Tristan had never been a fan of big parties like this, really, if only because there was such a potential for things to go wrong -- and also because by arriving here, he was going to be in the Tattler tomorrow. Oh, he didn't have any illusions about that -- but it did make him even more careful than he might've been before. He had Psyke to think about, and he'd hate for her to be embarrassed by him in-person or later, on paper.
That's why he's leaning against the bar, casually sipping at a shirley temple. It's tasty, he can drink a lot of them without his teeth feeling all fuzzy, and most people just assumed that it had some sort of alcohol in it. The best drink to monitor a crowd with, Tristan thought. The problem with being one of the few sober people at a place like this was that it was almost physically painful to watch some of the blokes around him, flirting with women who barely remembered their own names -- and still managing to strike out.
At least he'd always had his good looks going for him in that department. He'd be the first to admit that he wasn't great at 'bar talk' -- but fortunately, that wasn't something she needed to think about right now.
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