[ Arriving some time during the dinner, John Blake has been informally summoned, as the invitation had noted, and upon entering the part of the inn where the food's laid out, he's greeted with a lot of unfamiliar faces. Well, okay, of course they're unfamiliar, but that's not really the point. It's a lot more people than he was expecting (and he's not entirely sure why because he'd seen the group he'd come in with), enough that he finds himself more interested in mingling instead of intermingling.

He sneaks some food onto a plate, perhaps strategically skirting the talkative host in his efforts, and when he settles it's at the end of a table. He's there to watch and eat, although anyone who might play a reverse Uno card would observe the following: Blake is tackling the vittles, trying each thing in succession, disliking nothing. In fact, when he finds a single something he particularly enjoys the most, he does a happy little food dance and finishes it in a single go. For a little guy, he can eat. Not a common occurrence, but cash is slim and so is Blake's hunting abilities.

He's just about to sneak his way out the door with absolute success in speaking not one single word to anyone when he finds himself doing one of those polite little two-steps with someone as they try to cross paths. ]

Oh, sorry— I was— Maybe you should—

[ Miraculously, this little dance will continue. We've all been there, right? Overly polite, Blake can't take the right-of-way, only offer. ]

No, I'll go this way— Wait— Hold on—

[ Feeling suitably ridiculous — caught, as it were — Blake soon settles into the idea of sticking around for a little while. Maybe it's shame that keeps him (because it's rude to eat and run) or maybe it's something deeper than that, but he posts up against the wall and waits it out, maybe the only person in the room eager for the party to end.

It's not so bad. He hates that he thinks it is so bad, because he knows it's not. The familiar press of people reads of home and Blake's thankful for the comfort of it, but strangers here set him on edge. Perhaps because he's alone, no safety net, no parachute. Hard to trust when you think of it that way.

Could he go back to his room? Sure. It's right here, paid by the day in one way or another, and he could escape for a little while and come back. Thing is, Blake can only stare at the same four walls for so long. This new world — this new old world — moves at an entirely different pace than he's used to, slowed to a state that makes him feel trapped in molasses.

If he's going to fidget anywhere, it might as well be here.

One exception happens by — Magmara Sarstina — who Blake convinces into a truncated but heartfelt dance full of smiles and laughter. He's a good boy and Mag lights his face briefly with a shared warmth before excusing herself to her very busy day. He'd been doing small jobs without so much as a complaint at any hour and who could dislike anything about that?

He's considering returning to that position as a wall anchor when he catches Mag shooing him with a bar towel, discouraging that behavior with warm intentions. Arms up in surrender, Blake chuckles quietly. ]

Yeah, okay. My love's just left me, as you can plainly see... Who else wants to dance?

[ Look, he doesn't lack charisma, he just chooses not to use it. ]

[ You know what this means! The more hilarious the better, so go ham. ]