"Whoah, the suit. Oohnh." She says. The groan? Suggestive, yes - maybe purposely. She's been eyeballing Artemis since she got here. She doesn't want to crowd them, but she doesn't want to ice them out either. It's been... well, it's been fucking with her this whole time. She downs, what, flute number three? It doesn't matter, she hasn't really gotten properly drunk off of champagne in years. She hands it to some guy whose been yapping her ear off for five minutes as she decides to stop pining and start chopping wood. The guy looks at the flute shoved into his hands, and then to her, perplexed. "Figure it out, you're smart." She says, and gathers up her gown to close the space, weaving through the paper faces and tulle gowns and pleated pants until she's close enough to be heard but not close enough to jumpscare them; something she's learned to avoid since running into Arte where they work.