The last time she'd attended something that looked even slightly like this, there had been so much paperwork in advance she'd complained to her boyfriend of the moment that she didn't know how anyone was supposed to actually manage to get horny about it. And she'd been given a mask, not a wrist strap—

which she's fiddling with when Margaery grasps her arm, startling her out of her own internal reverie, taking in the stranger. Well, and is there any point to calling her so, when everyone is a stranger?

“Very direct,” she says, a glint of humour in her eyes that undermines any real perception that she's mistaken this for a bold come on. “Steady.”