[i][b]Twenty minutes earlier:[/b][/i]

The apartment was seemingly empty. The two older occupants had already left for the bash upstairs, leaving their son to get ready and he was taking his time. Half dressed, he paced between the kitchen and his bedroom, one sock lingering at the tip of his foot, dangerously close to falling off. He was struggling to decide between two ties, not being markedly pleased by either of them. He turns his attention to the only person he knew he could rely on for an honest opinion. His muse as it were.

[b]"[i]Lieutenant Worf[/i]?"[/b] He asks, coming to a stop by his mopish German Shepherd. He still wasn't sure about the name, but the dog would no longer respond to anything else, so he figured the jury to be out on that one. Regardless, the dog pricks his ears up, looking up at the man infront of him.

[b]"You're a good boy!"[/b] He praises, kneeling down and, while pinning the one tie over his shoulder, goes to stroke his pet. [b]"You're going to help me pick a tie aren't you, you good boy. Aren't you."[/b] Worf looks away, visibly bored.

[b]"Aw come on. Help me out?"[/b] He asks again, taking a tie in each hand and offering it. Used to this by now, the dog instinctively raises his right paw. Fletcher looks at the tie in his left hand studiously. It was a dark mauve with an orange vine pattern stretching from top to bottom. By all accounts it was putrid.

[b]"You're lucky you've got the colourblind thing going for you."[/b] He shrugs, meeting the raised paw and shaking it. [b]"Be back in a second."[/b] He zips back into his room.

[hr]

Finally making it to the party, Fletcher opens the door and looks in. It was always odd seeing everybody huddled up in one room, he thought. He makes his way in, but rests at the side of the wall, not entirely wanting to be noticed.