It wouldn’t be a party without Mike the cool person trying to chat up at least one girl.
The clock said - although Rick and Vyvyan couldn’t read it - that it was now half past two in the morning. This meant that most people had already gone home and left the student house an even greater dump than usual: broken bottles, empty cups and suspicious stains were a few of the unpleasant additions now littering the kitchen and drawing room. Neil especially was scared to check upstairs for the havoc that had surely transpired throughout the bedrooms. It was Mike then, the suavest of the group, with his confidence exacerbated further by the alcohol, who was the one trying the keep the party’s spirit going.
There were a couple of girls still hanging around and Mike took this as a sign of interest. Specifically, of interest in him. Rick had sighed angrily and made enough pointed glares at them to suggest that he wanted them to go but of course he would do this, Mike reasoned, because he knew that there wasn’t a lion (never mind a cat) in hell’s chance of them sleeping with him when Mike was a viable option. He wandered over to the so-called people’s poet to assure him that the girls would be out of his sight soon enough.
“Uh, Mike, are you sure you can even… you know,” Rick laughed childishly at the suggestion of sex, “You have had a lot to dwrink. Besides, bir- I mean girls aren’t just for pervy bedtime adventures.” He always had to take some kind of moral high ground, didn’t he?
“I’m a romantic, I know ALL the pick-up-lines. Every single one. The likelihood of me not scoring is exactly the same as the number of elephants who’ve been to the moon: none,” Mike told him very seriously, taking no note of Rick’s slight confusion, “Now, do we have an understanding or do you need further persuasion?” He pointed vaguely at Vyvyan, who was lying sprawled across the couch with a half drunk bottle of vodka. Rick rolled his eyes.
“Oh, how very mature of you! Trying to intimidate me with someone so clearly out of it I bet he couldn’t even hit me if I was stood right next to him!” the poet declared, crossing his arms smugly. A moment later, the half drunk bottle of vodka smashed into his face, causing him to yell out dramatically.
“Shut up, you poof!” Vyvyan growled in annoyance, getting up to stomp off upstairs.
“Vyvyan! You bastard! You could have killed me!” Rick screamed at him, seeming to have forgotten the girls in his fury as he tore after the punk. Mike turned to Neil, who was sitting slouched in a corner with a typically sour look on his face.
“Am I going to have any trouble?” he asked.
“No but, I mean, even if you were and it was from me it’s not like you’d notice anyway because no one ever reacts to a single thing I do in this house-” the hippie continued to complain about how badly done to he was but Mike was already gone.
He sauntered over to the girls. Two! Not a bad old number!
“Hello ladies, lovely evening, wouldn’t ya say?” he greeted, slinking his arm skilfully around the closest one, a blonde. She and her friend looked him up and down in mild disdain.
“Sorry, who are you?” the blonde asked whilst removing his arm from her waist. Mike laughed as if she’d said something hilarious.
“My name’s Michael but you can call me the man of your dreams. I live here, I have the biggest bedroom,” he informed her suggestively, lightly pinching her bottom. Her friend, a brunette, gasped and slapped him across the face.
“Sexist pig! Come on, Jen, this party’s been dead for hours,” she grumbled and took her friend’s hand. The duo quickly existed, leaving Mike stood in the middle of the room with quite literally a red face.
Neil clapped from his corner.
“Nice to see someone else have the bad luck for a change,” the hippie told him. He sounded almost amused. Mike let out a long sigh and made his way towards the staircase.
“Don’t breathe a word of that to anyone, Neil, you hear me?”