[ The apartment that Chainsawd leads Ronan to is - for a lack of a better word, overwhelming. The building is looking barely standing from the outside, overrun with vegetation, while the inside feels just like a jungle, and for a moment, Ronan just feels - angry. It flares up inside of him, a bush fire where his feelings keep being fed in as fuel, turning it even more furious. Why is Chainsawd taking him here? Is he supposed to live here?

It's only when he steps into the loft proper that the anger dies out, replaced by something that's close to wonder. Here, the vegetation is still prominent, but it allows for some of the brick walls to show through, the windows clear and massive, letting the light in abundantly. There is some furniture - mismatched, cozy, a little messy, strewn around somewhat haphazardly, with vine curling around the legs of a coffee table, flowers growing in the kitchen sink.

It hits him like a punch to the gut - this place makes him feel like he's stepped into somewhere that's half Monmouth, half the Barns, with Cabeswater growing between the cracks. ]

Chainsawd, what is this place? [ His voice is loud in the eerie quiet of the loft. When there's a noise, coming from a section off area, Ronan creeps towards it slowly, worried that he's made his presence known by talking out loud. His fists are clenched, ready for a swing, but he stops dead in his tracks when he turns around the corner. ]

Adam?

[ It's surprising to Ronan that they don't arrive much later to the party, but when they do make it, Chainsawd and Barricaded almost pushing them forward, the whole place is... well, it's basically just as rundown as the loft, and there's barely anything happening, and Ronan wants to laugh, for a second. He wants to mock this farce of a party, let his bitterness bleed through his smirk.

What he does, instead, is pull up to the bar. He gives Adam a brief look and reaches out to squeeze his hand, just for a split second, before he's off, stalking through the room with a purpose, shoulders straight and head held high. He doesn't look at anyone around him, even as he brushes shoulders, letting his disinterest wrap around him like a piece of armor as he keeps walking.

Getting to the bar, he leans over it, feet leaving the floor as he bends to spot a bottle of scotch, of whiskey, of vodka, of - anything. Even if this place isn't a free-for-all, he's going to fucking make it, and feel free to try and tell him otherwise. ]

Let me say - this party is going to keep sucking until we get the Murder Squash song.

[ A pause. Ronan takes another swig of whiskey. ]

Maybe I should DJ.

[ That - that would be a terrible idea. Don't let him. ]

[ Ronan isn't entirely sure how he ended up where he is. Where he is isn't exactly defined, either - a corridor of some kind, dark and endless, with doors leading to so many mysteries he isn't sure even the most curious parts of his mind can take it.

There are noises; creaking, inhuman noises, like the building itself is rearranging things, unable to do it without sounding like a straight up horror movie product. Ronan suddenly wishes he could fall asleep right here and now, just for a moment, to pull up a knife, or some brass knuckles - something better to defend himself than just his fists, as good as they are.

This place reminds Ronan of dreams. There's something surreal about it, like he could carve his story just by brushing his fingers against the walls. There's still a hope beating in his heart that he's going to walk into a room and find Gansey here, his glasses askew as he contemplates whatever monstrosity this place as in store for him with awe and wonder.

So Ronan steps into a room. Any room, the first room with an open door, his heart beating hard in his throat. ]

Is someone here?

(( happy to plot anything, PM or find me here: ellievolia.

Also, will match brackets or prose, no preferences here. ))