Ida tsked good naturedly at his sentiment about Clem; she could sympathize with him now that she’d grown to appreciate what he might have to say, but she could understand Clem too. Big brothers often came with opinions that no one asked for, and had a tendency to equate their duty to their sister’s future. It was strange, thinking of Mister Greengrass in this light; he didn’t strike her as someone overly domineering. But that’s not really something that comes out in social situations, is it?

In any case Ida decided that she liked this version of Mister Greengrass, whatever it was. His mirror of her motion could have read at mocking, but it didn’t. They both seemed to know it meant something flashy and curious and fabulous all at once, anyway. So rather than be embarrassed Ida resisted a smirk. She had her drink in hand but averted a quick, telling look at him – “Ah, well. Perhaps tonight’s performances will be a little less distracting,” she offered cheekily. She might be naive, as most girls her age were supposed to be, but she wasn’t dumb. The witch had been distracted by a naked statue once, after all. Ida could only assume dancers and contortionists were a different echelon. And bodies in general were perturbing things; dying from embarrassment by bearing witness to one was one of the main reasons she stayed far away from any and all health-related careers.

But. In pretty costumes with nice music and a drink in hand, bodies could be… fine. She guesses.

The woman finally took a sip to see what he described. The flavors mentioned all rang true – she even followed his cues on the colors of the liquors involved – but the smell of it in contrast to the taste was a bit disarming. When she finally took a sip, it didn’t smell at all like what she expected to drink.

“Such an odd beverage,” she remarked idly while they started to walk, and she took another dainty sip. Ida had no idea there could be more than one liquor involved in the same drink, which sounded dangerous – “It tastes like fruit juice? I taste the citrus,” she relayed. “But it smells… I don’t know, like outside?” The words sounded as dumb uttered out loud as they did in her head, but Ida wasn’t very precious about being right. It baffled her. Like a warm summer night in the meadow. Geosmin. Fresh ink and old books.

The witch took a third sip as they meandered their way through the odd candy maze, back to the sign post they saw earlier, then a little past that. “Anyway yes, I do like it,” she added in hasty reassurance. “It’s different.”

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