Three's A Crowd? Hardly... [Charity]

Man that girl knew how to throw a party. According to a few of her girlfriends (The friends that are girls ones, not the lovey-dovey smooching type), she had planned almost every detail herself. That alone was worth some notice. Not least because right down to the fact that every single glass in the whole place, every bowl, everything was in the same style. No corners cut. It was phenomenal.

Indrik smiled as he span a cocktail stick, adorned with a chunk of pineapple, a cocktail sausage and a piece of cheese, in his deft fingers. He tilted his head lightly, before his focus shifted from the delectable snack in his hand to the host, who like the entire party, was immaculately turned out. But he wasn't paying much attention to what she was wearing. Partly because the beaming smile on her face had his entire attention. She had a pretty smile. Indrik smirked before meandering elegantly through the crowd toward Dia, slotting himself into her field of vision.

Evening Dia. Fabulous as always. He chose not to mention whether he was referring to her directly, the snack which he was now proceeding to dissect piece by piece, or the setting that she had crafted. Ambiguity was a wonderful thing. You certainly have the artistic eye. I can't get over how beautiful everything is. Again with the ambiguity. Cheese eaten, he bit into the succulent pineapple, delighting in the taste.

He smiled at her, chewing on the fruit, before swallowing delicately. So, might I ask, what's the occasion for the party? I didn't read down the invite that far, I just saw the word 'party' and your name and sent a yes. It was true, to an extent. But mostly because it was a party. He didn't say that though. The rest of the pineapple was promptly placed in his mouth, his eyes never leaving her, still smiling, before noticing the change in the music. His head started bobbing a little, as he readjusted his shirt, a simple vanilla hued button-down, paired with what appeared to be a marginally tighter fitting pair of cargo pants.

And of course, he was adorned with some form of aftershave that gave him a touch of class. Just that touch of scent that placed him above anyone who never made the effort instantly. He smirked, before promptly devouring the sausage, before twiddling the stick between his fingers without really thinking about it. It rolled between them gracefully, never stopping, and never out of complete control.