[ There is the strongest urge in her to wince when he laughs. It doesn't make much sense, she knows, but the burst of it is just as wrong as everything else about this guy and she can't shake it. Eyes flick over, slightly wide, slightly disturbed but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she keeps her smile. Instead, she reminds herself to relax. ]

What, pleasure? [ . . . ] I don't even know your name and here I am, wondering if you've experienced pleasure before. I feel as if we've skipped a step.

[ But the conversation continues and Hawke's hands continue to stay clasped behind her back, fingers idly tapping against her own skin. She's filled with the urge to cross them over her chest but that's defensive, indicates how much she's been thrown. She hasn't. She still stands quite firm. ]

-- You're not given Joy? What do you do then, you -- Well, you make yourself sound terribly other.

[ Curiosity burns at her and she wonders if she should be making movements to leave the conversation. There's an out here -- he mentions being bored and she could say anything, could even say she has to go the bathroom and disappear into the crowd just like that. She imagines he'd figure it out soon enough but still, he might know well enough to just let her be if she so obviously ditches him. Instead, she pauses and offers -- ]

Well, we could dance, if you'd be willing.

[ Damn her. Damn her to all kinds of hell, honestly. ]