Survival Of The Fittest

Yuka nodded shakily at what she guessed Teresa was trying to imply. 'Get the fuck outta here' maybe? Like, people were helping Jackson already, so they weren't needed, necessary, just stand-bys — bystanders, she meant — watching some person on the floor. DJs yelled about people breaking it down on the floor, not just plain breaking down. Honestly, walking in on a drunk person on the floor was a lot sadder than walking in on the aftermath of a five-second session. A lot more awkward too. After the whole Marco fiasco, she'd had enough of sadness and awkwardness for the night. It wasn't what she came here for. It wasn't fun.

Also, if she stayed here any longer, she just might join Jackson on the floor. Fuck, this vodka was strong. Where was the rest of it?

"You wanna— you wanna get some more of this"—she said while raising her empty cup—"downstairs? Let's go."

Without waiting for an answer, she dragged Teresa towards the stairs, hoping they wouldn't break their neck on the way down.

((Yuka Hayashibara and Teresa Rojas continue elsewhere))

Teresa and Yuka made themselves scarce, and with their departure so too went some of what residual tension had persisted in the room. Now it was just Juliette, Jackson, and Aliya, whose offer for water had just been accepted and who would thus likely be departing presently herself. It would, Juliette thought, be good if the door stayed open from here out, at least a crack. It would dispel any potential further misunderstandings of her purpose here, and also, should at some point Jackson be left unattended, make it easier for the party as a collective to keep an eye on him, make sure he wasn't suffocating on his own vomit.

Not that she planned to take off right away. Juliette perched on the edge of the bed, down by the foot, watching as her charge failed to fully mount the mattress. He was thanking them, and while he might not remember it tomorrow, he seemed to mean it now.

"It's no problem," Juliette said. "This has been a wild night for a lot of us."

Too wild for her tastes. She struggled to glean what her peers took from this sort of experience. oh, it was alright in some ways. She wasn't such a square that she reviled the taste of alcohol or the energizing hum and throb of music, though the genres favored by their hosts did not align with her own preferences (not nearly enough piano). It was just, at this scale, conflict and tension and a measure of anonymity conducive to poor behavior were inevitable, and keeping such elements under control was a major undertaking liable to cause stress to anyone with much sense of responsibility.

She held out her right hand towards Jackson, not quite sure what she was even offering it for. It was unlikely to help him hoist himself the rest of the way up. The mattress was comfortable, at least, the sheets soft against her left palm, smooth through her dress.

"If there's anything I can do, even just listening, I'm here."