The thing about being raised for the stage--and there'd never been any doubt or pretense regarding Allegra's maintenance otherwise--was that it taught you poise. Not the pretty fluttering and dainty civilities of tea rooms, but the diamond composure that let you face a crowd whose power to love or hate you hinged on a single note.
Which is why Allegra looked at Matt with a mild expression of friendly irritation only, eyebrows raised, nerves calm, mouth impatient but undisturbed, and said: "British, actually. Has my accent faded that badly? Fuck. Now I'll have to rely on cleavage and personality for free dinner."
*Legra, I'm sorry; I think he picked up on--I mean, when you fell and I--Oh, I am sorry.*
Allegra tried to think a blanket of comforting feelings towards the spinning top of agitation jittering inside her consciousness. It wasn't Elpis' fault, really; the kid tended to have nerves like cotton candy when the attacks hit. More so, lately.
"We're Lithuanian originally, if you wanna get picky," she continued coming around to take her customary position behind the bar. "Mum used to make a fuss about it during interviews. Y'know, this whole dramatic noblesse oblige about her inborn duty to her art. Pfft. Fuckin' ridiculous. I mean, come on, the woman doesn't even like German operas. Drove me nuts. But, hey, parents, right?"