"Desiree…"

Desiree paused halfway across the deserted stage. The thickly-accented voice had come from the wings, the speaker hidden in the shadow of the curtain. "Yes?"

"Is that… la Frrrrench?"

"Um." She could make out a figure now - a man, she thought, solidly built, with some sort of hat atop a wild head of hair. "No?"

"Are you la sure?" The man stepped out, and Desiree recognised him at last: Mattman the Comet. She'd never actually seen him before, being very new, but he was wearing an oversized namebadge saying Bonsoir! Mon name is le Mattman the Comet, so she felt safe in her conclusions.

"It sounds la Frrrrench," Mattman continued, reaching up and tugging his beret down more firmly onto his head. "Desiree… Desirée… Dêçirrrréè…"

"That's really not how it's pronounced," Desiree said, but her heart fluttered - as all women's will, along with most men's - at the sound of her name being spoken in a French accent. "Are you here to-?"

"Oui." Mattman stepped forward and took her hands. From the empty auditorium, music struck up, and Desiree felt her skirts swirl in a mysterious breeze. "Je am here to… le dance."

"Isn't this a tango?"

"... maybe?"

"I didn't think the tango was French."

"La shh. It is le Shipfest."