Benji was always a slow-starter from waking up. He gently spluttered to life with a very quiet "Blugh?" as the others climbed out of the limousine. Apparently, they had arrived. The chauffeur said something about their belongings as they entered crisp Swedish evening air, but Benji was still too groggy to really listen. How much had he had? Not enough, anyway. He allowed himself to just drift along with the others, imitating their reactions. They weren't concerned, so he didn't bother worrying either. As they headed up the path, he had begun to wake up a little bit. His footsteps were very light and gentle on the gravel; he had, when getting dressed, literally counted the precise monetary value of his suit, shoes and tie, and decided that, simply stood there, he qualified as 'expensive'. Scuffing new shoes or treading on the hem of his own trousers would be a shame. Any damage was almost directly financially measurable. He drifted along in his own little world. And then he saw the mansion. Something about it snapped him out of his bleariness. He wondered how many times his flat would fit into it. More times than wouldn't be upsetting, anyway, "Jesus," he muttered to himself and became aware of his clammy mouth - and cheek - and chin. Apparently he had managed to dribble over his own face while asleep. Suddenly he woke up very quickly indeed, and deftly removed it, cunningly disguising the motion as a yawn. Of course, he then had nothing to do but stand there with a cold, drool-covered hand in front of an almost comically grand mansion. As David, the lord of the manor, threatened to shake their hands, he quickly wiped it on the inside of his brand new suit pocket. You could take the man out of the West Country ... but you, well, couldn't stop them waiving all responsibility for his behaviour. ----- His luggage had arrived safely inside his room. The filthy rucksack had been neatly placed just by the door. In an attempt to prevent the mysterious stains and mud from despoiling the room, it had been thoughtfully placed on a small pile of old newspapers. Benji couldn't help but grin. Immediately, he began to ferret within it for his belongings in general, but, in particular, a small box that jingled as he heaved it out. Something had been wrong that whole day; the normal selection of metal that protruded from his ears had been missing. The airport metal detectors had made him nervous, and so he had vanquished all metal from his person before even closing his front door; only a small, plastic black stretcher had survived the purge, and he had been tugging at it all day. He expertly fiddled the various spikes and coils from the box back into each ear, not even bothering to seek out a mirror to aid him. The eyebrow spike perhaps wouldn't suitable for the ball, though. It remained in the box - for now. He looked out at the lounge, actually drinking it in. It was roomy and minimalist, with a variety of low-to-the-ground seats all arranged around a coffee-table whose legs could not have been more than half-a-foot tall. The bedroom, he presumed, was on the other side of a door-frame with nothing but a magnificently hideous bead curtain comprising primarily oranges and greens. Clearly they somehow knew his tastes; he was the only person he knew that had a dismantled office chair in his lounge, and they had replicated it admirably. He had long since gotten over the Big Brother vibe he was getting. They had already had him a passport printed - why shouldn't they know what furniture he liked? The only thing not in keeping was the gargantuan sofa in the corner, as though it was pretending not to be there. It was a difficult thing to hide, and Benji suspected its inclusion in the room was simply an inability to fit such a monster through the door-frame. After all; they had gone to the effort of, presumably, removing the bedroom door for him. Still, even though he wouldn't have chosen the grand, open, leather show-piece, he decided to make the most of it. Glancing furtively around, as though he might for some reason be being watched, he took a running leap at the thing, twisting in the air, splaying his arms and collapsed into the thing. The effect was a little ruined by his jacket; he hadn't removed the stitching from the vents, and he had forgotten to unbutton it. Instead of gaping open dramatically, it inverse-sagged upwards and bulged at his breast. The sofa was good, though. ---- The entrance hall was buzzing with life. Quite where the life had come from, he had no real concept. In his head, they were in the back and beyond of nowhere with no civilisation around for miles, though, he supposed, simply imagining the geography of the area was not a substitute for knowing it. Had he been awake in the journey, he might have known. He sheepishly joined the guests, slipping from the spiral staircase into the throng as discretely as possible; the ball was apparently for the guest party, and he was a member thereof. Making a scene in front of a herd of Swedish strangers, well-dressed though they may be, was not what he needed, though the butterflies in his stomach were telling him a scene might be made whether he wanted it or not. At least he looked the part. He had brought a dinner suit with him, and there wasn't an awful lot that could go wrong with it; all black, shiny shoes - the works. Optimistically, he'd bought a proper bow tie, but had fiddled with the thing for all of thirty seconds before throwing it at a wall and using his back-up clip-on one instead. As he thanked the waiter for a flute of something sparkling and almost certainly not remotely alcoholic enough, he spotted Rikki across the room, and frantically made a beeline for them, wriggling suits and gowns out of the way. A familiar face was always good, even if it had been familiar for all of about two hours.