He was not in the mood for parties, or people, or laughter; not that he was against the idea of happiness or mirth, it just seemed frivolous now, he seemingly had more difficulty escaping reality as easily as the next guy. Though he had never exactly been introduced to the wonders of marijuana, nonetheless, he did have cigarettes on the mind. After the incident earlier in the day, he had ferociously gone through half of his on hand supply, until his pockets were empty, though a few remained in his stash.
He had humored Nova with a costume, dressed as the Phantom of the Opera, white mask covering the part of his scarred face, a tuxedo jacket and white dress shirt paired with a pair of jeans and old worn in converse with dirty laces. He felt awkward, but within an fifteen minutes, forgot his appearance and focused on the people instead.
There was an nicotine longing as he arrived with the others, idly helping here or there, but more or less keeping to himself not that such behavior was unusual. He was sitting on the end of the picnic table when Wolf moved to stand on it. His almond shaped blues surveyed the crowd as his leader spoke, instinctively looking for that flutter of uncomfortable movement or tightening of a fist, something that might give away who here was more friend then foe. Fortunately for whoever that might pertain to, Ash seen nothing more then a bunch of kids, trying to make the most of what their lives had become. He rose in the middle of the speech and with his hands in his pockets, listened carefully.
He watched Wolf descend and head toward one of the bonfires, before he stepped around in time to both hear and see what Lazarus was up to. Arriving at his shoulder, he arched his brows as he said with certainty, "It is probably with my pack of imaginary cigarettes," he joked, though he didn't crack a smile.