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A few minutes more passed, as the two Ars Magi floated through the hall, a wheel within a wheel within a wheel as they, now comfortable with eachothers' pace and the waltzing rhythm of the orchestration. They spent it in relative silence— at least, what counted as it for Selma, stuck in a crowd of people and with a dance partner in hand. Idle chatter floated between them in undertone, mostly championed by the leading conifer as she commented upon a pair there, a step here, a minor tip every now and again as Chie settled into her burgeoning proficiency.

It was a comfortable one, at the very least, that not-silence. Where the pressure of standing out, of being shown off within and unto the many unfamiliar present, may have weighed upon the pair before, Selma could feel it easing off of her strong shoulders as it melted atop the solid bedrock of friendly company. She knew it had to be the same for her roommate, to focus solely on matching the steps and learning the technique rather than worry herself with the stiff, alien atmosphere.

But such things didn't last forever. Every song had to end, and every dance needed its denouement. The pair slowed when the crowd slowed, and stilled when the crowd stilled, locked in place as the murmur of changing hands and changing faces surrounded them. Selma, for her part, smirked as she performed a small, courtly bow, shading of her prior chivalry returning to her expression.

[color=00a99d]"And so, my dear student, you have passed this test."[/color] she spoke in grandiose, lordly tones, those that served to very poorly beguile, barely disguising a simple mirth in the act of the facade itself. [color=00a99d]"I am honored to have taught you, and to have had this dance—"[/color]

A tap upon her folded bicep came from the crowd, before she could continue pushing that bit any further than she'd really planned it. Nice timing, come to think of it, that tended to spiral out of control when she wasn't looking.

“Excuse me,” a voice began, “As a member of the Officer’s Academy, I have to make a formal complaint. It’s not fair for the prettiest Ars Magi to only dance with each other.” 

Rising and straightening her back, Selma turned halfway to face the young man who spoke, part of an almost picturesque pair. Two handsome gentlemen, clad in the navy blazers of the officer's academy (much like the one she wore), stood, having emerged from the bubbling mass of unrecognizable faces, almost perfectly set against eachother. One dark and stormy, saying nothing, a looming tower of mystery and intrigue. The other offering her the same hand he'd caught her attention with, outstretched in request as a charmingly easygoing grin set itself upon a pretty face.

So, this was what their sister school had been up to, then. While she and her team had been training for Battle day in and day out, these were the young men who had been training for War, without nearly the glamour or such storied prestige. These would be her future commanders— perhaps in the vein of Captain Wei, back on the train. The cool and efficient woman's directions seemed so distant now, as though it'd been years since she'd heard them.

Hopefully she was getting on alright. As much as Selma and Rivka had both been ragging on the whole rail itinerary for losing their stuff, the good Captain was A Real One in the eyes of Rosmarie.

Selma, beneath her raised eyebrows of mild surprise, met his almond eyes with her own in appraisal, taking a moment to search for what she saw ticking...

[color=00a99d]"My, [i]my.[/i]"[/color] she then crooned faux-coquettishly, breaking out into her characteristic broad grin barely a moment later. Fair play to him, he definitely wasn't backing down an inch! The sure could do a hell of a lot worse than a confident operator, if every battle was as chaotic as the ones they'd survived already. [color=00a99d]"They teach you guys flattery over there too? Color me [i]impressed[/i]!"[/color]

She tossed Chie a cheeky wink as she took the shorter officer's hand, miming a curtsy as she pulled against the hem of an imaginary dress, far removed from the gold of her slacks. For all they knew, the girls would be working under one of these gentlemen's command in the future. Way she saw it, it certainly didn't hurt to play along with a little cheesy routine to break the ice. Plus, it'd give her an excuse to practice the lady's perspective of the dance, which occupied what Selma knew as the Cool Zone of proficiency:

[color=00a99d][i]More than you'd think, Less than I'd like.[/i][/color]

[color=00a99d]"I think I can spare one, if you'll have me. I'll warn you though—"[/color] Selma spoke more quietly next as she stepped in, position practiced as ever in spite of her stature as she inclined her head towards the young man, halfway expecting a sudden burst of Rivka-flavored orchestration to switch them up from Waltz to Samba. [color=00a99d]"I just got done leading the pretty one through the steps. I'm gonna have to be a li'l selfish and kick the ball in your court, [i]Herr Offizier[/i]."[/color]

Where had that thunderhead of purple gotten off to, anyway? She hopefully wasn't accosting the poor band too roughly... Then again, none of the brass had begun a startled squawk through their pipe instruments, so she'd probably be fine. 

Well, anyway—

She'd be more than willing to give the dude a chance, but for both their sakes, she hoped he'd stay true to that cavalier attitude he'd approached with, and forgive her her directness. It'd be a lot easier to get along when everyone was speaking within their comfort zones.

[color=00a99d]"Name's Selma, by the way."[/color]