Plenty could go wrong, especially with a tall, handsome stranger.
For once, however, the woman was reasonably intoxicated and adequately distracted from such a consideration.
She wandered to the walls as Albie spoke. Zi Shang regarded the broomsticks that lined neatly in a clean row. Her placid gaze, though curious, held a genuine and natural element of respect, as if a magiphilologist, too, knew the sentiment and value of a broomstick to its rider.
"Not the players' brooms, surely?" the magiphilologist who had nearly married a broom racer eventually inquired, looking toward her companion from over her shoulder.
"I must confess, I am a terrible flier on a broomstick. It would do them no justice."
Though humility was, perhaps, one of her better qualities, it was also true that she did not exaggerate. Perhaps it was the fact that broomsticks were not a common mode of transportation in her homeland, or perhaps it was the lack of living quality as opposed to a winged horse, Zi Shang had never quite mastered the art of flying on one, even with all the coaching from a world-class broom racer.