Well...he hadn't thought it'd been a threat when the blasted things were brought up. But he supposed now he had all those questions he<i>should</i>have been asking about a woman with an armoire full of shrunken heads. Like, 'what constituted annoyance?' 'were all the heads previous disobedient guests?' 'lying? Wait...those things<i>talked</i>??' etc.<br/><br/>Curiosity almost won out and pressured him to leave King when his back was turned, but Goodman was stopped when his attention was drawn to the sound of boots clicking on the stairs. He shouldn't have taken a sip of his drink at that moment, because it left him with a mouth full of rummy nog as he was struck silent at the sight of their hostess returning to them. It sounded humorously cartoonish then as he loudly swallowed the mouthful as she reentered and he was stuck unable to hide the travel of his eyes over those black pants hugging her legs.<br/><br/>His only comment was a low whistle of appreciation and he glanced at King to see what he thought. "So...shrunken heads?" he asked her, pressing for an explanation to that one. King's answer, although lathering his curiosity, did nothing to temper it.