Scaramouche shows some teeth at that, his grin growing wider.

"Like what, babydoll?" It isn't really a question; they're not talking about the flower, are they. He strokes her cheek a little while longer; he likes doing what she likes him to do.

He drops his hand just as her eyes fall to his jacket. "Everybody's got style, babe. Some just need more help finding it than others." The tailor bot picked this out for him, but he won't admit that now. His voice turns smooth and honeyed as he leans in again, gently curling a forefinger beneath her chin, another whisper of cool metal against warm skin, hoping it coaxes her eyes back to his. "You're stealing the show tonight, if you ask me."