Stryn stopped at a bend near the river, where churning white water tumbled between sheets of ice. He was a long way from the road, a long way from his party. His warriors waited for him back at the camp, passing the time with drinking games and bawdy tales thundered over a long table.

• Generally you unbutton and re-button a suit coat when you sit down and stand up.
• You’re supposed to hold wine or champagne glasses by the stem to avoid warming up the liquid inside. A character out of their depth might hold the glass around the sides instead.
• When rich/important people forget your name and they’re drunk, they usually just tell you that they don’t remember or completely skip over any opportunity to use your name so they don’t look silly.
• A good way to indicate you don’t want to shake someone’s hand at an event is to hold a drink in your right hand (and if you’re a woman, a purse in the other so you definitely can’t shift the glass to another hand and then shake)
• Americans who still kiss cheeks as a welcome generally don’t press lips to cheeks, it’s more of a touch of cheek to cheek or even a hover (these days, mostly to avoid smudging a woman’s makeup)
• The distinctions between dress codes (black tie, cocktail, etc) are very intricate but obvious to those who know how to look. If you wear a short skirt to a black tie event for example, people would clock that instantly even if the dress itself was very formal. Same thing goes for certain articles of men’s clothing.
• Open bars / cash bars at events usually carry limited options. They’re meant to serve lots of people very quickly, so nobody is getting a cosmo or a Manhattan etc.
• Members of the press generally aren’t allowed to freely circulate at nicer galas/events without a very good reason. When they do, they need to identify themselves before talking with someone.

• These events are almost always open bar. They're not trying to make their money back on alcohol. They want you to drink and eat and donate generously.
• If there are cocktails, there will be at most two on offer, pre-made in large tubs. You cannot order a different version, it is what it is.
• There are two types of events: cocktail style or seated. The first includes roaming hors d'oeuvres or a fancy buffet with tiny plates called a grazing station. For a long night, the roaming food will get a little bigger throughout the evening and have a 'main' at some point based around a protein.
• A seated event will usually be more structured and may include multiple courses. Silver service is not in vogue anymore. You are likely to get either alternating meals brought to you like at a wedding, or served banquet style. A good caterer can get a plate to everyone in a 300 person event in about three minutes.
• Drunk people are the same no matter how expensive their suits. They still laugh too loud, spill their drinks and slip on the dance floor. They are usually less embarrassed about doing coke in the bathrooms.
• A full scale event that starts at 6pm will have staff arriving at noon to begin setup. Earlier if there's a light show or pyrotechnics. Typically venues don't just have 30 tables and three hundred chairs lying around, let alone table cloths, chair covers, etc. It's all rented and brought in on the day. Bands and DJs will be running audio tests in the background throughout.
• Most heritage buildings that host these things, like museums and manor houses, aren't really designed for them. They might put down mats so you're not walking in stilettos over two hundred year old wooden floors, the kitchens are weirdly far away, and there are not enough taps. There is never anywhere for staff to sit, so if you open the wrong door you might find half a dozen waiters sitting on upturned milk crates in a room full of million dollar paintings, eating the left over bread.
• Really old buildings don't have enough bathrooms, which means the staff will be sharing with the guests.
• Clean up starts the second the event ends, if not sooner. Unattended glasses will start to disappear first, then table decorations. When the timer ticks over, the lights come back on and exhausted staff strip the tables, pack up dirty glasses and unopened wine bottles and have to Tetris it all into the back of a van. The venue is booked for that day only, so everything has to be gone before anyone can go home. A large event that finishes at midnight might take until 3am to be cleared away.
• These are very long and physically demanding nights for anyone working them. The staff all get to know each other, and will absolutely notice someone trying to sneak in wearing a borrowed uniform. They are not being paid enough to care.

Stryn stopped at a bend near the river, where churning white water tumbled between sheets of ice. He was a long way from the road, a long way from his party. His warriors waited for him back at the camp, passing the time with drinking games and bawdy tales thundered over a long table.

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Aka, Graveyard Lesbians. Kaz Pine is a skeptic. She’s spent the last three years working in a historical graveyard, and never saw a single ghost. Still hurting from her recent breakup with a believer, Kaz decides to sabotage a high-profile ghost hunt, where she meets and recruits the enigmatic Lucy to join in on the prank. But when Kaz’s co-worker (her cat. His name is Renfield. She’ll show you pictures later.) disrupts a seance, things around town start getting a little … spooky.

• GENRE: Romcom, campy horror.
• ADDITIONAL TAGS: Gay and bisexual main characters. An old cat as a major supporting character. Ghost hunters. Jock MC.
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“I have naught to do in this prison, you know,” He pouted with those memories, tracing the male's cracked antlers with the needletips of one hand and petting the female's ragged ears with another, “and with the pebble away—searching all the wood for a fantasy—I am ever so anxious.” Breathing deep of their lingering agony, Parnamyr moaned and nudged his mountainous frame between them on the pillowy bed and sighed as they gasped and made to wriggle away. “I suppose we could try again,” He mused, pulling them gently back to his sides and their twitching limbs tickled his own, luring another sigh from his lips and a weary flutter from his lids, “In a breath...or three.” But high-pitched, rhythmic beeping splintered Parnamyr’s stolen gasp of contentment and toward it he groaned, sliding his eyes to the entryway and the ocular buzzing there. The matte black eye zipped then, with soft whirs and clicks, around the thick rotwood door and stopped a hand's swipe from its master. Parnamyr motioned at it, with a limp wrist, to do as it came to and the ocular spun, whirring louder in its excitement. Its eye flared after, to light the empty space before it, and projected an image in glaring reds, stark blacks and brilliant whites.

"Hello, Sidney," purred a sinister, electronic voice. "Would you like to play a game?"

veruca screamed and screamed, punching her pillow, picturing barbara's face bloody and bruised under her fists. her chest heaved with deep breaths, teeth clenched in a snarl.

"you fucking bitch," she said to her empty room. "you're supposed to be with me."