Xiomara is not giving her full attention to Fifi. Some of it, yes, but lacking any familiarity with the place, she's easily distracted, gaze stopping on Fifi only in between flitting about to the curtain, the neighboring tables, the ceiling beams, the drink being carried past them.

But she's listening, even if she isn't looking.

"Lucky for me," Xiomara says. "I'd hate to be from Orlais. No offense."