Goths - "Here We Are Now... Entertain Us"

"Fuck this fascist shit," muttered Alistair in the British accent everyone but him knew was fake. "This is bloody bullshit. I mean, look at this--how many people had to starve so Jake Murrow can live in a house like this?"

"I'd let all of Africa starve if I could have a TV like that," muttered Hunter as she led her group through the massive living room of Jake's house. Dressed in a dark-black corset and leather mini-skirt, with a heavy-dosage of make-up on her face, she stood out anywhere no matter what room she went into.

She touched her hand against the 60" inch flat-screen monster against the wall, letting her fingers stroke it gently. She seemed to take a sick pleasure in touching things, always letting out the softest breaking moan between her lips.

"Fuck Africa and fuck Alistair's fascist shit," said Tim, towering above his two friends. "This isn't a night for politics and this isn't a night for you watching your freaky Asian DVDs. This is a night to get hammered and get laid."

"Every night's a night to get hammered and get laid, Timmy," giggled Hunter. "But a night like this is a night to do it with people you're never gonna do it with again."

"I've got my guitar here. Think I might break into Jake's dad's recording studio. Maybe get a small crowd listening to me. Cut a CD, even. Anything can happen," said Tim, the guitarist in a now-broken up garage-band. "Gonna get some groupie action."

"Whatever," said Hunter. "I'm gonna get any and every action I can get."

"Really?" said Alistair.

"Wouldn't be action with you," she sighed. "It would be a tragi-comedy."

Tim laughed. Alistair sulked. Hunter locked eyes with a guy across the room touching the keg. She flashed a grin and anyone in their line of sight could feel what was going to happen next.

Hunter curled her deep-red lips: "Timmy, go cut your album. Alistair, go try to get laid and fall flat on your ass. Boys, talk to you later. I'm going to go make knotch number one on the guest bedroom bed."