Dustin abhors a crowd. Parties, therefore, are a complete write-off for him. It takes a lot to get him to engage with such things - external motivations help, but personal obligation helps more. And in this case, the latter is what's driving him to show up to this one.

He arrives late, but not empty-handed. Dustin slinks into the Whale Comb Sent Her like he's in trouble, a savory-smelling dish tucked under his arm and partially wrapped in a towel to keep the heat off of his hands, sticking to the walls on a path to an empty spot on the serving table. His eyes flick between the decorations and the array of food, the full plates everyone has, though they never linger on the people themselves. Nametags are noted and subsequently ignored. Dustin places his dish down; it's a sort of baconroom stroganoff with a vegetable noodle base, not complicated but very warm and hearty and packed with protein. Then he grabs a plate of it for himself, not trusting any of the other food until he watches others eat it first, and plops into the nearest vacant seat to scarf it down like a feral animal.

Dustin pauses to cast a wary, sidelong glance at the person sitting next to him.

Once he's gotten his fill of food (and filled a few containers more of food that he's deemed safe to consume, for later), Dustin allows himself to be a little adventurous and try an after-dinner sweet. He watches others consume some of the candy around him. It seems safe; people aren't breaking out in hives or frothing at the mouth or anything, anyway, and he's bad enough at reading people's behavior to mistake their subtle personality changes as the giddiness or nerves caused by a raucous party environment that Dustin really doesn't get.

So he tries a couple - the yellow ones, which are almost sickly sweet. Dustin doesn't like them very much at first.

Then he gives them a second thought and decides that he likes them a lot. Actually, there's plenty more that he appreciates about this place, too. Free food? Company that he feels like he knows better than anyone he ever knew at home, and that have actually looked out for him? A relatively safe building to relax in? Dustin's ecstatic, about all of it.

A few minutes later, Dustin has loaded his plate up again with more food that he hasn't tried and is cheerfully - cheerfully, like with a big grin and everything - savoring every bite of it. "This is fucking delicious," he says through a mouthful of sandwich to anyone close enough to speak at. "Fucking love peanut butter! Fuck!!"