[ the truth of the matter is this: napoleon solo is - worried. he's not afraid, mind, because nothing about this place seems particularly threatening, but he is worried. he'd been on a rooftop, sharing a drink with his new partners (and isn't that a kicker?) and now he's here, in a place that is unrecognisable and strange. he's no longer wearing his fourth favourite suit, but instead is dressed in leather and cotton. it's an interesting choice, to be sure, but that he doesn't remember choosing it is rather worrying.

so, the truth of the matter is that he's worried.

the truth of the matter is of course also that he will under no circumstances admit to being worried, or even to being out of place lest someone take it as a weakness. so he's drinking mead and purchasing a turkey leg with money from a pouch he'd stolen from a hapless bystander, offering friendly smiles to anyone who glances his way - and some flirtatious ones, too, to those who catch his eye. ]

What do you make of the festivities, then?

[ solo appreciates a good party as much as the next person. correction: he appreciates a good party more than the next person, clearly. he's found a far finer outfit than his last, the mask hiding his features is an intricate thing in bold green that emphasises his dark hair and his strong jaw. he's chosen it very carefully and he's determined to make the most of the evening, far away from the cia and, yes, uncle. ]

Would you care for a dance?

[ anything goes! i know nothing about dnd but he's a rogue now bc that seems fitting. ]