dollpocalypse: (twenty: smirk)
It had officially been forever since the guys' last drinking night, so with the six of them all on the island for a weekend, there was really no excuse not to have some kind of gathering. And since Topher's hotel room had space on the ceiling and awesome futuristic-looking furniture, there was pretty much exactly no question about where this gathering would be.

And with an alcohol tolerance that had been drastically reduced by going almost fourteen years without drinking at all, Topher stood a very high chance of getting stupidly drunk tonight. It was probably going to be hilarious.

The bar was stocked to capacity with, among other things, every necessary ingredient for every girly cocktail ever invented, and Topher had hauled the entire contents of his office's Drawer of Inappropriate Starches onto the table for the occasion. (Ivy would get more for him before he got back to LA, he was sure. ...He was mostly sure.)

"B-t-dubs, there's astronaut ice cream in the bathtub," Topher announced loudly to everyone. "...No idea why it's there. But Ben gets last dibs."

Cruel, Topher. Cruel.

[[for the 20-years-older nerds! let's see if two decades made them more responsible.]]

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