Status: CLOSED 3/3 (no more replies, please! 🤍) Where: Serra Borgin's birthday party When: flexible
Rabastan would not stay for long. He barely knew the Borgin girl, but he did know her parents well. It was due to their respectful business dealings that he'd accepted the invitation. Twenty-one seemed like a long time ago, though in reality it was not so far away. At that point in his life, he was committed to the war, with a black skull already blazoned to his arm to prove it.
Truth be told, it was peculiarly refreshing to be doing nothing at all. He usually made an effort to force social occasions to become beneficial, taking the opportunity to seek prudent company and to discuss whatever would be useful. But he lacked the will, tonight. An hour or so of mindless chatter was all he desired. He reasoned that the break would do him well, then he would return home and work on the remainder of his tasks for the Dark Lord before he slept.
Gravitating towards the drinks, he obtained a glass of scotch then looked around for snacks and pulled a hefty tray of canapés towards himself with a finger crooked against the plate's rim. May as well line his stomach.