Unexpected, but not strange. She's come across men like him before; their interests lie beyond typical tastes, but that usually makes it more fun to unravel their desires - the triumph of discovery has always been sweeter than any physical pleasure Margaery's experienced before. Unless, of course, they're like Joffrey.

The reminder is enough to make her jerk her gaze away, and she begins to walk with the expectation that he will follow. That is, until smallfolk catches her attention and she pauses in her steps, turning to look at him once more with a thoughtful frown.

"...I have yet to hear anyone else use the term 'smallfolk' here."

And for a moment, it was almost too easy to think she was back somewhere in the Seven Kingdoms, even (or especially) with such debauchery being displayed at every turn.

She studies his face in hopes of recognizing him - the white-blonde hair is reminiscent of what she knows about the Targaryens, but surely it couldn't be. Even purgatory wouldn't stretch to such ironies. ...right?

"What is your name, ser?"