Alice is half up from her chair when Ilde catches the papers- she traps the remaining notes under her saucer and then moves quickly and smoothly to intercept her, all in one motion. She gives a pleased and half-laughing sigh; "Ah. Yes. Thank you--" Her accent mirrors Ilde's somewhat, but she knows better than to assume it guarantees them any background in common. "This is just the trouble with Brock Marsh, one little breeze and half the population has to rush out after their escaped labours of love," she says, as if she has been here forever. Her voice is a lilting murmur as she takes the pages, flicking through them with delicate, surgical precision to check she's missing nothing.