Genuinely, Ran isn't sure how to feel right now. Apparently the request, however naïve and childlike she's sure it must have sounded, has worked -- or at least it seems to have? Vermouth could be lying . . . but again, there's that strange sense that she isn't, that the other woman is treating the situation with gravity.

But . . . why?

Surprise and confusion flickers through Ran's face; she honestly expected to be laughed at, dismissed. There's no earthly reason that Ran can see that she would agree.

Yet . . . she has. Ran takes the woman in anew, studying her features. Still she can't place Vermouth in her memory . . . and somehow that feels like the key to all of it. For all of her mystery, all of her aloofness, Vermouth acts like someone she should know.

(And yet at the same time . . . not? It's dizzying, and Ran can't make any sense from it.)

"Thank you . . ." There's still confusion, uncertainty in her tone, but she tries to accept with the same gravity. There's some sense that she's being given something here, though she does not fully understand what.

Her fingers stretch out to accept Vermouth's hand.