Foka took the stack of smaller drums easily enough, and took to following behind the group. He looked to Darren when he spoke, nodding and replying with a very Russian "da", before he continued with his task of carrying the drums to the stage. He watched the interactions happen, which indeed centered around the band. He watched as Skylar picked up a bottle of beer, and sighed to himself quietly at the antics of Americans. They didn't know how to drink. Practically none of them. He would watch as just about everyone else would get super shit-faced, and eventually he would find himself as one of the few completely sane people left in the entire house. Skylar came came closer and gently punched his arm, playfully, he knew. He turned to regard her, smiling softly as she spoke her compliment. "Da, thank you. I look forward to performance." His accent was showing through. Blatantly. "I will be watching, enthusiastically." With that, he stepped off to the side, where he was out of the way while the band continued to set up.
Everyone seemed to know these three personally, which Father Russia couldn't exactly be surprised about. They were a teenage band with an attractive lead singer. He watched as Carter came up and casually placed an arm over Skylars shoulder, and it was quickly decided that this particular target received too much attention. Don't waste your breath flirting with her, she's taken by at least two other men. Foka shuddered internally at the thought of polyamory. Or course, he realized that he was likely getting it all wrong. Richard had called her sister, after all. But, such information didn't change much. So, Foka moved on, taking note of the woman who had just walked through the door, reeking of vanity and confidence in her tight, blue dress. Perhaps later. There was so much attention to go around, something he himself was not entirely fond of.
He continued to wander around the party, reaching a cooler full of beer some time and taking a single bottle for himself. He reached for the bottle-opener, and popped the lid off and reached down to pick it up. No, Americans did not know how to drink. As a matter of fact, his own father didn't know how to drink. It was a talent Foka had picked up during his research into the culinary arts. Sure, he had grabbed a bottle of cheap beer, but that particular bottle of cheap beer was going to last him the whole night. A drunken Foka Alcatraz was something no one needed.
There were few people that Foka really knew at this party, despite the mass amounts of people in attendance. He took to looking about, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, taking a couple sips of the cold beer throughout the course of roughly five minutes. He eyed the other adolescents on this floor of the house, picking out a few women who may have been worth his attention. He avoided the obviously popular ones, his blue eyes passing over them as God would pass over the sinners on the last day of Earth, the way he had been taught as a young boy. Eventually, his cold, blue eyes came to rest on another figure who looked as though she was sitting back and observing. Great minds think alike. He weaved his way through the crowd, his brown beer bottle hanging between his middle and index fingers as he walked. He eventually reached her, with a fair amount of effort, and looked her up and down while he still stood a few feet away. He took in her appearance like an artist before finally approaching her the rest of the way, offering a warm smile. "You do not look entirely comfortable here," he stated, attempting to start a conversation.
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Aurorah )