This is decidedly not Jason's idea of a good time. If it were up to him, he'd never set foot within the same city block as one of these damn forced social interaction things. Just thinking about it makes his skin crawl, but his job at the library scheduled him to attend, no calling out, no exceptions whatsoever, so. Here he sits, at a table with a sullen scowl on his face and one tiny white ball of fluff burrowing into the hood of his sweatshirt, licking the back of his neck, and purring at a volume more loud than a kitten this size should be able to make.

"If Selina's somehow behind this," he grumbles to himself, inattentive to the person who slides into the chair opposite, "we're gonna have words."