The thought of the Musketeers learning what it was to be a woman, particularly one in the Paris they knew, was one she thought would linger with her after. It sparked too much amusement to do otherwise, then leaving a smile on her lips in between sips of her tea. She was careful enough to keep from burning her tongue on the steaming liquid and resisted the urge to giggle over the mental image of either d'Artagnan or Porthos in a skirt.

Just as she resisted the urge to wriggle in place as she had upon first donning the pair of pants she wore. Even with the lines of her outfit softened with the length of the shirt she wore beneath the corset and the jacket that was...on the barstool next to her? When had it gotten there? there was something truly novel in the way the fabric clung to her legs. A way she found she quite liked. Her smile was easy as she leaned in toward him, whispering conspiratorially "Free" with her brows lifted before she did, finally, giggle aloud.