Drake hated parties like this. It was stupid to have to go for publicity reasons. He'd rather be at home plotting pranks against erstwhile teenagers and handing out candy to the buildings' child occupants. He didn't mind dressing up, although Carys had pretty much insisted on the entirety of his outfit and Drake felt slightly naked. He did not mind being in the camera's eye or going running while shirtless, but being at a party in this outfit wasn't exactly something like that. He amused himself with his friends and watching Carys torture people with her glitter. Although Drake disapproved of her toying with or being mad about tabloid bullshit, he couldn't help the amusement that tickled him when she was genuinely being funny.

Once she was ready to rejoin his side, Drake had a butterbeer waiting for her as he sipped his own cup of cider (spiked, only a little, because anyone who was smarter than a pygmypuff would know that one simply needed a shot of rum to get through the evening without biting someone's head off). "Don't worry, you can charm the glitter to stick later and hit Dagworth for all she's got," Drake told her in his best soothing tone and turned to shield her from the rest of the room, his hand resting on her stomach protectively.