<strong>NAME:</strong>Benny Rothschild (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=268436.msg13236424#msg13236424)<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 - Kitchen, Outside, and Stairs<br/><strong>CONTENT:</strong>Broodiness, Underage Drinking<br/><br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong>Jenna, Mentioning Phil and Chloe, Open<br/><hr/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x401/callmecapone/Rocker-hairstyles-for-men.jpg)</div>By time Naomi was on her third song Benny was draining the last of his solo cup of Jack. He could still feel some of it in his sinuses. Which meant he could also taste<em>and</em>smell it... he could...<em>smaste</em>it. Annoying, yes, but he'd get over it. That, or become permanently desensitized to the flavor of Jack.<br/><br/>He turned his head to peek between the pillars of the stairway railing. His brain seemed to be a bit slow to obey the command, however, like his skull was carrying a dolly where his eyes were the camera, and because it was heavy it took a bit more effort to get moving. Which meant that five fingers of Jack in a short span of time on a near-empty stomach was a bad idea. Logically, Benny knew he should stop with the booze and get himself something to eat... not that there was much of anything here. However, it was still early, and Benny was too sober to let something like logic get in his way. Or was he too drunk for logic to get in the way?<br/><br/>Oh, shit, here comes Phil! Finally, someone worth talking to in this literal shit dump. Without his loyal puppy dog girlfriend, though? He was surprised that they weren't one of those couples that walked out in public with the whole collar and leash thing going on. They even<em>looked</em>like that sort of couple. Not that they were a<em>real</em>couple, as ridiculous as it was. Either way, Phil was a perfect excuse to go get more booze. Or was more booze a good excuse to go talk to Phil?<br/><br/>[color="Aaron? Are you up there? It's me. Do you have little minute?"[/color]<br/><br/>Pope's wrinkly balls! There, blocking his way down, was Jenna Smith, slowly climbing up the stairway. Evidently Benny was so perfectly covered in shadow that Jenna couldn't see him blocking the passageway up. Well, time to disappoint her.<br/><br/>"Aaron's not here, Jenna," he said with a hint of attitude. "He's off trying to be friends with the cool kids. Y'know, like how you tried?" Benny tilted his head back, expecting more whiskey to flow from the solo cup into his gullet. Nothing but drips cascaded onto his tongue, reminding him that he had emptied it. Fuck. He tossed the cup over his shoulder, peering back down into the floor below. Ah, there was Chloe, following her boy toy on the invisible leash.<br/><br/>"Y'know, you'd think he would have learned those normies can't be trusted after what happened to you, right?" Benny's gaze fixed back onto her, for the first time in a very, very long time locking onto her own. "But you've learned, right?"