“Stefan, you missed a spot.” Rolling his eyes, Stefan turned his head slightly to the right, eying the spot he supposedly missed. It’s not even— sighing, he took a small step, painting over it once again. This was not what Stefan believed rehab would be like– not the second time around, at least. The first time, was less work and practically building Ostroff’s garden on their font lawn was not what he imagined to be helping his alcoholism. Sure, it kept him busy, and if that’s what they were aiming for, then it was certainly working.Before dipping his brush back into the paint bucket, proceeding to paint the picket fence before him, he heard his name being called from afar. He then dropped the brush before turning his head, an almost annoyed expression on his face. “Yeah?”
Damon was slow about making his way down to the beach. On one hand, a bonfire sounded like a kickass party. He’d been to a couple in Maine that were alright, but he knew these people. You could take the high society, catty bitches out of New York…. but they were just the same people in a more scenic atmosphere. Someone would get pushed into the fire (on “accident”), the ocean, or into doing something they didn’t want to do. He wasn’t sure he wanted to witness, wasn’t sure he wanted to be sober and witness, but he didn’t have any better offers so here he was.
It was dark, the air only lit with flickering flames and he wasn’t getting too close to those just yet. He also didn’t know who was standing near him, but he spoke anyway, his voice low and amused as he took in the revelry, or at least what he could see of it. “This is either gonna be really fun or a huge disaster. What’s your bet?”
“My mother and Bart are around here somewhere. There’s no formal line, so grab some appetizers as they pass and see who you can find. You can hit the bar or find some champagne floating around on trays, too. Thank you for coming.”