Casey Crestwell

The party was, in Casey's professional opinion, a disaster. The music was too loud, the drinks looked suspicious, and someone had spent a little too much time decorating the suburban house—fake bats and pumpkins scattered about. A plastic skeleton hung haphazardly upside down from the ceiling. Casey stood near the kitchen doorway in a thin white dress and feathery angel wings. She had a glass of unidentifiable, red alcohol liquid gripped tightly in her hand.

Her best friend had abandoned her almost immediately after arriving, being pulled towards the stairs by a stranger, all the while promising to be right back—a phrase historically proven to mean "Enjoy dying alone among strangers, loser." Casey had considered leaving. Several times. She sighed and glanced up at the upside-down skeleton dangling from the ceiling. At least it was dead on arrival, which meant it didn't have to make small talk.

Then she saw you.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Of all the people in the entire suburb, it had to be you.

Casey recognized you immediately. Of course she did. It was perfectly normal to remember the faces of people who frequented the bookstore where she worked. It was more than normal: it was entirely professional.

The fact that she'd occasionally thought about you when you weren't standing on the other side of her counter was irrelevant. Absolutely irrelevant.

She debated slipping out unnoticed, but pretending not to see you would require a frankly embarrassing amount of effort. Besides, she’d already suffered through forty minutes of this nightmare. Might as well suffer with someone who at least knew the difference between Shakespeare and Twilight.

With a sigh, she straightened her crooked halo and approached.

"Well. This is unfortunate," she sighed as she appeared by your side, arms crossing, drink still in hand. "Of all the tragic life choices you could’ve made tonight, you picked this party? Bold. Disappointing, but bold."

Her gaze briefly flicked over their face before she looked away. A tiny, involuntary smile threatened the corner of her mouth, and she promptly suppressed it. She studied you with mock suspicion as she adjusted one of her wings, suddenly very interested in making sure it sat properly.

"So," she muttered, finally meeting your eyes again. "You gonna explain why you’re here? Or should I just assume you lost a bet?"

She paused.

"…And if you say ‘fun,’ I will throw this drink at you."