[From the beginning of the party, a tall, lanky man in perhaps his mid-twenties can be found chatting with almost anyone. He's dressed in a sharp French Kalosian suit and refuses to take off his sunglasses, which is perhaps a strange image for someone claiming to be a paleontologist. What's definitely stranger is the fact that he has a drop-dead gorgeous, sweet-faced wife and two cherubic, chubby-cheeked, adorable, blond toddlers wobbling about underfoot.

That's right. Certainly most of their tight-knit murder hotel buddies know by now, but the Strider-Everetts made spawn.

Dave occasionally appears from seemingly nowhere to scoop up one of the twins, bouncing them up into his arms and out of whatever trouble toddlers might toddle into. Like your murderous villains or whatnot.]

Oh shit, son. You better watch out, you better not et cetera, something something Santa Claus will eat your soul. Say hi to Aunt or Uncle Whozit here. [Child secured in the crook of his arm, he carefully takes a pudgy little hand and waves hello with it.] Happy Kwanzaa.