"Lady." The correction is automatic. It's hardly an affronted one, but letting someone take liberties is really no way to start a relationship, imminent writhing existential horrors notwithstanding. Alexandrie will, however, move out of his line of periphery as requested, both out of decency's sake and because it gives her a greater advantage on seeing the paper his 'portraits' are coming to existence on. Her head tilts as her eye flickers over it, her lips pursing in thought.

"Oh, très bon. The sense of movement is well captured." She would think the shading amateurish if the wretched thing were not catching the light in those precise wrong ways, making it an expert rendition instead. "Finely enough that I pray you not display them publicly when you are finished," she ends wryly. This would be when she takes a drink, but she'd given the wine up to Myr. Merde.

Something she isn't looking at makes a horrible sucking sound in... reverse... and she barely suppresses a shudder, looking instead at Benedict just in time to see a woman coalesce behind him to raise a knife to his throat. She winces preemptively.