Althea Schirmer arrived on the arm of a man, but not the one which most might have expected. She would have dragged Dash along, only he was home sick, sniffles and everything. She'd left him chicken soup and owled one of the top contributors to her campaign -her true and chosen manager- to be her 'date' for the evening.

This sort of thing really was more Weddell Bott's speed than Everett Scabior's anyway. Dash had no reason to be jealous mind, but he could do with a bit of reminding sometimes, so it didn't bother Althea one bit knowing that as sick as he was he'd still be squirming over it.

Now for greetings, drinks, and maybe even dancing.