It's so ridiculously like something she'd imagined before, all those silly daydreams of being presented at court or being the guest of honor at some glamorous party, that Rosie has to giggle a little as he doffs his hat and bows to her. "I very much do, Mr. Scratch," she says, tapping the rim of her cup against his. "Of that, and so many other things you wear."

She pauses, a bright and teasing spark in her eyes as she works up the nerve to be a little more daring. "And when you're not wearing much at all." She takes a sip of her drink then, trying to make the action seem a little nonchalant and coy, but whoever spiked the punch did it with a bit of a heavy hand; the burn of the alcohol hits the back of her throat, and she coughs.