“Damn,” Carys said, sitting up shakily. “That was art.”

Greta wanted to ravage her. Wanted to ruin her perfect lipstick and muss her hair beyond repair. She also wanted to go out to the party still tasting Carys on her lips.

“Open your mouth,” Greta said. “I promise I won’t mess up your lipstick.”

Carys did, and Greta gave her tongue a delicate swipe.

“I can taste myself.”

“I love the way you taste,” she murmured, and Carys groaned.

Satisfied, they made their way out of Carys’ room to find Helen and Veronica smirking in the kitchen.

“Get it,” Helen coughed, and Veronica just grinned. Greta automatically put a hand to her hair to try and smooth it, but Carys caught her wrist and tousled her hair even more. Then she gave a perfectly filthy leer and blew Greta a kiss. Greta felt like her spine had turned to liquid heat.

Then the doorbell rang, and the holiday party sprang to life.

Guests had sure gotten the memo about fancy dress and Greta appreciated the range of personal styles on display. She didn’t know anyone except Carys, Veronica, and Helen, but people were friendly, and Carys introduced her to a friend who also loved plants so they had something to talk about.

When Muriel walked through the door, Greta thought she’d had too many lemonade Jell-O shots.

“You came!”

Muriel looked glorious. She wore one of her signature flowing outfits, but this one was a bright teal shot through with sparkling red threads that glinted in the light. Her thick hair was gathered in a braided crown on top of her head and studded with jeweled pins in the shapes of beetles, spiders, and one large green grasshopper.

“Of course I did,” Muriel said breezily as she swept inside. “I wouldn’t have missed it.” She kissed Greta’s cheeks without making contact, her bright pink lipstick perfect.

“Let me get you a drink.” Greta took her elbow. “Er, I don’t suppose you like Jell-O shots…”

Everyone stared at her as they made their way to the drinks table. Wide-eyed looks of admiration and compliments followed in their wake.

“You look amazing, ma’am,” someone said.

“Thank you, darling,” Muriel cooed. “As do you.”

The guest in question, an androgynous black-clad butch with spiked blue hair and multiple facial piercings, blushed bright red and ducked their head with murmured thanks.

“So, um, a Jell-O shot is…” Greta paused, trying to figure out how disgusting a Jell-O shot might sound to someone as refined and, well, old as Muriel.

“I know what it is, dear,” Muriel said. “Could I trouble you for something a tad more liquid?”

“Of course, sure, lemme just…”

Greta squeezed behind the drinks table and poured Muriel a glass of Veronica and Helen’s lemonade that had not been gelatinized. “My friends make this. It’s really good. Well, I like it…”