Her hands, were in her pockets. There was no way Daphne Hopton would place her manicured fingers on that dirty table. SOMEONE was going to have to clean it! SOMEONE who wasn't her. Because Daphne was sure that they had people for that kind of thing around these parts. SURELY, someone was getting paid to clean. SURELY.

Looking up at the sound of a familiar voice Daphne---blinked.

"Hello Phoebus," she replied with a small pout, brown-green eyes focused on the boy's peculiar mustache. Mustache. Peculiar. The corner of her lips twitched. "I didn't pack properly," she lied. THEY didn't pack properly. The STUPID help because THEY were too busy paying attention to ISAAC.

MOTHER should have been taking care of ISAAC. Not her help. Not her help. "Thank you, though, I never really...wear it much, the color I mean," corrected Daphne before wiggling a finger at her own lips. "Phoebus, you have a little...something," she finished and wiggled her finger at her lips some more. As if to drive the message home, Daphne pursed her lips on and off repeatedly.

Kiss faces? Not quite. More like 'you've got a little butter beer mustache going on Phoebus' faces.