Peter is busy looking at the people on the upper level, the nose of his mask and the slight tilt of his head making him look like a particularly awkward bird. He doesn't bother to look when he feels someone brushing up against him, but when she doesn't move on for a few moments and it registers that she might be something good to look at, he finally turns his head.

And she is a bit of alright, isn't she? More dress on her than he thinks there needs to be, though. Peter's gaze starts with her skirt and drifts lazily upward, and even once he reaches her face it takes a moment or two before the vague familiarity of the shape of her face behind the mask, and that hair --

"Oh." His expression sours. "It's you."