Bianca stares: she's too polite to say anything out loud, but it's there on her face. She wasn't alluding to anything in Amata's culture because she'd forgotten humans have one, beyond the England that's been a backdrop to so many adventures. It's not a mark of any legitimacy she ever hopes to have, only of her own self-absorption, and she's a little ashamed of it.

She speaks quietly.

"For me, it'll be to stop hiding. I don't want to be an adventuress any more. It's too hard on the joints and the hearts. I've never actually felt entitled to the time and space I take up, you know. I spent millennia charming and baffling people into letting me live in it, or running and hiding too well to be caught, covering my tracks. I've never actually existed on Gallifrey, either - the years I was there have been erased from the record. I was erased, too, when the Doctor caught up with me."

She downs another swallow of tequila, and holds the bottle out in case Amata would like some.

"I've no intention of going back there. I just want the right to exist in the universe, as I see fit. No more, not these days."

And then she tilts her head.

"I hadn't picked up that you were also an aristocrat, dear heart. I should have realised when you referenced the great-uncle. What does it mean to you?"