"Perhaps you would know which words would tumble from my mouth if you had me upon thy desk." The words tumble from Tryck's lips before she really has any sort of chance to think about what it is she is saying, snapped in defense of Will's biting wit. It's the sort of humor that might be gotten away with in the lowbrow, poorer theaters that Tryck is most used to working, but here? In the middle of a party of high society, whilst perched boldly and lewdly in William Shakespeare's lap?
Almost as soon as the words slip free, before the gasps and scandalous shock of their now more than modestly sized audience reaches Tryck's ears or eyes, she herself is looking wide-eyed at the Bard. Unbelieving of her own words, she snaps her mouth shut and feels a flush of embarrassment fill her cheeks.
Shame at her own audacity causes a panic in her chest, and her fight or flight instincts kick in to tell her to flee at once.
Awkwardly slipping herself off Will's lap, she bows forward a little to keep herself from falling backwards. Unfortunately, the movement causes the raven wig to slip forward off of Tryck's head, revealing the truth of him far sooner than he would've liked.
"I, ah..." Tryck speaks, voice cracking and dropping lower as the facade has been dropped. "Time to exit stage left, I suppose..."
And before anyone can stop him, Tryck is hiking up his skirts and making a run for it. He's not sure where he's going, he's not sure how long he's run for, but eventually he finds a quiet place in the party venue to sink down with his back against the wall, panting as he tries to catch his breath and his thoughts. A small room with bookshelves and cases, the noise of the party far off so he's certain he has the time to collect himself before continuing his grand escape.
He hadn't even noticed he's been crying, bringing up a thumb to brush the tears away from his eyes as he looks down at the crumpled skirt of his dress. A few of the cheap glass gems have popped off, and he knows he'll owe for the wig, because there is no chance he'll try to recover that.
"Well, Tryck, if you were looking to make an impression with the Bard himself, I am sure you made an unforgettable one." He chides himself aloud with a sigh, closing his eyes and resting his head back against the wall.