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Gabriela eyes the way Leroy disarms his weapons as he enters the venue, and hastens to wave off the security droids again as they start rolling over to respond to a potential threat. "No, no, just more party guests, don't be so jumpy," she mutters under her breath at the droids, trying to keep her smile from faltering even as she experiences annoyance. She's not going to let her temper out at a party of all things. "Oh! Yes, punch!" she says in a much louder voice as the jellyfish comes zooming back to her. "We do, yes. It's an ancient tradition, we mix up the juice from several different Earth fruits, add a few spices, and sometimes... Oh, do you want the alcoholic or non-alcoholic version? Forgive me, I'm not yet sure about the nutritional needs and avoidances of your species."

The man hangs on the fringes of the gathering group for the time being, slipping into a more passive, observational role. He flips open the journal and glances down. There's a new message:

I love you too, I'm certain you're already dazzling the room with your smile, brighter than any star in the infinite cosmos. Have fun.

He rolls his eyes and closes the journal, then, catching pieces of the surrounding conversation, echoes inquisitively. "Punch?" He listens to Gabriella, and, understanding, he nods. "Ah, party favors, excellent! Do you mind if I join you?"

"Oh, my interest is not for nutrition. It is to fulfil and understand the ritual. Either would suffice," Yll'r informed, ever so slowly drifting closer to Gabriela's face with no sign of any intent to stopping, not that it wouldn't take a few seconds to get there.

The mech chuckles at the droid's advances, but thinks nothing of it and walks off slowly, making his way to whatever seems interesting to him. Oddly enough, most of his attention was rather focused on the architecture and engineering of the station instead of the people, but he was still trying his best not to trample anyone.

"It's just that certain species enjoy alcohol, and others find it to be quite poisonous. So unless you know for sure it's something you might enjoy, let's start with the non-alcoholic version, hmn?" To the man returning from reading his long distance messages, she nods firmly, gesturing for him to join. "Of course, of course. This way to the buffet table.... This big bowl here, with the slices of fruit in it? This is it, the punch! No alcohol in this one. To participate in the party ritual, you take one of these glasses off the pyramid here, and either skim it through the punch to fill it, or use the ladle. It's pretty, isn't it?"

A couple more nods at Tsubasa, a slow blink, and a dismissive wave. Nothing much, just a quiet acknowledgement.

"I've heard punch tastes quite nice," He rejoined everyone else in conversation. "Unfortunately I can't have any myself. I don't have a stomach, unlike most of you."
A raspy chuckle at what seemed to be self-depricating humor. More metallic clicks laced his noise.

He made his way over to the buffet table, not to take food, but to admire the display. "It looks fantastic. Whoever made these did a great job with it."

"I do not believe I could handle your receptacles in a sufficiently safe manner," Yll'r pointed out. "But do not worry..."

The llaa-synn flew toward the table and rather gracelessly dunked its head into the punch with a loud splonk, spilling some, but not causing enough of a mess to empty out a significant portion. Of course, being a consumer of space gases, they did not consume a single drop of the liquid. Rather, just allowed it to coat their 'nose' area seemingly unaffected by the wetness. Loudly and deliberately, they proclaimed: "Mmm! Refreshing!" As though ritual called for it, before casually bobbing away from the buffet table as though what they had done was perfectly normal.

Zeno looked taken aback at the sudden splash of punch. Probably the closest he could come to flinching.

"Oh dear," He inquired. "What a mess!"

Gabriela had just finished picking up her own glass when she is splashed by citrusy punch, and stares open-mouthed at the alien taking a bath in the punch bowl. She had been all ready to explain about the further ritual of toasting, but instead... She's flummoxed for a moment. Would it be rude to change out the punch now that this alien has dunked itself in it? Would it be toxic to the other guests not to? Oh, there are just SO many unknowns with dealing with aliens. This job might be even harder than she had thought it might be. "I... uh... Yes, refreshing!" She calls after Yll'r, trying to sound upbeat and confident.

The splash alerted the mech, and after seeing the spectacle, his torso leaned down as a robotic chuckle could be heard, as if the mech was doing his best to hold back his laughter.

Stopping by Cinder on their way past, Yll'r paused to address them. "Perhaps you should try the punch. It is sufficiently... wet."

He joins Yll'r and Gabriella at the buffet table, listening attentively- this is actually a little new to him, too, though much less so than to the earnestly alien jelly-like guest. Helping yourself to the party favors, for one thing...

He watches in horror as Yll'r practically dives into the non-alcoholic punch bowl. He's too stunned to speak as they remark on how refreshing it is before bobbing away. A grinding, mechanical sounds similar to muffled laughter from somewhere nearby pulls him out of his stupor. He turns to the hostess with a weak chuckle of his own.

"Hahah, seems the other guests will have to take their word for it. So uh, I don't suppose you could point me to the drinks of alcoholic variety?"

"A kind offer, but I'll have to pass. Punch is sugary. It makes hair and fur sticky." He turned his attention to Yll'r. "Do help yourself."

It hadn't been too long ago that Kolt had beamed onto the station, fiery amber eyes peering from underneath a semi-transparent mask as he took it all in. He looked nearly human, but something about him was slightly off. Perhaps it was the bright red hair, or his ears, tall and pointy. Or his eyes, with their strange lizard-like brand. Or the floating spear that hovered near his right shoulder, occasionally making small whistling noises. It was silvery and shiny with a row of tiny lights in light blue, as if it were more for show than battle.

While he himself was not an invitee, per say, he had come to the Space Station Radiance alongside his charge, the young alien princess Ev'ixa of Aedard. However, she had run off somewhere upon their arrival, leaving him with a bag of their homeland's currency and ordering him to wander about the station at his leisure.

He had wandered on to the commercial level, where it appeared that a party of a sort was taking place. A bit of an impulsive grin slid onto his face--it gave off an air far different than the royal galas he'd usually stand guard at. For starters, the room was filled with more types of creatures than just the bald-headed, purple-skinned Aedardians--a lot more.

The first guest he really stopped to look at, however, was Leroy--the bionotech used in his homeland was usually sleek and silvery, nothing like this huge, dark hunk of a tank. And he'd never seen one that appeared to have a mind of it's own.

"Oh wow!" he said, coming perhaps a tad too close to the mech, his spear quivering a little at his shoulder as if it could sense it, too, it's lights blinking on and off. "That's so cool! You're, like... a talking machine!"

Gabriela frantically motions over a serving droid, though she keeps her hand below her waist, trying to make it not to obvious that she is summoning help. When the droid arrives, she scoops the non-alcoholic punch bowl off the table and hands it to the droid. "This punch belongs to that alien now," she hisses under her breath. "It is only for consumption or, uh, bathing? by Yll'r. If anyone asks, this is to show respect for the llaa-synn people, got it? And get someone to replace the punch on the table, too." Nodding as the droid rolls off, she shakes herself and relaxes a bit.

"Yeah, I think I could use a drop myself," she says to Chesire Cat, beckoning him to the other end of the table where the alcoholic punch can be found. "Actually, maybe this would be of interest to everyone..."

Raising her voice so that everyone can hear, she calls out, "For those of you who are curious, there's an Earth custom known as toasting. You get a glass of liquid, and we all hold our glasses up toward each other." She takes the glass she had already taken off the crystal pyramid near the non-alcoholic drinks, and skims it through the punch bowl to fill it, holding it aloft toward the room. "Then one of us says a... a wish for all of us. This is called toasting. The most traditional ones are 'to your health' or 'to good fortune'. Since it was your idea, Yll'r, why don't you decide on what the wish for us will be? Once you say it, we touch our glasses together to agree with the wish, maybe repeat it back to you, and then we all drink together."

Cinder stares, curiously aghast at Yll'r's interaction with the punch. It was odd, they assumed this was to something most races would drink. As Yll'r stopped and addressed them, however, Cinder stared, feeling as though they were being taught something new by this strange alien. Perhaps this was how the peoples of this area did things? Yll'r did mention tradition, after all.

"I think I will, thank you," Cinder replied to Yll'r's suggestion. They turned and walked to the punch bowl, something everyone else seemed to be avoiding. Without hesitation, they dunked the front of their face into the same bowl of punch Yll'r had, shaking it back and forth before pulling it back out with a deep breath and exclaiming, "Mmm, Refreshing."

It seemed like a truly odd tradition, but Cinder was not about to offend someone based on their ways. They looked about with a goofy smile on their face, certain that that had pleased....someone.

"I may not be able to drink, but I will join," Zeno approached the punch to toast. "Perhaps I can give it to that one over there?"

His index finger, thick and furry with a long copper-clad steel claw tipping it, was directed at Yll'r. "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name. But you can have my glass."

The mech turned to Kolt, saying in an upbeat voice, "A simplified but not inaccurate assessment. I am a Dreadnought-class mech, serial code LQ-4986iV UG with a conversational interface. I do a lot of arena fighting on Earth, or Eden as some may call it, and I am famous because I am the only mech ever recorded with a power score of over two thousand, where some pilots have entire hangers full of over ten mechs that only reach about 1500."

As far as Yll'r was concerned, the party was going great and they had certainly succeeded in playing their part in the 'punch' ritual. That was one thing to cross off the party to-do list. Satisfied, they bobbed up above the heads of the other guests and began circling, pausing when they realised they were being addressed. "Oh, I have already partaken in the punch ritual," they declared. "What use would I have for such a small receptacle of it? I dare say I cannot fit much more than a tentacle or two in there. I am Yll'r. Hello." The llaa-synn twirled around as though they had spoken the various aspects of that conversation in the right order.

"Sorry," Cinder claimed with not only a clearly concerned expressions, but a face dripping with punch now. They looked at the droid, who presumably ignored them, then turned about to apologize a second time to Gabriela, this time sheepishly, and with some guilt in their tone, "Sorry, I am not familiar with drinking traditions, I thought this was what we're all supposed to do....[/b}