"Darrow does have a way of making you appreciate the moments when you're not fighting off enchanted pastries," she quips. "Or toys." They might count themselves lucky that the clothes themselves aren't shimmying off the racks and attempting to throttle them. She won't be saying that one aloud, though. Darrow has enough beastly ideas on its own; it doesn't need her help.

"Are you readying yourself for the next party?" she asks, eyebrows ticking up curiously. She doesn't want to assume -- New Year's is a safer bet than a Magnus party if you're more interested in a ruckus than a ball -- but it's early February in an upscale clothing shop. It does seem like the most obvious explanation. "That's what I'm doing. Or attempting, at any rate." She shrugs haplessly; most of her preparations have already been made, so the matter of the cufflinks doesn't seem like anything to get anxious about.