The flow of words stilled. Eyes, hands, voice - all settled. It was a magic trick, her shield, relying on preparation and infrastructure and above all initiative. Without that momentum behind her she went still, tense but quiet, as though playing dead. It was an unexpected attack, hitting her in a lull in her performance and preparations, and she had no counter. 

So she sits quietly and accepts.

Her ears jolt when they're released - then eyes, looking to yours for the answer, the missed variable. Voice - incorrect target: "Thank you, Blanche." Hands - pushing her back up to her feet, rolling back onto her heels, searching for that rhythm again. "Would you like me to fold out the couch bed for you, or do you prefer the floor?"