Allow me to pontificate, for nobody’s edification but my own, on the standard criteria for a perfect college party:

1. The lights must be low

2. The music must be loud

3. The drinks must flow

4. There must be a crowd

If you disagree with my analysis feel free to write down all your complaints, tie them to a pigeon’s leg, and shove the bird through a glowing doorway. I promise to get back to you just as soon as I can find the time for your bullshit. If that does not suit your schedule and you wish to voice your complaints in person, try reincarnation - just be sure to write a letter to your family first so they’ll know why you decided to go pole dancing on an industrial lathe*.

It was pretty obvious where Jerith’s party was - just enter the building and follow your ears. And eventually your nose. You know a party is good when you can smell it from the other end of the hallway. The room itself was considerably larger than any of the other dorm rooms I’d seen, and all of the furniture had been moved to the sides to facilitate maximum cavorting. Blue and green flames flickered from twin fireplaces on opposite sides of the room, and constellations of glowing red jewels on the walls and ceiling gave the space a cool, cosmic ambiance. The guy had a fucking balcony. Nobody offered me a fucking balcony when I came here.

I’d thought about taking a small bite of the orange mushrooms that I’d been keeping in my nightstand, but finally decided against it, because that could go wrong in so many more ways than it could go right. Good call - Jerith had kindly provided his guests with an alternate avenue for getting fucked up. I allowed the prevailing winds to guide me to the drinks table and poured myself a shot of something that smelled like hand sanitizer.

Maybe just one shot…

After me, myself, and I each took a couple of shots (the glass was kinda small) and poured one for the road, I found myself on the dance floor doing my signature move from college - "the virgin sea anemone". It’s basically a zero-step: you stand, feet rooted into the ground, too scared to make a move on any of the girls, too intimidated to talk to any of the guys, and undulate your arms to the beat to communicate that you’re having a decent time. Hey, maybe once in a blue moon you’ll find a clownfish who wants to hang.

A band of students played in one corner, competing to be heard over the cacophony of introductions taking place. Nobody seemed to know anybody… it was as if Jerith had just gone around inviting random people here all day.

But not quite.

The girls were definitely on the more attractive side - a mix of species, but as any weeb knows, beauty is in the face and the form. Cat ears are just a bonus - enough to make a gentleman wonder if interspecies reproduction was a possibility, or whether the impossibility served as a kind of perfect birth control, greenlighting the kind of utter no-holds-barred sexual depravity seen on… well…

Earth. A-at least we had A/C… r-right?

As I watched, one of the prettier offerings was making a real show of herself on the dance floor, moving ‘dem hips and gyrating ‘dat waist the way a properly calibrated man likes to see. Lots of them, judging by the quick glances she was getting.

Classic case of IVS: Itchy Vagina Syndrome. I pity the fool who tries to lock down this not-so-strongbox.

Just then, a cute young fish swam by, nice body, nice… blue hair…

Never mind.

“Hey.” said Stella flatly.

I tilted my head lazily upward, unwilling to expend my precious oxygen so easily.

“We need to talk.” she continued seriously.

“The Earth is in terrible danger.” I nodded.

“Yeah, no kidding. Actually, I wanted to ask if you’ve found a good place to practice with that knife.”

I bobbled my head noncommittally.

“Come on, I know you have. You said we’d practice together if I agreed with your weird origin story.”

I wondered for a second…

“Or maybe you want me to start telling people about your key?” she pressed.

This bitch.

“You really, really don’t want to do that.”

“Kay, then tell me where we’re meeting.”

I racked my brains, desperate for inspiration, but all I could think of was the grisly acts of malice I wanted to inflict on this god damn fucking…

“The Torture Chamber! We can go there!” I exclaimed.

“What!?” Stella recoiled.

“No wait- it’s not what it sounds like!”

She stepped forward and sniffed my breath. “We can talk when you're ready to make sense.” she said dismissively.

“If you wanted sense, you shouldn't have even talked to me! I've become my most carefree fun-loving self, to network with these wonderful people." I spewed, flailing at the center of mass of the students. "You wanted me to say something dumb, didn't you?! Well, too bad, because I'm not going to! Because I'm smart." I ranted, pointing to my frontal lobe in case Stella had forgotten which region of the brain dealt with higher intelligence. "Now excuse me, I'm gonna go talk to someone with... uhm... moral fiber!"

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Defiantly, I turned 360 degrees and walked away.

I recognized one of the dorks from the front of the church, standing at the balcony by himself. He was a scrawny wallflower of a kid with brown hair, wolf ears and the ragged clothing of a typical “economy student”. I was basically made of impulses at that point, so I staggered on over to him and sniffed his drink. Sure enough, the nerd was drinking water. I wagged my finger and handed him my cup of disinfectant.

"I was gonna drunk this, but I think you need it more."

"Sorry, I don't drink alcohol."

"Why not?!" I asked non-confrontationally. With these quadrilateral types, it’s best to not force the drinks upon them. Rather, one should lead by example: show them how charismatic and gregarious drinking can make you, and in time they will come to understand the error of their ways.

"It's like what Archbishop Pugiliph said during his sermon - the revelry during the procession to the church symbolizes the distractions one must overcome to get the most out of the year of study."

"Yeah, I guess he did say that." I pondered. I don't know what I'd been expecting, but most of the archbishop's speech had come in one ear and gone out the other.

"My dad works in sanitation - he cleans the gutters and collects garbage." The dork continued. "I'm here because I don't want to follow in his footsteps."

“I’m gonna be an adventurer.” I offered.

The garbage collector’s son was unimpressed. "Adventurers are a copper a dozen. They risk their lives for pocket change, and they usually end up dead in a ditch. And then my dad drags their bodies out of the muck."

“Well, unlike most people, I’m gonna need to travel around. Gotta take care of these things.” I said, showing him my shackles.

I didn’t catch his response, because my attention was grabbed by the collar and judo thrown back onto the dance floor - a pink-haired, elven-eared young girl had just made her debut.

Holy shit… it’s really her!

I steeled my nerves. I’m an asshole and a coward, but some encounters are non-optional.

Time to make the best first impression of my life.

I could feel the gaze of that judgemental grey lady from my dreams boring into me as I crept up from behind. I wasn't creeping up though, I was just walking carefully so I didn't startle her.

I placed a hand on her shoulder, and when she turned, startled, I hit her with my premier pickup line - my fortissimo. My dulce de leche. My voulez-vous couchez avec moi ce soir?

"Hey, you look pretty cute from behind, so I thought I'd take a chance on your face."

I enunciated clearly, hoping I hadn't slurred anything. Then I realized that my eyes were half-closed, so I opened them up a bit more, as casually as possible.

The girl took an instinctive step back.

"Wait, I'm sorry, I don't usually open my eyes this much, I'm actually a pretty cool guy."

Sometimes I mortify myself. My """game""" didn't need a spring cleaning, it needed a powerwasher loaded with bleach.

The girl's eyes widened in fear.

Mirroring my eye movements... she must be into me!

I stepped backwards, giving the target... I'm sorry, woman... her space. This is a classic technique - it shows her that you have at least a primitive sense of empathy.

She took another step back, and I mirrored again. She took a third step back, and then turned away. Hints don't normally penetrate my thick skull, but I finally managed to take one.

My next step back was a near-miss with a dapper young chap named Jerith.

“Bradley! What’s up!” he greeted me warmly.

“Damn, you really packed this place!” I answered.

“Nah, I just met a lot of cool people today, this year’s gonna be great! Have you met my fiancee?”

Fiancee?!

“Uh, no… where is she?”

“Right here!” Jerith put his arm around a girl’s waist who was dancing next to him, turned the other way. She smiled at him and reciprocated. It was IVS girl. Of course it was IVS girl. My stomach dropped in foreboding.

“Arrabella, have you met Bradley?” Jerith asked.

“No!” she half-slurred, and we exchanged names.

“When’s the wedding?” I asked. Obvious question, but I was new to the planet and wanted to know what was up.

“After we graduate! We’ve known each other forever - it’s like a dream come true!” Arrabella warbled, clearly on an interstellar journey away from the solar system of sobriety.

As she spoke, her eyes locked on to something behind me. I turned - and noticed an impending wall of doom. Burt and Clayton. Of all people.

And yet… they weren’t heading for me. In fact, they seemed to be drawn towards another large celestial body - one of Jerith’s friends, a giant military-buzz kid that I’d seen at the chapel.

They didn’t seem to be aiming for each other, but their wobbling drunkard’s paths seemed predestined to intersect, until finally…

“Hey!” the military kid shouted, his shirt covered in drank.

Burt had bumped into him from behind, a little too intentionally, but the military kid had seen everything from his periphery. Nobody was fooled.

We’ve got ourselves a game, boys.

Once the two big guys collapsed into a supernova, all the rest of us could do was form a debris ring. The military kid opened the fight by throwing a few punches. Burt deflected one of them, tanked another, and lashed back out, popping the other kid in the face. He staggered back, and they both regrouped, looking for an opening to continue. That first hit must have really gotten to him, because the military kid was skirting around the edge of the ring, backing up against a kid who looked suspiciously like...

Clayton.

Apis's pre-eminent little shit gave Burt a nod, and grabbed the military kid's legs from behind. Surprised, the kid fell to the floor, where Burt immediately pounced and landed a few brutal kicks.

The ring collapsed into a sea of screaming pandemonium - drinks flew like geysers. I couldn't help but laugh when I caught a high-velocity beer shower to the face. New world, same old same old.

I turned to the dork, who seemed petrified with fear.

"Welcome to college." I grinned.

----------------------------------------

Our party must not have been the only one going on that night, because the hallways in the have-not dorm absolutely reeked when I finally managed to stagger back, potholed with lumps of vomit and even a bloodstain or two.

God damn, I thought I partied hard.

The lantern in my room was still lit when I got back. The top bunk opposite mine was occupied by the kid who I still hadn't introduced myself to - he was sleeping on his side, caked in dried vomit.

Gurden was sprawled out on his own bed, in a similar disheveled state.

Looks like we had a visitor as well… Ursa of all people was laying comatose on the floor, frothing at the mouth.

Why's she - oh.

I checked the cabinet by the foot of my bed... no doubt about it.

The fat bitch had eaten my mushrooms.