"Hey, Vi-let, I'm bored" Zoey said after a few hours. "I'm going bungee jumping! See you on the roof later!" she weaved through the dancing crowd so she could get to the stairs. Pausing at the foot of them, she turned back, looking at the liquor table. She waned to bring a bottle of vodka up with her. But she didn't want to walk all the way over there.
No problem.
She made a sheild, which appeared as a bright green curve, close enough to knock a half-empty vodka bottle off the table. Before it hit the ground, she removed the first sheild and placed a new one undeerneath it.
The bottle bounced off the sheild, flying towards Zoey. People got out of the way, knowing the bottle'd never make it there. But Zoey just moved the sheild along the dance floor, so the bottle bounced off again and again. Finally, with one last bounce, it flew to her. She caught it and screwed off the cap, taking a long drink. She laughed; she'd been perfecting that trick for weeks, practicing in her room. She ran up the stairs.
She strapped on a jacket eagerly, shaking in anticipation. This was going to be so bubbly! She looked down at the road, where she saw a kid dressed in brown with what looked like leaves on his head. A latecomer to the party. She was going to scare the bejeezus out of him. She grinned, cluthcing the vodka bottle tightly in one hand, and jumped.
Zane was late. Braiding those stupid leaves together was much harder than it'd looked.
When he'd heard tonights party was a costume party, his first thought, probably like most of the druggies here, had been wondering what the heck he was going to wear. But his was a slightly different reason. As a resistance member living in the forest, he didn't exactly have access to a large amount of fashion choices, and a convincing costume would be crucial to making him blend in.
Finally he'd settled on a Roman Ceaser, in a play he'd seen with his family when he was very, very young. What had it been called again? He'd distracted himself fora moment, trying to remember. Jesus Christ Superstar, that was it. He'd seen it at a highschool when he was only a preschooler. Zoey's best friend had been in it, playing some prostitute Jesus befriended (yes that actually happens, look it up
). So he'd found himself an old brown shirt, a worn red cloth to use as a cape, and many other odds and ends. He'd tried to pull the leaves from his long, untidy dark hair, but had quickly given up on that, instead picking leaves off the trees and weaving them into a crown. The result loooked sort of like the Ceaser that had sentanced Jesus to death the the play, though it wasn't at all up to the standards the production had put up. Or even the standards of the average costume he saw.
Suddenly some guy fell fast towards him, almost on top of him. Zande jumped out of the way, and just barely made it before the person was nearly eye-to-eye with him. He realised it wasn't a guy, just a girl in a suit, before she was thrown back up in the air, though not as high as before.
Zane sighed. Bungee-jumping druggies. He watched the girl bounce, until she finally rested at the bottom. She got out of the jacket. Zane thought she looked oddly familliar.
"Oh, my gosh, that was the most bubbly, thing, EV-AR!" The girl cired, and Zane gasped. He knew that voice. But it couldn't be...
"Zoey?"
Zoey turned at the sound of her name. "Ohmigod, Zane?" She cried, seeing the boy, five years younger than she.
Zane couldn't believe it. His childhood role model, his best friends big sister... "Zoey, what are you doing here?" he said darkly.
"Partying, of course!" She laughed. "This is a great party, don't you think? Everyone has just the bubbliest costumes!"
"I meant," Zane said with venom in his tone. "What are you doing in
town, Zoey?"
She was confused. why wouldn't she be in town? "Are you brain-missing Zane? Of course I'd be in town... but it's so great to see you! Come party with us! I`ll introduce you to Vi-let!"
"You're on the
drug!" Zane shouted. "How could you be so stupid? How could you have
fallen for something so-[/i]
"What is your problem Zane?" Zoey asked, a hint of irritation -almost anger, but not quite- colouring her tone.
"I trusted you! I looked up to you!" Zane cried, not believing it. Back when he'd known her, in kindergarten, he'd always come over to her place to play with Mark and he treated her like his own big sister. He'd tell her what he did that day, and almost always, she'd givve a conspiratory smile and say "Wanna know something the other kids don't know?" Thanks to her, he'd know more than most second graders. She'd been the smartest person he'd known. He hadn't thought even for a second she'd be dumb enough to end up like.... this.
"What's your damage, Zane? I won't just stand here while you insult me to my face, and I'm perfectly fine. I don't understand what sort of issues you have with the drug, because it's amazing, and taking it is no big deal-"
"What would Mark say if he saw you right now?" Zane snapped.
"Never take the drug again, obviously." Heather began. "You may want to move out oif town so you're not as easy to track, though that's entirley up to you. We'd also want your help recruiting and getting others off the drug." She turned her head as she heard shouting, and saw Zane arguing with a government agent.
A government agent?Heather did a double take before realising that this was a party where you dress up as evil people, and that this was obviously some users idea of a clever costume. It
was pretty creative, but she was more concerned about something else.
"Odd, Zane usually toes the line pretty well," Heather muttered. Zane was getting in an argument with a user? He knew full well that that was completley useless, and Zane almost never lost his head. She wondered what was different this time. "I gotta go help my friend before he gets himself noticed and reported like an idiot. Talk to you later," she said, running down the road towards him.
"ZANE!" She yelled when she was closer.
Hearing Heathers voice snapped him out of it. Crap! he was gonna get in so much shit for this.
). So he'd found himself an old brown shirt, a worn red cloth to use as a cape, and many other odds and ends. He'd tried to pull the leaves from his long, untidy dark hair, but had quickly given up on that, instead picking leaves off the trees and weaving them into a crown. The result loooked sort of like the Ceaser that had sentanced Jesus to death the the play, though it wasn't at all up to the standards the production had put up. Or even the standards of the average costume he saw.