` ✦ ° ┊ attention ﹙ human au, seven minutes in heaven ﹚

[JERSEYBOY]

[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;

[guts]

Ymir wasn't much of a party person, truth be told. She went to one here and there, but for the most part, she preferred staying home and drinking by herself rather than surrounded by a bunch of stupid assholes who didn't know when to stop. That one time some stupid jock-looking guy threw up on her had almost ruined parties for her. At least she had ruined his face in return. But despite all of that, she found herself here now, watching as people mingled and threw back drinks. It was getting pretty dull, actually.

Until some guy she had never seen before announced that they were gonna be playing a game. She was somewhat surprised some game hadn't already been going on, but nevertheless, she would smirk and make her way over. Of course she knew what this game was about, recognizing it the second the bottle was laid down. A classic. She had played a few times, which was probably why she was into girls now. Oh well, she would play anyways.

"Count me in." she says, downing the last bit of her drink before taking a seat in front of the bottle. She was still somewhat sober, so at least she couldn't regret this in the morning.
"speech"

[rhosmari]

MONROE

MALE — SUNHAVEN — HELION — HARD

He was just there, leaning against the back of the couch with a red solo cup in his hand. A smile pulled against his soft lips as he looked down at some girl he was talking to. They were having an interesting conversation though it was probably one he wouldn't remember tomorrow if he kept drinking the way he was. Though he wasn't the most heaviest of drinkers anyway. He tired his best not to over do it at parties because he didn't want to be bent over the porcelain throne, begging to God that he wouldn't do it anymore while he puked out his guts. Just not a morning he would think was worth it nor would the hangover be either. So he was sipping from his cup and laughing lightly at the jokes that they were telling each other back and forth. Though deep blue eyes lifted up as he focused on someone else who spoke up rather loudly. Tilting his head a little bit the teen would push himself to stand straight up and he allowed himself to stretch a little, lean form shifting though he caught the edge of his shirt and held it down. What was this all about now? He brushed fingers against the inside of his wrist, just to touch lightly against the banded bracelets he wore before he came around to sit down on the couch. The mention of seven minutes of heaven made pink blush up along his neck and he sighed a little. Eh, live and let live. He hadn't played a game like that in forever and he combed his fingers through his burnt blonde hair before he waved his head toward Tommy, easily identifying the other. "Ya, I'd be willing tae play myself." He spoke with ease after another spoke up about wishing to also play. Looked like the evening might just get a bit more exciting even though he thought that he had already hit that marker a bit ago.

#psychosocial.

[toboggan]

To denounce Wendell Harrowsmith of not being a party person would be an upright lie. Clad in thick-framed spectacles that layered atop his chocolate bulbs, as well as wearing one of those brand-parody t-shirts, this one poking fun at a specific burger chain, the Brit understood how to talk and entertain. Though he did not care enough about style to fashion that auric brushcut resting messily above his forehead, and additionally choose a pair of sweatpants that weren’t stained with a white paint, parties were his go-to for socializing and grub. In about five or so years, his mature self would most definitely reflect on the clothing he chose, the food he ate, and the people he had associated with, and sigh disappointedly; that’s the future though, have time worry about that situation. Now was time for excessive drinking and mindlessly making love (that’s what happened at parties, whether you appreciated it or not), so let the future bite it’s nails about picking up the missing pieces. A pudgy finger extended over the incurved bridge of his nose to adjust his glasses, which were knocked lopsided following a the ridge of a young man’s back slamming into his facial features while in the middle of an intimate moment with a female partner. Rude. There were chesterfields for a reason. Unanticipatedly, a warm, oozing sensation could be sensed exiting the gap of his left nostril, and Wendell found himself going straight for the tissues - except he was a bit too tipsy to see where he was going, and found himself on the floor, discarded crisp crumbs pressing against his cheek.

Forget it.

Kleenexes were nowhere in sight. Unluckily for the sweater’s owner, Wendell found himself using a woolly fabric as a substitute to clog up the remainder of the blood left unbled. To the chesterfield he went. Somehow, over loud conversation and the thumping tunes rendering from a speaker somewhere, the wounded teen heard y’all of a game. Fun. "Consida me playib" he’d nasally chirp, the fleece’s grip on his schnoz only tightening as the male desperately wished for the bleeding to end. He could still fool around in the closet with someone as he bled, right? Or, maybe by the time the first few people went, it’d have stopped by then. Wendell only wished to not be partnered up with a guy, because he was straight... and that could get a little awkward.

Unless said guy was willing to have a mature conversation, then Wendell would be glad to cooperate.

[Tena M.]

[div style="width: 527px; line-height: 1.4; text-align: justify; font-family: constantia; font-size: 11px;"]Tena Moonspinner —
Tena Moonspinner was not a party person, although it might be an utterly shocking statement.  The girl certainly had no shortage of attributes that would say otherwise, yet Tena did not enjoy drinking or going wild.  She liked to have fun of course, and more than one occasion gotten herself in a spot of trouble for a fire and some graffiti work.  She'd been sober for both accounts, and planned on staying sober for everything else.  Tena liked being in control, liked being aware of herself.  It also meant she was the one who remembered the stupid shit everyone else managed to do under the influence.

Even with the intention or remaining sober, she came dressed and relatively excited for the occasion.  Combat boots (a necessity).  A white sweater that hung off one shoulder.  Her favorite ripped jeans, although they did have a few speckles of paint on them (adding to their character of course). Her shoulder-length, dark curly hair remained as it was.  It was nice to wear clothes meant for fall, instead of just all of the same.  Her desert home never changed with the seasons.

Although friendly, and certainly doing her part in having fun, Tena was relatively reserved and found herself beginning to drift away a little.  Maybe she could track down her brother or Lavi - they were surely invited - and convince them to dance for once. Neither seemed very likely to dance. The idea brought a wry smile to her face, brightening her bright blue eyes. Her mind was pulled away by Tommy, brow raising.  Seven minutes in heaven?  Tena had never played the game before, and her eyes sharply narrowed for a brief moment before she slowly migrated over with the others.

"Alright." Tena did not plan on finding a match tonight, girl or boy - especially considering she was neither straight nor bi nor gay, but demi, supposing maybe if she got landed on, she could just challenge the other to a thumb war... Or something equally amusing.
[align=right]— I tell you this story, save your life, set you free

[JERSEYBOY]

[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;"]Tommy awaited, watching the party-goers make their way over towards his game. At least some people were interested; not a lot, but enough to get things going. Okay, it looked like there were two guys and two girls so far. He had half a chance of gettin' some tail tonight; he just had to hope that the bottle landed in the right direction ( or maybe just a quarter chance, considering Ymir was a lesbian ). "Alright, here we go."

With that, he rubbed his hands together and spun the bottle before watching it intently. He almost held his breath, hoping that he'd land on someone good ( but if not? It wasn't the end of the world ).

// next person who posts is landed on!! (unless stated otherwise)

[PIERCE]

[div style="margin-top: 30px; text-align: center; font-family: timesnewroman; font-size: 35px; color: white;"]pierce parker

☀ — 'cause i love you's not enough, i'm lost for words

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Pierce, surprisingly, wasn't drunk. Considering the abundance of alcoholic drinks at the party and how much of a lightweight the blonde was, most who knew him probably would have expected him to be giggling his head off and trying to make out with literally every guy he saw by now, but he had refrained from drinking more than a quarter of a bottle of beer for exactly that reason. Even with the rather slight amount of alcohol in his system, he was feeling a bit buzzed, which was probably the only reason he had chosen to participate in this game at all.

A couple of his friends had ditched him long ago, probably to talk up some dudes, so he'd let the girls go. He didn't really mind, anyway- they were "living their best lives", or whatever. He supported them- he just wished they would've asked him to be their wingman, or something. Regardless of his abandonment, he was here to have fun, so what the hell? He'd play.

Pierce was seated on the floor, clad in a navy blue and white-striped sweater with light blue skinny jeans as he watched Tommy reach forward to spin the bottle, chin resting in his hand. He didn't know the other man very well, but he... wasn't bad looking, that was for certain, and despite some of his more unsavory behaviors, Pierce would admit, he did know how to party.

The bottle began to slow, and as each circle it made around became more and more drawn out, Pierce realized that it was getting dangerously close to himself. Well, shit. Out of all the guys here, Tommy seemed like the straightest one- all his flirting with girls, his behavior, hell, even his wardrobe. Pierce could at least be grateful it hadn't been a girl to spin, he guessed. A nervous smile finding its way to freckled features, the blonde raised hazel eyes to focus on Tommy's own, awaiting the other's response.

He hoped he liked guys.

"speech"

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