Rachel is not the only one needing a break. Though incapable of getting drunk himself, surrounding himself with the life energies of so many people who are (not to mention intoxicated on other substances, including hormones) has had something of a contact effect. Not quite as intense as his brother Rory would feel on stage during a concert, to be sure, but still potent. Various people have whispered various suggestions into his ear, with or without a hand slipped into a pocket of his jeans or fingers toying with his vest buttons, but he doesn't quite feel ready to cut loose and go with the flow.

Yet.

As he passes the private rooms, his sharp hearing provides him with a fair amount of detail of what goes on in each one. When he finally locates a door with no party sounds coming from within, he opens it, forgetting for the moment that a room might be quiet because it has one occupant, not none. He stops short, blinking as he recognizes the red-haired woman from his CiD conversation with her, then offers a slightly apologetic smile.

"Hello ... Rachel, isn't it?" He follows up with a half-bow. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."