping?!" He gets enough responses that soon there are several teens stripping down and sprinting for the water.

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