A hat in time how to smug dance

Smug Dancin | Know Your Meme


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Smug Dancin, or Smug Dancing Hat Kid, is an emote dance of Hat Kid, the main character from the game A Hat in Time. This dance is often photoshopped into dance GIFs and GIFs of important video game, cartoon, or movie moments that sometimes contain spoilers. These are accompanied, usually, by KRONO's remix of Aaron Smith's song "Dancin'". This video format is widely popular across YouTube.


On March 20th, 2013, producer duo KRONO uploaded their remix of the 2004 house song "Dancin'" by DJ Aaron Smith featuring vocals from singer Luvli to Soundcloud. The remix would garner over 17 million plays within the next 6 years. On April 15th, 2013, YouTuber TheSoundYouNeed uploaded a video of the whole song. As of January 26th, 2019, the video has 237 million views with about 48,000 likes (shown below, left).[1]

On December 18th, 2018, Gears for Breakfast published a video entitled "A Hat in Time OST [Seal the Deal] – Peace and Tranquility" in which Hat Kid dances (shown below, right). The video resembles and references the video "No One's Around To Help" by YouTuber JerryTerry, which was posted on November 27th, 2017 and received more than 2 million views.[7]

The following day, on September 19th, YouTuber CTRL-X created a video of Hat Kid's smug dance, gaining roughly 68,000 views (shown below).[2]


On November 8th, 2018, the first video to have the song was posted on YouTube by Smegma Bandit, attaining more than 1.4 million views (shown below).[3]

On December 20th, 2018, YouTuber DosPuntosUbe :v published their own example of this video format, garnering more than 1 million views (shown below, left). [4] A day later, YouTuber Boi Beep uploaded their version, which gained about 147,000 views (shown below, right).[5]

On December 22th, 2018, YouTuber Ramz made a 10-hour challenge video of Smegma Bandit original video, reaching over 286,000 views (shown below).[6]

Various Examples

Search Interest

External References

[1] YouTube – Aaron Smith – Dancin [KRONO Remix]

[2] YouTube – Hat Kid Smug Dance – Green Screen

[3] YouTube – S M U G – D A N C I N – E X T E N S I O N


[5] YouTube – SMUG DANCIN

[6] YouTube – S M U G – D A N C I N – E X T E N S I O N | Smegma Bandit | 10 Hour Version

[7] YouTube – No one's around to help

Recent Videos

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A Hat in Time animations - VRChat Supported Avat.


Email [email protected] if any questions or issues. A Hat in Time animations from the Hat Kid, Mustache Girl, Smug Dance and Conductor converted to unity humanoid. Exracted and converted using umodel. Includes: Alps_Horn_Blow, ArmRest, ArmRest_WalkieClick, BossIdle, Boss_Dive, Boss_Idle, Boss_Jump, Boss_SkipJump, Boss_fall, Boss_slap, Boss_throwing, BumpWall, ButtBurnDown, ButtBurnUp, CaughtByQueen, ChairBoundIdle, ChairBoundMove, Click_Monitor, ClimbDown_TurnAround, ClimbIdleL, ClimbIdleR, ClimbLtoR, ClimbRtoL, ClimbUp, ClumsyFallAir, ClumsyFallGround, CrammedClosetIdle, CrawlEnter, CrawlIdle, Death_Intro, Death_Loop, Died, Director_Idle, DiscoBall, DoorEnterLeft, DoorEnterRight, DoorLookCloseLeft, DoorLookCloseRight, FallGetup, FallingCycle, Finale_Attack_Knockback, Finale_PepTalk_Intro, Finale_PepTalk_Loop, Finale_SuicidePunch, Flee, Fountain_Cinematic, Frozen, GetItem, GiveItem, HK_crouch_pushup, HK_run_action_key, HK_run_handpain, HK_stand_action_key, HK_umbrella_charge_run, HandHurt, HelperAbilityNoTarget, Hill_up_intro, HoldMaginifyingGlass, HookProjShootAir, Hookshot_Fast, Hookshot_Fast_Org, Hookshot_SwingBackward, Hookshot_SwingForward, Hurt1, Hurt2, Hurt3, Hurt4, Hurt5, Idle, Idle_Dolls, Idle_Hurt, Idle_Taunt1, Idle_Taunt2, Idle_old, Item_Carry_Large, Item_Carry_Small, Item_PickUp_Large, Item_PickUp_Small, JumpDive, JumpDiveIdle, JumpDiveSlide, JumpDiveSlideFull, JumpDive_old, Jump_Double, Jump_Double_Old, Jump_Forward, Jump_Ledge, Jump_Still, KickCan, LandRecoil, LandRecoilMoving, LandRecoilMovingFar, LandRecoilMovingFar_old, LandRecoilMoving_old, LandRecoil_old, LedgeHang, LedgeHang_Intro, Level_Intro_Back, Level_Intro_Front, LookAroundSurprised, Mod_Cyclone, Mu_ending_fainted, OpenChest, PresentKnife, Propellor, Psychonauts_LevBall_Idle, Psychonauts_LevBall_Run, PunchB, Puncha, Repair1, RunCycle, RunCycle_Old, RunScared, SandSkate, SandSkateJump, ShakeFlask, ShockFallBack, Smug dance, SpinJump, StabKnife, StandCleanShoe_Idle, StandHatScoff_Idle, StandLookLeftRight_Idle, StandLoop_Idle, StandingIdle, StitchNewHat, SwampSink_Idle, SwampSink_Run, SwimForward, Talking, TestAnim, Thinking01, Thinking02, Thinking03, Thinking04, Thinking05, Throne_scold, Throne_sit, Throne_slap_intro, Throne_slap_loop, Ticket_Idle, TightropeIdle, TightropeRareIdle01, TightropeRun, TimeGet_Air, TimeGet_Ground, TimeGet_Quiet, TimeGet_finale, TimeRift_Fall_Butt, TimeRift_Fall_Grace, TipToeWalk, TurnAround, TurnAround_old, Twirl_Showoff_1, Twirl_Showoff_2, Twirl_Showoff_3, Victory, Walk, WalkNStab, Walk_Jog, WallHog, WallSlide_Up, Whistle, badge_present_idle, badge_present_post, badge_present_pre, band_march, boss_teleport, bow, chase, corner_peek, crawl, crawlaway, crouch_intro, crouch_outro, crouch_outro_slow, derp, director_clap, director_intro, director_shock, drown_surface, drown_swim, drown_underwater, face_wipe, falldeath_land, highfive, hill_down, hill_down_full, hill_up, hill_up_full, hill_up_j02, hold_key, homing_attack_end, homing_attack_intro, homing_attack_loop, hookshot_clang, idle_cold, idle_taunt3, item_throw, item_throw_onehand, ledge_jump, mud_idle, mud_run, npc_kiss, npc_tease, pattycake, pillow_dive, propellor_noumbrella, race_idle, race_intro, rage, ref, rocketride, run_skip, sandmobile_drive_enter, sandmobile_drive_land, sandmobile_drive_loop, sandmobile_exit_left, sandmobile_exit_right, scared_idle, scared_idle_intro, scared_idle_outro, scooter_drive_land, scooter_drive_loop, scooter_honk, shout, sit_bench, sprint, sprint_idle, sprint_idle_start, spy_idle, spy_run, storytell_idle, storytell_lookleft, storytell_talk, stylish_air, swimidle, teach_point, teach_talk, tiedup_idle, tiedup_shout, trip, twirl, twirl2, twirl3, wallslide, wallslideTest, water_drink, water_refill, wpn_carry_umbrella, wpn_carry_umbrella_intro

Hari Kunzru.

Without a Face - Preview - Literature - OpenSpace.ru
A fragment of a novel by one of the best young writers in the United Kingdom, yet unknown to the Russian reader

© Nastya Barzha

Go to the photo gallery of the material › Total photos: 4 nine0005

In January Limbus Press publishes a novel by Hari Kunzru, a writer translated into twenty languages, a journalist, vice-president of the British PEN Club. Hari Kunzru is half English and half descended from Kashmiri Pandits, i.e. Brahmins, members of the highest Indian caste. His works allow, among other things, to look at the colonial theme, traditional for English literature, from a new angle.

- Remember how quickly I can change. Everything will be as it was that day,
when I first spoke to you under the big gun of Zam-Zama...
- In the form of a boy dressed as white people, when I first came to the House of Wonders.
And the second time you turned into a Hindu. Who will you incarnate for the third time?

Rudyard Kipling. Kim

Pran Nath

Duration: three years after the beginning of the new century. The red dust that was once fertile mountain soil trembles in the air. She settles on the rider, who slowly moves along the ravines that furrowed the plains south of the mountains. Dust dries the throat, covers clothes with a thin film, clogs the pores of the rosy sweaty English face. nine0005

His name is Ronald Forrester and dust is his speciality. More precisely, the fight against dust. Members of the European Club in Simla 1 don't get tired of this joke: Forrester is a forester 2 . A couple of times he tried to explain this to the Hindu subordinates, but they did not understand the humor. Hindus believe that the name came to him along with the work. Forester Sahib 3 . Like an engineer sahib or mister judge.

Forrester Sahib struggles with dust. He spent seven years in the mountains, planting protective belts of young trees and enforcing bans on logging and unlicensed grazing. Even now, on vacation, work follows him around. nine0005

He takes a sip of brackish water from his flask and strains in the saddle as hoof stones roll down the steep, dry slope. The day is drawing to a close, the heat subsides. The sky is stained with blue-black clouds, which drove the monsoon - from day to day the rainy season will begin. He wants it to happen soon.

Forrester came to this country precisely because there were no trees. At work, sitting on the veranda of the government bungalow, he believed that the absence of trees would make his journey quiet and peaceful. Now he doesn't like everything around him. A hopeless country. The only plants here are bunches of sharp yellow grass and stunted thorn bushes. In this landscape, he feels awkward, out of place. nine0005

In the mornings, when the sun heats up his tent, Forrester dreams. Dreams about trees. Shelves of Himalayan cedars march through the valleys and up the hills. A sort of coniferous "red uniforms" 4 . Banyans, spreading their roots-tentacles, cover the blue of the sky with black foliage. Bizarrely shaped oaks and weeping willows morph into sleep and wake as he tosses and turns in bed. And he wakes up sweaty, tired, irritated. He barely has time to shave, as the sweat and dust are already running off his forehead in red streams. Forrester knows he has no one to blame but himself. Everyone told him that he had chosen a stupid time to travel south. nine0005

If you ask him what he's doing here, Forrester can't answer. Perhaps he came out of stubbornness, because at this time of the year everyone else travels north, into the coolness of the foothills. He spent three weeks in the saddle. Looking for what? Something to fill the gap.

A more experienced person would say that this gap is in the shape of a woman, and would devote his life in Simla to hunting for brides - at tea parties and polo matches. Instead, Forrester, quarrelsome, silent, gallops through the ravines, a khaki-wrapped void incarnate, dreaming of trees, a void waiting for something to fill it. nine0005

© Nastya Barzha

What he expects is not more than a mile away. As the sun goes down, Forrester catches a glimpse of metal in the distance and a bright pink smudge. He stops and looks. For the past day and a half, he had not met a single living soul. Gradually, he distinguishes a whole detachment. Most likely, these are Rajput landowners 5 . They lead the camels and escort a curtained palanquin bouncing on the shoulders of four porters.

By the time the procession is within hailing distance, the sun has almost sunk below the horizon. Forrester is waiting. His horse beats with its hooves along the bank of a dry river bed. The palanquin bearers stop a little way off and lower their load. Their heads are wrapped in huge pink turbans, they have well-groomed long mustaches. They look at a sweating Englishman like buyers look at a young bull. Eight pairs of black eyes, curious and impassive. nine0005

A thin, middle-aged man suddenly emerges from behind, dressed in a dhoti loincloth and unkempt white shirt, with a black umbrella tucked under his arm. His appearance seems out of place in the midst of bare land. He is obviously in charge here, and he seems to be annoyed that his servants stopped without waiting for his instructions. Squeezing forward, he salutes Forrester in the Eastern manner. Forrester is about to speak Hindi, but the man greets him in English:
- Looks like it's going to rain, huh?

Both raise their eyes to the sky. As if in response, a heavy drop of water crashes against Forrester's face.


When night falls, hawkers hang oil lamps over their goods. The smell of wood smoke reigns in the air - people are cooking. The aroma of food just permeates the air. Pran is very hungry and asks the hawker for some pakora 6 . His pockets are completely empty. Will no one lend a dozen or two rupees to him, the heir of millions? For some time, Pran wanders around, not far from the house, hoping that someone will take pity on him. Vain hopes. He wanders around. The beaten body hurts. The stench of dry excrement rises from clothes crusted with dirt. Standing on the corner under the high wall of the mansion, he presses himself against it to let the funeral procession pass. A bunch of mourners with lanterns follow a funeral litter carried by half a dozen white-masked men. The body of the one who has been his father for so long, tightly wrapped in strips of cotton cloth, is strewn with marigold petals. A couple of fat priests scurry ahead, rushing to get this over with. nine0013 A hoarse voice is heard behind the boy:
— Oh, ugly half-baked piece of bread? Came to beg on my corner?
The voice sounds harsh, mocking. Pran looks down and sees a poor old man with withered feet. This man has always been here. His long face is rough with dirt, his skin the color of charcoal pockmarked from some childhood disease. He sits in front of a cup made of orange peel; in a cup a couple of small coins. Pran hides his eyes from him. One day, on an impulse of malicious mischief, he grabbed the coins of a beggar and ran away. Then it seemed to him very funny. Now he shifts from foot to foot and looks at the ground and at a pair of stumps, exposed to the world in mute reproach. nine0013 - Do you remember when you stole my cup and laughed because I couldn't catch up with you?
Pran makes an evasive sound from his throat.
"Now it's my turn to laugh," says the beggar.

© Nastya Barzha

Pran nods. The beggar seems to be in the mood for a chat, so Pran dares to ask a question that's on his mind:
- Do you happen to have any food?
The beggar looks at him in amazement and quietly says a few lines from a prayer. Pran takes this as an answer.
“I haven't eaten since morning…” he says softly.
The beggar laughs so loudly that passers-by turn around. He laughs and slaps his hand on his thigh and drums his stumps on the deck.
- He wants to eat! he shouts. - He's hungry! You heard? He wants to eat!
Passers-by are smiling. Some laugh: "He's hungry..."
"When my uncle arrives..." Pran starts, but the beggar laughs even louder. - What should I do? Pran asks confused. nine0013 The beggar doubled over with laughter.
- Uncle... he'll feed you...
When the beggar finally gains control over himself, he curls his lips in a nasty grin:
- Go to your own and eat with them.
- Who are these mine?
The beggar finds it even more amusing.
- You can find them at the Telegraph Club. Okay, little bastard, I'll teach you. When you fill your stomach, don't forget about me. Deal?
The Agra Post and Telegraph Club is not the most luxurious in the city. It is an ordinary Victorian building, a functional red brick box with a stone portico attached to the façade. An ineradicable smell of fried food hovers inside, which cannot be eliminated, no matter how much the cleaners rub and polish. Cleaners rub and polish diligently, degreasing surfaces, waxing floors, dusting until their hands hurt. Nothing helps. The smell of food fried in ghee still lingers here, the thick, unmistakable smell of India. nine0005

Club members have a lot in common. Women share a fascination with flower-patterned cotton dresses, which, although not of the best quality, are always clean and pressed, even in hot weather.

In addition, the women of the Post and Telegraph Club wear hats. Men do the same. Even when there are clouds in the sky. Some people even bully me indoors. They saw how the wife of an artillery colonel did it. The wife of a political resident in Bharatpur swears that she once saw several of these (under by these she means members of the Agra Post and Telegraph Club) played a game of bridge - in hats. In room. After dark. The sun had already set a long time ago, and they were all sitting, shaking the swamps on their heads, as if they were riding horses on a summer morning. The resident's wife loves to tell this story. Her friends love to listen. Only chi-chi 7 can do that - wear hats at night! This story is always met with laughter. But jokes aside, the men and women of the Telegraph Club wear hats whenever possible: extravagant, expensive hats with wide brim to ensure that their faces are always, always covered from the sun. The sun is definitely a Bad Thing. nine0005

Members of the Agra Post and Telegraph Club spend most of their lives in the category of Bad Things. Such, at least, is the opinion of the wife of the resident and her friends, who consider the members of the club to be irritable, touchy and arrogant. It is almost impossible to talk to them without causing them resentment for one reason or another. In fact, no one wants to talk to them, except perhaps Ronnie, Clive, Peter and some other husbands - they have to work together. If you mean something on the railroad, or, of course, in the post office and telegraph, chi-chi is almost inevitable. As for (ladies remind each other as they sip tea at the more prestigious and more exclusive Civil Service Administration Club) their terrible accent, terrible irritability and absurd way of constantly talking about the homeland - they are just boring. nine0005

© Nastya Barzha

Homeland, homeland, homeland! Dear England! Everyone knows that none of them has ever been even close to England. Some people will find this cute. But ultimately these people are rather disgusting. They stealthily chew betel, their girls run after enlisted men and sergeants, and often squat, not properly in chairs, when they think no one sees them. If someone is worth eight annas 8 , this will always be visible. The blood takes over.

Brr, those terrible, terrible black and white half-breeds...

But at the Agra Post and Telegraph Club, the terrible black and whites gather to exchange their own ideas of disgust - about how disgusting the natives are, how disgusting Indian habits are and manners, as well as the harshness in which they (husbands) keep their subordinates and with which they (wives) punish their servants, if they have any. The locals are cunning, unreliable and prone to villainy. Their voluptuousness is proverbial. What a contrast with the motherland, with the northern purity of English customs and manners! They, the Anglo-Indian community, know what their heart is attached to. They know which half of themselves to value. They wear hats and read everything they can get their hands on in English about their homeland, avoid the sun like the plague, and suffer when melanin is produced in their skin. Of course they don't call it that. They have other names. Dirty, unkempt. Oh, she has such unkempt skin! No one comes close to her. And that nose of hers. So flat and wide. Not like you. nine0005

Only inside the club can they be themselves. They can dance and play in housey-houses 9 and ignore the hostile looks of the locals and the mocking whispers of the junior officers on their way to the Civil Servants' Administration Club, at whose doors not a single Anglo-Indian will ever be admitted. For a while, their ears can rest from clumsy jokes and bad rhymes. Such, for example:

A lady named Starkey
Fell in love with an Indian Darkie 10 ,
resulted in nine sons,
Two blacks, two whites, five khakis.

Take, for example, a man named Harry Begg. How many times has he heard this? And every time I was convinced: it's so unfair. The tone of his skin, the exact tone of his skin, is etched into Harry Begg's brain like a serial number. Harry's skin is the color of a manila envelope. Or a little darker. He has very good handwriting compared to others. He gets on well with the girls, although, of course, most of those with whom he walks will leave him without hesitation if any junior clerk or English private shows interest in them. One or two have already done it. Damn unfair. After all, things were not always like this. Skinner, the Skinner who founded the Bengal Lancers 11 was also the same as Harry. Moreover, Lord Roberts 12 , who commanded the troops during the Boer War. Even Lord Liverpool 13 , yes, that Liverpool who was prime minister, he was like that too. His maternal grandmother was from Calcutta. It's written in the history books. Anyone can watch. Once upon a time, intermarriage was, one might say, commonplace - in the days of the 14 Company, before biologists and evangelists made everyone afraid of black blood. nine0005

As the unkempt white boy speaks to him, Harry, hunched slightly as if from the weight of his manila skin, is just walking out of the club. The lights flicker and he goes to meet Jennifer Cash, who has delicate features and a parchment-colored face. Maybe this evening he will be able to feel like a decent person. While they are not going anywhere, other men may appear - others, more white . Jennifer is so easily taken away from him. One extra patch. Salary in pounds, not rupees. It's all so fragile. But tonight he is full of hope. nine0005

And then the little bastard ruins everything.

The boy takes a step forward and grabs his sleeve in the most casual way.
- Hello! he says in cloying market English. “I am also black and white, just like you. I want to eat. Do you have any food?
The guy's skin is probably lighter than Harry's, though it's hard to tell because of the layer of dirt. He has an English face, a face that can even be called beautiful - in a different place, under different circumstances. His good looks and white skin make Harry furious. Twenty-three years of irritability and wearing hats, twenty-three years of trying to rise above the tenacious swamp of blackness are rapidly rising to the throat. He is sick of the arrogance in this face and the self-satisfied, pleading expression on it. Harry growls:
- Get your dirty paws off me, you faggot!
The boy recoils. Harry looks at him with wide eyes. The worst thing is that they are probably of the same blood. Maybe Harry is a little luckier than him, speaks English better and has a semblance of good manners. And yet one blood. Harry and the street urchin are filled to about the same level with it, like two glasses of tea. It's the last thing he wants to experience on his way to Jenny Cash on this beautiful evening, when he feels so noble and white—white as snow, white as a tennis shoe, white as a gilded angel in that damn fluffy sky. Fuck him, you little bastard! nine0005

1 Simla (Shimla) is a city in Northern India, in the foothills of the Himalayas.
2 Forester
3 Sahib (inst. sahib) - master; in India - a respectful appeal to Europeans.
4 "Red coats" (English redcoats) - English soldiers.
5 The Rajputs are a military-feudal class with a high status.
6 Pakora - vegetable pancakes fried in breading or dough.
7 Chi-chi - here: Eurasians, especially Anglo-Indians. Also - an interjection expressing disgust ("fu, fu!"). As a noun, it is used to refer to excrement.
8 Eight annas - old small coin; cheap. Another term for Anglo-Indians.
9 Housey-housey is a gambling form of loto.
10 Darkie - black.
11 Bengal Lancers (late 19th century) - light cavalry of the British Army. nine0013 12 Lord Roberts, Field Marshal Frederick, Commander-in-Chief of the British Army during the Boer War (1900).
13 Lord Liverpool - Prime Minister of Great Britain from 1812 to 1827.
14 Company - presumably referring to the British East India Company.

Hari Kunzru. No face. St. Petersburg: Limbus Press, 2009. Translated from English by Asya Anistratenko


Read online "Elite Faculty", Kira Tigris - LitRes, page 8

Before Liza and I realized what was happening, frightenedly turning our heads around and flapping our long eyelashes, a familiar high-pitched girlish voice sounded behind our backs, sugary and deliberately stretching the vowels beyond recognition. Oh no, it just wasn't enough!

– Who is it that offends such cute boys?! I want you to stop breaking hearts!

Liza and I turned around so abruptly that we nearly fell off our heels. Fortunately, our gentlemen picked up our bare shoulders in time, thereby keeping us on our feet. nine0005

Out of nowhere, Stacey stood there, parade and war paint, dressed in the most immodest police uniform. On her caramel, loose and combed hair, a police cap was worn on one side. The very same form was a tight-fitting dress with an illegally short skirt, fishnet tights and black high boots with thin heels.

- Officer! As a fine for moral damage, I demand a kiss from my detainee! - Cowboy boldly declared, for some reason staring at the golden sheriff's badge that shone on Stacy's impressive, as if fake chest. nine0005

Lisa's already huge eyes grew even wider in surprise - she had already opened her mouth to declare that she was not going to kiss anyone, when she suddenly froze in shock, forgetting to close her expressive bright scarlet lips. Only one person could have had such an effect on my neighbor... a guy in white Nikes and a black leather jacket. His pretty face, according to strict rules, was hidden under a golden mask, though fairly wrinkled and battered.

Puddle 16. Masquerade

My gaze instantly rushed to his neck, now it was covered with a light white scarf, so that the black tattoo was not visible. Or maybe it wasn't there at all! His teeth knocked out by me were, by the way, also intact! nine0005

Great move, Damon! The crumpled mask, the tousled bangs... I wonder if I just realized that the fake Costa is hiding under the mask again? For example, the blonde Stacy, completely unaware of anything, quickly grabbed Costa's double by the arm, clinging to his sleeve, like a hungry cat in a sausage, and was absolutely not going to let go.

Damon, content to be unconditionally mistaken for Konstantin, enjoyed the party like a cat with sour cream. He, smiling broadly and hospitably, nodded right and left, cordially greeting the guests. How much energy and patience was needed! nine0005

- This pretty boy is arrested by me for being so cute! Stacey purred, defiantly adjusting her police cap for the third time. Glittering metal handcuffs rattled against each other around her narrow waist, very imposing and eerily plausible. Where did she get them? Is it in a real police station?

Lisa's pretty face visibly darkened: she still couldn't figure out who was in front of her - Costa or Damon?

Meanwhile, the guy in the golden mask gave her a crooked smile and even winked. There was no doubt - it could only be Damon, and now he was definitely signaling to us so that we would not give him away to Stacy ...

- It's Damon! - I barely had time to whisper in Liza's ear, when he spoke, nodding in my direction:

- What is the name of your friend, Elizabeth?

- Vika! Victoria! - I quickly blurted out the name that I had long ago prepared for such an occasion.

– Hmm…Victoria? Damon mumbled thoughtfully under his breath. “Where is your stubborn roommate, Lisa?” Where is Antonina?

Of course, at this party, Damon fulfills the most important order of his popular and adored cousin: "Find Antonina Evans at any cost!". That is why he dressed up as the host of the evening, like a spy, imitating his great and powerful patron, and now asks everyone in the house about the lousy girl. nine0005

“Ani was offended and didn’t come,” Lisa shrugged her shoulders, she became much calmer as soon as I told her that Costa was not real. - Instead, I brought Vika with me. You'll like her better!

- Girls, girls, be careful! This boy is under my personal protection! - again there was a sonorous sugary voice of Stacy. She jealously looked in our direction with Lisa with her brown eyes with long arrows.

Damon rolled his eyes at the ceiling and proposed with the confident tone of a real party host:

- Let's go to the fireplace! Let's play games!

Ten minutes later, the six of us - myself, Lisa, Pirate, Cowboy, Damon and Stacey - were sitting on a luxurious long sofa covered in the softest white leather.

In front of us was a low table of dark lacquered wood. A hefty hookah was piled on it, surrounded by glasses of wine, glasses with colorful cocktails, shots of expensive strong drinks, cups of aromatic tea and expensive coffee.

I must admit that it was here that the river of elite alcohol flowed, fortunately, past me - that night it was extremely necessary for me to keep a cool head and a solid memory. nine0005

In the middle of all this stuff of colorful drinks, white Nikes were piled up - of course, only Damon, as Costa, could afford to put them right on the table.

On his lap, if not practically on himself, sat Stacey, unsuspecting and therefore pleased, casually playing with iron handcuffs. A little further away, Lisa was sitting on the couch next to her Cowboy, and even further away, I was with a Pirate who would not leave me alone.

We played the traditional game of all the "tough" teenagers, whose hot blood, full of hormones, involuntarily mixed with alcohol, "Truth or Dare. " Child's play for those who are now struggling to look like adults. nine0005

Just listen to these stupid questions and tasks:

“Well, Dylan, then you have chosen an action,” Damon said quietly in a bored tone and exhaled three perfect rings of pale pink strawberry hookah smoke from his mouth. “It’s strange, why didn’t you answer my such an easy question: “How long have you not slept with a girl?”

Everyone was silently watching, waiting for his tricky task for Dylan (that was the name of the Cowboy).

– Hmm… perhaps Dilly, take your hat off Victoria! nine0005

- But the action must be clearly related to Dylan and no one else! I blurted out, watching in horror as Cowboy obediently moved in my direction to meekly complete the task of his little master. “For example, ask him to take off his pants or something!” Hey! Where are you putting your hands, Dilly?

I jumped up from my seat and took up a formidable defensive position, like a cat bristling in front of a dog.

Damon laughed sincerely, loudly and resoundingly - he obviously liked my idea. nine0005

- Take off your pants, bro! he commanded. The girl is asking!

- But... no! Please! Cowboy protested, his blue eyes wide with shock.

- You can! Shoot! Or take off your pants,” Damon smiled slyly, taking from the table a small white cup with steaming strong espresso. “Or her hat!”

– Just try it! I shouted, picking up an ordinary fork from the table and threateningly jabbing it at the confused Dylan. Now I have experienced the strongest deja vu, as if I was back in the cafeteria in the midst of our argument with Konstantin. "One step and I'll pierce your throat!" nine0005

In the end, poor Dilly pulled off his baggy jeans the color of wet sand and pointedly threw them on the shiny parquet floor. No one laughed at his slender legs, fluffy with curly red hair, and gray boxers.

“Tell your father, Dylan, that once again he will sell his shares to someone other than Mr. Blackstone,” Damon gritted through his teeth, “and his son will go to the Academy like this!”

Dylan, without saying a word, nodded several times, looking at one point somewhere on the opposite wall. Everyone was silent, sincerely sympathizing with the guy. nine0005

- What cute legs! Stacey purred right into Deamon's ear, the first to break the silence and hope to get his attention. Just like a hobbit! Yes, Kitty?

To which Damon, finally tearing his gaze away from me, caustic, like an x-ray, rolled his eyes again:

– Stella… Cruella… or whatever you like… Stacey! Go to the kitchen for me an espresso donut!

- I don't want to! the blonde protested, puffing out her cheeks in resentment and folding her large painted lips into a duck. Then another "brilliant" idea dawned on her - only if you come with me, bunny! nine0005

Damon shook his head, giving me another long narrowed look, obviously intending to get Stacey to take off my mask. In the end, he still changed his mind - he probably decided that the blonde would make so much noise that, what good, she would turn the whole table over and fill up the hookah.

- And in general! You didn't even ask me a question, bad boy! Stacy continued to complain. – What if I choose the truth? And I can answer! Are you afraid?

- Don't even try, doll! You still can’t,” Damon muttered under his breath, looking slyly at the blonde with his right eye. After a couple of moments, it became clear to everyone where this conversation was heading. The guy suddenly turned sharply in her direction and quickly asked. - Anastasia, where did your golden bracelet go? Answer! nine0005

– Um… what? Ouch! - the girl quickly clasped her thin, bare wrist of her right hand with her palm. Her beautiful eyes, framed by long eyelashes, widened in surprise and shock. - I do not know!

- You see! Didn't answer! Damon shrugged, “stomp into the kitchen for me a donut!” Chocolate, huh?

He slapped the blonde loudly on her wide Miss Sitting as soon as Stacey got up from his tired knee.

- You will soon pay for this, and oh, how expensive! she said so seriously that even Damon himself was on the alert. Then the blonde spun around, driving her long caramel locks right over his golden mask, and strode off into the kitchen, her heels banging loudly on purpose and her hips wiggling intensely. “If you put someone else in my place, I will punish you severely!” nine0005

In general, our game lasted about half an hour. We were sitting in a small but cozy rest room on the second floor, more like a hall in an elite anti-cafe - pleasant muted tones of night lamps; quiet, calm, relaxing music; luxurious furniture made of lacquered wood and soft white leather. Here and there, couples were secluded in huge armchairs. At the opposite end of the room was the exact same luxurious leather sofa as ours, on which, laughing out loud, some rich teenagers were playing mafia. Among the short skirts and expensive jackets flashed black leather jackets and golden masks. I was willing to bet that there were at least a couple of Costa lookalikes in the same room with us right now, in black jeans and white Nikes. nine0005

Several unfamiliar excited girls came up to us and, flirting intensely, “sticked” to Costa-Damon just to say hello and hoping to linger in his company, basking in his attention, as if in the sun.

Many took selfies with him. Fortunately, these ladies disappeared as quickly as they appeared - mainly due to Damon's rude sarcasm, which spread not only his boorish tongue, but also strong long arms. Welcome to the everyday life of a rich boy, choking on money and already tired of luxury. The girls flew to him like night moths to a bright candle. Judging by the kisses-gifts that expensive bright lipsticks left on his cheeks, burns and tears did not stop them at all ...

“Why is he acting like this? I thought as Damon tugged at a brunette's hair just to get her off his lap as quickly as possible. “They all take him for Konstantin anyway. Why replay? Why be such an asshole?"

Naturally, Damon also spoke the most and loudest of all. Everyone else politely remained silent, pressing into the sofa and trying to look as quiet and inconspicuous as possible. The first rule is everyone is silent when the King speaks! And why didn't I have the brains and intuition to follow this wonderful rule, full of common sense? Perhaps if I had behaved much more quietly and modestly, the events of this evening would have turned out quite differently ...

The most vile questions in the game were, of course, Damon himself.

It was he who asked Liza's breast size and whether she was a virgin. To which the girl replied “the size is sufficient” and “she has never lost her honor.” But Damon's assignments were even worse - to drink something strong, to remove something from himself or from someone. The “golden boy” himself smoked a hookah, drank one cup of espresso after another and sipped expensive and, it seems, very strong bourbon from the throat of a small bottle.

Stacey was the most "lucky" - she tried to please Costa-Damon and almost always chose an action, to which the guy gladly sent her either to bring him salted pistachios from the bar, then a glass of water with espresso, or carrot chips with the taste of pickled crayfish. Stacey spent the last twenty minutes looking and came back with nothing, terribly angry and annoyed. nine0005

- Hey redhead, are you playing? Damon carefully looked at Lisa, his appraising gaze ran over her figure in a tight tight dress, perfect curls of bright red hair, and finally settled on emerald green eyes, shyly looking out from under the wide curved brim of a cowboy hat. - Truth or Dare?

“True,” Lisa answered cautiously.

- How predictable! The boy rolled his eyes and shook his head, complaining. - How boring you are, damn it! Only the truth and no action! Well, look, redhead: would you be able to sleep with him, - then he unequivocally nodded towards the silent Cowboy, - if, say, he paid you the whole next semester of study? nine0005

And faster than the surprised Dylan could shout out a strangled “What?!” Lisa screamed in her hearts:

– How dare you say such a thing? - my neighbor blushed deeply and even decided to lie, - I actually have a boyfriend!

- Oh, that's it! At this party for me, all the girls are free! Dont know? Damon bared his teeth smugly. - Now, if I wanted to kiss you now ... say, Konstantin, huh? You wouldn't refuse, right?

The question took Lisa by surprise. From indignation and surprise, she sat with her mouth open, breathing heavily and not knowing what to answer. Her cheeks glowed brighter than her red hair. Yes, she would have kissed Konstantin, but we all know that now his crazy cousin is sitting in front of us, pretending to be insolent Costa! nine0005

- You don't have to try, Damon! - I objected, - we saw you in this masquerade at the entrance and now got to the core!

- So you guessed that I'm not Costa, right? he asked in surprise. Well, that's even more fun!

Liza, not knowing what to say, covered her face with her hands in horror.

- Silence is a sign of consent! Damon nodded his head. Stacey was still disappearing into the kitchen, so he didn't have to pretend anymore. “You all run after Kosta like flies for honey!” - here he fidgeted on the couch from another "crazy" idea that came to his mind. - It's a pity ... that Costa is not here! And you know, kiss better than me! And I will thank him. nine0005

With these words, he jumped up from the sofa and was already bending over Lisa, as a strong white leather decorative mini-pillow landed right between his shoulder blades.

- Your Costa is just a freak! He's not her type at all! - I said loudly, hurrying to help my friend. "Since you're such a big fan of his, you should kiss the asshole yourself!" These are bees flying to honey, and flies to shit!

There was a sudden silence, even those resting on the neighboring chairs around us muffled their voices, looking in surprise in our direction. nine0005

At least fifteen pairs of eyes were looking at me now, the most intent and startled gaze belonged, of course, to Damon. He had already opened his mouth, about to say something, when suddenly…

“Don’t you dare… talk about… like that,” a sharp low voice interspersed with champing sounded above my head, then there was a noisy deep breath and a deafening chest cough. “Kha-ha-ha… damn it!” Ha-ha!

I turned around at the sound, and immediately pizza crumbs flew in my face, judging by the pieces of pepperone and cheese - it was an under-chewed Margherita. A meter away from me, with a purple face, Teddy stood and coughed hard, holding both hands on his thick neck in the throat area. A bitten and rumpled triangular piece of pizza quickly slid down his vast belly, covered by a white shirt. Finally, the pizza plopped right on the expensive leather sofa with a savory "smack". nine0005

Damon stared disdainfully at the leftovers, as if Teddy hadn't brought food from the kitchen, but a dead rat.

- Get out of here! Fat pig! he growled through clenched teeth. - You can only eat in the kitchen! Only drinks are allowed here! Blockhead! Why did you bring pizza here?

“Um…blonde…Tacey…Stacey…,” declared Teddy, a broad-shouldered man almost in tears, who almost counted my ribs in the cafeteria today. - ... told me to go ... and play with you!

Damon turned purple with anger, since half of his face was hidden by a golden mask.

- Get out of here to the kitchen, fat truck! And Stacey will get her stupid fat ass from me personally! Her silicone brains don't work at all! - He shouted, in his hearts covering his face with his hand "face palm", and doomedly said, - tin! There are only morons around!

After such a big man, Teddy was blown away by the wind. And how could such a hulk disappear so quickly?

Suddenly I had a great idea - I can also go to the kitchen to eat pizza and burgers at Costa's expense! But most importantly, I can finally leave this bad company with its stupid game! And all I need is just to find some excuse to go to the kitchen ... let's say, for a napkin. Maybe throw in something? Yes, what you need! Lisa would also be poured over to take with her. nine0005

- Hey, one-eyed, I'm actually talking to you! Damon continued to dig into me. “Dachshund… and where did we stop?” Oh yes, you kindly promised to take off your hat and bandage! We are all waiting!

- Really? – I made a feigned-concentrated face. Now it's my turn to lead! Truth or Dare?

“Really,” Damon replied without thinking and crossed his arms over his broad chest, right over the white light scarf that covered his neck.

“Where is Kosta and… now?” I began to ask, trying to keep my voice extremely indifferent. nine0005

- I told you he was busy! Damon cut me off.

–…and his friend Leon? I finished, not expecting such a question from myself.

The guy stared silently at me and frowned in surprise.

- Oh, Leo, right? He... he's upstairs! – the guy answered quickly and broke into a stupid unambiguous smile. - He is very busy! One girl, maybe two! If you really want, I can text him on Telegram - maybe he can squeeze you into his busy schedule! nine0005

- Fuck you! I snapped, shrugging my shoulders. I suddenly became terribly uncomfortable. But not because Damon once again made fun of me, but because of the thought that Leon could really be with some girl now ... I wonder who it is with? For some reason, I also imagined her with a short haircut, almost like mine, and with my own blue eyes . .. And most importantly - why am I thinking about all this now?

Damon laughed out loud. Infuriates! However, how funny can I be when I try my best to look serious! nine0005

Puddle 17. Truth or Dare

I have to admit that the two guys kept their eyes on me the whole evening. One of them was Captain Dylan, who apparently wanted to take back his pirate hat and headband. The second was Damon, who was wondering what was behind my masquerade. He asked frank, direct and indirect questions, trying to figure out who I was and where I came from. He drilled right through me with his bottle-green eyes and strove all the time to rip off my hat, and maybe not only ...

As an "action" Damon asked Lisa to get her phone - an old model, used, but neat and tidy iPhone. The next "action" Damon demanded from Lisa to find in the notebook the number of her terrible roommate - that is, mine! After long excuses and hesitation, she still broke down and complied with his request.

“Very good,” Damon smiled so slyly and smugly that it sent shivers down my spine. “Now listen carefully to my condition, redhead. Be not only beautiful, but also a smart girl ...

With these words, he leaned over to Liza and whispered something quickly in her ear. Her pretty face grew paler and more frightened with every word. Finally, Damon, taking advantage of the moment, kissed her quickly on the cheek, so that she was completely taken aback, and leaned back against the soft back of the sofa.

Everyone present held their breath. And the "little king" continued to dictate his "big" conditions:

- I give Blackstone's word! I swear... Hey, one-eyed, don't eavesdrop! Damon growled in my direction, making me recoil back and sink into the softest back of the couch. Just call her! And if now she is somewhere at a party, then nothing will happen to her! She'll just join our humble company! I swear on my bike! nine0005

Liza silently shook her head, her frightened emerald eyes filled with tears of despair, and because of that they became even brighter. Of course, Damon is bluffing - he is not the patron of this house, but Costa!

- You missed your only chance, redhead! I gave you the word of the owner of the party that if your scary friend is here now, no one will lay a finger on her! She would be under my personal protection - it's the same as under the protection of Costa himself! But you, alas, did not agree. Damon shook his head disappointedly, not taking his eyes off Lisa's old and shabby, but still, iPhone. - This means that you do not believe my words at all ... In vain, stupid, very in vain ...

Damon shook his head again, the glare from his golden mask spreading across the room.

Suddenly, he abruptly extended his hand forward and, like a snake of a mouse, grabbed Lisa's phone, tearing it out of the girl's fragile hand. The victim screamed in panic, but nothing could be changed...

“Now, if I find her in this house,” Damon muttered every word through his teeth, “this will be your last meeting! Both of you won't even come close to the Academy! Oh, I don't envy you!

"Damn! Now he will dial my number, and the irreparable will happen! I tried feverishly to remember where my old broken phone was now. After the fight with Costa, he became completely useless. Through the glass broken into a hundred fragments, time was not visible at all. Because of this, I even had to find my old wristwatch, round and bulky, with a thick, frayed strap. Did I turn off my dialer? Unlikely! So ... took it and shoved it somewhere! Crap! What to do now?

Before I could remember where I had put my phone, Damon pressed the big green call button. Everyone present held their breath, and I almost choked on my coffee because of my nerves. Now the moment of truth will come, and I will be thrown out of here like a dirty kitten! The loud beats of my heart counted out five endless seconds...

- The subscriber's phone is turned off or is out of network coverage! – loudly announced such a familiar female voice. Never before have I been so glad to hear it!

Oh, horror! I remembered that since there were no pockets in Lisa's dress, which was now tightly fitting my body, I stuffed my phone into thin synthetic tights . .. pressing it tightly to my right thigh. Not very convenient, but it will do. While I was enthusiastically playing Truth or Dare, squirming intensely on the soft leather sofa, the phone managed to slide down and end up in the same place where my life is - under the ass. In general, all this time I was sitting on my phone and was just about to expect with horror that it would vibrate and yell Rammstein loudly throughout the room. It was this melody that stood on my call to unknown calls. nine0005

“Thank heavens! I breathed, of course, to myself, “I think I was able to turn off my phone with my ass. Well, or finally broke him, crushing the soft-boiled one!

After this incident, Damon abandoned all attempts to find Antonina Evans at the party, switching to Anastasia. The guy tried to find out as much information as possible about an unfamiliar, slightly eccentric and eccentric, but very beautiful girl: what faculty and course she was from, what city she came from, and so on. But alas, the blonde dodged so deftly, either stupidly flapping her eyelashes, or turning the conversation into a joke, that almost all of Damon's questions remained unanswered. The only thing we managed to find out is that the girl was new at the Academy and studied at the Faculty of Arts, where she, in her own words, "was the most charming and stunning", and also "the smartest in life, rummaging in business and cosmetics ". nine0005

Bravo, Stacey! Damon shouted, when he was already completely tired of listening to the lengthy lisping speeches of the blonde. Was she really so stupid that none of those present even understood a couple of words from her mutterings ... Or, on the contrary, was she too smart and cunning?

- So let's drink to the top girl of our Academy! For Stacey… I mean Anastasia…” Damon frowned, struggling to figure out the name of this blonde who came from nowhere, “Anastacia… Miss…

” “Make-up!” she prompted, smiling and batting her eyelashes. nine0005

- To the most beautiful Anastasia Grim! Damon repeated, standing up and raising a miniature bottle of the most expensive bourbon over his head. The guy drank and did not frown at all from the burning tart drink - what a party habituated.

- To the bottom!

Lisa lifted up a glass of golden champagne on a thin stem that stood nearby. Pirate and Cowboy simultaneously picked up their unfinished cocktails, and I quickly grabbed someone's half-cooled espresso from the table and reached out to clink glasses. nine0005

As soon as I raised a white cup with a black bitter drink to my lips, Damon shouted almost to the whole room:

- You have a penalty, one-eyed! No one has drunk coffee with my toast yet!

In surprise, I abruptly pushed the cup away from me and, naturally, several large black drops landed right on the hem of Liza's sky-blue dress that I was wearing right now. I'm not lucky with this drink - today I'm pouring it all day ...

- Damn it! Now I will fly for the spots! I swore softly, noticing the face of my neighbor, twisted from righteous anger and horror. It’s strange, but at that very moment I didn’t think of anything better than to lie - in my cup there wasn’t coffee at all . .. There ... there was real liquor! Yes! There were just not enough glasses for everyone and ... and the cup was free ...

- Nonsense and provocation! Stacey stated in her flirtatious high-pitched voice. She looked into my empty espresso cup and squealed almost ultrasonic. - Oh, boys, girls! Who drank from this dish? Look-look! There's a broken heart made of coffee grounds at the bottom... but an arrow... - she practically plunged her long powdered nose into the glass, - be quiet! Don't get out of hand! A black arrow ... pierced through the heart ... pain and blood all around ... I see true love, crazy passion, betrayal and ... death! Creepy and premature! nine0005

- And I see ... coffee trash and ... Mickey Mouse! I mimicked, more to just defuse the situation. The blonde's serious words sent shivers down my spine. Everything that happened was like nonsense! Damon and I drank from this cup. But he will never fall in love with me, and I, fortunately, with him. So none of us will die, right?

- Hey you two kluckers! Put the cup down and don't be dramatic! Damon ordered seriously, looked at me carefully and generously pointed to the drinks standing on a miniature table. - One-eyed! You're penalized! Choose any drink and drink to the bottom! nine0005

– Penalty? I frowned, realizing that he wouldn’t leave me just like that, “now I’ll show you the penalty area!”

I contrived and grabbed a small bottle of expensive bourbon from Damon's hand, which he had been sipping since the beginning of the party. There was not much left - only about a third of a strong liquid.

In this scenario, Damon should have been completely drunk, singing insulting songs about Costa and dancing naked on the table in front of everyone. But it was not there - the guy looked absolutely sober, focused and cheerful. nine0005

I raised the bottle over my head and saluted the stunned Damon:

– To the meeting! Hopefully the last one!

With these words, the wet neck of the bottle was at my dry lips, and I carefully took a sip, preparing for the fragrant fiery liquid to burn my mouth. But to my surprise, nothing like that happened. In the bottle was the usual chilled water from the cooler. Damon didn't drink at all today, he was just pretending...0005

- Are you happy now? Or am I not drunk enough yet to be fun to play with?

- Enough! he gritted through his teeth, blushing under his golden mask, and then abruptly snatched the bottle from my hand. – One-eyed no more pour! So where did we end up? Oh yes…

The boy had no choice but to take a deep breath, close his eyes and count to five, and then exhale noisily. Of course, he knew what I now knew: there was water in his bottle, covered with an expensive label. But what was all this masquerade for? ..

- Where are you from, Miss Grim? Damon asked matter-of-factly, taking a couple of sips from his bottle out of inertia.

“Australia,” she answered simply, “from the most prestigious private school in Sydney!” I am a good girl!

- From Australia? – surprised her interlocutor. - Cool! But no accent!

- I'm telling you, Kostya, I studied well at school and rummage through life! Stacey went back to her usual lisping tone.

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