'What a party. You seem to be a woman with good tastes, what do you suggest I try first?'

Bold, he was! And the seafaring stranger looked her over like his hunger had already settled on a dish. Lyra batted lashes, boldly assessing him in kind.

Emerald eyes glinted back up to his own, cut sharp. A good eye you 'ave, salt-dog. And a good most other things.

Captain o' tis 'ere Howff, I am. None could give ye better advice. The corner of her lip tugged up in kind. No serving girl or lady of the evening. If he wanted her, he'd have to prove he was worth her time.

She took the berry from beneath his claw, pinched between two of her own, and held it in front of her mouth mischievously, Tell me first, are ye a man 'oo likes a quick fix? Or do ye prefer t'savour yer catch? Lips parted in a slow spread-grin, tongue coiling over the stolen treat to make a show of pulling it back behind her teeth and sucking thoroughly.

The Wisp was walking down the stairs.

Lyra felt her attention snagged away from the handsome stranger to their resident fae, wondering if she'd misunderstood the previous assurance and taken too much for granted. Last thing she needed was a fecking gancanagh courting her...

But apparently the draw was elsewhere.

Under the... floorboards. Lyra's brow furrowed, glancing at her courter briefly before turning full attention to whatever The Wisp was doing. I'll be back t'woo ye in a minute, Dóighiúil (Good-Looking). Sit tight. Lyra waved at him, dropping from the table to weave between jovial forms and get a peek at what the commotion was.

Is there a reason ye be tearing up me dancin' floor in the middle of a damn party, then? She growled. Then caught the flash of blue. Ears pinned flat. What in the bloody 'ell—