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My burnt-face sense is tingling!
[ *  * ]
[Eloise Winterburn début]

Fashionably late. When you were Eloise Winterburn and you were running late, "fashionable" was the perfect excuse to use. Write it off as ironic negligence, brush it under the mat of being too cool to care, attribute it to your personal style and let everyone else feel stupid for not "getting it". Always worked, always had, always would.

Truth was, of course, she'd forgotten about the party until just half an hour previously, when her phone had helpfully reminded her. The address had slipped her mind too, so looking that up again had taken more precious minutes. She also didn't have money on hand for a cab, so walking slowed her actual moving progress to a figurative crawl. And all this, of course, came secondary to looking her absolute best. Not that she'd admit to that, no, she just "threw" on what she was wearing, and her painstakingly tousled hair was just that way anyway. Eloise was far too cool to be seen to devote time to her appearance.

Finally arriving outside the warehouse Whose bright idea was it to host this in an industrial estate? God, such poor taste., Eloise was surprised to find somebody she knew outside. Not that she was surprised she knew them, surprised someone she immediately recognised wasn't inside, being the life of the party in her absence. Running through the mental checklist of names and faces, Eloise quickly eliminated the major players, narrowing it down to small time faces; and that made the boy's presence outside by choice more palatable. Eventually, just as she was within talking distance, she put a name to the face and wondered aloud;

"What's Bobby Goldman doing out here alone, huh?"
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