Assallya, surprisingly wasn't a good dancer. At least, not in a tandem sense. She'd been taught a wide variety of dances but they had been singular affairs, more intended for the entertainment of others while they ate or to stoke their ardor. She, however, was catching on quickly. Several quick corrections kept her feet out from underneath Sin's and prevented them from tumbling across the floor. Then, with growing confidence, her slender legs began moving of their own accord, hips swaying to the movement. This, of course, provided more difficulty as she hadn't been taught that in the culture of ball room dancing, a woman's place was to follow a man's lead. 

"So said the fox to the chicken," Assallya replied in response to her host's statement, using a rather quaint colloquial northerner's phrase she'd picked up in her travels.

Then came the twirl. She hadn't been expecting that, nor the dip that followed nor the prosthetic fangs. She almost wailed in outright terror, the sound only dying as she remember that, with his power, he could likely slay her with a single thought. Her fear was further quenched when his wide grin revealed the rim of the plastic insert, revealing the fangs to be false. Pressing her black painted finger nails against her bosom, she told herself to be stop breathing so heavily.

"So... you're supposed to be one of the Weyr people?" she asked, "one of those that turns into a beast, a weyrwolf?"