[center][color=6ecff6][h3]Dallas Relo[/h3][/color]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/tiGMmRw.jpg[/img]
[b][u]Location:[/u][/b] Olympus Academy, Relo Apartment
[b][u]Interacting With:[/u][/b] No one, open[/center]

Well, this had escalated. Not that Dallas wasn't one to adore some escalation, and not that he hadn't explicitly avoided moving in until the party started popping off; his apartment, devoid of one couch and a mattress currently without a bed frame, remained unmolested by such nuisances as [i]furniture[/i] or [i]school necessities[/i] or [i]food.[/i] He had a phone charger, a sofa, and a place to sleep; until such time as the last guest had walked out and the last drop was dry, that was enough to sustain Dallas Relo through most things. The only problem was that, after all, he hadn't had a wink of sleep the night before, and that the party's higher and higher frequency must have been directly proportional to the dangerous spikes in his brain waves. 

Not only had most of the class of demigods fit into his apartment and started burning through the beer (all praise to the football team, for augmenting his and Zeke's beer reserves with enough brews to float them through to homecoming) but it appeared that, as the night had gone on, only more and more people had started forwarding his group text forward, so that there was a constant stream of activity around the door. Originally the plan had been for an 18+ age limit, but Dallas had quickly scrapped that after Jonas' sister - whom Dallas, despite (and because of) the constant and violent threats towards his face, perennially flirted with - had showed up and declared herself bouncer of the party. When he'd seen Vivian, the reason he'd wanted to keep the party quiet in the first place, filter in with Delilah, he said fuck it to policing demigods and started letting whoever in. 

Then there had been the case of his missing church key - not twenty minutes after he'd taken it off and left it on the counter where he would frequently serve beers to whoever asked, he walked up to grab a lager and found that his mother's bottle opener had been made off with by someone. For someone who was such a kleptomaniac himself, the reaction prompted wouldn't have looked out of place, if, say, a child of Ares was revealed to have a glass jaw within ten seconds of stepping into the octagon.

Or, you know. If someone had broken into da Vinci's flat and started wiping his ass on every drawing with an invention on it.

On top of all that, [i]Zaheen,[/i] that Aladdin-looking motherfucker, had locked himself in Dallas' bedroom almost instantly. Probably just marathoning Diablo or something yet again. Now bereft of a bedroom and a family heirloom, a headache had started to churn behind his eyes like storm clouds, obscuring his very vision. The pain in his eyes only grew worse with beer - every cold drink felt like a needle through his irises. But drinking was the name of the game tonight, and by God, he was going to be the [i]Tom Brady[/i] of tonight's game. Even if it meant that the normally quite-provocative demigod was reduced to responding to yelled greetings and high fives with a series of:

[color=6ecff6]"Hey."

"Hey."

"Good to see you."[/color]

And, when thanked for the party,

[color=6ecff6]"No prob. Thanks for coming out."[/color]

And the greetings and high fives were [i]constant.[/i] Dallas' apartment had been the topic of half the conversations he was dragged into so far during the night, and the son of Apollo himself was unmistakable with his electric blue jacket, bold eyes, and face on full display. He managed grins when he had to, thanked the contributors when he saw them, and made an effort to float through this party as sober as he could manage.

Despite the temptation.

Which he could totally beat.

[i][color=6ecff6]...Maybe.[/color][/i]