Gideon's closed eyelids were illuminated in a red tint as sunshine battered against the skin. Most of the people were already up and going by the time Gideon's eyes fluttered open. His stiff posture and natural frown whilst he slept locked his muscles into a certain prone position that forced a few minutes of stretching before he had full flexibility once more. Having silently sat across his mattress completing his stretches, though they appeared more like some form of yoga, Gideon moved the nearby unoccupied mattresses away from himself, creating a small area around him clear of anything. Grabbing a hold of his large knapsack, Gideon used a small amount of red dust from a vial that had been conjured from his bag, placing it in a side compartment of a large water canteen. After a minimal pop, Gideon set up a small, simplistic, cup that appeared to be crafted of clay. He then meticulously shook out a portion of ground leaves from a small satchel, as if carrying out a scientific procedure. Gideon eventually methodically poured the, then boiling water, into the small cup, remaining still as the aroma filled the air surrounding him.

Finally pleased with his carefully crafted tea, Gideon began to sip away at the heated beverage, the scalding liquid warming him to the bone as contented shivers ran down his spine. Gideon's features, normally both sharp and harsh, softened with each small sip. To any onlooker, two things would become obvious rather quickly:
1. Gideon lived for certain things in life, they were things that made his life worth living.
2. To Gideon, tea was one of those things.
The aroma spread quickly throughout the ballroom due to the bustling movement surrounding Gideon's sanctuary of calm. Despite the fact that Gideon was placed close to the middle of the room, there was a certain tranquility brought about him that could only be distinguished by the fact that his somber and no-nonsense demeanor caused most people to steer clear of him. 

As people went about packing their night-time attire, Gideon simply sat cross-legged, both aware of his surroundings yet the embodiment of utter calm. It seemed like his movements were almost automatic, his eyes barely open, his mouth barely twitching to intake the beverage that he held with barely awake hands. He mouthed words, though his voice was barely audible to himself, which was fine as Gideon only intended to mutter to himself
"A sanctuary to my taste, when every sense is over-stimulated. Even the aroma of the air is pungent as the smell of incense clashes with the smell of hundreds of recently showered bodies. My mouth must be a place of envy."
Gideon praises his own craftsmanship in making the tea, though he still never made a move to ready himself for the day.