Sing!

Dorian was one of those people often mistook for a host, not just because of looks (god knew Manta Carlos had no shortage of good-looking people), but because of his easy charm and social butterfly status. Funnily enough, he'd never been! Not because of anything, really, he just couldn't find the time to. The Club Festival was more than a perfect opportunity to finally check it out.

He slipped into the crowd unnoticed. His charm was always something he switched on. Being low key like this meant he disappeared into the crowd easy, observing things from the back. He hung out at the snack table, right in front of the man serving crepes. He lowered his shades and winked at them. "Strawberries and cream, handsome."

Jericho. That was their leader. Dorian had to admit, he was handsome, and he was charming. He looked over the man with no small amount of interest before raising his hand and waving it a little, laughing. "Sure, I'll go first, but only if you duet with me."

Now, normally, Logan would stay a hypothetical million miles away from the host club, of all things. It was bad for his self control and clear thoughts, and the concept of a proper boy like himself spending time around those who were employed to apparently seduce people was a shocking one. Except, today was a different case. He was visiting the club setups to check in on them, and, well, he also had a habit of following Dorian around. Sometimes into situations like this. He soldiered through it, usually-- with a bright pink face, yes, but he managed. He'd live.

He was caught off guard, though. The rich in Manta Carlos tended to lean towards being absurdly wealthy, so Logan didn't see his decently well off family as anything very special. However, his upbringing meant he had a real sense for the affluent, well put together people and places, and for when something was the complete, sneer inspiring opposite. This party was in the first category. It was nice, he thought, appealing to a wider range of audience with classic and modern touches, and that felt purposeful. Good tactics. He could respect that much.

The setting was comfortable, but the people around him, the pretty boy hosts that made everyone's knees weak, that was less so. Logan had to muffle a flustered squeak any time one even glanced his way, and avoided eye contact or getting caught in conversation, flirtation, with an admirable stubbornness. He went straight for the crepes instead, hanging around near Dorian, easily and predictably lured by French treats. He kept out of the way while he (gracefully) stuffed his face with sweets, watching things play out.

He frowned when the attractive angel, Jericho O'Malley, president of this club took the stage and described what would be happening. Karaoke. Music. Logan had to admit, quietly, that he wasn't disinterested. Music was his life, and he was a member of the Starligtht Choir. But it felt far too embarrassing an idea, with where he was. He made sure to make himself look smaller when O'Malley started looking for volunteers. Of course, Dorian lured him right over. Logan bit his lip while he blushed and cringed.

"I didn't know you liked singing," he noted from the sidelines to Dorian, soft voiced, a little amused and curious. This could be fun to witness, though depending on how risque the performance would end up, he might need to make a run for it to save himself from too much noticeable longing. He had his image to maintain.