Grantaire appreciated a good party. It was true he preferred to, more often than not, pursue a good time in the more subdued company of smaller gatherings, found comfort and happiness in incendiary groups who drank and joked and spoke very finely of revolution, but it was also true that he would not turn down the occasional well plotted party. That this was a mandatory event alleviated any trouble where his own preferences might have deviated, and where he may have been shut away and wallowing in the horror of the recent Arena and his poor run of it, he is instead here.

He pushed the harrowing memories of the Arena away in favor of entertaining more flippant thoughts, such as wondering at what the little delicacy he held between his fingers was. He popped it into his mouth, making a face that communicated pleasant surprise, and reached for another. After the misery of the Arena he intended to take full advantage of the spread before him, with a vague ambition towards getting outrageously drunk as the evening progressed. There was an excellent chance of him making a scene, which he acknowledged with a sedate sense of apathy.