One party guest seems to be foregoing the chairs entirely, opting instead for hanging from one of the candle-laden chandeliers by his knees and bending upside down to snatch food and either put it in a sack at his side or stuff it in his blue gob.

Yes, that's right, he's blue. And fuzzy, actually, with pointed ears and a pointed tail, but he stuffs his face like a teenager and even though it seems he's taken care to position himself out of reach of anyone actually at the table, he's done so in such an impractical way.

Again Kurt leans down from his perch and snags the very last cinnamon roll from the table, pulling himself up at his knees back onto the chandelier with an all too satisfied look on his face. He places it in the sack that dangles beside him, held in place by his tail, and then looks across the table for another treat. No more cinnamon rolls.

Well that's no good.

"Hey, are there any more?" He calls in his surprisingly gentle voice with a noticeable German accent to one of the nearby servants. Of course, it looks like he's calling directly at Clint.

"Uhh... not you, sorry, but... well, are there any more cinnamon rolls over there?"