[ Technically, Dorothea is taking a breather. She's already been spun around the dance floor half a dozen times when Claude approaches her, so she takes the champagne that he offers as he sidles up to her. There are rumors about him, naturally, just as there are rumors about so many students here at the academy (including her), but the ones about him tend to run a bit nastier, a bit more hateful.

She heard that he's the purveyor of ((supposedly) relatively harmless) stomach poisons, but she doubts that he'd be spiking the drinks at the ball in spite of what people say about him, and there'd be no point in incapacitating her now since the White Heron Cup is over, so she meets his eyes as she takes her first sip. ]

Claude. [ Spoken in the same droll, polite tone he used to address her. ] The music is fine, if a bit amateur. [ It's a student band, though, so that's to be expected. Be nice, Dorothea. ] What isn't to my taste is the line of noblemen waiting for their turn to paw at me.

[ She arches her eyebrows at him in a way that asks, "Are you in that line?" But, now that she's thinking on it, has he shown even a sliver of interest in anyone who wasn't named 'Byleth Eisner' since the start of the school year? He flirts, certainly, but none of the rumors she's heard have spoken of the hearts he's broken. He isn't Sylvain, or Lorenz. ]

It's a shame, because I love to dance, but one can only stand so many waltzes in a row. I'd like something with a little more pep to it, you know?