( guess who actually cleans up pretty nice, when he gives a shit? rene goddamn ramirez, that's who.
okay, well it's not so much that he gives a shit, but hey, it's something to do. besides, oliver was nice enough to give him a little fashion advice beforehand 'cause rene's never been one for these fancy kinds of things, and mr. formerly-rich formerly-tabloid-beloved former-playboy oliver queen's got enough experience for the both of them combined. "rene ramirez! is announced as he arrives and he feels more than a little weird about it, mainly cause it seems like everyone and their mama came with a damn date, but that's aight.
who needs a date when there's this ridiculous feast, completely gratis? anyone knows rene from back home knows about his (probably disgusting, in their opinion) ability to wolf down a triple stack from big belly burger — this meal's a piece of cake. figuratively, although he's kind of hoping that there is some actual cake later on. he doesn't know anyone at his dinner table, but, with his main course plate completely cleaned, he may or may not sneak a glance to his neighbor's as they set their fork down, ask with a skeptically raised eyebrow: ) You done with that already?
( so, about that dance floor. dateless, he's not about to start getting down with his bad self in the middle of all the couples doing swing dancing and waltzing all fancy and shit, but rene's pretty content to watch idly from the sidelines, sip a flute of champagne or two, scan the crowd for a familiar face or two. ask him to dance, won't you? or maybe just stand there and commiserate with him. god knows he never shuts up — and you might be surprised at the kind of rhythm this gun-toting vigilante's got going on.
or wildcard me, or plot with me at frickin / canary#4628. cool cool cool. )
rene ramirez . ota
okay, well it's not so much that he gives a shit, but hey, it's something to do. besides, oliver was nice enough to give him a little fashion advice beforehand 'cause rene's never been one for these fancy kinds of things, and mr. formerly-rich formerly-tabloid-beloved former-playboy oliver queen's got enough experience for the both of them combined. "rene ramirez! is announced as he arrives and he feels more than a little weird about it, mainly cause it seems like everyone and their mama came with a damn date, but that's aight.
who needs a date when there's this ridiculous feast, completely gratis? anyone knows rene from back home knows about his (probably disgusting, in their opinion) ability to wolf down a triple stack from big belly burger — this meal's a piece of cake. figuratively, although he's kind of hoping that there is some actual cake later on. he doesn't know anyone at his dinner table, but, with his main course plate completely cleaned, he may or may not sneak a glance to his neighbor's as they set their fork down, ask with a skeptically raised eyebrow: ) You done with that already?
( so, about that dance floor. dateless, he's not about to start getting down with his bad self in the middle of all the couples doing swing dancing and waltzing all fancy and shit, but rene's pretty content to watch idly from the sidelines, sip a flute of champagne or two, scan the crowd for a familiar face or two. ask him to dance, won't you? or maybe just stand there and commiserate with him. god knows he never shuts up — and you might be surprised at the kind of rhythm this gun-toting vigilante's got going on.
or wildcard me, or plot with me at