Tony, of course, has spent a large portion of the night loitering by the food tables, vacuuming up as much food as he thinks he can get away with without being kicked out for being a gluttonous cad.

He sidles over to Sheena, trying – and mostly succeeding! – to not laugh at her dismay.

"Maybe you should have gone with the sea prunes. At least they're a known factor." A known factor of grossness. "Want to trade?" He holds out his plate. "I think I've figured out the good stuff." He has, at this point, actually managed to eat at least one of everything, so he's made a comprehensive survey.