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The Yugetnam War
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Maxwell Lombardi, admittedly, was not as much into parties as most of the other people he shared company with were.

That was for a lot of reasons, but the one reason that trumped the rest was that they were messy. Sloppy. Unbecoming of him. They were events where his classmates, the people who - regardless of his personal feelings towards them - he spent all his school days with, were at their lowest point in terms of restraint. The atmosphere drunkened them, and even if they hadn’t had any alcohol, even if they weren’t even trying to lose themselves, the music and the lights put them into a stupor where they did anything they wanted during the night and barely remembered it the next day.

Maxwell Lombardi did not want to be a part of that. Maxwell Lombardi did not want to be in the crowd, no inhibitions, at the same level as everyone else around him. No. He did not want to be part of the cluster of people that typically formed during these events, and he would be caught dead before he allowed anyone to drag him in.

Admittedly, though, he liked to watch. He liked to see what happened during these parties, as it showed his classmates in a different light. Allowed Maxwell to see what they would do if all inhibitions were removed. Allowed Maxwell to see what would happen if a group full of these people joined together, dancing to whatever song happened to be popular on the radio and feeling like doing whatever they want.

The odds were that something was going to happen here that would be endlessly talked about at school afterwards. The odds were that Maxwell would want to be there, standing back, so that he could see this event for himself.

And that was why Maxwell supposed he was here tonight, at this party, sitting on a couch and trying to ignore the music blaring out. This wasn’t his party. To be honest, Maxwell wasn’t really sure whose party it was; Paris had been the one to invite him over, and this house was not one known to Maxwell. Not a lot had happened here yet - there were people talking, people dancing, but nothing that Maxwell could really watch. Nothing that Maxwell could really be intrigued by. Still though, it was early - only 7:30 PM - and if he left this place out of boredom now he wouldn’t really be giving it a chance.

So he sat. Checked his phone. Briefly looked around to see if anything was happening. Looked down again.

He seriously hoped that the song playing right now would change soon. It sounded awful.
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TWO TO THE ONE TO THE ONE TO THE THREE, I LIKE GOOD PUSSY AND I LIKE GOOD TREE · Memories of the Past (SC2)
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