Proud, then. Which is by no means a turn-off. Max watches the other woman study her, benevolently inscrutable but not blind. She is young, new to this perhaps, but seems headstrong enough to know her own mind, were the option presented. A good spine. A dress whose panels Max rather appreciates. A certain vulnerability Max would see handled with the appropriate care.

"Hm," she considers, idle, teasing. She reaches a hand to catch one of Sidony's, a thumb finding the pulse point in the palm, and draw it closer to her. "In the spirit of the season, I believe I would make an offer," which takes the form of a calculated lean, a tilt of the head to match. It puts their faces quite near. "And see if you might accept."