Lost in Rosend (Rafael + 2)

[RAFAEL JOHN]

There is a time in peoples lives when they over think things, over prepare and just over do everything. This was certainly one of those times, at least in Rafael John’s mind it was. She thought the event was going to be FUN! Her friends had been badgering her for weeks about this event, dropping hints and hiding dates and info about the event in her dorm room. She had eventually agreed to it, but only if it was a girls outing. She had no boyfriend, and she never really had had one she reminded herself as her back fell against the decorated wall. She looks around the room, her cheeks flushed as she once again gets that pitted feeling in her stomach. Her friends had ditched her, even before the party had started.

There had been a pre-party to the event, but once she reached the room she had realized the party was ended and everyone was gone. She was even on time! She frowned remembering the mess her friend’s room had been at that time. It was disgusting, but she had moved on and made her way to the ball anyway. They would not forget to wait for her out front… right? Of course not because they had not even bothered to remember she was coming. She was left alone on the front step with her ticket in hand and mask in place while waiting like an idiot for her friends. They never came, so too avoid any more criticism then she already felt she was getting she moved inside. This was yet another mistake on her part, in her mind.

She lifts up her head slowly, her eyes looking distantly through the crowd as she remembered trying to slide though the crowds. Even now, her eyes ran over the extravagance of the party and made her feel like a pimple on a beautiful face, a blemish, someone should just remove her from the picture but that was not going to happen anytime soon. Especially when her eyes were jealously looking over the beautiful dancers. She wished she could do that, but she only knew the waltz after all. She felt so out of place, she looks down over her attire with a blush on her cheeks.

Her dress was a shaded purple with a black rose patterned over it, the skirts floating around her knees as she remembers her High School Prom, yes, she was re-using the dress and this time she was feeling even worse. She slowly brings up her hand, flipping open the small hand fan and hiding her face as she looks around the room again. She saw the bright colors, the elaborate masks, and the golden and silver accents. All she had in the means of jewelry was a braded black bracelet with a bead in the middle. She felt so middle school at this point as she clutches her thin cover up sleeves around her hands. She was disgraceful, she really should just leave now.

She frowns a bit, closing her eyes and then putting on a brave face as she stands up again. She decided it was time to go and look for her friends. They had to be here, right? She again reminded herself to find new ‘friends’ because frankly the ones she had were no help. She honestly knew they used her, but she just wanted to feel like she belonged even if she was inferior to all of there beauty. She slowly walks away from the wall, each step short and calculated as her eyes focus more on the crowd, less on the attire and beauty and more on the detail of the faces as her mind goes through her breathing exercised. Like when she was running for track, in the nose, out of the mouth, in and out. She needed to keep calm, she decided on one last walk around the ballroom and then she would leave.


(Sorry it is such a boring look to the post D:)
Outfit: www.polyvore.com/rafael_masquerade/set?id=52716791

[JOLENE MILLER]

Jolene could not believe that she had spent all her time and energy and cousin's money getting ready for THIS shitstain that was trying to pass itself off as a charity event. She had spent so long going to the salon and sitting there while some girl who clearly didn't know what she was doing arranged her hair in the perfect fashion and worked like a poor Indonesian sweatshop child on Jolene's nails to make sure they were filed to perfection and painted the most expensive and most luxurious color to bring accent the plain black dress she'd found for the event. If she had the chance she would gladly take back those hours and pass up this goddamn disappointment.

She had thought she'd be surrounded by celebrities! By the big names of the city eager to show off how much they cared for the poor and needy and dying children of the city! She had clearly thought wrong. All that she had for company here were the bratty high school students that thought they were so great for coming to a city wide sponsored glorified dance. The thought of spending the rest of the night ehre made Jolene sick.

Well, it made her sick until she found Eric, who would henceforth be known as the greatest bartender in the history of the world. Good lord, that man knew how to make a mixed drink to perfection. Jolene would slurp his creations to the end of time if it were possible.

Four drinks in, Jolene was starting to let loose a little, and a little loose for Jolene usually meant doing things no mere mortal would dare do in public. It was a godsent miracle that Jolene had kept her boobs firmly in place within the confines of the beautiful hollywood elite gown that she'd found.

As she whipped and whirled and krunked her way across the room, laughing hysterically at all the frightened doe-eyed faces of the brats that got in her way and looked so righteously indignant that a girl her age could want to act so repulsive. Whatever. What did those high schoolers know? This was supposed to be FUN. They were just sticks in the mud because they hadn't reached the drinking age yet and were too scared to break a little law. So what, who cared. Jolene could show up to a hearing for a public indecency trial totally hammered and she would still get off scot free because she came from old money. Simple as that.

It all came to a screeching halt when she bumped into some disgusting little high school ragamuffin who totally threw off her groove. It was despicable! The bitch had tried to trip her by getting caught underfoot! She must have SEEN Jolene dancing wildly backwards and thrown herself in the way! Jolene wouldn't STAND for such treatment!

"Hey, listen ya little slut. Where do ya think you're going, huh? Because I don't think you're going anywhere until you fucking apologize to me. Do you even know who I am!? I'm Jolene fucking Miller. I'm the greatest golfer there ever was and so fucking help me, I could buy you and whatever little shitty family you come from in a heartbeat. Now you apologize to me right this instant." Jolene's eyes were lit with the fires of indignant rage and disgust as she yelled at the despicable little whore that had gotten underfoot. Disgusting.

Outfit

[MIRIAM "EVA" ASMEROM]

So. Dances. Those were things. That people did.

Now, Eva Asmerom didn’t go to dances, any more than Eva Asmerom went to parties, or movies, or sleepovers, or any sort of function centered around pointless, frivolous shit like…what even was the point of this stupid thing, anyway? An excuse for stupid girls to get their stupid Abercrombie and Fitch boyfriends to buy them stupid little dresses that they were never going to wear ever again in their pathetic little lives? An excuse for poor-ass people to pay ten bucks and feel like they were rich for the night? An excuse for ugly-ass people to wear little masks so people would like, what, dance with them or something? Dumb. It was all dumb. This whole stupid thing was a waste of Eva’s time.

Eva brooded silently in the corner. Sure, maybe these people were mingling together, sure, maybe these girls were getting tapped on the shoulder and massaged by dudes, and sure, maybe they all had smiles on their faces and looked like they might be having a tad bit of fun, but fuck them, man. Could any of them do a Round Off ½ Turn and Handspring Front with 5/2 Twists? Eva didn’t fucking think so.

Sighing, she began to make her way across the ballroom towards the punch bowl, wondering idly how Harrison’s workout was going. It wasn’t like she was using this stupid dance as an excuse to get out of a training session with him. Nope. Not at all. Eva would never have passed up a training routine that could help her maximize her potential as an athlete. Just…okay, well, maybe it was a little bit. So? So what if she was just getting a bit sick of working her ass off for next to no results? So what if she was just getting a bit sick of Harrison, Harrison, Harrison every day, every night? You got a problem with that? Good. She hadn’t thought so. Jesus Christ.

Suddenly, Eva felt a jolt, jarring her from her musings to her senses as she zeroed in before her on…some chick? Her eyes scanned the chick before her: red hair, blue eyes, tall, skinny, the works. Considering Eva had just bumped into her, she was pretty…wait. No. Eva Asmerom did not bump into people. Eva Asmerom was an athlete, an Olympian. People bumped into her.

”Yo! Hey! Watch where you’re fucking going, you little freak!” Eva glared at the little bitch who had had the nerve to obstruct her en route to the punch bowl. ”It’s a dance not the fucking bumper car ring. Do you know who I am? I'm Miriam fucking Asmerom. World Champion Gymnast.” Sheesh. People needed to learn their place these days.

Outfit

[RAFAEL JOHN]

Her search seamed to be useless, her friends had not even shown up to the party it appeared and frankly she wasn’t very happy about it. Her nerves were slightly ticked for having spent her money on this, new stalking, and well not much else because everything she was wearing she already had owned. Then again, who could blame her? She was a full time athlete, in college, and had a job! She really did not have much time to go and try to get pretty before a party. As if it would help her anyway, in her mind.

She had spotted a lock of golden hair that shaped a silhouette that might be one of her friends when she accident cut too close to the dance floor. Instantly she was bumped into and recoiled right back into someone else. Her mind was going a hundred miles a minute as her head snapped between two girls. Both were strikingly beautiful and quiet superior in not only beauty, but also in other manners as it appeared from ones physical condition and the others obviously luxurious dress which out weighed so many others at the party. Her entire face lit up like a Christmas tree, she could not even get one word out of her mouth to apologize before the two girls, simultaneous and from either side of her now, started to snap at her.

This was not her night.

The words mingled together, ‘little slut’ ‘little freak’ ‘apologize to me’, and then they both explain at the same time. “Do you know who I am?” She blinks, looking between the two as they both go on but she zones out of there banter. Were they famous? Should she know them? She was not very up to date on pop culture but she was actually pretty sure that she recognized the profile on the brunette which seamed strange to her. She frowns a tiny bit, overwhelmed and slowly becoming more and more depressed by the second. Her inferiority was kicking in, and that was never a good thing. The distant and more shy girl was bound to snap, turning into something completely different if the wrong move was taken.

“…Whatever shitty little family you…”

Oh yes, that was it. She snapped. They had flipped her jealous bitch switch on full throttle.

Her eyes, which had perfectly matched that of a deer in a headlight switched immediately as she got a small scroll on her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. She frowned, between the both of them and said. “Uh, well excuse me for living. Miss and Misses too good to be here, if you’re here to boast about your prowess then why did you show up?” She rolled her eyes, all of the time her eyes darted over and examined every little detail about there outfits. The way they hung on there hips and shoulders, to the detail in there hair, all the way down to how tight there shoes fit to there feet. Gradually her self confidence dropped to the basement and maybe the Earths core which only made her body itch to go run. Not run away, but run to forget, to get mind off of things.

As she waited for there answer she turns to completely face the girl bond ‘golf champion’ and explain. “By the way, if you don’t want to bump into people, don’t dance while drunk. I can smell it in your breath, and I have to say that was a rather bad choice of drinks.” She then turns over to the other and with a shrug of her shoulders say, deciding that it would be a slap in the other face and it really was an accident to say. “Sorry, misses drunk toppled me over.” She watched out of the corner of her eyes to see the reaction of the drunken blonde.

[JOLENE MILLER]

Jolene was positively livid. This little skank had dared trample herself right underfoot and it was all her fault that this little spat was even going on. God, Jolene was itching to just bitch her right the fuck out, but over the hazy fog of alocohol she perceived that there was another, more interesting bitchface to go up against. This scrawny littl pup was no match for her, but this other chick, well, she certainly seemed a bit more interesting.

The moment that Jolene's brain registered the words "World Champion," some primal, bestial switch was flung deep within her. Much akin to the fight or flight response, Jolene had within her a very special set of biological instructions for what course of action to take when confronted with an equally or (shudder the thought) MORE famous young woman of high esteem and regard.

It was just her luck that this instance just so happened to be at a classy event such as this. Her responses both required high publicity and, if all went according to plan, as many witnesses as possible. Perhaps she might even be able to get the clumsy skankosaurus in on the action. It would only add to the hype.

Even when Jolene had had her usual amount to drink, her brain boiled down just such a situation as this to two options that Jolene would have to pore over to decide which would be best at this particular venue. Jolene could either A) get into a vicious catfight with this pretentious little brat an hopefully either rip her trampy weave out or leave a scar or two, or B) have one of her trademark lezbo sessions and tap that gymnast like an oil reserve.

Wait, was dumb clumsy fuck talking? Whatever. Jolene didn't have time to pay attention to the rabble. She was still deliberating whether to shove her tongue down this gymnast's throat or shove her fingernails into her eye sockets. She knew that she would have to choose soon. The window of opportunity was notoriously short-lived. Jolene still remembered the time she had been at Eric Osmond's party back West and had come across the Dairy Princess from the state of New Jersey. It had taken precisely three minutes for Jolene to give the bitch a black eye. What happened after that was just a matter for the tabloids to guess about based on pictures of the girl making a walk of shame out of Jolene's apartment the next morning.

"Listen, honey, if there's one thing you remember about me after tonight I want you to know that Jolene Miller pays for only the best drinks, and with the kind of money I had to burn and the effect I'm after there is no such thing as a bad choice in drinks," Jolene managed to slur out to the poor little girl that Jolene was ninety percent sure had made an off color reference to her drunk and disorderly behavior that evening. It wasn't the best response she could come up with, and Jolene was sure that under other circumstances she would have loved nothing more than to crush this little twat under her heel like the worm that she was, but for the moment she had more pressing girls on her mind.