Jareth/Open | evening
The promise of free mead lured him to Bahamut. He avoided the damn hall if he could - he didn't like the heavy atmosphere - but for alcohol and food that he didn't have to pay for? He'd fucking deal. And he was going to eat and drink his damn share unless someone told him otherwise.
Laughter and general ruckus reached his ears before he opened the doors and he smiled, just a little. There used to be parties back home, though he doubted that they had ever gotten as rowdy as this one seemed to be. Say what he wanted about the FG being made up of fucking straight laced do gooders, at the very least they knew how to fucking party.
He made a beeline for the mead and filled a mug before piling food onto a plate and retreating to one of the tables that was empty. There was no doubt in his mind that it wouldn't be empty long - he hadn't even realized there were this many fucking people in this Faram-damned guild. His mistake, of course; he should have scouted the fucking thing better.
Still, he was going to enjoy his solitude for as long as he could before someone inevitably joined him. He just hoped it was someone he could tolerate, or, better yet, didn't talk. There were mute monks, right? It was a thing, he was pretty sure. Maybe he'd end up with one of those.