[He wonders at the meaning of her words, only able to guess at the implications — no time to prepare herself? It deepens the downward curve of his mouth. Perhaps he should be more grateful for these strange, dreaming days over the course of the party to orient himself to his surroundings. Nothing has yet been thrust upon him, nothing has influenced his behaviors or actions that he's noticed. And he would notice, he promises himself.

The suit. There's a slight tilt of his chin, eyes staring into the still, glassy surface of his tea, steam pluming as it continues to cool. He'd done his best to research everything he could through the device — so he understands what she references.]

What is yours? Of the four suits. [... Ah. Sunday looks up, caught by the sight of the woman's long, silky hair. A beauty well-suited for a dream.] I apologize. You were the one who wanted to ask questions, and here I am, not allowing you the chance.

[Will he ever stop trying to control things... no...]

Is there anything you'd like to know?