Don't tell the teachers.

[damien allan forrester]

Damien snuck in to the main common room. Clock was way beyond bedtime at Mille-Feuille Academy. Damien smirked and produced a punch bowl from the bag he was carrying, and placed on toa table. Then he grabbed a bottle of granberry juice and a bottle of soda water and mixed them together in the bowl. He took out a scoop and a pack of plastic cups and poured himself a portion. He tasted it and moved it aroound his mouth before swallowing. "Its okay. I wonder if I should..."

He was also carrying a bottle of vodka but wasn't quite sure if he should use it. Well maybe just a little drop... and a little more. Taking another cup he made sure that the liqour couldn't be tasted. Just a small addition of granberry juice would cover it. Damien smiled and added the juice. It was perfect. Then he carefully locked the bottle of vodka in one of the rooms cabinets.

Damien had sent an unsiggned letter to every student in school. He was well aware of not being the most popular student so it was just a caution to make sure that some people would show up.

My dearest classmates

I cordially invite you to join me for a party in the main common room ten at nigth this friday. Please bring something to eat.

X

Damien chugged the back in to the same cabinet as the vodka. Then checking his appeareance he sat down. He was wearing a ruffled black shirt from his favorite Moitié and his usual gilet. his trousers were tailored to perfection and a top had was perched to his head. He took two deep breaths before reasuming an expression that made him look like he waswaiting for the host to arrive.

[caitlyn emily harrison]

Caitlyn stepped quietly into the main common room, her black lace-up ballerina flats making hardly a whisper. She figured if she was going to a secret party late at night, she would dress accordingly. Accordingly for her was an airy black short-sleeved chemise with a deep red under-bust corset over it. A corset, she thought, that she can't recall how she came to possess it. Her skirt was a simple one: it was also a deep red with a layer of soft black lace laid over it, making it seem an ever darker red. To finish her outfit was sheer black tights and a little black bow in her not-so-ratty hair picking it up a bit to the side. For once, she managed to somewhat style it. It also didn't hurt that her hair has grown some over time, making it overall a little less hateful.

For Caitlyn, this was a relatively simple coordinate and also a rare kind. She felt rather bare in it, for most of the fabric was thin and breezy. Her pale skin stood out in stark contrast to it, making her seem to almost glow--something she didn't particularly appreciate. But most of all, she felt alien in it: it was a dark outfit and the corset almost made her feel... sexy.

She shivered at the thought and gripped the bag full of chocolate candy bars in her hand. She wasn't sure what possessed her to go along with this devious plan. Perhaps it was a touch of curiosity, or carelessness, she didn't know. All she knew now was that she was in the main common room waiting for a secret party and all there was in the room was a punch bowl and Damien. Caitlyn wondered if maybe he was the one who sent out the letters, but made no move toward him.

[damien allan forrester]

Damien was strateled when he noticed Caitlyn. She looking a bit more grown up than usually so he stood up and smiled. "Hi Caitlyn. Did you send the letters?" His tone was perfectly curious. "If you brouggth something just put them there. I brought some punch and as no one was here I just picked a table." Damien looked almost boyish when he said it this.

He stepped toward her and wondered if he should offer to help her with her things. For a moment he was silent but then.. "Can I help you?"

[caitlyn emily harrison]

Caitlyn inclined her head and pressed her reddened lips together. "No, I didn't send the letters," she said. It's silly to think it was her under any circumstances. She wasn't one to throw secret parties. Or go to them. Huh, I guess I'm just as likely to have sent out those letters as Damien or anybody else that might come, she thought, deciding to drop it altogether. In the end it didn't really matter.

Caitlyn held up the bag of chocolate candy bars and said, "This is all I really brought. Just a bunch of Kit-Kats, 3 Muskateers, Milky Ways and the like. I hope it's enough." She sauntered toward the table--finding sudden, inexplicable confidence in herself--and dropped the bag onto the table and opened it. She pulled out a chocolate bar, a 3 Musketeers, and gently tore off the wrapper. She bit into the small treat, savoring it. She took a cup from the table and served herself some of the punch and took a sip before sitting down next to Damien.

"Do you think more people will come?" She asked Damien. She ate the remainder of her chocolate and took another sip of the punch. It was good punch, with a subtle burn on its way down her throat, but Caitlyn thought nothing of it.

[damien allan forrester]

"I'm sure it is," Damien said before walking toward the fireplace. it was cold and without any wood to burn. He hoped a lot from this nigth. At least it would be awesomely fun.

"I hope so. It would also be nice to know who decided to put this together." He turned to look at Caitlyn. "I liked parties before coming here. I hope that this one will be as fun as those were."

[viljo erik tawast]

He was running late. The plan that Viljo put together had been perfect, or at least he had thought so. He'd picked up the ingredients for a recipe he had acquired for one of his dishes from home. After cooking the food, he'd spend some time finding the perfect coordinate, pack everything he needed, head out, and arrive fashionably early.

Except it didn't quite go that way. Pulla bread needed to be cooked at 375, not 475. He hadn't discovered his mistake until the smoke detector went off. The bread, by then, was ruined. It took another half hour before he had remixed the batch and another half an hour after that before the bread was done. There was no time to pick the perfect outfit. Viljo grabbed the first coordinate he could, a pair of bloomers, brown with suspenders over a white blouse. He was half-way dressed for the event when he realized he had inadvertently picked the same outfit he had first worn when he arrived. It was an odd coincidence.

Once he was dressed, he returned to the kitchen and cut the bread now that it had cooled. He was late now for the start of the event. He quickly packed them up into a paper package and loaded them up onto his shoulder. He hurried to the room. Carrying the weight of the package on his shoulder was difficult, he shifted the package to his other shoulder. However, with only one good eye, he found he was only further obstructing his vision.

Wandering into the room, still struggling to see. At the last moment, he noticed some movement out of the corner of his eye. At the last moment he caught himself before he ran into someone. “I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!” he said, afraid that he may have caused his near collision target to trip. He quickly set down the package and looked to see who he almost ran into.

There, standing before him was Caitlyn. He sized her over.

“Um, hi!” He said, closing his jaw before he looked too out of place. Quickly, he decided to recover. “You look amazing tonight!”

[caitlyn emily harrison]

"I haven't been to many parties back in Florida," Caitlyn said to Damien. "Not really my cup of tea, but maybe this time it could be diff--" she stopped when she turned around to see Viljo nearly crash into her.

"Th-thank you, Viljo." Caitlyn stuttered in response to Viljo. "Do you need help with that?" Caitlyn bends down to pick up the package. "I'm so happy to see you here tonight," she said with a blush. Very happy, indeed.

[damien allan forrester]

Damien turned to glance at the new arrival. Oh god it was that annoyiing stump Viljo. He swallowed his displeasure and gave a frinedly looking smile. "Hey Viljo. did ye send the letters? Me and Caitlyn were wondering who put this together?" Damien had decided to play nice today and nothing would shake his decicion.

[aaron wright]

The lingering lights of the stars and the moon reflected off his bright golden sneakers as Aaron strode silently down the hall way. He hadn't really done any particular dressing up, just his usual get up of layers and chains. Shrugging as these thoughts roved through his brain he told himself that it didn't matter how he dressed- he was after all, attractive enough to make up for any lack of ornamentation.

As he walked toward the only light on the darkened corridor he spun the mysterious letter across his knuckles in a way common to Japanese school boys. He hadn't been surprised to ben invited to a party at school and he would have normally turned it down, but the mundane curiosity of a party whose host refused to name himself was enough to draw his attention. A sigh escaped his lips as he approached the door, hoping this would prove to be worth it all.

As he strode through the open door his eyes alighted on the group of students standing near by. With a quick glance he noticed that the others had each brought something for them to eat. Oh well, he probably should have observed the niceties of the occasion, but he wasn't to familiar with these kinds of parties. Straightening his shoulders he approached the others without announcing himself, as they appeared to be in some sort of conversation.

[james fitzgerald redd]

A late night party. Late night secret party. Typical, perhaps. If anything, James would have been the one to throw together such an occasion, as he claimed to do many, many times.

Except she didn't. In fact, she wasn't entirely certain how such occasions worked, if they were anything like the far and few frat parties she happenstanced upon back in the States. Sure, the student body was similarly blocked as far as economic class, but...that was Harvard. And this was Mille-Feuille. Two different worlds James quickly realized. So would there be a decent amount of guests? What sort of activities would happen? She supposed she would simply find out the answers on this night.

A large box was balanced in James' arms as she slipped from the kitchens towards the common room; considering the late night, it was perhaps appropriate to make something light, something sweet. A dessert. Two large fruit tarts were nestled in the box, made earlier in the day so that she had the rest of the evening to prepare.

She wore a comfortable, casual outfit: a white blouse with ruffles acting as accents and a pair of navy blue plaid pants that ended just above her knee. The school was chilly enough that tights and short boots would serve just fine.

With one foot, James gently nudged the door open and slipped inside the room, not sure to be surprised at the low attendance. Perhaps fashionably late was the norm? Except any later and it would be morning. "Evening," James greeted cheerfully. She smiled, whether the other guests acknowledged her presence or not, and moved quickly to the table to relieve herself of the tarts. She removed them from the box and onto the table, setting a knife next to them as well as a stack of plates acquired from the kitchen.