2019.04.19: Curry Vs. Curry!

Curry Vs. Curry!
A random encounter at a random Sorority Party!
IC Date	2019.04.19
Players	Austin, Cheree
Location	Alpha Chi Omega House
Spheres	Mortal

The 2018-2019 school year is coming to a close at UC Prospect. Any day now, students will need to start hitting the books and doing all the last-minute cramming and prep and writing they need for finals. Naturally, this calls for certain ceremonies, to guide the transition from school year to finals to summer break. One of these ceremonies is letting everyone get all their partying out of their system before hunkering down for finals with an absolute fucking rager.

This isn't the only rager that's blazing on campus tonight, but it IS the one that Alpha Chi Omega is hosting at their sorority house. No one could agree on a truly great theme so everyone settled for the merely good one of Golden State Warriors vs. Portland Trailblazers in the NBA playoffs. Basketball-themed costuming necessary. There are a lot of suspiciously short Kevin Durants roaming around, and more than a few cheerleaders. 'Eh' theme aside, the party is wild. Multi-colored Jell-O shots and cocktails with shit in them to make them glow under a blacklight. A playlist that, in a word, slaps -- though all anyone can really make out under the din of the crowd is the heaviest bass parts. Plenty of friends invited, and friends of friends who also showed up. No one's thrown up on any carpets yet, or tried to drunkenly chest-pass a basketball right into anyone's face. It's walking that razor's edge of nearly giving the campus police cause to shut it down, but never quite giving them ENOUGH cause.

Cheree Crowley is a sophomore, 20 years old, tattooed, pale, black hair, dressed in a Steph Curry jersey so fitted to her slender body that it must have been from the children's section, matching Golden State branded short-shorts, and sneakers in the team colors that probably cost a few hundred dollars from some eBay sneakerhead scalper, minimum. She's also got the terrycloth wristbands and sweatband in the Warriors colors, though she's wearing the latter more as a hair accessory than for any functional purpose. And she's maybe a little too loud as she comments to one of the other Alpha Chi Omega sisters, "I can't believe no one here has any coke--!"

Austin Fitzgerald typically isn't the type of partygoer to go in on the whole 'themed party' concept, not unless it's something like Halloween or Christmas. 'Finals' didn't strike him as enough of a reason to wear something that he'd really not be caught dead in the rest of the week. But when Jasmine hit him up about this party and told him to go get some Warriors kit, he figured it'd be a good way to get to know the female student body before starting next semester.

He gets through the door on the merits of the Warrior's jersey thrown on his upper body, CURRY branded across the shoulders, over a pair of baggy basketball shorts and sneakers so brand new they may as well still have the tags on them. He's colored his hair for the occaision in the colors of the Warriors, screamingly bright under the blacklights; the dye job probably cost more than the outfit. Shooting a quick text to Jasmine, the phone disappears into a pocket and he starts making his way through the crowd, eyeing the frat boys and the sorority girls in turn as he looks for a drink, trying not to bump into anyone too badly. Not yet, anyway.

Cheree finishes her conversation more quietly, though the irritation is written on her face. What's she supposed to do, just be DRUNK? She's already drunk. (Pre-gaming started around two in the afternoon, and we're talking about a woman who's five-three and maybe a little over a hundred pounds.) Cheree excuses herself and then happens to walk right into the crosshairs of one A. Fitzgerald. She spots him first. "Fuck yeah, dude!"

The 'dudes' come out more frequently the more alcohol Cheree has in her system -- this is a matter of sorority, if not public, record. They also really give away just how much of a California-gurl she really is, pale skin and bug tattoos aside. "Steph fuckin' Curry, dude!" She turns around and points to the name on the back of the Boys' Husky sized jersey she's wearing. "Do you need a drink? I'm gonna go get, like, a drink. I love the hair--!"

Austin didn't pregame that hard, so he doesn't stumble as Cheree emerges out of the crowd flinging 'dudes!' around like they were twenties at a strip club, and even with his pupils wildly dilated from what he did partake of prior to arrival he can appreciate how well the pale skinned Valley Girl can fill out a boy's jersey. "Would love a drink!" he replies, a step in and his lanky frame pent slightly towards her so he doesn't have to yell quite as loud.

A hand runs up through his hair, shaking out the spikes a bit better before gesturing for her to lead the way to the promised drinks. "Thanks! Wasn't sure if I was gonna really end up in..." and he plucks at the front of the jersey, pulling it out a bit before it falls back over his body "...so I figured I'd go big.." and a gesture up to his hair. It's the shades of blue and gold that you really don't see on physical hair, maybe a cartoon character or something.

"Dude, the hair makes you look like you're in a K-pop group or something," Cheree laughs. She moves pretty well for someone who is visibly (and audibly) drunk. She's keeping her balance and only slurring her words a little. "Heyyy--!" she says, voice raising an octave, to wave to someone else in passing. Then, back to focusing on Austin. "We have, um, Jell-O shots, we have the vanilla vodka and Monster Energy ones, we have the coconut rum and Sprite ones, I think there's also just like vodka and tonic water if you want, or whatever, there's... I though there was beer, maybe someone drank all the-- no, there it is, we have beer." Cheree stops at the drinks table and sticks her hand out, weirdly formally. "I'm Cheree. I'm gonna drink the coconut rum and Sprite one."

Following the inebriated Cheree along through the crowd, Austin's attention still slips here and there at all the pseudo basketball players and cheerleaders in outfits that would give the NBA an aneurysm, appreciating the collegiate form before he has the drink table to appreciate in turn.

His eyes flick across the various drinks as Cheree lists them off in turn, dancing here and there over the spread of alcoholic concoctions. "Austin.." he offers his name and takes the proferred hand in a shake, distracted from the drinks by the pale girl's pronouncement. "Probably just start with a couple of Jell-O shots, myself." he says, plucking two of the brightly colored drinks off the table and offering one of them to Cheree. "Gonna have one with me?"

Cheree, being as short and as slender as she is, really puts an exaggeration on the handshake. It's not that she's being formal -- she's play acting. Bending foward at the waist a bit, keeping her legs straight, going for the handshake like she's trying to make her arm undulate like a sound wave. "Oh! Austin, like, Jasmine's friend Austin? Or -- I mean, THE Jasmine's friend Austin, not, I mean, I don't know if she knows, like, some other Austins or whatever, I mean, probably -- there are like, only so many names out there, right -- but like, no, yeah, she said that she invited an Austin, and -- are you her Austin? Or -- why is the Jell-O shot not in my mouth yet, let's put the Jell-O shots in our mouths and then continue the conversation after we, like, swallow."

He's not far enough gone to play along with the overplayed handshake; give him a couple of drinks and we'll see; so he just appreciates the lines of Cheree's shorter form as she bows and shakes. "I know Jasmine, yeah. Unless you've got another Jasmine in the Sorority who happens to also have a best friend named Austin." Stranger things have happened, after all.

As Cheree gets far enough to wonder why she hasn't taken the shot yet, Austin obliges by spinning the glass between thumb and forefinger until it's perched in the perfect shot position and then pops it into Cheree's mouth before she can close her lips around the swallow.

Probably not the first time someone's popped something in Cheree's mouth with little warning, and probably not the last, either.

Once she's been plugged with a Jell-O shot, Austin tosses back his own, twisting the glass and cramming the tip of his tongue up in there to get the last of the akly goodness.

The question of whether there's a Jasmine II (and an Austin II) seems to distract Cheree just long enough that she's easy prey Austin to do stuff to her mouth, as the saying goes. She's surprised for a second, and then tries to laugh, and then has to abruptly stop trying to laugh before she's even begun because if she laughs the Jell-O will fall out of her mouth, and then she swallows. "Do you really just go around putting whatever you want in innocent young women's mouths whenever you feel like?" Cheree teases, grinning. Apparently the boldness impressed her. "Yeah, you're Jasmine's best friend, all right."

"Considerin' how you just swallowed that shot, find me an innocent young woman and we'll see." Austin replies as he flicks the now-empty shotglass into wherever the empties are going, and then straightening up to his tip toes to dramatically look over the heads of the crowd. "...this is a sorority party, after all." he says as he drops back down onto his heels, and then starts picking through the drinks on the table to come up with a vodka that's not flavored and an energy drink that's almost a Red Bull.

Mixing the two over a bed of ice in a cup, he glances back over towards Cheree. "Guilty as charged. Glad to hear that my reputation is proceeding me, even if my BFF didn't!" he caps the bottles and then takes a swig of his drink. "That'll work..." he says to himself, lifting a finger from the rim of the glass to rub at his nose. "Yer in Alpha Chi too?" he asks the obvious question while he identifies something that looks like coconut rum and Sprite for Cheree, passing it to her while he waits for the answer.

The bowls were, at one point, labeled -- with signs that quickly fell by the wayside and now the process tends to involve some amount of taste-testing. "Yeah. Everyone says I don't look like a sorority girl but, like, dude, it's just the genetic lottery, or whatever. My dad comes from a long line of Englishmen who can't go out in the sun for more than, like, two seconds, because they're from whatever part of England, like, whatever county or shire or whatever is like, perpetually overcast to the point that you probably can't even, like, keep plants alive or whatever. I mean, yeah, I'm Alpha Chi. I'm Cheree," she says, introducing herself again, without the handshake. She accepts the clear plastic Solo cup of what she hopes is coconut-rum-and-Sprite and then starts to say, "I think Jasmine said--"

Then, because Cheree started taking a sidestep without looking where she was going, someone bumps right into her -- well, she bumps into them, really -- and that Solo cup tumbles out of her grip and splashes all down the front of her Warriors jersey. "Oh-- DUDE! Dude, what the FUCK! FUCK, dude!" She puffs out her cheeks and is clearly holding back more swearing. Then she grabs Austin by the wrist and starts dragging him away. She's not that strong, but she does have momentum on her side. "I gotta go change and I wanna keep talking," she explains, as she drags Austin through the crowd and up the stairs. Certainly this won't lead to any misunderstandings if any sorority sisters or best friends were to walk in on anything.

Not quite sure if Cheree's like this because she's drunk or because that's just the way the gothling Cali girl is, Austin keeps drinking his knockoff Red Bull & Vodka as she chatters on, maybe trying to keep up. He certainly doesn't try to put a word in edgewise, recognizing that it'd be a lost cause. Well, maybe, because he does open his mouth to try and interject a "...I've seen England, it's pretty green all over..."

And then Cheree ends up wearing the drink he plucked off the table for her. He's quick enough to back out of splash range, the squeak of his sneakers lost in the bass beat as he scoots backwards. When Cheree grabs up his wrist he's more surprised than anything else, but rolls with it easily enough, following along as he's pulled through the crowd, his own cup bouncing up over the heads of those he squeezes through as he's dragged towards the stairs.

Cheree dragging a guy up the stairs can really only be interpretted in one way by the crowd, and was that a whistle from one of the other Sorority girls close enough to the stairs to see it happen? Why not, Austin's not that bad. "Alright!" he manages as he's drug up the stairs, also managing not to spill his own drink as he reaches the second floor.

Upstairs, the party is... less of a party. That's because most people have gone upstairs either to fuck or get high in something resembling privacy, so Cheree dragging Austin upstairs is taken as either/or from those options by any onlookers. Cheree's room isn't a far drag, in any event. Right on the second floor. She nudges the door with her foot as if expecting to see people screwing on her bed. There are none.

"Don't shut it all the way or people will think we have drugs," Cheree says as she lets go of Austin and then moves further into the room. It's small, a single with the bed/desk/dresser one would expect, and lots and lots of shit put up everywhere. A concert poster from Beyonce in Los Angeles, little mini-Polaroids of herself with friends, little knick-knacks and personal mementos and all kinds of clutter that acts as a room-sized scrapbook. There's at least a lot to look at. "Last year I had a double with this girl who, like, got all fucked up on benzos and thought she was Jesus Christ and got thrown out for, like, posting messages online about how she was going to try to swallow her own head or something, like, it wasn't really kicked out but it was kind of a, like, psych ward kind of a thing and I don't think the school was really gonna let her back in, because, like, dude, swallowing your own head, come on."

Cheree moves to her wardrobe -- a standalone two-door cabinet of a thing -- and opens one of the bottom drawers. She also pulls off the Steph Curry jersey, not shy at all about standing there in her black bralette. "If you're not gonna be weird, you can look, but don't look if you know you're gonna be weird, okay? But like, anyway, they let me have a single this year because last year I was with the crazy benzo girl. I think I have a Draymond Green jersey from last year... fuck, dude... anyway, I kind of miss crazy benzo girl? Because, like, she'd just GIVE me shit. I didn't even have to PAY."

Certainly not the room Austin would have expected from the look of Cheree, even if the mouth should have given it away. He was clearly (well, maybe not clearly to the drunk girl) expecting a lot more lace and dark colors, not posters of Beyonce and shit. Another drink from his solo cup as he kicks out a sneaker to stop the door from closing all the way, and then he chuckles "...but I do have drugs..." to himself. Whether Cheree notices or not in her rambling....

He's not awkward as he stands in a clear spot in her room, head swivelling to the sides to take in all the knick knackery and the slim gothling in her black bralett, because who isn't going to look anyway? "I knew a guy at school with Jasmine that could swallow his own head..." a beat as he takes another drink "...probably not the way this chick was talking, though."

As Cheree digs through her Ikea closet, he lifts the hem of his shirt. "If yer really that concerned about going back out there in a jersey, you can just wear mine." he says, lifting it to reveal the white tank underneath. "Shorts should be good enough, yeah?" he flicks leg the Warrior's brand shorts. Speaking of people who just give stuff away. "...it's not like I'm big on basketball or anything, hell you can turn it into a tankini or something, shred it to hell."

Cheree doesn't have many MORE tattoos that weren't previously visible, but a couple. "Dude, no, then you don't have a jersey. It's a theme party. It's like if you were one of the med students who just went in your scrubs and said 'I'm a doctor' or whatever. Lame, dude." Cheree is digging to the bottom of the drawer. "FOUND it."

Cheree turns to pull the Draymond Green jersey on. Same colors, different name, #23 instead of #30. The way she stretches her arms up to pull it on -- look, we won't beat around the bush here, she's in shape. Not shredded, but definitely toned. "Now we're not twins anymore," she mock-pouts through a grin. "Dude, did you say you knew a guy who could suck his own cock?" she then asks, as she moves to nudge the door shut with the heel of her sneaker. "Also, the thing before that."

There's a loud rude noise coming from Austin's lips at her defense of the themed party, but he's no longer offering to give Cheree the jersey off his own pack as she slithers into a new one of her own. Then another dose of the liquid courage as he tracks back through the conversation. "Yup. He'd have to be, like, sitting on his head and bending in half, but he could get a good couple of inches down..." there's another pause, and a bit of a grin flicks across Austin's features, "...and he certainly knew what he was doing with the tip..."

Nostalgia flickers away as he tracks further back. "What, the drugs thing? Who doesn't." he asks, pulling a small case out of another pocket, flicking his wrist back and forth with it gripped between thumb and forefinger. "Dunno if you're into coke, though."

"I'm gonna steal you from Jasmine and you're gonna be my best friend, dude. She's just gonna have to live with that." Cheree pushes away from the door and moves to the wall where a bunch of vinyl LPs are hung in cheap frames. She takes one down... "Wait, no, this is my dad's band. That's too weird. Doing coke off of my dad. It'd be like... doing coke... off of my dad."

Cheree puts that one back up, and takes down a different one. 'A Blaze in the Northern Sky' by Darkthrone. Probably more in line with what Austin was expecting out of the goth overtones. She sets it on her bed and sits, bouncing her shoulders from side to side. "Do you want music on? We can put music on. But then people will really think we're fucking, because who would put on music except to cover up that they're fucking?"

"That would be a yes to the coke then." Austin announces the obvious, and looks for a place to set down his drink as Cheree pulls down frames for the glass. Both hands freed, he pops the case open. About the size of a cigarette case, one side is a polished mirror with a razor and a teensy little spoon laying there, and the other is enclosed in another flip-up lid. That's where the good stuff hides, and once Cheree decides on a frame "...Yeah, no, I try not do coke off anyone's parents, too weird afterwards..." he sits down on the bed across from her over the frame.

"Music if you want, don't particularly care myself..." he says, his focus narrowing down with laser-like precision as he starts to spoon out a pair of lines of cocaine. The razor is taken to the rows of powder, tick tick ticking as he brings everything up neatly. His wallet appears out of a pocket, and from the wallet appears a Benjamin which remains even after the wallet disappears back to which it came. Clasping the edges of the bill between his fingers, Austin begins to roll it into a tight tube. "Ladies first..." he offers the tube across to her.

Cheree leans over to grab her phone from one of her shorts' pockets and swipe through screens until there's music coming out of it. Some Spotify dance music playlist that's all Diplo and Peggy Gou and Chainsmokers and so forth. The bump of the main party's stereo is still coming through, but at least there's something else to listen to.

Cheree watches the preparations with the intense interest of someone trying to overcome being drunk. She takes the hundred bucks and grins. "Oh? I thought that meant you'd be going," she teases, and then breaks into a laugh. Then, a second later, she's down and hoovering, half into one nostril, half into the other, and then she's up, handing the rolled-up note back over, and gasping, "FUCK. Dude. Where did you go to school with Jasmine, dude, fucking Bolivia?" She rubs her nostrils and makes a face like she's trying to vacuum-seal her face around her teeth. "Fuck, it's like, my teeth are like, numb and on fire at the same time."

Between the subaudible bassline still thrumming up through the floorboards and the music from Cheree's phone, Austin's head is bopping about as she shifts about to take the offering. "Good shit, ain't it?" he asks as she snorts up the last of it and gasps.

Two hands snake out, one for the rolled up bill and the other for his drink, taking a quick gulp of the latter. "Did a semester with her at a private school in England." he explains, gesturing in a vaguely eastern direction with the rolled dollar. "...I just know people who fly down to Bolivia on the reg." he says, offering her his solo cup before he starts to set up his own two lines of coke.

Cheree is getting all sped up. She keeps moving her mouth without speaking, like she's trying to re-teach herself how to swallow. Her palms rub against her bare thighs. "Dude, yes! Jasmine said she went to school in England. That's like, how she and I first like, started talking, because, like, she went to that English school, with, like, you, and my dad's from England and it's like that was how we kind of broke the ice and then we just kinda had a lot of common and like I think I'm sounding like it's a meet-cute from a movie or something like we're dating or whatever but no like, I'm pretty sure she's straight or whatever, I mean, you'd probably know better than me and it's like I'm not judging her or whatever because like yeah it's not something you actually decide on your own but you know like I've only ever gone to England to like visit grandparents and it's like I wish I could go there more because like my grandparents live in this really kind of like sketchy and crappy place called like Rugby if you've ever heard of it but I bet your school was somewhere cooler because you look like someone who'd be from like a cool part of England--" She's going to keep going on like this until it's her turn again.

"She might dabble..." Austin manages to interject between the words tumbling from Cheree's mouth and the tick tick tick of the razor's edge on glass. Jasmine'll likely punch him, but she's not here to defend herself from all sorts of fun rumors he can start with her sorority sisters. "I thought Rugby was a sport. That's like calling a town Basketball, that's just weird..." tick tick tick.

Once the lines are assembled to Austin's satisfaction, he slips from the bed and drops down to his knees rather than trying to bend in half, bringing him down low enough so he just has to lean forwards a bit to snuffle up his own aisles of powder. Snooooooooooooort. Snooooooooooooooort. Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng.

There's no gasping, just a low grunt through a clenched jaw as he sucks it down, head twitching back as it hits his lungs. Okay, so there's a little bit of a gasp as he exhales, but nothing as dramatic. Just his eyes going wide and his pupils going even wider as he rocks back on his heels. "...not from England..." his voice is a little hoarse, and he reaches for his solo cup to wet everything back down. "...just went to school there for a year..."

"Yeah I was, like, wondering about the accent, but my dad's mostly lost his from living in California so long, so, like, yeah," Cheree says, in more words than are strictly necessary. "But, like, dude, rugby IS a sport. Where do you think it was invented? Rugby. Like how baseball was invented in, you know, Baseballtown."

Cheree slips down off of the bed to join Austin on the floor. The attitude seems to be 'why not?' "Do you think I'm weird?" she asks, abruptly. "Like, I know we've barely known each other 30 seconds and we're doing drugs together and I keep talking about where my dad is from because I'm, like, trying to impress you that I'm not just some dumb bitch from Ojai, which, I mean, I totally am, but, like, you know, am I weird?" She looks down at the tattoos of insects near her left elbow and then back up at Austin. "Will you cut me another line while you decide--?"

The Baseballtown comment brings a bit of a hysterical giggle up from Austin's middle. A little too high pitched and wired. "That's Coopertown, not Baseballtown." he counters after washing the giggle down with a swig of his drink. "What's weird?" he asks.

Austin gestures to her room and hands off his cup, since she's requested another line. "It's a party, people are always hooking up for booze or drugs or fuckin'. I know your name..." remembering it is a different story "...so that's better than prolly yer sisters in the other rooms got..." tick tick tick tick. "...you talk like a Valley Girl but yer all tatted up and dress like a goth..." tick tock tick "...I spent a year in England learning ma-aaaaaaaathmatics from stuffy ass professors who looked like Harry Potter casting rejects..." he definitely changed his answer there. "...and I'm cutting lines for a hyperactive goth valley girl on an album cover." Or he was, as he just finished, and scoots over so Cheree can get up on her knees and do something freaky with her nose. "We're all weird, so what?"

"I'm not a valley girl," Cheree protests, but through a smile. "I mean. Ojai's in a valley. But a different valley. Trust me." Then she gets up on her knees and does something freaky with her nose. She wiggles her butt while she does it, like she can't help herself.

"Thaaank you," Cheree drawls when she drops back down, having knocked out what was teed up for her. "Dude, like, I can like, feel this shit in my spinal column." She giggles. Her face is flushed, which is an unfortunate side effect of being so pale and then doing really, really good coke. "I like goth stuff, though. Like. It looks cool. But I like other stuff too. I don't like this fucking playlist, this sucks. Sorry, but it fucking sucks." She grabs her phone, violently, and starts swiping and tapping like it's a revenge mission. Finally, a looped Jackson 5 snippet starts coming out of it before Cheree mouths along to Jay-Z in Austin's direction: 'H to the Izzo, V to the Izzay...'

"Valley's a valley's a space between mountains or something..." Austin replies, distracted by the butt wiggling for a moment. He is what he is, coked up or not. He takes another drink, not in too much of a rush to queue himself up another helping of the Really Good Shit he's packing. "I get the Really Good Shit." he announces. "...not that local shit they cut with rat poison and shit.." he swings the cup around as he continues his pronouncement, managing to keep what little liquid remains in the cup. "And feel free to play whatever the shit you want." another gesture towards Cheree's phone, even as she attacks it. "...yer room, yer phone. Do what you want." he offers as she swipes for something reasonable. As Jay-Z starts up he gives an appreciative nod of the head. He doesn't sing along, but his head bobs to the beat.

Where Austin is bobbing his head, Cheree is dancing. Sat cross-legged on the floor, her legs are still while she animates her upper body. This has the unfortunate side effect of the music moving around the space of the room in front of Austin because she's still holding the phone in her hand. Still -- she's on beat, and moving in such a way that it can't just be a side effect of the cocaine. Especially when she freezes completely on a dime, winks at Austin, and then starts dancing again, never straying off-beat. Even the wink was on cue.

"So do you sell this shit? Or are you just, like, rich?" Cheree asks it with the eager tactlessness of someone who's both drunk and high. "I'm not gonna rat you out or whatever, I mean, obviously, like, dude," she says, grinning and rubbing her finger under her nostrils for emphasis, "but like, I have a scrip for Adderall but trust me, I need more than what my doctor's gonna give me because, like, I can only pretend to have so much ADHD, you know? So I'm just saying, like, you know, if you sell shit, maybe..."

Leaning back against the side of Cheree's bed, Austin can appreciate the show that she's putting on. Whether it's for his benefit, a side effect of the booze and the drugs, or a combination of both, he doesn't rightly care as he tips back his cup and takes a drink. Finishing it off or finding it already empty by the look of disappointment across his features.

As the tactless question comes up, Austin can only reply in an ambigious shrug as he rises back up to his knees and slowly turns back towards her bed. The watch on his wrist says its time for another dose. "I don't really proscribe to the whole deeeeeeeealer thing.." he begins as he starts scratching out a pair of fat lines for himself. "Just not in my nature..." as an undeclared-to-others-in-the-room Ecstatic anyway. "...nor my ways. I like to share.." he says, gesturing to the sprinkling of white powder that strays across her framed album. And then he dips his head to snort those two fat lines up in two hefty inhales through the nose. "....and enjooooy..." he finishes, his voice a little husky as he rocks back again. "...shit."

Cheree sets the phone on the bed next to the framed album. So now a person of such a mind can listen to the Classic Hip-Hop playlist while doing drugs off of a Norwegian black metal record. Some combinations just come together nicely. "Well, I very much appreciate your NATURE, Austin, Mr. Austin Steph Curry, not from England but who studied MATHS there with Mad-Eye Moody and Remus Lupin," she grins. "Especially if it means you're not going to demand some cash from me." She's stopped dancing, somewhat. She's still rocking from side to side, but her palms come down to rub her bare thighs again. "Besides, I'm told that the private company of a fine young woman dressed up like she's a Golden State Warrior is, in fact, the compensation many men wish they were brave enough to ask for."

There's a calculation to be made here, as Cheree somewhat settles down, rubbing palms on her bare thighs. What that calculation might be, Austin will surely sort it out eventually. He does offer her a grin though as he settles back on his haunches and then whoomps onto his ass, legs going out from under him. He doesn't fall back, he just took a faster way down to his butt than one normally might. "No, no, I don't make people pay..." he answers, shaking his head with that deliberate slowness of someone whose partying might be gaining on him. "....not unless they're assholes, and you don't seem like an asshole to me, Cheree. Not like some of Jasmine's other friends." a dismissive gesture, replete with middle finger in the air, for unnamed friends of Jasmine. Then he squints across at her. "....the dressed up like a Golden State Warrior really doesn't do much for me, honestly. Was never much into sports and all that. Not basketball, at least."

"Really? You could screw me and pretend in your mind you're actually screwing a seven foot tall black man." Cheree wags her dark eyebrows. "Seems like it'd be a good deal to me." She then breaks her poker face, which was not super impressive to begin with, and giggles. "So you don't like basketball. You DO like cocaine. You DON'T like some of Jasmine's other friends. You DO like Jasmine. You DON'T like making me pay for drugs. So you probably DO like me. And thank you for recognizing that I am a VERY likable person." Cheree laughs. "What else do you like? Tell me all your secrets, Austin, I wanna act like I guessed them out of thin air and drive Jasmine completely insane."

"If that means that you're gonna screw me and pretend that I'm really a seven foot tall black man, I might be a little offended.." Austin counters as he levers himself back up off the floor and onto unsteady feet. Looking down on Cheree, he pats at his shorts and grumbles something about pockets as he looks forlornly at his empty cup. "Sex, drugs, rock and roll. Y'know, the usual." he gestures with his right hand, fingers flexing and twisting about for a moment. "...not really one to spill all my secrets on a girl I've just met tho..." It's not his secrets that he's usually spilling all over them.

"Hell, just tell her that..." there's a pause, like an internal debate going on as he shakes his head to himself, "...well shit, I dunno..." another shrug "...guess I'm not that interesting..." he says, swaying a bit on his feet.

"Steph Curry's only six-three, dude," Cheree chirps through a coy little smile. Cheree gets back to her feet, too, and rests a hand on Austin's chest. It requires reaching up a bit. She's short. "You okay, Austin?" She's got the unusually sharp expression of someone who's got an illegal stimulant barreling around in their brain, but it's at least genuine concern. "You can hang out in here if you want. Like, if you pinky-swear not to go through my panties I'll let you be and you can rest or whatever. And I did the Marie Kondo thing and I know the order that I put them in the drawer in so I'll know if they're messed with. Just saying. But, like, dude. Here, let's... get your little kit back together..." She reaches down for the razorblade and the case, trying to remember how everything went in there, in what order, trying to reverse it.

Austin gives a deliberately slow shake of the head at the offer to rest, "Naw, I'm good, usually I just space it out a bit more than this.." he gestures to the glass and his paraphenalia, while not quite leaning into Cheree's hand for the support. "...and not answeirn' twen'y questions while I'm at it.."

He gives another shake of his head, "Here, cut yourself another line..." a 'go for it' gesture is made towards his drugs "...I just need some water and another drink."

"Dude, I think if I do another line of this shit my heart will fucking explode out of my chest and I have to save that for a Halloween party," Cheree giggles. "How about we get you downstairs and maybe outside for some fresh air and we can come up and treat ourselves to what-ev-errr we like when we feel we've suitably spaced it out?" She picks up the album cover frame, with all the gear still on it, and very carefully and gently sets it on the floor and nudges it under her bed. "There. So if you come back without me, you know where your shit is."

Austin goes a little squinty-eyed as Cheree stashes his stash under her bed, but seems to accept the compromise. "Yeah, like I said, just need to get myself another drink." As the high continues on, he's handling it a bit better. He's not swaying nearly as much in the center of the room. "Just don' go stealing that case. Don' care about the coke, you can have it all if you want..." he waves vaguely towards the stash now hiding under her bed. "...but the case is snetimental."

There's a pause, and then his hand comes up across his own cheek, a nice hard SLAP across the face.

"Whooo! Okay now, that's a bit better." he says, his words nowhere near as slurred as before. "So, want another Jell-O shot stuffed in your mouth?" he offers with a waggle of brows.

"Dude, why would I steal your case," Cheree says, as she opens the door. "What does Jasmine TELL you about us?" She's riding her buzz as well, having calmed down a LITTLE from the run-on sentences she was carpet-bombing Austin with earlier. "And only if I get to do one to you, too," she winks, as she leads the way back down the stairs, back to the main party.

Austin offers a shrug to that. "...it's shiny? I dunno.." As Cheree propositions him in turn, he makes a popping noise with his lips before running his tongue across them and repeating the brow waggling. Then it's back out onto the second floor, where the beat of the bassline is only mostly drowning out the beat of headboards against the wall. He follows Cheree down the stairs, pausing to thump loudly on one particular door and yell "CAMPUS POLICE" in a gruff voice before giggling and scurrying down the stairs.

To his credit he doesn't go down them head first.

Then he's back on the first floor and the main party, head up and tracking both Cheree and the drink table.