“Ah, well it's well worth it for good fortune,” she teased. “I hope it’s a dream come true for your sister.” The last added with a note of genuine sincerity. Sophia was a romantic, after all, and quite enjoyed weddings. Though the ones she’d been to seemed a stark contrast from how these rich families celebrated – even hearing how Ozymandias talked about it made it sound less like a party, more like a chore (logic glossing over the small fact of their affair and what it already suggested about his opinions on about marital bliss, though it surely subconsciously contributed to what she gleaned). Personally, her own wedding turned into a weeklong affair of celebrations. What was the point of all the pomp and circumstance when the nuptials leave something to be desired for those wed?

At any rate, the man seemed to be interested in playing coy with his prospective busy-ness this weekend. Though he hadn’t written, and neither had she, and indeed it wouldn’t have even crossed her mind if they hadn’t run into each other like this, so she had no real reason to be annoyed. And yet, here she was. Annoyed. (Perhaps because a small part of her still wondered if he might ever explain what in blazes that spectacle earlier was about.)

“What a small world,” she commented idly instead. They moved into another two-step break. “I am well acquainted with the Burren, at least when I was younger. My grandparents lived in Liscanor village.” A generally useless fact, were it not for Sophia getting a bit of pleasure from needling at all the ways their worlds perhaps came closer than he thought. He probably thought her the poor little ballerina all along, didn’t he?

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