Lear L.
No one sees Lear actually arrive. He seems to just be there, a little later in the evening, among the guests. He's tall—6'4"—and generally weird enough-looking (or striking enough, depending)—that it seems almost impossible that he'd be able to slip in anywhere unnoticed. But, he does and he's there. He doesn't dress to impress, because he couldn't really give a fuck less about what anyone thinks about his attire—or, admittedly, anything else.
He has a tendency to stare, and some might notice themselves feeling a little drip of adrenaline or almost like something's coming for them. It's fear. Generally, it occurs on a subconscious level and most don't put two and two together. They wonder why their heart's getting a little fluttery or why they feel the need to walk—away, anywhere—but, it's not as if the fear is specific. It's a purely physical response; and typical of prey. Still, Lear seems to behave himself. He talks if he's approached and he seems to prefer the patio and dock area to being inside.