There is something to be said for expecting people to do things. When they do it, without a fuss it sets something of a precedent. She lets him lead her to the floor, sliding her other hand up his arm to his shoulder as they take up a more traditional dance position, her fingers curling in a little to brush lightly against the exposed skin above the back collar of his shirt. "Sir Eames," she acknowledged him as they began to dance, the dress she wore trailing a little behind her but not managing to get in the way somehow even with other feet nearby.

Mab did not regularly attend such things in the human world. This was, in fact, her first in several decades. But it had given her the opportunity to see more of those they face in the future and those that might prove to be allies or potentially useful tools. Eames, she considered, likely came to such things more often. He seemed to like the human world a great deal. "Have you been enjoying the party?"