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"I'd watch your ******** mouth kid," she sneered, upper lip curling to bare her teeth somewhat. "Maybe you should learn to respect your elders, especially the ones that'll smoothly transition to physical violence."

A delicate smile returned and she reached down to give Thom's skirt a sharp tug to tear the rest off in a quick motion. Unfortunatelly, the back seemed to be a bit shorter than Thom probably wanted.

"If 'e 'asn't yet, 'e will soon. Ey now--" But Antony had already ripped off the last of the skirt. Liiiiittle shorter than he'd wanted....By a good few inches. But no helping that now. Scowling, he reached for his cane and climbed to his feet, sweeping his hat off the table and replacing it on his head. 'Good enough. I'm steppin' out for a bit." ...Accompanied by the rest of the bottle of vodka, which he kidnapped from the table before nodding to Antony and Miller and limping his way out of the tent.

Marshall looked over at Amaya, "Um...This is gonna sound really lame...Buuut...I don't think I know any one." Marshall chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. This was before, however, a scaley man in a blue dress passed the two of them.

"...You just saw that, right?"

Richard guided Colche to the drinks table, while doing his best to keep his tentacles to himself. The two sock puppet soldiers seemed to glare over Richard's shoulders. "Why its a drink that's quite popular with Princesses back home or so I hear." Now if he could just remember what exactly went in a Shirly Temple. He knew they were non alcholic and had some sort of soda in it. Oh well, if he made it sweet then Colche would probably like it. He poured some club soda into a glass, a generous helping of grenadine and a mix of fruity syrups.

"Here you are." Handing Colche a fizzing glass. "I hope you like it." He then started to fix himself a much stiffer drink. As he did he surveied the crowd, noting another normal person who didn't seem to be having a great time, He saw Amaya come in and flashed her a smile.

Amongst the chaos, Jamal had disappeared for some time, probably to evaluate his situation in the safety of the jungle. He was gone a few hours at most before once again, the dirty bedsheet ghost with long smears of dried blood on the chest and head drifted back to the edge of the tent, sights focused once more on the food table. So far, so good. The only person to noticed him at the party (or so he thought) thus far was Pyroth.

Jamal clumsily scooted his way to the edge of the table where chunks of meat still lay piled high and stood, debating the best way to go about acquiring a tasty piece without compromising his disguise.

"Yes I will call you crazy because your going insane over a question as to why you have so many tails!" He scowled again. "Maybe it wasn't that no I'll place my money on that Vokda Thom walked out with maybe?"

He rolled his eyes at the last remark, "Proably best Thom took that vodka, wouldn't want to see how cranky you get when your drunk..."

Jamal hmmed thoughtfully before unshealthing one claw and carefully tore a slit down the side of his costume from the inside, making a hole just large enough for his hand to fit through. If he was fast enough, he could possibly grab a handful of food before anyone could notice and draw attention to him.

He glanced around anxiously, noting a small group assembled around Antony and some others he didn't recognize. Antony looked pissed, which wasn't surprising. Jamal wasn't exactly all for getting in a big fight right now, as it'd blow his cover, but he needed to talk to Antony anyway...if anything, to let her know he was still alive. He'd disappeared from where she had left him without a word; she had no idea where he was nowadays. Maybe if things blew over, he'd chance going over. For now, he needed to eat as much as possible. Who knew when he'd get his next meal?

Jamal leaned casually over the edge of the table and shoved his hand out the slit he had made, grabbing a fistful of meat, and dragged it back inside his bedsheet tent.

Miller continued to ignore Antony looking the other way, a very bad idea. "You know what you can go fu-" he was abrubtly cut off when the bottle met the side of his head knocking him out of the chair and causeing a trickle of blood to seep through his hair.

He squirmed on the ground grabing the spot where he had been hit waiting for the world to either go completly black or come back in to focuse. "********... b***h..." he mumbled inbetween a few moans of pain.