Noa and Sarge, 11 PM
For the first time since they came to this blasted patch of scorched dirt Sarge doesn't look like a brawl is imminent. While he has had days where he was more relaxed, nobody has seen the kind of guy only Rodeo remembers from way back when. Still not exactly the life at the party, but also not the dark, gloomy spot in the corner. He has been walking around all night, immersed in the ruckus of what undoubtedly is the biggest party the Dog Park has seen yet, but not really part of the action unless someone forcibly drags him along.
As it is, he seems quite content to wander around aimlessly, throw around a few taunts here and there at a few prospects absolutely losing at everything, and stopping for a drink here and there with people that he likes. It's not that he dislikes all of them, this strange bunch is more family than his own blood ever was, but he does have favorites that he considers secrets but that really are not.
When he spots Noa he walks over with his bottle of Glenfiddich 30 year old, a bottle he found while going through a few houses a while back and deemed it worthy for a special occasion. As it is, he doesn't care one bit about the seductively woody taste or honeyed warmth, it gets him drunk and that's all that matters. Coming to a stop right next to her he holds out the bottle instead of a greeting and looks over at the rides with a grin. "Don't know how he's ever gonna top this one. I'm kinda worried about tryin' to hunt down some elephants for the kid's birthday."