[ It's at that that Ray finally pops up back onto his feet - not out of anger but out of repressed nerves, running rampant through the whole of him. There's nothing he can do but bounce it out and walk back towards the kitchen, stalking around and shaking out his shoulders before diving into the fridge and pulling out a beer, which he promptly sets on the table, no actual inclination to open it. ]

Sure, sure- I can organize a thing. Because there's always a thing. Food, toasts, dancing, icing on the cake. But Ben, who the hell'd we even invite?