#ch: anais murad

[ofcdizaino]

Cleo was glad she was getting out there more, being social. Not that she wasn't already a social person to begin with. Despite her goal of being invisible in her line of work, Cleo could easily admit that being the center of a crowd was a desire of hers. Why else would she put herself out there and sing for crowds multiple nights a week?

It felt good to be adored.

Cleo smirked into her glass at the words, "Well, it wouldn't be the worse thing to be at a party." She took a sip of her drink, "Every party has a clown and every party as the true center, it's only a matter of time or drinks for them to come out."

open to: all setting: pretentious party at anaïs’s place

In a Gatsby-esque display of showmanship, the party is only just starting at the odd hour of one-am.

Wine bottles decorate every room, half-drained or yet to be opened. The perfect finishing touch against chatter, a vast collection of paintings, marble floors and marble counters, hosting good people and even better liquor.

As Anaïs makes the rounds, she carries a glass in one hand, and her very own bottle in the other — every once in a few beats, refilling for herself. Like a bratty child, she’d decided this singular label is one she won’t share.

“Careful,” she warns the person she finds near the center of the crowd. “Every party needs an entertainer, and you look like quite the ringmaster.”

Beat. "Alas, I suppose there are a lot of clowns and apex to go around."