Tiffany opens her mouth, and then closes it. Her hands are clutched in the blanket draped around her shoulders. She switches her grip--one hand now holding the blanket closed at her chest, freeing her other hand so she can loop a strand of her hair around her fingers and give it an idle curl.

"It's not something I've often thought of," she admits after a beat of silence, "which is--I know--sort of pathetic. I do find my work to be fulfilling, so it isn't--but it's very consuming in its way, so--"

No, now it's sounding pathetic. She twirls her hair the other way around her finger.

"I'd like to see Satinalia in Antiva City. Just once, at least. Is that the sort of thing that you mean? Or do you mean something--I don't know, larger--"