001

[jon laughs and allows himself to be dragged on to the dance floor, leaving the waffles drizzled with lemon curd he'd brought somewhere near sansa (probably not a wise move). it's finally cool enough at night for him wear a nice leather shirt sansa's made him, with white wolves (with red eyes) on the topmost flap. there's a white, red-eyed wolf peeking out on the collar too--easily recognizable as the hilt of his sword, with a slit for the crossguard hidden among some leathery feather appliques. he's had a few pints of the stout, but has avoided stronger drink out of fear of getting sleepy (or weepy....) as he's been putting in a lot of extra hours volunteering in addition to his regular worknights.]

I don't know this one.

[as in this dance. he doesn't know any of them, actually. he grips prompto's forearm a bit helplessly.]