The press of the crowd was almost an unbearable thing, and it was more chance than design that she'd noticed people exiting a particular room with full cups in hand, and made her way in that direction. Only when she drew close to the banquet table did people part and let her gain her goal - where she found a cool glass thrust into her hands by a masked man.<br/><br/>"Oh!" she gasped a little, startled, and smiled as her gloved hands curled around the cup, the chill seeping deliciously through the cloth against her palms. Lifting it, she raised the glass to him with a smile. "Merry Midsummer to you, milord."<br/><br/>Bringing the cup down to her lips, she to a small, slow sip, enjoying the sweet and spiced taste of the fruitwine spilling over her tongue and down her throat, a welcome thread of cold to combat the oppressive heat of the densely attended revel. Over the rim of the glass, her eyes fell upon his - a green more brilliant than his clothing met her cerulean gaze, which gave her a strange, inexplicable sense of recognition, though she felt sure she'd never seen him before, mask of no.<br/><br/>The glass drifted downward, almost forgotten, until she realized she must be staring, and quickly dipped her gaze to the side with a self-conscious laugh. "I hadn't quite realized how warm it would be in here... it makes one wish that the spirits were truly in attendance. Or at least the spirits of the air and wind."