She looks away, watching the crowd mill about around them. In shifting her position, she finally pulls the tails of her shirt out from where she tucked them; gravity has the hem slid down her back and pool right about where her torso touches the ground. One of the pairs of feet walking by leads up to one of the waiting staff, carrying a tray of drinks.

"It's hot," she says, verging away from anything that might sound like a whine. "I might be more creative after having a drink."

Beta spares a hand to pull her hair over one shoulder, angle her chest towards him as her fingers linger on the collar. The shirt's linen and will go translucent when wet. She mostly hopes for her own sake that he picks something low on sugar.