ONE two three and STEP two three and SWEEP two three and TWO two three and STEP two three and SWEEP two three and~

Dollwaltz is on her lips the entire time. Every little motion of Eclair's body is dance and song, though respectfully quiet versions of each. Lady Vessenmer [i]is[/i] doing work in the other room, after all. But still, ah! The night is full of love: beautiful partners making a connection, threads of mystery pulling to a satisfying knot, promises made and promises kept! And of course the very best expression of love Eclair can imagine (outside the boundaries of the Manor), cleaning! Organization! The slow but stately transition from dirt and clutter to a sparkling finish. The sudden gasp of realization when it becomes clear how large a physical space is once the tools are put in their proper places and the sand is swept into its piles and dumped back into appropriate containers as per instruction. 

There is so much beauty in all of it. It is only natural to dance, isn't it? But even with the flourishes and seemingly unnecessary twirls back to a spot she'd already passed over, Eclair is very worthy of her name and of her title. She does the work of several staff with enough speed and precision that she very well might finish these tasks before the festival reaches its conclusion. That would only leave the improvement of several shelving arrangements and a polite check in with Lady Vessenmer, preferably after making a pot of tea as an icebreaker, and then --

Pause. Fall silent. SWEEP two... hold. Flourish with broom, rest on shoulder. Seven steps perpendicular from location of Interloper. Turn head, mark frame and form. Roll neck, tap feet, tap broom. Surreptitious muscle loosening, extend possible range of motion in response to possible combat scenario. Do not engage. 

Hmph. A Kel. Unusually tall, otherwise quite a typical member of their stock. Haughty, dismissive, pretentious. Rumor had it that after whatever bartering magic they pulled with the Lunarians to sponsor the development of the spirit tablet they had tried to covet the technology for themselves only. As if the magic that had brought so much equilibrium to the world in its coming had been a thing that could be dominated solely because of... what, exactly? That Yuki had [i]happened[/i] to fall among their midst? That the sweet girl with time to help an overwhelmed squire work through a mission without her notebook just wound up in the colors of the Paladin? 

Absurd. It was a sure bet that if she'd landed in the Manor instead there is no way that the Order of the Aurora would have-- ah. Well. There would have been an argument about it. And a lot of kissing. And another argument. And more kissing. Possibly the entire hierarchy would have upended in a night of passion. It is hard to say. But what is clear is that Eclair was standing on higher ground in this particular hypothetical. 

She snorts. 

"There is work to be done," she says with professional coolness (not ice not ice. Ascertain), "If you wish to debate philosophy then kindly join me in organizing the sands. With two hands we might be able to sort the grains by hue, if not gradient. Otherwise..."

Four steps, stop. Plant feet. Flourish with broom, spear stance. Dip, catch, pivot on ball of left foot, lean in with hip. Launch. 

The second broom launches itself like a missile off the end of the one in Eclair's hands. Straight and unerring, but nevertheless intended to be caught.

"I will escort you from these premises myself."