Aaaaand cookies. COOKIES. Paul slipped out of his seat, re-buttoning the top button of his Hawaiian shirt, and took one cookie from Tippin as he straggled towards the Badger table. Merlin knew, his nerves couldn't handle too much food anyways. Not that he was NERVOUS at these feasts--he got entirely too excited.

Too excited to function. TETF, what Milton called it.

And he had left the banjo behind today, seeing as last opening feast Cece had MURDERED broken it. Hmph.