At the Picnic Table
Alcuin had attended many social gatherings in his time, but none of them had involved an entire pack of werewolves just before the full moon. To say that he was far beyond the scope of his expertise would have made for a comical understatement, although he knew little enough of the werewolves to know not to provoke them in any way this close to the full moon. There was a time and a place for standing out and making oneself known to others – and he had already decided that this was most certainly not one of them.
Hopefully, he would prove a new and interesting element to the evening rather than an intrusive and unwelcome presence in their pack dynamic, but it was entirely too early to say for certain. Scott had instructed him to socialize when he excused himself from the table with one plate too many to mean nothing and that was precisely what he was going to do. He smiled warmly at all who passed by him at the table and nibbled at the finger food whilst his mind soared high above the party.
Not all social interactions were meant to have any worth, after all, and it was easy enough for his mind to disappear in the mass of people to occupy his mind while his body wined and dined. Who, exactly, was the extra plate for? Why was there such tension in the air that night? Was it the full moon, or something else? Alcuin wasn't foolish enough to doubt his own instincts; they had served him too well for that. If he was observant enough, if he paid enough attention to his surroundings, he might just be able to answer at least some of these questions for himself.