...he had been afraid everything would get crazy. He's had to move about and quell little problems. It's something to focus on after the terrible things happened in the dream width. He'd started to relax as the familiar action of managing others and making sure they're alright settled all his nerves. It doesn't chase away the phantom pains but, better than nothing.

Until his friend Noctis starts moving about the room and he loses track of him. "Noctis?" He pulls himself away from one small spat that had started to escalate until he cooled it down and scans the room. No unruly black hair. He catches sight of his moogle and ignores his own drunkenly recounting some adventure to someone else's moogle. "Noctis?" He tries again, slipping between tables as he tries to locate him.

He finds him rolling around on the floor like a cat. Dear God. He kneels down beside him while Wimbledon drifts by, "You know I once traded a used-" He tunes it out. "Come on, up off the floor. This isn't a safe spot with this many people drinking."