John had never been in a fancier place in his life, having to be shoved by Arthur behind to keep him from stopping to gawk at the hugeness of the mayor's home. He didn’t fit in with these people at all; even all combed up, and in his fancy ol’ suit, they’d put far too much of the gang's money into buying.

When told to go and mingle around the party, he felt as if he was gonna choke, a lump in his throat when he began walking down the stairs to the garden by his lonesome. He felt like a child going without his parents for the first time, a heavy weight on his chest as he looked around the bundles of people crowded together, chatting and acting superior.

Apparently he’d just been standing there in a trance because a man nearly walked into him, scoffing when he did, before leading John near the wall instead of the middle of the walkway. Now, usually John would protest and fight to being guided away, let alone touched by another man—but this man was different.

This fella had John’s heart pounding and his mouth drying up, unable to do anything but stare before he knocked himself out of it with an uncomfortably forced cough.

“Sorry, I suppose I ain’t used to these sorts of gatherin’s. Normally too busy in my office to go out ‘n mingle.” The outlaw lied through his teeth, forcing a sharp smile at the man in front of him, who hardly looked convinced.