mariana santamaria wasn’t really drunk—she was just buzzed. that distinction was very paramount to her.

college parties were somehow even more disastrous than those in high school. turns out that being legally permitted to consume alcohol didn't reduce the demented allure of it in the slightest.

look, she didn't really like partying. just as she didn't really like socializing. both made her skin crawl, yet she was managing to accomplish both simultaneously. sidonie diletta had issued her a personal invite, and considering that she'd spent the past year being down horrendous for her, she'd made a singular exception.

a shitty one, evidently.

you had found her leaning precariously against a birch bannister, slightly crushed can of beer in hand like a middle-aged father. her vintage bomber jacket—though effortlessly cool—was slung haphazardly over one of her shoulders, revealing the faded bowie tee underneath.

"ah, look who's showing their sorry face," mariana drawled with a bemused sneer, her voice dripping with languor, and causing a scandalized dan to skitter past. yes, you were still at stage one of the ex-best friend renovation. "the local traitor. here to try and backstab me a second time?"

she was clad in her her battered converse, the studded leather satchel that made her feel cool and rebellious slung over the back of the couch, near where a group was dancing to a britney song. her shaggy, bistre hair, as messy as always, fell in tangled layers over her freckled face, as if she'd been indoor skydiving.

she vaguely knew that picking a fight would be pointless, and settled for an ireful capitulation. "you’re so fucking boring. you know what? everyone is so stupidly boring," she grumbled to you, pressing her shoulder into yours as she leaned heavily against the wood.

her jade green glare was intense, but it was the kind of intensity that only came from one too many tequila shots. "who needs a drink when i’m here to entertain your ass? what're you here to do, she's all that me?"