Theo smiles at least, "Here she is, belle of the ball! Take a seat." He gestures to the couch opposite him. She sits, smoothing her skirt, trying to subtly decipher the mood in the room. It’s a survival instinct with them—has she been invited to laid back drinks? Or is she about to be devoured? Maybe a mix of both—they’d drink Firewhiskey and she’d get passed around like canapés. (She wouldn’t protest.)