<div class="floatleft">(https://imgur.com/MyXF7VZ.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>: Emma Grey (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=337584.msg16026944#msg16026944)<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Patio table<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong><del>Black jacket</del>, Black top, Belt, Jeans, Sneakers<br/><strong>Content Warning</strong>: None<br/><strong>Optional</strong><br/><strong>Tagging</strong>: Patio Posse (Chloe, Desmond, Jonathan, Lance)<br/><hr/><br/>A voice off to the side joined the conversation. It was meant for Chloe, but Emma turned her head to look all the same. Maybe the eerie feeling of familiarity with the sound of the voice should have been a hint, but Emma still found herself mentally unprepared to see the person that had so casually slipped into their little group.<br/><br/>Emma's dark eyes went wide with that recognition one gets upon realizing that they were in the presence of a celebrity. Sure, Izzy and a few of her guests were<em>technically</em>celebrities, but Emma had been around enough small time names that she had built up a tolerance to the weight of their stardom. Desmond fucking Lysander was a different beast, though. A trembling hand covered lips that couldn't find any words. It was all Emma could do to stop the fangirl squealing that threatened to escape from her like steam from a kettle.<br/><br/>Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. This was her shot -- a chance to make an impression on a big name that could actually give her career some real traction. Or maybe he just introduced her to the right single millionaire and Emma could live the spoiled life for the rest of her days. She might miss the business, but Emma was pretty sure a yacht would help her get over it.<br/><br/>Emma did her best to play off the fact that she was panicking on the inside. "<strong>Oh, uhh...Chloe?</strong>" Her voice carried a little louder and, for a moment, Emma's eyes darted to look to the man on her periphery to see if he was watching. A hand pushed her phone forward, leaving it face up so that wandering eyes could spy on the pictures of the work she had done with Chloe. "<strong>Just let me know which pictures you like and I'll send them to you. It really was a delight to work on you.</strong>" Again, Emma tried to sneak a glimpse at Desmond. Please, let him notice.<br/><br/>It was going to be hard to steal anyone's attention in this setting though. Strip, truth, or dare: those were the choices placed in front of everyone that wasn't fortunate enough to be Chloe right now. The question posed by Chloe felt like a minefield -- one Emma wasn't really equipped to traverse at the moment. Everyone at the party was just kind of in this nebulous cloud of 'I wouldn't be against the idea' but no one had Emma particularly hot and bothered enough that she was actively seeking to chase them. Well, the party's newest arrival possibly checked that box, but Emma had ulterior motives for ending up alone and naked with him. In her experience, men were a lot more open to suggestions that came from nude women.<br/><br/>Jonathan's challenge had its own problems. Britney Spears was a bit before Emma's time, and as a result, Emma didn't have the slightest clue what a Britney Spears impression was supposed to look like. All she had to go on was a single track that had found itself onto Emma's workout playlist. Call her shallow, but "Work Bitch" was motivating in a weird way. Emma doubted that the few verses that she could recall were going to pass the test, though.<br/><br/>With an exaggerated sigh, Emma pulled off the jacket that she had already tried to ditch once. She balled it up and threw it at Lance in a playfully angry way. "<strong>I see how it is. You show up at the door with a guy and think it means something but he runs off after someone else the first chance he gets.</strong>" Emma rolled her eyes, folded her now bare arms under her chest, and dramatically looked away from Lance. "<strong>I swear, I should just give up on men and find a girl at this party.</strong>"