If Sacha were smarter, he might've prepared himself at least a little before interrupting the summit. As it was, he showed up laughing, clueless, and more than a little drunk.
It wasn't his fault, not really - when he had stopped by the opium tent to tell everyone he was leaving, a little later than most others had left but mostly hot on the heels of the Deluminian regime, Paphos had, of course, sent him off with a toast. Then the toast turned into a round of drinks mixed with some nerve-tinglingly strong whisky, then another one, then another, and by the time Sacha had actually made it out of Delumine his blood might as well have been red wine for how loosely he could almost feel it splashing around in his head.
It didn't matter, at least not to him. Gods be damned if a little day-drinking would stop him from following the party. Intoxicated and laughing he had stumbled off toward Veneror, and with an almost unbelievable amount of luck, here he was, arrived at the summit - still tipsy, with twigs in his hair and new scrapes peeling back the deep-red hair on his chest, but still in one piece by most anyone's standards.
When he entered, the Summit was packed nearly wall to wall with strangers from every Court, and, he suspected, perhaps far beyond: not a single face looked familiar, even when he squared his broad shoulders and began to push through the crowd. Murmurs passed through the air. Tensions rippled like drumbeats through the ground. Obnoxiously indifferent to the importance of the situation, Sacha raised his head to scan the horde more thoroughly and smiled as he realized just how many had come here. The attitude of the meeting was half celebration, half death knell, but if he had anything to do with it, it would be a party regardless.
"Hey," Sacha bellowed in the ear of the stranger closest to him, an unsuspecting outsider he couldn't have been paying less attention to if he tried - "What are we all waiting for? Where'e the drinks?"
SACHA;
