Barclay and Leon
Concluding that Barclay and Ashton were indeed at odds if the druid didn't even want to go say hello to his friend, Leon followed to the drink table and, for once, went easy on Barclay. It had to be hard. Barclay was a prickly person to be friends with, so he didn't have a large number of them hanging in the wings to pick him up when he was down. Leon decided that the least he could do, since he could stand his fellow witch well enough, was let it go and allow Barclay to have a decent night - dance not withstanding. They were there. That's what counted.
He picked up a glass of punch, nodding thanks to Caleb with a smile, but focused on Barclay when he asked who. "Mickey Torres," he responded, unsure if he had told Barclay that before, and then unsure if he should have. Mickey's reputation was probably known to the brit-witch, and Leon wanted to avoid answering any uncomfortable questions about his own sexuality - not so much whether or not he and Mickey had slept together, or how often. As far as Barclay knew, or should know, Leon was straight.
"I'm sure he's off dancing somewhere already," he shrugged dismissively, but checked the dance floor and sure enough, spotted Mickey there, but dancing solo. A softer expression crossed Leon's face or just a moment as he watched his friend, one of fondness and endearment. The Djinni and he had really gotten closer since their casual platonic friendship took a turn for the casual platonic sexual road.
"And anyway, for your information, dancing is a part of my culture," he focused on Barclay again and raised the punch to toast the statement. "To both of my cultures."