Not exactly Mister Cinderella
Who: Duncan and Open When: 9 PM Where: Moriarty Party
Unlike the rest of the party-goers, Duncan O'Shaig had come in neither suit nor gown. He had, of course, come in black tie worthy garb, but had forgone pants for a more traditional, to him, kilted outfit. He'd explained, with patience and some humor, that he was not in fact cross dressing, but perfectly acceptable in what he was wearing, when he got some confused looks at the entrance. The fact that he'd spoken in a thick Scottish accent had, more than likely, helped his case quite a bit.
He'd done his share of socializing, The Relics might have been moderatey quiet about what their own existence, but more than a few individuals had been curious about the great store of knowledge he held in his head.
He had also sat through Bram (who he kept adding the name 'Stoker' after) Moriarty's speech and clapped with a majority of those at the table for the donation to the kids. Duncan knew well enough that the rich rarely did things entirely without reason, but dismissed wondering about it as not worth the effort.
Currently Duncan was waving off another server with a tray full of champagne, with as polite a demeanor as one could pull off when offered the same thing they didn't want a half dozen times.