No one would describe the look on the enchantress' face as pleased, an expression made all the more severe by the glow of her eyes. Quite possibly because of that, the host was having a bit of difficulty, a bout of nervousness that had replaced the usual ease and affability with which he conducted his business. Fortunately, the poor man was rescued. The askance (patently unkind, really) glance that Yennefer first gave at being interrupted gradually evolved into something more calculating and analytical.
Yes, she followed him, all the while wondering how doublets had given way to these dreadful suit jackets when there was verily so much more that a man could do with a doublet. Surely, Yennefer thought to herself, it created a far more pleasing shape. There were other evaluations she made on their brief journey. He hadn't tried to shake her hand upon meeting her, which Yennefer appreciated because it was another custom that she found reproachful. She kept an eye on his mannerisms, what he did with his hands, any subtle twitches in the lips or eyebrows. Whatever might give her insight into him, she would take it. It was the kind of psychological warfare she was used to from a lifetime spent around sorceresses.
When they reached their destination, Yennefer sat without invitation or pause to communicate that she deigned to defer to no one but her own comfort. She picked up the menu with her gloved hands and eyeballed it very quickly.
"Truly," she said with a sigh, dispensing with niceties, "it is impossible to identify the quality of these wines. Is there anything more disappointing than a terrible glass of wine?"
Keenly, as she was still identifying his character, Yennefer was very curious as to how he would respond to her (very deliberately) chosen opening statement, and where it would go from there.