Wren had raised an eyebrow when he'd heard about the party - a blacklight rave makes him think he might have traveled back in time a little bit and should probably be taking more drugs, if so - but he's not going to turn down electronic music and paint.

It's pretty cool outside but he shows up in black jeans, boots and an open white waistcoat and little else besides eyeliner; he might not be 20 anymore but he's still capable of dancing himself warm. Which he's well on his way to.

He extricates himself, just long enough to grab a drink and cast his eyes around for familiar faces.