Tim's found a way to stick to his purpose: he moves plates of food here and there depending on where the crowd migrates, he picks up and takes out trash before the bins get too full for the sake of appearances, he even announces the upcoming curfew for the sake of whoever that might inconvenience tonight. He's dressed neat enough despite heavy jeans, though he wonders if the detachment he's felt during the whole thing is sensible or simply the accumulation of too many similar experiences.

Naturally, eventually, he goes to join the familiar faces.

The first thing he does approaching is reach a hand for a momentarily unattended glass of whiskey. It's worth a try.