[Beatrix decides to focus on... Well. In this case, his neck. That seems to be a non-judgemental part of him. At least a part of him that doesn't feel quite so evaluated and assessed. He's not meaning to. And he's not doing either of those things. For her, it's simply a part ingrained in her. Alexandria has watched her, the whole of it, for over ten years. Every breath she's taken. Every action she's put forth. Every decision she's made. Every moment she's jumped at Brahne's command.

She settles on his words, choosing to turn them over as she considers how to respond. Her other hand finds the curve of his upper shoulder where she lightly drapes the curl of her fingers. Only firm enough to keep proper posture.

He's a little more on top of things than she'd like him to be. Prying eyes are a concern. She'd probably die a little on the inside if Zidane saw this kind of thing. Or anyone else who remotely knows her in the world. Her reputation is everything. Her facade, if that's even what it is, the masquerade she's just infinitely hiding herself behind, to be shattered...? Impossible. Unacceptable. Intolerable!]

It is more a lack of experience. [She begins, choosing her words very carefully, as though there is more strategy in this mere conversation than there is in most battles.] My people would not pay witness to such a sight. I never danced in Alexandria, aside from the necessary tutelage.