Having been ready to cut and leave long before this party even started, Rey snaps her head towards Nick between the moment she notices his shoes to his query. She squints up at him a moment, as if she were more intoxicated by the old doldrums than any liquor these gods could provide.

"Please," she breathes out as she rises from her seat to her feet. Despite having barely moved from her spot, she isn't in any way sluggish. "Really sick of this shit."

Not that Rey is against parties -- she hosts one often at the Speakeasy. It's just that this event represents everything that they shouldn't be doing right now, and it pisses her off that the gods would be so stupid about it.

Maybe she'll have to yell at the culprit for it later. The last thing she wants is to take her anger out on Delight, who's only doing the best she can for what that's worth. But Rey is tired, and flustered, and she wants to sleep now.