[ Oh look, it's the little drunk guy from the party - the First Son, mister famous, something like that. He flashes a wry smile, lifts a shoulder and smirks. ]

Yeah, yeah. If I’m stripping, someone better be stuffing twenties in my belt, not handing me trauma glitter and mystery candy. [ He flicks a bit of shimmer off his sleeve, not that it helps—he’s going to sparkle like an extra from Twilight for days. ]

Good to see you made it outta that unicorn rave fever dream. [ he gestures. ] Go on, open it. Could be booze, could be a frog that sings Elvis. Only one way to find out.