There really was a surprising sense of serenity to be found up here, and now that Tony had taken a breath he could really appreciate the lack of sunscreen and sweat smell or constant threat of getting sticky sugar on his appropriately festive (blue with classic Chanel inspired white edging) Vivienne Westwood. He couldn't be expected to have more than one of these jackets at the ready. He settled thankfully beside Wanda, assuring her as he did that he was a survivor, only to reconsider the statement after he had draped an arm along behind her to pull her close. He could have been quite pathetic and milked it for all kinds of supportive affection, and he hoped he hadn't ruined his chances when he corrected, "I hope they're nicer to you, though, because I don't think anyone else could stand it," into her hair where he just touched his nose. Over her head, Tony could see where the grass had been crushed flat already in great swaths where people diverted from the paths, and an overfull garbage can, not designed to handle such heavy traffic, design flaws in the production. He raised the straw to his lips again, sinking lower into the seat.