What kind of snacks are those? I feel like my tongue is burning.

Mingling had never been his strong suit, and in actual fact Dave couldn’t remember the last time he’d attended a party quite as big as this one - certainly not one as lavish. The masks only made it harder to pin point people he knew to plague with his company, which meant the first person he could put a name to - or so he thought - he approached, whisky glass in hand. “So, about that game...” he began, praying to god he’d got the right blonde and didn’t sound like he was about to pull a real line on her. “Is it just as easy to read people in masks, or does your talent start to fail you when you can’t see their expressions?”.