[center][img]http://txt-dynamic.cdn.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjYwLmRkYWZlZS5SR1ZzYVd4aGFDQlNZV2x1WlNCTmIyTnJjbWxrWjJVLC4wAAAA/pink-gladiolus.one.png[/img]
[hr][img]http://78.media.tumblr.com/279a82fe8735895c8f66ee4d51b8a7c2/tumblr_mi3nl3yUog1ru6t7vo2_250.gif[/img] [img]http://78.media.tumblr.com/c143ca31a8f83e948f69f63b85c05af6/tumblr_mi3nl3yUog1ru6t7vo3_r1_250.gif[/img][hr][sub][b]Location:[/b] Mockridge Mansion ↠ [u]the[/u] party
[b]Interactions:[/b] Briefly talking to Elodie {[@Legion02]} [/sub][/center]
The beauty of living in a ridiculously large house in Beverly Hills is the guarantee that you will almost certainly not be barged in on due to the fact that no one can actually be bothered making the needlessly long trip up to your room. Hence was the reason why Delilah's speakers were blasting out Michael Jackson as she strut her fuckin' stuff in the middle of her room without a care in the world. 

[center][i][color=orchid]"You better run, you better do what you can
Don't want to see no blood, don't be a macho man
You want to be tough, better do what you can
So beat it, but you want to be bad" [/color][/i][/center]
Oh fuck, now it was time for the chorus. Delly put on a performance even MJ would envy - her arms flourishing dramatically, her feet sliding across her carpet and her lips mouthing the words with so much enthusiasm that she almost dislocated her jaw. By now, she had completely forgotten that she should, in fact, be getting ready for the first and possibly the greatest party of the year - and she probably would've kept on forgetting if it wasn't for the alarm that went off on her phone. It told her that she had an hour 'till 7, the time that the party would not-so-officially start. 

This was when the nerves kicked in. She felt her stomach flutter as she turned the music down to a suitable volume and glanced down at the outfit she had chosen. As always, the Elite had been somewhat vague when it came to the dress code, so she had opted for a simple black dress that she thought would look nice. Maybe. 

There. It was on. And she looked shit. Her thighs were too big for this kind of dress; and her shoulders, too. Ugh, her arms! Her eyes were just travelling down to find something else wrong with herself when she let out a deep sigh and closed them, clearing her mind and counting to ten. 

[center][b][color=orchid]"There is no magic cure."[/color][/b][/center]
And when she opened them again, it was better. Not perfect, but better. She could hear Gerard, her second therapist, telling her that perfection wasn't something she needed and wasn't something that she would ever obtain. The butterflies hadn't disappeared, but the excitement was back. This would be her first proper chance to integrate herself back into the community, and she wasn't about to miss it. 

Delly spent a while browsing through her snapchat - mainly to put off tackling her hair - and couldn't help but feel a stab of jealousy towards the group of girls she saw getting ready together. Just over a year ago, she would've been doing the same with perhaps some of her fellow dancers, or even some of the pretty girls in school; but now she was stuck on her own. It wasn't all bad. She didn't have to wait for anyone, for starters, and there was no need to keep up shallow, vapid conversations that so many of the girls she knew tended to have these days. 

It didn't take long for her to realise that doing something with her hair would be decidedly less depressing than watching everyone else have fun together, so the curling tongs were switched on and the hair brush dragged through her tangled locks. Pros of bleaching your hair within an inch of its life? It looked edgy as [i]fuck[/i]. Cons? It left your hair frazzled as [i]fuck[/i]. Oh well. That didn't stop her from abusing it further, but it did make her take the time to spray some expensive protection spray that her mom had bought her before curling it into lazy waves.  

Getting out of the house was another task altogether. The second she stepped into the foyer looking all nice and dolled up, her mother descended - demanding to know where she was going, who she would be with and how long for. Fortunately, Delly had planned ahead of time for this interrogation, so the twenty minutes she spent trying to explain to her mom that going to this party was a good thing didn't make her late for her 8 o'clock arrival time. What she had not planned ahead of time, however, was how she was going to get there. There was no way that she was going to be dropped off by either of her parents - as if her social life wasn't dead enough already. There was always she option of an Uber, but she despised small talk and felt weird sitting in a car with strangers. It seemed to be her only option, though, so she was just pulling out her phone to call for one when what was meant to be a playful nudge on the shoulder almost sent her flying.

[b][color=orchid]"Jesus, Daniel! I'm not one of your punching bags." [/color][/b]It took her a second to gather what her older brother was waving in her face, and she sighed in relief when she recognised his car keys. 

[b]"Calm down, sunshine. I'll give you a ride up."[/b] 

Delilah's relief was soon replaced by dread, however, when she recalled that it had taken Daniel six attempts at his driving test before he passed, and that was only after a few phone calls from their father threatening to sue the company for wasting their time. Oh well, seat belts save lives.
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By the time they arrived at the beach house, Delly's nerves had tripled and she was chewing on her lip ravenously. She was so worked up that she hadn't even cared that Daniel's driving probably should've got them killed. In fact, she probably would've preferred a trip to A&E rather than having to face this party alone. It wasn't until the engine stopped that she dared to glance over at her brother, who's face seemed to be holding an uncharacteristically compassionate expression.

[b]"You don't have to go, you know. I can just take you home if you want. We can stay up and binge-watch Westworld or something instead."[/b] Of course, they both knew that she did have to go. It was either this, or another year of solitude.

[b][color=orchid]"Nah, it's fine. I'll be fine. If it goes to shit, I'll call you." [/color][/b]Delilah managed a weak smile as Daniel ruffled her hair, climbing out of the car with a shakey breath. 

[b]"Don't get too wasted!"[/b] She heard him shout out of the window as he pulled away, leaving her alone in front of this stupid mansion and stupid party filled with stupid people. Fluffing her hair one last time, she took off the sunglasses that she had adorned for all of five minutes and hooked them onto the front of her dress. She longed for a smoke, or anything that would settle the butterflies in her stomach that was somehow worse than the pangs of hunger she had grown so used to, but stopped herself from thinking about it. She wanted to stop smoking - what smoker didn't? But she doubted that it would happen anytime soon.

[center][b][color=orchid]"Fuck it."[/color][/b][/center]
Before she could look like any more of an idiot just standing there and staring at the house, she entered it with another wave of people. Immediately, she recognised two of the Elite standing at the door - Owen and Soleil - keeping watch, it seemed, for anyone not welcome. Everyone knew that the HOT girls and the Candies had been pretty much banned from this party, and it had been a source of relief for a lot of the people - including Delilah. The last thing she wanted was those stunningly gorgeous, judging eyes analysing her every move. She just wanted to have fun.

And to do that she needed a drink. Getting to the bar was a task, and she found herself murmuring non-stop apologies as she gently pushed past people the whole way there. She recognised a few people clustered around the bar, a few of them looking as uncomfortable as she probably did, but she hung back from starting a conversation with any of them. She didn't want to think about it, but she had seen the stolen glances aimed her way and heard the whispered words of 'sick', 'thin', and 'anorexic'. It was something that she had already grown used to, however it hurt all the same. She was distracted from her self pity for a second as a head of blonde hair appeared next to her at the bar, a bright voice chirping out french to anyone that was listening. A smirk lifted Delilah's features as she watched the strange French girl clap a hand over her mouth before asking for a mocktail, and she couldn't help but speak up - the girl was clearly in unfamiliar territory, so what's wrong with helping her out a bit?

[b][color=orchid]"Don't let anyone touch that drink once you get it if you want to stay sober, 'kay?" [/color][/b]

 She didn't give the girl time to reply or even to see if she understood as she left the bar, deciding that fancy cocktails were not for her. At least, not tonight. Grabbing a cup of who-knows-what from a nearby table, she began to weave her way in and out of people with a tad more confidence than before. Taking a hefty swig of what seemed to be beer (a drink she despised) and grimacing slightly, she made her way back outside to where it was somewhat quieter and found a place leaning against a wall just outside the house. Well, she wouldn't be going out of her way to talk to anyone until she was at least somewhat drunk, so may as well make a start.