<div class="floatleft">(https://mermaidvision.files.wordpress.com/2011/08/33415043.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>Alfred Birche in a fancy shirt (https://i.pinimg.com/originals/26/fe/c5/26fec5036d81c55adf73c16aaab4a700.jpg)<br/><strong>Alias</strong>Leshy<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Dark Wings,  open.<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Party?<br/><hr/>The lead up to the party had seen Leshy getting well acquainted with some food--care package from parents, vending machine, sneaking into the cafeteria, whatever--because his body needed all the calories.  Picking out what to wear wasn't really a big deal for him, mainly because  he didn't have too many choices.<br/><br/>He picked out something formal-ish because he hadn't bothered to pay attention to what kind of party it was; he had fully planned to ignore it.  But then, life threw him a curveball. So, improvise! Fancy undershirt, matching slacks, with real gold trim (his mother insisted on it), and custom tailored to allow him the flexibility he needed to change shapes without shredding the finery; plus that little tail hole in his pants, right below the belt. On top of his head sat a bowler hat, which he alternatedly took on and off and put back on again, only to decide... screw it. Leave the hat.<br/><br/>He skulked along in the dark to the field outside the tent, and he grumbled a bit at the noise he could already here. He spent some time stalking around the perimeter of the event area, trying to decide whether to go in or not; anybody bothering him, like security, would just get a 'I'm just catching some fresh air' sort of brush off, like, it's fine, don't worry about it.<br/><br/>...Oh, he caught a flash of that red coat, and the red hair that went with it. Well, that was tempting. He let out a sort of huff-growl, and decided screw it, if it got to be too much stimuli in there, he could always just walk out as easily as he had came in. He got his hand stamped, and his reel of tickets, but just held onto them. He knifed his way through the crowd of people, searching... so many different colors, smoke and bubbles, blech. BLECH!<br/><br/>The fancy lad siddled up to Aislyn slowly, quietly. The tingle of old magic would be a better give away of his presence than anything else.  "That flask must have some history to it." His nose is doing a little twitchy thing, like many animals do when they're focused intently on a scent. Mmm... in the air full of wafts of alcoholic beverages, people wearing different colognes and perfumes, and that icky smoke and bubbles, she was like a literal breath of fresh air.<br/><br/>Something natural, harmonious, in the way she had prepared herself for the evening. He slipped out his own hip flask, just a plain old stainless steel one, and gave it a swish-swish-swish. "Glad I'm not the only one who brought their own drink." He twisted the top off, and poured a sip into his mouth. He then exhaled as he felt it burn his throat, and she might just catch the fragrance of<em>wormwood</em>on his breathe.<br/><br/>Oh yes. He'd brought 'the green fairy' in his flask. And it smells<strong>potent. </strong>"Watcha got, Dream?" Since Aislyn was an anglicized Gaelic name that meant 'dream' or 'vision'. He thought Dream more appropriate to call her.