"It's always that kind of party," Benedict replies with a derisive laugh, taking a sip from his wine and looking around. "I don't need distraction, I need them to stop talking to me."
With his free hand he pushes his hair back, lovingly coiffed and shiny as polished onyx. "Good luck with that," he says to Octavius, pointedly taking in his clothing and grooming choices, though he doesn't comment. ...verbally, anyway.