Well, if that is indeed the case, it stands to reason you've been set up with someone whose company you're likely to enjoy... whereas, should you attend mine, you might simply be trapped in a prison of social courtesy. Tormented. Longing for death.
[Somewhere, perhaps in the closet she's shut herself up in, Wysteria de Foncé sags slowly and dramatically further down the wall with each of these various portents of doom. After some highly morose consideration of their (her) circumstances—
Something finally rouses her:]
Out of curiosity— why are you telling me about your invitation at all? Surely not everyone can have received one.
Then it's decided. We will attend our various... functions in order to glean more information as to who else was put forward, and whether they did so of their own volition. [Not that she knows anything about that.] Then you and I will consult Monsieur Royan. I know him to be the sort who is very fond of knowing things, and if he doesn't know the answer already, he might be persuaded to join us in uncovering the identity of the—whoever it was who nominated you and I for this.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Something finally rouses her:]
Out of curiosity— why are you telling me about your invitation at all? Surely not everyone can have received one.
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Oh, eh... I thought you might have had something to do with it.
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[Can be formally outraged instead of suspicious to the extreme, now that she's hit rock bottom.]
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[He squints at the card, squints closer—]
It looks like whoever created this was trying to emulate a typeface. I don't recognize it... but perhaps there's something there.
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[Now, the essential question: which of them is We, really?]
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["thank"]
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appointment.
[Consider this a verbal handshake.]
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[Very professional of them both.]