The Socialite didn't catch on at all, too engrossed in their own shortcomings to notice any the Pupil might've had. Rather, he smiled, just a tad strained at the corners, and rested his chin on an elegant hand. "Why, this old thing? I do appreciate the flattery, my good fellow, but I can assure you I fretted before the wardrobe for far too long over what I was willing to lose to a potential Correspondence mishap. No, you, my fine featured friend, are á la mode, in the fashion. Do give your tailor my regards, if it is their work you now wear." The Socialite withheld a sigh of relief, having gotten through a discussion of clothing without accidentally arising the topic of clothing scissors and the frustrations of medical practices through the layered and restricting attire of the elite.

Pleasantries of appearance aside, the Socialite leveled an even and analyzing gaze over the Pupil, perhaps cutting to the casual observer, but digging and desperate to those familiar with the workings of the Morbid Socialite's mind. They finally latched onto a topic and batted the witful exchange back to the Pupil. "One must wonder what brings such a young and spirited individual to a class such as this. Is it merely to pass the time in curiosity? Or perhaps there is a goal in mind which the Correspondence can help you to attain? Pray, I must be sated by your response."