Realistic or Modern don't threaten me with a good time [closed]

[banshees]

nico

wrecking this evening already and loving every minute of it

nico pavatelli

he/him

21

bisexual

6'0

personality

In another life, Nico would have been a kinder person. He was born with a gigantic heart that makes up for his lack of natural intellect. He rarely thinks with his head before acting, which is usually more of a curse than a blessing. Nico is intensely charismatic; although he can’t quite be considered charming, he’s innately skilled at easing tension and finding the humor in every situation. However, this is a double edged sword: Nico doesn’t take anything seriously until it suddenly becomes very serious. “It’s fine” is his motto, even when it’s definitely not fine at all. Despite being dangerously optimistic and easy-going, Nico has a rather erratic temper. It depends on the day; punch him in the face on Tuesday and he might laugh, but cut him off mid-sentence on Wednesday and be met with six feet of pure rage. Lastly, he is incredibly terrible at saving money. He’s not to keen on the administrative aspects of life; he’ll worry when he’s dead. After all, he’s here for a good time, not a long time.

biography

to be decided

code by pasta ​

Nico Pavatelli couldn’t remember the last time he had gone out on a Saturday without ending up unconscious one way or another. Last week he’d gotten blackout drunk at the same club he was at now, unable to say no to the cajoling of his brothers, which was hardly rare for him. He could never back down from a challenge, and Mikey had bet that he could drink Nico under the table before eleven o’clock. It was never a good idea to take Mikey on in a drinking game (and he used the word game very, very loosely) because everyone knew Mikey drank to forget. Nico didn’t drink to forget, though; he drank to have a good time, and even though he had 20 pounds on Mikey he ended up quite literally under the table by ten. He woke up the next day in his own bed, stripped to his socks, which should have been much more concerning than it was.

He never worried. Don Gionicci’s boys took care of each other. The next Saturday, he was right back at The Blue Lounge, only that time he wasn’t there as a customer. He was in the freezers in the back, teaching some unfortunate soul what happens when you don’t keep your promises to Don Gionicci. Mikey wasn’t drinking this time; he was holding the guy’s arms behind his back while Nico hit him. He didn’t like shaking guys down like this; he preferred fair fights, relished the sight of a man’s face falling when he realized this had been Nico’s fight all along. He even liked the burn that came after losing, the ache making itself known in every last joint and muscle, the hurt reminding him that he was alive, alive, alive. Beating guys down like this was just a chore to him; it didn’t mean shit when the guy already knew there was no chance in hell he was gonna come out on top. He was almost finished when the guy jerked out of Mikey’s grasp and nailed Nico right between the eyes. He remembered reeling back, his head hit the freezer door, and then: nothing. Total darkness. He had woken up the next day in his own bed, considerably less naked than the last time he had blacked out at the Lounge, with a headache so terrible that it felt like someone was trying to crack his forehead open like an egg.

This was a new Saturday. He planned to stay awake this time. Mikey was nowhere to be seen, which boded well for his sobriety, and Don Gionicci didn’t give him any errands, so he would probably remain concussion-free. Probably. He leaned back against the bar, elbows propped up on the counter, drink dangling from one hand. He felt sort of loose and unhinged, like anything could happen. This wasn’t strange, though. Nico usually felt like he was anticipating something wild to begin. He looked good, too, handsome and sharp in a way he was usually too busy to cultivate. He had never really favored suits like his brothers did; they thought it made them look respectable and inconspicuous, but he didn’t see the point in paying so much money for something that would end up ruined and bloodied within a few days. Vince and Tommy had corralled him into one, though, because they had decided he needed to get laid. As if he couldn’t get by on his own charm and charisma. They underestimated him.

Then why haven’t you had anyone in your bed since January, his brain sang at him. It was currently May. He looked down at himself and smoothed a hand down his shirt, popping a few buttons open from the top as he went. Maybe they had a point.

 

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[div class=label] BASICS [/div]
[div class=basics]spencer o. sutton

19

bisexual

space kid
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[div class=deschidescrollbar] [div class=desccontainer] [div class=label]IT'S NINE IN THE AFTERNOON, YOUR EYES ARE THE SIZE OF THE MOON[/div] [div class=characterdesc]
spencer oliver sutton is what most people consider a good kid. he doesn't pick fights but will stand up for his friends. he doesn't have exactly perfect grades, per say, but he always tries his best. sometimes he lies, but it's always in good interest. by all definitions, this should bring spence to be a terribly boring, average person, but in reality he is something...far from that. spence is particular about the people that he hangs out with. it's not that he's not friendly, or that he has a mean-looking face that wards people off (in fact, his babyface makes others more likely to trust him), he's just reserved, and tends to keep to himself. the people he lets look closely at his heart are few, but he loves them with his whole heart. spence has a lot of love to give and only a couple of people to give it to, and he's always making sure that his friends know how much he appreciate them.

like i said before, spence is...mostly average when it comes to school. he has a's in english and science, b's in most of his other classes, and will occasionally pull a c in history. there's one thing, however, that they don't quite teach an entire class on in school - space. spencer has been in love with the planets ever since he was a child and figured it was an easy way for him to stay connected to his father after he passed. the books he studied as a somewhat pretentious child belonged to his dad, and he pored over the pages night after night. he's currently taking a gap year before he heads off to college in the fall.

- has a golden retriever puppy named saturn. this dog is very calm for a puppy and really chunky
- he! loves! his! girlfriend! julie she is the light of his life
- cries a lot but would never admit this
- is actually a pretty decent cook
- doesn't know what a sleep schedule is
- really loves nature n taking walks. would never tell his friends but he'd rather go walk in the woods for a couple of hours than see a movie with them
- afraid of intimacy for no reason (he n julie r working on this. she's very patient)
- doesn't really do dangerous stuff except for climbing on top of things (trees, buildings, etc.) he likes to be tall

pinterest
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​

Come to a party, it'll be fun. A sweet taste lingered in Spencer's mouth as he downed the rest of his tea, tapping his pen lightly on the empty notebook. An entire cup of tea and nearly half an hour of sitting a listening to the radio playing Bach and Mozart had not, in fact, stimulated him to start creating anything. He was waiting for something to just pop into his head - a poem, possibly. Maybe a drawing. Maybe just some doodles that he could start. Maybe it was the intimidating first page that always kept him from starting. Spencer sighed, glancing out of the window. It was a nice day outside, and instead of hanging out with his friends, who were, one by one, graduating high school and finishing their freshmen year of college, he was sitting inside with a blank notebook, waiting for something to come.

Come to a party, it'll be fun. Spencer shook his head, remembering the sickly sweet tone of Raymond's voice as he pleaded with him to come tonight. He knew exactly where the dance hall was - it was in town, close to the theater. Close meaning several blocks away, and in a part of town he'd never been in. And everyone was going - at least, everyone that Raymond knew. Like Spencer, both boys kept their circles fairly tight. But Julie was going, and he was never one to pass on an invitation to hang out with his girlfriend. But it was in town. But Julie was going. Spencer closed the notebook and sighed, pressing his hands to his cheeks. He wasn't fond of making decisions. Deciding to take a gap year was one of the biggest he had had to make so far. Once he had decided that, of course, everything was fine - he loved having the free time to wander about in the safer parts of town, hang out by the lighthouse that was only a mile's trek from his house, always be free to spend time with Julie when she wasn't working. Being able to study the stars and stay up as late as he wanted without the repercussions of being tired in class. Going back to school would change all of that, but he didn't quite see any other option.

Come to a party, it'll be fun. His thoughts disintegrated as the phone rang. Spencer got up to answer it but was beat to it by his mother, who had appeared out of her office to get the phone. She turned to him with a ad smile and held out the phone for him. "It's Raymond, dear." Of course it was. He simply nodded and crossed the living room to her, holding the phone to his ear. "Hello?" A beat. "Look, I don't know if I can make it. I have to help my mom...um..." Spencer scratched the back of his neck. "Yes, I know Julie's going." Raymond always meant the best, but he was far more aggressive in showing his affection, his voice now raising to what Spencer perceived as a yell. He held the phone away from his ear until he couldn't hear his friend's gruff voice on the other end of the phone. "Are you done?" Another pause. "You know what? Fine. I'll go. I'll go as long as you come pick me up and you don't call again, alright?" It had been the third time today that Raymond had tried to get him to come. He knew that the kid liked spending time with him, but he was graduating high school this year, and they had the whole summer in front of them. To be fair, on the other hand, Raymond had a penchant for drinking and staying out late and finding pretty girls and doing God knows what with them.

What do you wear to a party in a club? A club? Was he really going clubbing? Of course, he'd had alcohol before (Marvin had laughed when he choked on it; but it really did burn) and he'd tried cigarettes once with much of the same outcome, but this was so totally off his rocker that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. Was it better to be overdressed or underdressed for this kind of situation? Spencer finally decided on a simple grey t-shirt paired with black jeans, a pair of black shoes that hurt his feet when he wore them too long (obviously giving him an incentive to leave if he needed one) and a red, blue, and green plaid flannel, unbuttoned. Hat? No hair. Spencer messily ran his fingers through his hair, a habit he'd picked up from his father. He stared at himself in the mirror with a slight frown. Oh, yes, he knew exactly what that sad look was all about. He'd seen it far too many times for his own good. It was about his father, and how they shared the same raven hair, the same honey eyes, the same average stature, the same prominent dimples, the same sharp cheekbones that always seemed to pink too belong to a boy. His mother looked nothing like him, and Spencer knew it killed her every day to see the spitting image of her husband walking around the house.

Raymond was only there too soon in his father's 1951 Pontiac Chieftain. Spencer quietly slid in the backseat next to Julie. Marvin sat on her other side and Cynthia sat in the passenger seat. Whoops and hollers were heard from the cars as soon as he stepped outside. Julie pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Glad Raymond got you out here," she whispered. He smirked, nonchalantly slipping his hand into hers and holding it against his thigh. "It was pulling teeth right from the very beginning." "Yeah, well, you weren't doing anything to begin with. How's the new journal going?" "Well, really, it's not..." The chatter stayed heavy in the car, and between the gentle whispering between Julie and Spencer, the occasional cussing from Marvin, Cynthia's unabashed unsatisfication with the radio ("They're playing Tutti Frutti again?"), and Raymond missing turns left and right, the trip to the club was a lively one.

 

[banshees]

Within an hour, he managed to make himself the center of attention, which was nothing new for Nico. A Dean Martin song he’d heard a thousand times before was playing, a little too loud, but nobody was complaining, especially none of the kids dancing on the floor. Nico wasn’t much of a dancer anymore; after being on his feet all day every day, the last thing he wanted to do was spend his off-hours swinging a girl around. Nobody ever really caught his eye, anyway. Girl or guy, they all wanted the same thing. They wanted to feel like they were doing something dangerous, something taboo, as if flirting with Nico was just as risky as working for the Gioviccis. He scoffed a little.

“So I’m climbing up the fire escape ‘cause the bastard holed himself up in his apartment building, barricaded the door and everything like he expected the goddamn Marines to come busting in. He had somethin’ much worse coming for him, though,” Nico said with a wicked grin, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. The people that were gathered around him followed suit, gravitating closer to him like his own personal moons, caught up in his theatrics. Everybody loved this story, and the more he told it the less stupid he felt for busting his knee the way he did. The joke wasn’t funny until everybody was laughing; that’s why he fought so hard to make everyone see the humor in things the way he did. He had to. How else could he survive, in his line of work?

“I stood there scratching my head for a minute, you know, ‘cause what was I supposed to do? I’m a big guy,” he said, nodding his head toward both of his biceps with a smirk, “but I can’t plow through walls-well, at least not when there’s twenty layers of furniture on the other side. I’ve plowed through plenty of walls.”

“Focus, stupid,” his buddy Johnny said, and threw an elbow in his side. “We can all see how big your muscles are. Tell the story.”

“I tell the story how I tell the story, stronzo, alright? Okay. So I’m standing there wondering what the hell I do now, ‘cause I can’t go back to the big guy empty handed unless I’m looking to get my ass kicked to high heaven. So I think: fire escape. This seems real smart, right, like I’m a regular Sherlock Holmes, but it’s the middle of December. So I go out there, and I’m staring up at all these icicles, can barely even see the ladder ‘cause of all the snow, and then I look back down at my shoes- they’re real smart, you know, ‘cause I got called outta Christmas dinner from my mamma’s house, but they’re not really built for climbing up the sides of apartment buildings.” He pauses for dramatic effect, relishing the feeling of eight pairs of eyes on him.

“You didn’t do it, Nico, did you?” said one of the girls at his side, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes. Her eyes are pretty enough, blue enough to cut through the dim lights of the club, but he’s not as interested as he should be. When he looks at her, she curls her ankle around his, so smoothly he barely realizes at first. He should pull her closer maybe, get the bartender to refill her drink like a gentleman would, but he just… doesn’t. He doesn’t feel the urge.
What the hell was wrong with him? It felt like nothing was ever enough for him anymore. Maybe his work had turned him greedy; he had a pretty girl at his side, a drink in his hand, his wallet was full, he was surrounded by his friends, and yet he couldn’t seem to stop wanting things for himself. Or maybe he was a romantic at heart.

He smirked to himself. As if.

“Patience, bella,” he crooned, laying it on a little thick. WASPs like her were always weirdly enthralled with the Sicilian act. He supposed it was probably a little more exotic to them than the usual sweater-and-croquet crowd they were accustomed to. “I’m getting to the good part.”

“So I start climbing. I’ve always been a lucky bastard, you know, figured- what’s the worst that could happen? The guy I’m after lives on the fourth floor, so I go up, and up, and up… You get the picture.” He took a sip of his drink and shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it back over the bar. “I get up to the guy’s window, and I’m not too worried, ‘cause I know I’ve got at least fifty pounds on this guy and he’s much more afraid of me than I am of him. But as soon as I get my hands on the windowsill, he’s pulling it up, and then I’m staring down the barrel of a shotgun.”

The girls gasped, the men whistled. “Now look at me. Do I got a bullet between my eyes? No. I’m sitting here talking to you beautiful people. So what do you I think I did?”

“Aw, Nico, you didn’t-”

“Sure did. I pitched my ass over the railing. Think about it: I could’ve gotten shot by some irrelevant two-bit bastard, or I could’ve broken my neck on my own terms. And the way I saw it, hey- if I break a leg, that means I finally get to take a vacation.” Nico winked at the girl tucked against his side. She was wide-eyed, clutching at the hem of her skirt.

“Now, in my head I did a real sleek little tuck n’ roll, like you see in the movies, but really the only thing that saved my neck was the snow. If we hadn’t had a blizzard the night before I don’t think I’d be sitting here right now.”

“You didn’t get hurt?” the girl said in awe.

He chuckled, short and without humor. This is the part that he always struggles to laugh at. “Oh no, princess. Didn’t you see me walk through the door?”

He rolled his pant leg up to the knee and smoothed his finger over the scar there, there, there. “Completely shattered my knee. Was a real Frankenstein situation. There were so many bolts and pins and god knows what in my leg for months afterward. Never really healed right.” He bit the inside of his cheek and forced out another smile. “I think the limp gives me character, though. Don’t you think?”

He let his pant leg fall back down and leaned back in his seat, throwing an arm over Johnny and the girl at his side. “Where the hell is Vince? I think we need another round.”

He liked that story. It made them smile, made them gasp, and it had a good ending. The real story wasn’t as easy to tell, so he never did. Nico slid his tongue over his teeth and scanned the dance floor, let the conversation wander along without him for a while. The girl jabbered at him for a while, trying to be seductive and not really succeeding, at least not in a way Nico felt like responding to. Maybe he’d take her home. His senses felt kind of dull, fuzzy. He needed to get in a fight, maybe. He needed something different. The same old crowd, day after day; it got tiring. But the floor looked a little different tonight. There were unfamiliar faces, a lot of them younger and fresher than his. He sat in his chair and couldn’t help but feel like the king of the castle, just for a minute. The king of the world. The band picked up speed, the kids danced faster. Everything was velvet and polished wood, dim lights and laughter, and here he was at the center of it all. Nico exhaled a content sigh.

 

[mads]

Good for Raymond, Spencer thought, already knowing some people here. As soon as the nearly six-and-a-half foot guy stepped into the club, he was off, Marvin hopping right along at his heels. It was true, tht in their little group, Raymond was the alpha male. Spencer was too passive to argue, and Marvin catered to Raymond's every whim. Cynthia had, of course, the biggest crush on him (even though he was completely oblivious), and while Julie had a great number of friends, she tended to hang around this group the most often. Spencer couldn't tell if it was because of him, or something else. Julie was fun. She was pretty, and she was smart. She wasn't the kind of girl that would hang around a couple of bros, a lovesick girl, and a boy who was too shy to admit that he liked her for nearly a year. But she was here, and she was stuck by his side until she went to console Cynthia, pouting after realizing she would not be able to spend the night with Raymond.

The hierarchy of the group was complicated, but it made sense to those who were in it. However, as the group slowly split apart, Spencer found himself alone in a place too big for him to be alone in. He started wandering around the place, trailing his hands across the lacquered walls, glancing up at the lights, many but dim, pressing his fingers into the velvet barstools. Barstools? The image almost sent a shudder through him. There was no doubt in his mind that he would make Raymond and Marvin spend the night at his house after dropping the two girls off - it would definitely become too dangerous after a couple of rounds of alcohol, something he himself swore off nearly a year ago. He popped himself onto one of the barstools and waved off the bartender, already starting to pour him something thick and orange-colored. "I don't drink," he quietly explained.

"No? What's a kid like you doing in a place like this?" Spencer pouted at the man, tall and broad-shouldered, but with a king face, a salt and pepper handlebar moustache just below his nose. The boy sighed, running a hand through his hair, glancing around the room again. It was spacious, and it was subtly elegant, sure, but it reeked of alcohol and cigarettes and the smell of teens dancing together. He shrugged, his eyes following a tan boy, slumped in a chair, with a gaggle of people around him, a red-haired girl clutching to his arm and batting her eyelashes at him. He was telling a story, and it was hard to hear, but he strained himself. The guy I'm after lives on the fourth floor...pitched my ass over the railing...completely shattered my knee... "Nico Pavatelli," the bartender said. "Kid acts like he owns the place. He thinks he's hot shit, that one."

Spencer crossed his arms as he listened to the rest of Nico's story, shaking his head nonchalantly. Even with the snow, a shattered knee the only injury from the fall? That couldn't have been right. But...Nico seemed tall, and sturdy, and it didn't matter if he was lying or not, because the crowd of people around him didn't see much past the handsome exterior, the valiant surface covering something that Spencer could only imagine was hiding underneath. Maybe he was reading into it too much. Just like he always did. He did that with his mother a lot. Tell me about dad. Tell me your favorite thing about him. But she would just simply shake her head with that sad sort of smile, wave him off. All he had were the books and a picture, tucked in his wallet.

He remembered the day exactly. It was below freezing outside, and his mother had bundled him up in sweaters and jackets so thick he could barely put his arms down. She needed to get surgery (he'd been told, but he was eight, and didn't remember exactly what kind it was, just that it would make her hands feel a little bit better) and Spencer's Aunt Sarah was going with her. Which left him, and his dad, at the house - but not for long. As soon as his mother was out the door, his father had taken the two outermost layers off of him with a smile and a twinkle in his golden eyes. "It's not that cold outside. She just wants you to be safe." Spencer had only been ice skating in his life once before, and it was a long time ago, before his brain started storing memories. He'd only knew that he had gone because of the photos on the mantle. It's what his dad loved the most. He never went anywhere without his camera. The indoor rink was chilly, sure - but not as cold as it was outside. He didn't really remember skating with his dad, but he remembered the conversations. God, he missed those more than anything. A woman had offered to take the picture right as they were going to leave. His father was reluctant to hand over the camera, but Spencer was so glad he did - the photo was grainy but it showed the resemblance he shared. He never left home without it on him.

The raven-haired boy hadn't realized that he wasn't exactly paying attention until his brain clocked back in and he found himself staring at Nico, the boy's eyes pressed right back into his. He straightened his posture and uncrossed his arms, quickly looking away, a deep rose flushing his cheeks. Another look around the room and he couldn't find Raymond or Marvin, or Cynthia, or Julie. Julie! How could he let her come to a place like this? She could get hurt, or worse...Spencer couldn't think about the worst. He jumped off of his stool with a dismissive wave to the bartender and started worming his was through the crowd, staying again to the edges of the place. His hands trailed across the walls and along the backs of empty chairs. Spencer wasn't exactly tall, and there were some big guys in the crowd, which made finding the rest of his crew near impossible.

 

[banshees]

In his line of work, you had to be good at knowing when you were being watched. Nico, who was born knowing how to command a room, was especially talented at this, which is why it took him approximately forty seconds to realize there was a set of unfamiliar eyes on him. He had spent enough time at the club over the last few years to recognize the regulars by face if not by name, and this boy-strangely still, oddly gentle- was definitely not a regular. Nico turned to look at the bar, and narrowed his eyes when he found a boy staring straight at him. This boy was a stranger, and he looked right at him, no fear, no respect for who Nico was or who he worked for. Didn’t this kid know what his people could do to him?

Probably not, Nico mused. He was dressed nice, but not nice. Nico guesses he came from a good family, good people, but not like he had a trust fund the size of Manhattan. He was pretty, too: his eyes were focused and lighter than Nico’s own, and the dim lighting cast shadows on the edges of his cheekbones, his jaw, and he flushed red when he saw Nico staring back. He grinned, sitting up a little higher in his seat to get a better look. He didn’t have a drink in front of him, he wasn’t smoking, and he wasn’t raising hell, so what was he doing at the club besides looking at Nico like he could see right through him? Alright- consider him curious.

Nico leaned forward in his seat, elbows rested on his knees, watching this strange boy watch him. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. Instinctually, he had wondered whether the kid was trying to pick a fight with him, but he brushed that thought away as quickly as he came. The look in his eyes… it wasn’t challenging him. It was something different, something wholly unfamiliar. The boy looked at him like he was something to be solved. Like he was trying to see right through him, and succeeding. People didn’t really see him like that. Most people were too afraid to make eye contact, and the people who weren’t afraid still looked at him like he could walk on water. Maybe he just didn’t know who he was. Maybe he should let him know. Nico bit the inside of his cheek and turned to Johnny, elbowing him until he tore his attention away from the girl at his side.

“Hey, you know that kid?” he said under the din of the club, throwing his head in the direction of the bar. But when he looked back, the boy was retreating, disappearing into the crowd of people as quickly as he came. Johnny looked at him with raised eyebrows, probably wondering if Nico was finally losing it. Nico rolled his eyes and stood up too quickly, knee screaming in protest, and then sat back down. What was he gonna do, fight him?

But then again, he thought, he was wishing for something new to happen. Maybe this was his chance. Besides, it was his job to find out who people are. The kid didn’t look Italian, but if he let rival runners into Gionicci’s club, his head would end up on a pike. Nico wasn’t in the mood to get chewed out by the bosses tonight. He lit a cigarette before he untangled himself from the girl at his side and stood up, waving away his friends’ protests and striding into the knot of people.

He walked slow, taking his sweet time to catch up to the kid. The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea. Damn, he didn’t think he would ever get tired of that. He deserved it, didn’t he? He had fought for respect in a world that never planned on giving him any, and he won. Might as well enjoy it, now that he’s made it. He recognized a few more faces as he went: two owe him money, and one tried to ask his sister Bianca on a date. He made a mental note to take care of that on his way back. If the boy didn’t excite him, getting in a brawl would.

Nico watched the boy move closer to the edge of the room, hand trailing over the walls like he thought the crowd would suck him in if he didn’t keep his grip on something solid. What was a kid like him doing in a place like this, and all on his own? Nico cleared his throat.

“You’re, uh, you’re lookin’ a little lost,” he said, and pushed his hands his pockets, catching up to the boy lazily. “Your car break down outside or something? This doesn’t seem like your scene.” Up close, Nico could tell the boy wasn’t much younger than him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the boy wasn’t supposed to be here. Nico didn’t consider himself a good person by any means, but his mamma had raised him right, which was more than he could say for some of the other sharks in the water here. Once they got a whiff of fresh blood, they would pounce. Nico, though. Nico had manners. Most of the time. He grinned a little, cigarette dangling from his mouth.

 

[mads]

Theoretically, Spencer knew exactly what's Julie's face looked like - a soft strawberry blonde, a couple of freckles across the bridge of her nose, eyelashes so long they brushed his cheeks when they kissed. But now, as he was looking for her in this giant crowd, he couldn't find her anywhere, couldn't find the fishnets she was wearing, couldn't find the red leather jacket, the plastic skirt tied too tight around her waist. A soft melody played in his mouth but he didn't dare let it out, instead starting to hum it. He knew exactly where it was from but he couldn't pinpoint it. He'd heard it before - he was listening to it this morning.

"You're, uh, you're lookin' a little lost." "Oh, Nico Pavatelli."

The comment slipped out so gently and subtly that he nearly missed the look of surprise on the other's boys face. His tone was so passive, like he had known this boy all his life. Looking right at him - right through him - for a couple of seconds, it almost felt like he had. He was smiling a little, his voice quiet, features sharp. Spencer narrowed his eyes - it was dark, but he knew this boy's face already. Square, tan, strong, charismatic with a bright smile and a lit cigarette: a face made for the limelight. For whatever reason, though, Spencer didn't feel intimidated in the slightest. He didn't feel safe, either, but he had no doubt he could get through the crowd toward the exit if he needed to. "Sorry, I...I was talking to the bartender. That's how I know your name," Spencer explained. Oh, yes. It was easy to remain calm and collected as long as he wasn't trying to get words to come out of his mouth. He forgot about that part.

Spencer shook his head. "I'm not lost," he started, crossing his arms with a slight pout. His face ran across the room again. "I mean, I don't think I am. I've never been here before, but they have." A confused look played on Nico's face, and he started again. "I'm just looking for my friends; I'm driving them home. Most importantly, my girlfriend. She's not...I don't see her." Between the last couple of sentences, Spencer refused to make eye contact with Nico. He simply couldn't talk and look someone in the eye at the same time, especially not someone with as much power as Nico had. Maybe it was all an act. He turned back to Nico, looking him steadily in the eye. His eyes were darker than his - much darker. They matched his hair, which he assumed was a deep brown, black in the dim lights of the place. Maybe that's what made it so hard to see. Maybe if it was a little bit lighter, he wouldn't be having this problem.

Spencer ran his hand through his hair and then clasped it to his mouth, pulling his jaw down and tapping his fingers on his chin. It was what his mother called a "thinking movement" - something he did without realizing while he was deep in thought, trying to figure out the right words to put to paper or what color would go best with the newspaper clippings he found in the garbage can. Other ones that she'd pointed out often were pressing a finger into the dip of his neck, or tapping his thumb to each of his four fingers starting with the index, and ending with the pinky. The last one was something that he had picked up from his dad - he used it more often to keep himself calmed down. Four seconds to peace. That's all it was, right? Four seconds.

This Nico guy probably knew the joint inside and out, and could help him find Julie and the rest of his crowd. Spencer was good at remembering faces, but he was having a hard time recalling those of his friends - Marvin had some stubble, Cynthia had her nose pierced, Raymond was wearing...oh, he didn't even know. How could he? He didn't sit next to Raymond on the drive up here. Hell, he wasn't even sure he could get back. He sighed, turning back to Nico. "Listen, I just...I just have to know where they are, and then I'll be fine, I'll get out of your hair." He wasn't asking for help, per say, just explaining, that's all. He wasn't expecting Nico to help. He didn't seem like that kind of guy. "It was nice to meet you, Nico. I don't know if I'll see you again. It's a nice place you've got here." With that he was off, not bothering to look behind him to see if Nico was following.

It took Spencer roughly thirty seconds to find Raymond after talking to Nico because he was being loud and obnoxious and talking to every girl except for Cynthia, pouting at a table by herself. Maybe that's all he needed - a little break to orient himself before getting back to the hunt. He felt like Sherlock, almost, maneuvering through the crowds. Wherever Raymond was, Marvin had to be close, and it was another two minutes before he located him. But that still left Julie, and she was nowhere, and it wasn't like her to just leave him alone in a place like this. She knew how he felt about crowds, about being alone in places he'd never been in before. It wasn't like her at all. He didn't want to see her drunk - he wanted to remember her exactly as she was, smiling, having a good time, taking care of him. Not wherever she was now.