The hint of a smile warms his spirits, sets them soaring to see the darling young woman let loose and ease into her natural elegance. He didn't expect it, even if he knows he should have knowing what she is, also by birth. Slayers all have grace about them, and a deadly one at that. But there has never been anything dangerous about dancing, in his not so humble point of view. Dancing is freedom when you let it be, it is a rush of good feelings and high spirits and bliss - even if he hasn't felt it in a very long time.

When she falters, he falters too, bumping into her smaller frame with a hesitant, apologetic mumble. Maybe he can't read lips, precisely, but the message comes across nonetheless, and he gently guides her off the floor to one of the empty tables.

"Might take a while for your ears to stop ringing, first time around." He pulls out a chair for her. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I didn't mean to... drag you in at the deep end."