<strong>NAME:</strong>Benny Rothschild<br/><strong>WEARING:</strong>Mercenary t-shirt (http://www.mercenary.dk/Shopfolder/merch/todd_tshirt.png), jeans, Converse sneakers, his trusty, dusty brown jacket that he should probably get cleaned<br/><strong>DAY:</strong>Friday, June 9<br/><strong>TIME:</strong>Night<br/><strong>LOCATION:</strong>Old Lady Margaery’s - Entering the Kitchen<br/><strong>CONTENT:</strong>Broodiness, Underage Drinking<br/><br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong>Open<br/><hr/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x401/callmecapone/Rocker-hairstyles-for-men.jpg)</div>There was such a thing as being stylishly late to the party. Benny liked to be stylishly late. You didn’t look too desperate to be there and some people would assume you had shit to do. Basic psychological manipulation. Real pick-up artist shit. But if you arrived<em>too late</em>to a party? People just didn’t give a fuck. They’d already paired off into their groups. Decided who’d they would talk to, or even who they’d be screwing that night.<br/><br/>Benny was fortunate that his mom wasn’t home -- he wasn’t even sure she was at the graduation ceremony that day, nor did he care -- but the presence of his sister put a major damper on things. Normally he didn’t give a damn that she was around, but he couldn’t exactly swipe her bottle of Patron while she was making kissy face with boyfriend number seven. Or was it five? He couldn’t keep track of all the dicks she was cultivating. All he knew was he had to hide in the basement, idly wasting time playing Prey until she finally dragged the son of a bitch up to her bedroom.<br/><br/>And so Benny now arrived late, his sister’s Patron in one hand and his mother’s Jack Daniels in the other. He had quite a distance to walk seeing as all the cars were avoiding Farmer Garetti’s property. Or, more to the point, his shotgun. By being so close they only risked a noise complaint -- which would no doubt be called before the night was over -- but if you were actually dumb enough to park on the old man’s property you’d no doubt need to replace your windshields and tires. And if you were unlucky enough to meet the old man himself? Well, Benny wasn’t exactly eager to relive his eleven year-old taste of rock salt.<br/><br/>Actually, Benny was surprised at the silence as he stepped onto the porch.<em>Relative</em>silence, at least. Plenty of conversation already as a few hipsters, goths, and metalheads smoked cigarettes on the porch, and a bustle of discussion from the curiously illuminated interior. No music yet, however. He could have sworn Naomi’s band was gonna play.<br/><br/>He pushed quietly through the porch crowd and into the foyer of the abandoned house, where he was reminded of another reason why he disliked being so late. A couple of them, in fact. You had to push through a crowd alone, only emphasizing your isolation so late in the game. However, you also failed to greet anyone unfamiliar. What could be an excellent opportunity to meet likeminded individuals from other schools just became another venue to feel alone and rejected.<br/><br/>Benny was skeptical of most of these assholes anyway. It was cool to be hipster, after all. Everyone liked to seem smarter than they were. Every fancy mustache, every vape, every over-priced goth ensemble screamed to him a bunch of fakers that weren’t pretty enough to stand out shoulder-to-shoulder with the rest of the preppies, and thus adorned themselves with the self-expression of others.<br/><br/>What a bunch of assholes.<br/><br/>Finally making his way to the kitchen, Benny dropped his sister’s Patron with the rest of the shit-water everyone calls “tequila” and grabbed a solo cup so he could pour himself some of his mom’s own Jack Daniels. He hadn’t even seen Naomi or Phil on his way in, and Aaron…<br/><br/>Well, Aaron would no doubt have a shitty time with all the normies and maybe learn his lesson.