Garrett had no idea what the hell Cinco de Mayo was, but the combination of finals and an excuse to drink had resulted in an explosive party that tumbled into the streets of the quiet suburban neighbourhood. Students with heavy tans and bleached hair sport ridiculous novelty hats and luchador masks, in a shallow liquor laced nod to a Mexican victory a hundred and fifty years ago.

The Savage stumbles back as a keg-stand goes sideways, narrowly dodging the wave of beer. He watches the group hoist each other back up in a loud buzz of laughter and jabs, moving along between the packs. Not what he was looking for. There was always a few that were vulnerable; sitting alone as their more social peers leave them behind, or a night of bravery trying to make a connection beyond their dorm room. The perks of Garrett's appearance was that no one would exactly call him threatening, easily blending with the festivities.

Eyes track stillness rather than movement, drifting between outsiders as he offers hooks. Some are looking for drugs, a good time, others just a friend. Prosper eventually emerges from the house, laughing with a first year still struggling with being hazed. His eyes almost fall out of his head when he sees the car, too far gone to bother asking his new friend if he was sober enough to drive. Quieter venue, more people with the same interest, the Savage rattles off easy promises while having the student look up the closest fast food options. The younger one shrugs with embarrassment at the mention of shrooms, though the tension is cut with more laughing when a small bag is tossed at him in a challenge.

He was going to get fucked up.