Teen Idle --

[Asher Behrani]

To most teenage boys, cocktail parties piqued little interest other than the obvious prospect of free alcohol. Of all the ways to spend a friday night, being forced into a room full of mostly middle-aged socialites sounded like an absolute nightmare. Asher, on the other hand, was entirely in his element. Professional posers were some of his favourite types of people, if only for the amusement they brought him. Yes, there were things he found relatable in them. Be it vanity or elitism, he shared a bit of it all. The biggest difference, however, lay in the fact that the young actor took everything far less seriously. Many of his older counterparts seemed 100% committed to condescension, while his own moments of being two-faced were balanced by a sardonic and cheeky wit. There was just something about Asher that managed to blend in with whatever the environment, though he still held an outsider's perspective, observant and self-aware. But more than anything, it felt like a coping mechanism. You had to do something to keep from being driven insane by insufferable snobs, and pretending to be one but mocking them internally seemed to work for him. It was almost a game, in a way. See how many politicians you could insult without their noticing. Yet so far, he had honestly been enjoying himself too much to continue the tally. Held at the Sydney Opera House, Asher's father had been invited to a party signifying the start of a music and arts festival in the area. He didn't always accompany Mr. Behrani to events like this, but a spontaneous trip out of England had been too tempting to pass up. He hated the sun and the beach, but he knew that girls in minimal clothing would make the trip to Australia worth it at this time of year. The fact of the matter was, the people at this event seemed more interested in discussing things that were actually relevant to music and art, as opposed to the latest car they'd bought or holiday they'd been on. Don't get me wrong, Asher loved all of the above. In fact, he'd just invested in a yacht with his best friend and would tell you all about it if you gave him the opportunity. There was just something quite pathetic about upper class Londoner's and their sad mid-life-crises. That was part of the reason why he hoped to die before the curse befell him too. Eternal youth, or whatever.

As a stout woman talked his ear off, Asher snuck a glance elsewhere. The conversation had grown stale, and from his vantage point in the heart of the room he could view just about every escape route. There was an unfortunate lack of people his age, except for one brunette who had just reached speaking distance. Perfect. "Becky! There you are! Oh, I'm sorry. I should probably get back to my girlfriend. It was lovely talking to you," he excused himself, moving towards the girl and leading her towards the bar with a hand on her arm. "Just go with it," he leaned closer and whispered. They continued until he was sure that they had left the woman's sight and earshot, at which point Asher rolled his eyes and backed off to give her a bit of space. The poor girl had probably thought she was being kidnapped for a moment. "Thank f**k. If I had to hear her preach about the wonders of goji berries for a minute more.. I can't even." With a laugh, his gaze moved from the lady he'd just escaped, who was now in a deep one-way talk with a gentleman who already looked bored to tears, back to his 'girlfriend'. She was pretty cute once he finally got a proper look at her away from the crowd, but that was usually his first thought when meeting just about anyone. Though that majority was reduced dramatically as soon as they opened their mouths. Literally, he had only started talking to the berry-lady in the first place because she was mildly attractive for a 60-year-old. That was how picky Asher Behrani was. Adjusting the lapels of his dark suit jacket, he noticed the lack of glass in the brunette's hand. How anyone could make it through the night without getting smashed was beyond him. "You're not drinking. Why- No, how are you not drinking?" he asked with raised eyebrows, pausing only to toss back the remains of the drink in his own hand.​

 

[Hollace Fairfax]

Although being able to escape Durmstrang for a night was appealing to Hollace she did wish that it was something more interesting. There was nothing she could do about it, however. Hollace Fairfax was perpetually partying. It was part of her role as the child of two esteemed musicians. With that said, it was hardly fun and more of a chore than anything. Most people that attended these sorts of events were as old as Merlin or as boring as studying him was. This night seemed to be no exception to the young witch as she nodded her head along through conversations that she was dragged into, sometimes about how tragic it was about the death of one of the former flutists and others about the delicious cuisine the catering company had made for the event. It was all so false but she had to do it to please her parents. They, however, got to have a glass of wine but Hollace Fairfax, who most people knew and adored since childhood, could not do anything that was less than angelic which made her about as fake as the rest of them. It killed the brunette to imagine herself as that person and to think that her parents wanted her to continue on with her French Horn lessons so she may work in the Orchestra as she was so well-loved by the old wind bags who pinched her cheeks every chance they had. This was why most of Hollace's evening was spent locked away in the restroom, so she may avoid the entire situation but she knew her mother would try to find her so she left the lavish loo and fought all temptation to head straight to the bar, instead she walked through the small groups of people so she could continue being the Public Relations perfect daughter her parents wished for.

Just as Hollace found someone that she might actually enjoy having a conversation with she was dragged away by a black haired young man who seemed to have about as much product in his as she did in hers. It took her a moment to realize why he had called her Becky and she fought the urge to smirk or laugh at his foolishness for getting in a conversation with the worst of the entire lot. What was even more interesting was that the woman knew exactly who Hollace was so things ought to get interesting over the next few days when phone calls were made between her parents and the muggle investors and ticket-holders. The brunette allowed herself to be lead away from the woman and smiled falsely at her as a goodbye before she nodded her head slowly and whispered back, "Okay," to the newcomer. She walked with him towards the bar, smirking at the fates and allowing herself to continue regardless of her former decision and laughed with the boy and responded comically although still quite truthfully, "Last month it was about the importance of lining up one's chakras." Hollace shrugged her shoulders at the ridiculous woman and added, "Rule of thumb, new guy: Don't talk to her unless you're asking for money." Hollace could only assume that this attractive, suited young man needn't ask for money as his parents obviously did not work for the Opera House and got tickets of his own accord. The witch arched a thin eyebrow as the boy went onto a tangent about her lack of alcohol before finishing off his own drink. "I'm on duty," she stated simply before realizing she probably should explain herself so he would not have to prompt her with silly questions. "My parents are in the orchestra so I'm here to play nice with all the phonies," she said, feeling rather like Holden Caulfield for a brief moment. When this brief moment was over she looked around and wondered if this boy had considered how much like The Great Gatsby this seemed to be as the Director was no where to be found and yet he was hosting this party but like many things she shrugged it off and tucked it away as she hardly wanted to think of herself as any of the characters in those novels. Raising her sun-kissed arm slightly so she could straighten her dress before she asked, "I presume you were dragged here?" This was despite knowing the answer already for who would be here without brute force or bribery?​