House Party

[Gideon]

Turns out hanging out in the kitchen watching for Liam came with the boon of front row seats to the most exclusive show of the evening. Drink in hand, leaning against the counter, Gideon watched in wide-eyed wonder as the maskless singer was hoisted elaborately from his perch amidst an explosion of colour and bugs. By the general cowering avoidance of the crowd around them, he wondered for a moment if someone had slipped something fun in his drink and it really was a one-man show, but he stared nonetheless. The ear flick was a little avant garde, but then again, sometimes art is suffering. The little singer bird appeared genuinely terrified. The devil-mask absolutely seething.

Now, Gideon had an exceptional brain (he did say so himself) which usually resulted in it racing in several different directions at once, and something was niggling like a tap-tap-tap as though he was missing something. But he was also pretty (very) drunk. Finally it seemed someone else took note, grabbing devil by the arm – presumably to congratulate him on the performance – which, honestly Gideon was a little annoyed at. Firstly, because it interrupted the scene’s denouement, and secondly, because it eclipsed the rapt attention Gideon had given it from the start. Not to be outdone, he burst into raucous applause for the performance. His drink sloshed the sides unnoticed as he deposited it beside him, to continue his clapping with ardour. “Excellent!” he slurred loudly. “Do you take commission?”