The beers in the towers are all empty, a monument to the things grad students can achieve when they really put their minds to it, but one of them feels different. One of them crumples under Jupiter's hands, the tower tilts precariously, and things start moving again.
A cardboard sledder careens down the stairs at a disastrous angle and slams into the tower of beer cans. The tower crumbles, cans scatter, and partygoers throw themselves out of his way. One slams into the blonde, who stumbles forward into Alva’s chair at the exact wrong moment, and he faceplants right on the floor.
Well, almost on the floor. It’s a long second before Nes notices the dumb plastic horn with a splintered mouthpiece jabbed right into his eye.
“Shit, Alva!” Nes spits out and drops to the ground by his side. Someone’s already on the phone, calling for an ambulance in rapid Russian. “Shit, fuck, Alva, your eye, Laveau’s la—”
Nes stops, midsentence, and quirks her head. She can see the person on the phone from here; a petite blonde girl with a whole lotta boobs. And if no one here understands Russian, don’t worry. Nes sure as hell does.
Her tone changes abruptly, and she looks down at Alva as he yanks the vuvuzela from his eye. “Did she just call you her boyfriend?”
Alva pauses. Potentially considers stabbing the horn back on his face before letting go. It clatters to the floor. Everything stops again, a sheepish smile frozen on his face.
MEMORY: Party Games
A cardboard sledder careens down the stairs at a disastrous angle and slams into the tower of beer cans. The tower crumbles, cans scatter, and partygoers throw themselves out of his way. One slams into the blonde, who stumbles forward into Alva’s chair at the exact wrong moment, and he faceplants right on the floor.
Well, almost on the floor. It’s a long second before Nes notices the dumb plastic horn with a splintered mouthpiece jabbed right into his eye.
“Shit, Alva!” Nes spits out and drops to the ground by his side. Someone’s already on the phone, calling for an ambulance in rapid Russian. “Shit, fuck, Alva, your eye, Laveau’s la—”
Nes stops, midsentence, and quirks her head. She can see the person on the phone from here; a petite blonde girl with a whole lotta boobs. And if no one here understands Russian, don’t worry. Nes sure as hell does.
Her tone changes abruptly, and she looks down at Alva as he yanks the vuvuzela from his eye. “Did she just call you her boyfriend?”
Alva pauses. Potentially considers stabbing the horn back on his face before letting go. It clatters to the floor. Everything stops again, a sheepish smile frozen on his face.