There's a girl nearby, brown hair, wearing aforementioned strange clothes, a large recurve bow strapped to her person. Allison seems almost lost, standing near the table of food, hands clasped in front of her as she scans the crowd.

She doesn't want to be alone, here, but she's certain she is, and part of her thinks she should branch out and talk to people she doesn't know.

Part of her thinks she'll wake up, soon enough, that the last few weeks have been nothing more than a superbly bad dream, and this is the proof. She's hoping, anyway.