With the jacket back off again, the scaly plate-like growths skimming down his neck and up his jaw were more visible. As he rolled up his sleeves, more of the same brown plates showed themselves. Leto didn't seem to mind at all; since his birth, he knew this path. His skin was not his own. His body was not his own. And because of this, he showed no sense of shame or embarrassment.
"It's settled, then," he said, looking up at her. "I may have to teach you a few steps. Are you a good dancer, Ms. Oswald?" His eyes had strayed away from her, and now he was looking around the empty ballroom, envisioning what it would look like by tonight. It was cheating, of course; there was no creativity involved whatsoever. But it was an efficient way to navigate through the next to-dos.
"Do you have any ornamental trees? Light nets? Strings of lights -- across the window tops and around the crown molding..."
Leto gestured through the ballroom as he asked, sketching out positions with his fingers.