So maybe the Enchanters weren’t all bad. One had given him a baggy of cookies with a delicate warming spell that would keep them at the perfect temperature - not too melty, not too crunchy, and he’s frankly not sure why they don’t all just eat perfect cookies all the time. Clearly, that was a waste of good hard-working tastebuds but whatever, more for him. He’d maybe worked his way down the beverage table too, trying a little bit of everything from water to multiple teas to the alcohols. He’d forgotten how much taste liquids that weren’t blood could have. He’d marveled at tea for a long time because it was water + leaves and how did that equal such happiness on his tongue? But eventually, he had to pee and was reminded that that was a thing and had to search around the cabin for the Special Room and remembered to wash his hands before coming back out, full, and a little drunk, and a lot happy with life.

It felt good to smell and breathe and feel his own heartbeat and he only wished Sorin and Erasmus was around here somewhere and feeling the same things he was. His height usually did him an advantage but with the masks on, it was nearly impossible to tell who was who and since he’d memorized bloodscents and not scent-scents it was impossible to pick people out that way now. He’d just have to keep wandering. Eventually, he spotted a familiar shock of blonde hair and while it wasn’t quite the shade he was looking for, he should probably be polite and say something and not pretend he didn’t see her, like his first thought had been. Trying to guess the appropriate size smile for a boss, he approached her, but alcohol grabbed his tongue before he could. “I like your ears!” came out before he could stop it and the only way he could think to save the situation was to push the baggie out and offer a sheepish shrug. “Sorry. Cookie? They’re warm!” and pretend like there weren’t flowers busily growing and tying themselves around his hair with another vine heading her way.