( it's a pretty goofy situation, forgetting the violent games, shepard will give it that. she has no qualms to stop moving some, swaying easier than if her feet were attempting to find a rhythm that didn't entirely click in her head. she rocks back at forth - it's simple to meet tony like this, fall in a better line beside him with their chest almost pressed together, letting him do most of the work in guiding them. that's mostly why she's so bad, probably. she wants to lead but has no idea where she's going.

a puff of air lifts up the bangs off her forehead, curled with a little bit more care today to match the fancy dress wear. everyone should be grateful her dress is knee length, or else she'd go from endearingly bad to a genuine threat to the public with each added inch. her hand cups tony's neck and fumbles with the hair at the base, dragging her fingernails just barely against the buzz. )

Don't give me the sad face. I'm weak to the sad face, Tony, please.

( she jokes. her tone is bemused, bashful at worst, but with the hardest part of dancing temporarily out of the way, she can focus a little more attention on tony. her head tilts one way in thought, eyes distant before they settle back on him, playfully rolled. )

Permission to dip: granted. Just be prepared for the consequences if I fall on my back and kick you in the head, somehow.