Shiva (Arrow - Oliver Queen)

6 / the party

Sandra should have seen the party coming the second she met Tommy Merlyn.

It was to be, quote-un-quote, 'the best damn welcome-home party Starling City has ever seen', with all the details to be sorted out by Tommy so long as Oliver chose a time and place. Oliver had chosen a large gala that was, conveniently, right across the street from Adam Hunt's building, and the party would be going on right as Hunt reaches his deadline. If Mr. Hunt refused to pay the ransom Oliver set up for him (forty million back to the men, women, and children he scammed), then Oliver and Sandra would only be a door away.

Once she got there, Sandra found the party to be exactly how she imagined a billionaire homecoming would be like: strobe lights everywhere, alcohol in every hand, women in fishnets twirling around on stages. She saw this all from the top of the stairs she entered from. Oliver was no where to be found, so she descended down into the crowd.  She'd been dressed up to the nines, in a dark purple dress Thea had insisted she wear the last time she stopped by the Queen Mansion. The color seemed to change with every flash of the lights.

"Glad you could make it," said a voice, and Sandra turned over her shoulder to see Tommy standing behind her.

She gave him a smirk in return. "Well, how could I miss it? I hear you have a bit of a reputation for throwing parties."

Tommy gave a not-so-innocent shrug. "Well, what can I say? I've had a bit of practice."

Despite herself, she laughed, although she was distracted when she looked up the staircase to see Oliver. He was in a fine suit, the first one she could recall seeing him in. Tommy followed her gaze and spotted him as well, and then jogged up the stairs two at a time to meet his friend, whilst waving for the DJ to cut the music.

"Hey! Hey, hey, hey!" He put one arm on Oliver's shoulder, patting his chest with the other. "Man of the hour!"

The crowd cheered wildly in response, incredibly drunk. Playing the old playboy role once again, Oliver ran over to one of the dancer's stages, hopping on top. Once he was up, Tommy passed him an overflowing shot glass. Oliver drank it in one massive gulp, and afterwards yelled,

"I missed tequila!"

Everyone in the hall cheered again, and the party resumed, the music seeming to go up even louder this time around. Sandra waited for Tommy and Oliver by the bar, which they didn't take long to find.

"Hey, San'," Oliver said to her reflexively.

Tommy quirked an eyebrow up at them. "You two on a nickname-basis, now?"

Oliver opened his mouth, looking for a lie, so Sandra quickly stepped in: "Everyone calls me 'San'." The lie felt more bitter on her tongue than the others so far, the intimacy of the nickname just a bit too close to home. Oliver was the only one she had ever tolerated calling her 'San' - other than her sister.

Tommy, however, shrugged it off. "Alright. So, Oliver, by my rough estimate, you have not had sex in-" he looked towards his brow as he recalled: "-one-thousand, eight-hundred, thirty-nine days." He turned towards a trio of dancers, pointing one out. "As your wingman, I recommend Carmen Golden."

"Which one is she?"

"The one who looks like the chick from Twilight."