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Chandler Midgen was very good at being awkward.

It was probably the only thing he was very good at, besides reading and organizing. It didn't matter the situation, he could even be sitting down in a room by himself, and a person would still find something strangely off about the fellow, but would kindly pronounce it as simply awkward.

He didn't really mean to be, it was just how Chandler Midgen was.

There was a drink in the hand that the woman in white just jostled, and fortunately it didn't get anywhere on her dress. Unfortunately for Chandler, the entirely of the glass poured down his front. He looked down at the moist shirt through the eyes of his mask and frowned, letting out a breath from his nose before turning away to head toward the bathrooms or--something, a table with napkins, because whoever thought about taking the guests' wands away clearly did not think about catastrophes such as this.