He was not much for dances, which is to say, he had never in his life been to an American-style social event of this sort. Now, when he was growing up, he of course had been taught a variety of country peasant dances. In the cold depths of a wintry land on a farm without electricity, people had to find ways to entertain themselves, after all However, this did not usually include music of this variety, punch or any sort of streamer and/or brightly colored neon lights!
The guards weren’t part of the typical decoration setup either.
He wasn’t exactly nervous, as he had encountered at some point or another most of the individuals who would be here tonight, even if he hadn’t made proper introductions. Nor was he a deeply shy sort who was mortified by social situations. Instead, it was that he simply wasn’t aware of what one *did* at an American style dance. On the few brief glimpses he had seen of melodramatic WB programs on other people’s televisions, it usually involved spending weeks looking for a date, but feeling foolish when one realized the person they should have dated all along was their best friend. He had not taken these steps in preparation for the event, and thus felt like he might be at something of a loss.
Like many others, his small room had been crushed under the rubble. Unlike most others, however, the section in which he lived now resembled a small crater in the rubble: the result of him flexing his form and sending rocks showering outwards. A good portion of his belongings were salvageable as a result, but the snazziest he could produce was a pair of black jeans, a dark navy button-up shirt and a very worn but well cared for tie which he had been sent to the island with fifteen years ago. It was, needless to say, a bit on the short side. He looked a bit stiff when he entered, but did so with a smile on his face in spite of it.