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Post by vegas on Apr 22, 2012 15:44:22 GMT -5
Vegas basically hated Connecticut. It was lame, quiet, and not New York. But she didn’t have a job in New York, and she had one here. So here she was. Vegas started the day as she started many of her days, by doing some stretches, some simple ballet moves. Her hope was that the longer she kept at this, maybe she would be able to actually dance again. But no, that drunken bastard had ruined that for her. Who the hell drove when they were so drunk they couldn’t tell the sidewalk from the road? Stupid, drunk bastard. So, you could say Vegas was bitter. She didn’t really show it, though. She pretended that ballet had actually be overrated, and that she was ok with barely being able to dance, ok with teaching dance to five year olds. It was all sunshine and lollipops in her world. If only that were true.
And then she spent the Friday evening as she normally would – getting ready and going out to drink. Hey, after teach little kids dance all week, a girl needed to get drunk. She left her apartment around nine that night, and then the rest she couldn’t really remember. Next thing Vegas knew, she was at Castiel’s apartment. She cocked her head to the side, wondering how she’d ended up at his place instead of her own. Is this where she’d told the taxi to drop her off? Vegas honestly couldn’t remember. She knocked on his door rather loudly. ”Cas.” Knock knock knock. ”Cas!” Knock knock knock. Supporting herself against the wall as she wobbled slightly in her heels, Vegas waited for her friend to open his door. Pieces of the night were coming back to her, but she really was just catching fleeting thoughts that ran through her head. What time was it? Two AM? Three? She didn’t know. She just knew that if Castiel didn’t open this door soon, her heels were coming off. And possibly her dress. You know, clothes got less and less comfortable the drunker you got.
Vegas had always been a big partier; living in New York would do that to you. She also blamed her parents for giving her a name like Vegas. You had to live up to a name like that. She’d had her first alcoholic drink at age fourteen – it was harmless, really. Just a wine at her cousins wedding. After that, she’d steal something from her parents collection every now and again and sneak up to the roof of her loft; sometimes with friends or boyfriends, sometimes on her own. And thus her drinking habit began. It wasn’t that Vegas was an alcoholic… she just liked to drink. Maybe she was an alcoholic, but a fully functioning one at that.
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Post by castiel amos larsen on Apr 22, 2012 19:55:43 GMT -5
it was a well known fact by this point in his twenty-five years of life that castiel didn't like people as a general rule. he didn't keep a lot of friends, he preferred to be on his own, and he was terrible about answering the phone. maybe that was why he held a job at a book store, it kept him from having to be too social because lets face it who really hung out in book stores anymore when there was the internet to entertain idle minds. cas himself knew that there wasn't a lot of customer traffic coming in and out of the store, and had it been his own store maybe he would've cared a bit about that. but it wasn't. he was just an employee. and he knew better than any that the owners had more money than they knew what to do with, so there wasn't the worry of the business going under.
there were of course those speedy times of the year, times when school was starting and students from both yale and the university of hartford would mosey their way to the quaint store to get themselves some books at a better price than if they bought them in the student store. other than that, though, and the time where they would buy said text books back from students, he really didn't have to deal with people very often. which was nice, it was how he liked it, and that was that.
but because cas didn't keep a lot of friends, that meant that the very few that he did keep had something about them that caused him to want to hang around them. not that he really had a certain type of friends, but, he did have a few. five to be exact. and one of them that he always found himself questioning no matter how long they had called each other friends, was vegas. because, she was loud, and she was a pain, and she didn't know when enough was enough. and he still wasn't totally sure why he kept her around, but whatever the reason he did and there wasn't a lot that he could do about it now. maybe it was simply because she was interesting in her own right, and maybe just as bitter as cas himself was. either way, they were friends.
friends or not, though, that didn't stop him from getting an irritated look on his face when the name came through his door followed by the knocking. he had been on a role with his novel, his fingers moving quickly on the keyboard and his muse high, and all of that was destroyed mid-sentence by the knock at the door. eyes pinched shut as he held the bridge of his nose and part of him hoped if he didn't answer then she would just go away. but chances were, that wouldn't happen. and he really didn't feel like tripping over her in the morning if she fell asleep on his door.
so after saving his work he stood and made is way toward the door opening it and letting his eyes fall down on the girl with a less than amused expression. "you're drunk," he stated in a flat tone before wrapping long fingers around her arm and pulling her into his apartment. he really wasn't sure why he was even surprised. this had to happen eventually with a girl who went out as much as she did. so after shutting the door he led her towards the couch sitting her down before taking a seat in the chair. "why are you here?" just because he had friends, didn't mean that he was really a good friend to have. in case anyone had made that assumption.
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Post by vegas on May 3, 2012 13:13:22 GMT -5
Vegas didn’t really keep friends. People were annoying and nosy and needy and bitchy, so why keep them around for long? Also, friends didn’t really keep her. Vegas was the queen of being bitchy, she conned people into doing whatever she wanted, and she really had no regard for emotion whatsoever. So, yeah. She didn’t have really anyone she was close to. In New York, that kind of worked; everyone was there for themselves. The big city taught you how to fend for yourself and always keep your best interests in mind. Now, of course, Vegas had people she ran with. There had been her dancer group, before the accident. The prima ballerinas that only fit in with Vegas when she was in dancer mode; they thought they were better than everyone else, cared solely about what they ate, how much they weighed, and how they would do in their next performance. They didn’t drink, didn’t party, and didn’t do anything that would jeopardize their careers. Then, Vegas had her party friends. They drank, smoked, partied til 4 AM, and were fun to be around. Then, Vegas had her “best” friends, which rotated in and out frequently. These were people that she would keep close to her for as long as she needed them, then toss them aside when they weren’t of her service anymore.
Then there was Cas. He was bitter, not good with people, kind of rough; and Vegas was basically infatuated with him. Not in the regular sense of the word; she really had no desire to date or sleep with him. But she liked how negative he was, and that they had the bitter thing in common. It was a match made in dysfunctional Heaven. Finally, Cas opened the door. She squealed and clapped her hands together. ”You’re drunk.” Rolling her eyes as his hand clasped around her forearm, Vegas answered, ”Well duh.” She was pulled into his apartment, and Vegas kicked off her heels as they moved, tripping over one and balancing herself on her friend. "Why are you here?" She sat on the couch and reached behind her, fumbling drunkenly with the zipper on her dress, but not being able to get it. Maybe this was why guys had so much trouble with the clasps on bras. ”Not sure,” she said, giving up on the zipper. ”I need clothes, though.” Vegas flopped back on the couch, tugging at the hem of her dress and whining, ”Get this off of me, it’s going to suffocate me to death.” Vegas turned into a bit of a whiny drunk, but she was also a lot of fun, too. Of course, but the irritated look on Castiel’s face, he didn’t want her to be fun. But, whatever. When had that ever stopped her before?
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