Earlier in the evening it would have been tempting to play the part, curtsy prettily and think of something very clever to say - but her feet are a a bit sore and she looks like half a disaster and this party's been going on for nearly five hours. (And, seriously, this school is insane - at the last seven schools she attended, dances were two hour affairs held in halfheartedly decorated gymnasiums with lukewarm pizza served by unimpressed PTA mothers. At best.)

"Right! Sorry -" It takes a few seconds of negotiation - she's good with knots - before her own mask is pulled off of her face. She spends a second rubbing at the bridge of her nose where a vivid line of red has been left behind with a muttered scheiße, before scrubbing a hand through the tangle of her hair and smiling crookedly. "Hey."