Finnén Holý had, in fact, already arrived. He had attired himself in fashionable garments, suited to the warm, seasonable weather. He stood in a sleeveless button-up shirt of patterned white and ash grey with a column of black buttons, and cuffed, white Bermuda shorts with a belt of braided black leather. The outfit rounded out with a pair of white ankle socks with a grey stripe about the top, and a pair of white and grey sneakers from the recognisable Skechers brand.<br/><br/>The shirt looked a slight ruffled, but it did not appear as if anyone (or anything) had (or could, for that matter) ruffle him. A bit unfamiliar with the party environment, here he remained nonetheless, and early-arrived, even; the host had been quite personable, too. Sociable until they had other arrivals who distracted them once they had made sure Finnén felt welcome and knew where everything was located that one might actually need for the evening. He'd mentioned a couple rooms upstairs readied in case someone felt they may pass out, needed a moment of peace and quiet, or were horny and getting laid but didn't want the entire party as an audience.<br/><br/>Someone had grabbed him and slapped him against a wall and made out with him for about ten minutes. They had, then, pushed off him, apologised for their abruptness, and then thanked him for playing along, because they needed to dissuade someone from bothering her. He'd had to comb his hair all over again, but hadn't bothered with fixing his shirt. Fortunately, he didn't have to wash off any lipstick since she had not been wearing any, for which he was quite thankful.