Mary Grace has been stepped on by enough horses not to flinch when some half-barefoot ballerina stomps down, and she doesn't move her foot.

"Aw, but that was a gift from your brain," Mary Grace teases as Chanel reaches for the bug in her hair, and her hand flits up to hers. Not to stop it, just to touch her wrist, lightly brush a finger along the back of Chanel's arm.

"You know, I think Mr. B tossed something in the sink back there," she offers, as if she's paying much attention to their surroundings at all. At no point does Mary Grace actually look at the sink, or make any moves toward it.