Halia had been to only one fancy party before tonight, and that was the party that was held on their behalf only a month ago in Honolulu. The British apparently loved their parties, as was apparent from the flashy dresses and shallow conversations happening at every turn. She felt obligated to talk to someone, but there was no one there—apart from her teammates, maybe—who didn't look like they wouldn't turn their nose up at her.

She found refuge at the refreshments table, where one of her teammates was hovering near a plate of moldy food. (The British were weird about their food. They were weird about everything.)

"I prefer the food to the people," she said in her native tongue, not nearly quiet enough to go unheard by the nearby Brits but already convinced that they wouldn't bother to try and understand her. "But I'm not sure about that." She motioned towards the plate of cheese.

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