In an effort to draw attention away from herself, Robin keeps a somewhat dour expression on her face, even if the long sleeves of her shirt are fraying from where discomfort has lead her to pick. The entire idea of an execution is enough to weigh heavily on her mind, even without the knowledge that it actually came to fruition. However — there is probably exactly one bright spot to a party like this, and he comes bounding up looking regal and charming and precisely cute enough to earn a whistle from Robin, who goes from a sour expression to absolutely, manically pleased in one second to the next.

"Meow, Wille. You clean up nice."

Provided the last she saw him was on a recovery bed, it isn't specifically hard to do. In any case, she eyes his hand with a fair amount of trepidation — not because the idea of dancing with Wille is horrendous, and not because she's isn't grateful to have her mood swiftly lifted by his presence.

Only a little hesitant, she puts her hand in his, jerkily shrugging in a way that betrays her motive to appear otherwise unbothered. "I'm not really good at dancing. Hope you don't like your toes much."

Rather: she's never really had the chance, before.