Not that he's, you know, going to do anything about that. He's a professional. He's good at his job. He can handle a party.
George and Dream seem to have kissed and made up from whatever was going on at Tubbo's victory tour; certainly they're a package deal now. George is going easy on the flirting this time, which is in some ways nice and in some ways obnoxious, Quackity was sort of counting on him to make this enough of a game to be bearable. It's an occupational hazard of counting on George for anything but, like, still.
His primary solace is that this is the end of the night, and once he's done being here he's done with his appointments for the day and he can go home. Watching Dream's body language, the way he keeps glancing back at one of the Capitolite guests, Q guesses he and George can't say the same.
"I have caffeine pills if you want them," he mutters when they find a quiet moment. Dream isn't going to take him up on it because he never does but the offer's the important part.
"...nah," says Dream, but after enough of a pause that he might have been tempted. "I'm good."
Q shrugs. "Well, offer's open, man."
And he turns and works the crowd and smiles and smiles and smiles, and at the end of the night he gets home and throws on his warmest jacket and goes to take off his makeup even though he's that sort of horrible fast-exhausted that happens when you're running on stims and fumes and he'd really rather just crash directly into bed, and-- hey, what the fuck--
Quackity_V68 joined the game.