He smirked at the sound of the word he used to often, in that manner, coming from Daphne's usually over-the-top self in her posh tones, "Well, it is nice, innit?" he offered, pulling the arm behind Cela's shoulders away to stroke the glittering necklace with a tip of his finger. As he did so, he couldn't quite help turning his head ever so slightly and taking a whiff of Daphne's hair.

She smelled nice. She always smells nice. Like soap and flowers and that weird, nice, girly sweat smell that wasn't bad at all.