It was loud. As you'd expected. Thalita had warned you thoroughly - loud, packed, maybe a bit smelly.

Nothing you couldn't handle. Thalita knew a lot of these people. You knew one of them; her. So, much like a lost dog, you're practically clinging to her. While she wades through the groups of people, referring to many by name and making her entrance, you're awkwardly trailing behind her, just praying that you can get a drink or six in your system before you're forced to strike up conversation.

Thankfully, she knows her way to the kitchen, and soon has you both equipped with a solo cup filled with punch that is (hopefully) spiked.

"Relax, boneca! You know, we don't bite," she teases, placing a hand on her hip and grinning at you. "Not most of us, anyways."