( despite his lack of coat or scarf, edward doesn't seem especially bothered by the invasive cold. similarly, despite the general cheer surrounding him, neither does he seem especially inclined to take part — standing rather awkwardly to the side of all this playful fun with a scornful look on his face, as if every bit of laughter is a personal attack on his brand of melodrama. it's hard to be angsty or depressed when other people are having such a lovely time — a personal offense he takes, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, looking for a spot where he can be effectively morose.

instead, this — a snowball to the back of his head. he turns to see who threw it, but it was a wayward toss, the doer not seeing wherever their ball landed, or not taking any amount of care in their flighty throw. edward, irritated, steps up behind the nearest person winding back for a toss, and catches their wrist in a surprisingly strong hold, scooping the snowball out of their hand with a pluck. )

That's enough, now.

( edward has Spoken. )

( far be it from him to look a gift hot chocolate in the mouth — not something he generally craves, but he can at least keep liquid down, and this has the benefit of heating him on the inside, like a comforting blanket laid over his inner workings. he has half a mind to think, for a moment, that perhaps he won't have to hate every moment he spends here — maybe there will be a lucky bit of good every so often that won't make the rest half so difficult.

of course, then his body reacts.

when you'd lived with your body as long as edward has, you learn how it reacts to things. the moment hot chocolate settles into his stomach he knows something is off, the heat is too hot, and something like sweat gathers at the back of his neck, the hair at his temple. heat? his throat seems dry, and he wonders if it's from panic or — from this strange burn forming in his belly, a heat unlike anything he's experienced before searing him.

around that time, he notices the hard length in his jeans. something clicks like clockwork — he's been drugged, apparently.

reaching for whoever is closest to him, who's also indulging in a wintery treat, he asks: ) What's the effect of this? ( after tilting his head in confusion by his own words, he amends. ) This is a ... aphrodisiac, isn't it?

Just curious — anyone here interested in a game of baseball?

( anything else! for reference, edward is both a vampire ( he wants 2 eat you ) and can read minds ( you have horrible thoughts!!! ), so keep that in mind for any following threads. thank you! )