[ That makes him glance over. Ask him out? He tries to think of a catch, but can't imagine what Larus could possibly want that he has, besides weed, but he doesn't seem like a big smoker. He is a little overly drunk, so maybe he'd heard wrong, but then Larus asks if he wants to go anywhere, and there aren't too many alternative ways to interpret that. This party isn't really his scene -- it's loud, full of the golden boy types that don't normally go for someone like him that looks like he needs a shave, seventy-two hours of rest, and some eyedrops. That's not to say he hasn't bagged a few, but it's normally in the back of a car or somewhere equally hasty, and sometimes Jericho gets tired of being kicked out right after it's over.

Leaving wouldn't be a hassle, and even if Larus does have some kind of sinister plan for the night, at least he'll have company. He's in the mood for it, his messy dorm less and less appealing to go home to. So he meets his gaze and softens his dark eyes in a way that says yes. ] Maybe somewhere that has halfway decent drinks. I'm not too busy for that. [ He's probably going to puke later. ] Or food. Or both. Anywhere that's not here. [ He stands up, gripping the railing, and hops down to the grass. ] I don't like these people.