An avoidable catastrophe, Gabranth would argue if asked— though he hasn't a mind to voice anything at all until they're well outside the bounds of the soiree's inner workings, ignoring the scrape and scratch of Benedict's heels along the way.

When he finally relents, it's on some less-than-crowded ledge, behind a narrow row of somewhat wilted trees and a small, stony outcropping. One without much view to speak of (which is likely why there's no gathered guests present to play witness to any conversation).

His grip goes slack, he leaves Benedict to right himself.