[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: work sans; font-size: 8pt; letter-spacing: 0.5px; word-spacing: 3px; line-height: 1.5;"]This party was getting tiresome. There was sure a lot of talking and less, well, fun. Tommy DeVito was the very life of the party — chatting up the pretty girls, cracking jokes, chugging packs of cheap beer. There was hardly any party that he couldn't spice up with his presence. As much as he was having a good time so far, however, he figured that it would be interesting to put a spin on the night.
So, the loud New Jerseyan took a last swig of his foamy beer. A burp darted back up his throat, the stench of alcohol staining his lips. He just about buzzed, and it was obvious by the way his eyes were drooping into a half-lidded state. He must have guzzled a shit-ton that night, seeing as it took quite a lot to get him feeling tipsy ( he had built up a tolerance ever since he had begun his drinking career ). Tommy wasn't flat-out drunk, though. Not stumbling around, not slurring his words, not hurling onto the couch, not sweating profusely and dancing on the tabletops. That was hammered Tommy. B u z z e d Tommy? He was still pretty much normal — he just looked a little tired. And perhaps a bit giggly as well.
"Alright, losers. Getcha' asses ova' here, we're playin' a game." Tommy announced to the general vicinity, seating himself in the living room on a comfy couch. He was sporting a black leather jacket, his brown hair combed to the side as per usual.
He placed the empty beer bottle on its side. "Seven minutes in heaven. Or hell; depends on how you look at it." Hopefully nobody here hated each other's guts, or else it would end up being really awkward ( although funny for the rest of them ). He raised his eyebrows and explained ( for the sweet prudes who had never played a party game before in their lives ), "Ground rules. Seven minutes — no more, no less. Lights are off. Whateva' yous do in there is your choice. Got it?" Well, it was obvious what you were supposed to do in the tiny closet for seven minutes. The question was, would these people actually do it?
// we're gonna be doing the "whoever posts after me is who the bottle lands on" method (unless you specifically state in your post that you wouldn't like y/c to be landed on!) + making separate threads for these interactions are optional c;
So, the loud New Jerseyan took a last swig of his foamy beer. A burp darted back up his throat, the stench of alcohol staining his lips. He just about buzzed, and it was obvious by the way his eyes were drooping into a half-lidded state. He must have guzzled a shit-ton that night, seeing as it took quite a lot to get him feeling tipsy ( he had built up a tolerance ever since he had begun his drinking career ). Tommy wasn't flat-out drunk, though. Not stumbling around, not slurring his words, not hurling onto the couch, not sweating profusely and dancing on the tabletops. That was hammered Tommy. B u z z e d Tommy? He was still pretty much normal — he just looked a little tired. And perhaps a bit giggly as well.
"Alright, losers. Getcha' asses ova' here, we're playin' a game." Tommy announced to the general vicinity, seating himself in the living room on a comfy couch. He was sporting a black leather jacket, his brown hair combed to the side as per usual.
He placed the empty beer bottle on its side. "Seven minutes in heaven. Or hell; depends on how you look at it." Hopefully nobody here hated each other's guts, or else it would end up being really awkward ( although funny for the rest of them ). He raised his eyebrows and explained ( for the sweet prudes who had never played a party game before in their lives ), "Ground rules. Seven minutes — no more, no less. Lights are off. Whateva' yous do in there is your choice. Got it?" Well, it was obvious what you were supposed to do in the tiny closet for seven minutes. The question was, would these people actually do it?
// we're gonna be doing the "whoever posts after me is who the bottle lands on" method (unless you specifically state in your post that you wouldn't like y/c to be landed on!) + making separate threads for these interactions are optional c;
[align=center]![[Image: dD7EQc3.png]](https://i.imgur.com/dD7EQc3.png)