Savannah and Clay
Clay arrived at the party with Gemma on his arm. He was wearing his SoA leather, with a tshirt, and jeans. Some habits died hard, and wearing the cutte was going to be one of them. It felt so weird not to wear it. He found it brought a sense of comfort to this sea of unknown. So he still wore it. He was trying to wear it less. To get used to have it off, but today was just one of the days he had to wear it. It was bad enough being forced not to wear it when in prison (since he wasn't even allowed to have it), but choosing not to wear it was another thing entirely.
Having told Gemma he was going to go mingle, he gave her a kiss, and they went their ways. He thought about taking out a cigar, but he thought he should wait a little bit. Instead, he grabbed a handful of potato chips -- something to keep his thoughts off the cigars -- and found the party organizer.
"You must be Savannah," he said with a smile. "Clay Morrow, I've been wanting to meet you for awhile. How was California?"