She's a good one, Chiana has to admit, surprise barely there that it is gone again. Chiana smiles, something appreciative, then grabs her own glass (a fizzy, spiced cocktail that reminds her of a Hynerian drink) and walks across the short distance between them, her gait as alien as her looks. Her feet are a little too wide apart, her knees slightly bent, always ready to move, and there's something oddly captivating about it, in a raw, primal manner. Her cleavage probably helps that impression along.

"You're new," she states, with easy confidence and an accent the other woman has probably never heard. Chiana would have noticed her, if she'd been here in the last few months, and now she seems completely shameless about studying her from up close. If she wasn't wearing gloves, Chiana would even have reached out to touch the fabric of that dress, which was enticing in its own way.