His eyes snapped from the empty stage to the obtrusive sound of hooves on wood, ratty brow knitting as what was visible of his face contorted into a frown... A sound like a small metal chain being removed from it's pouch echoing from the folds of his cloaks almost as loudly as his words. "Sayaad, seven point nine foot whip, six point three foot aproximate wingspan, anatomically dependent," he began to murmur to himself, listing off the traits of her species that came to mind, and then, as she sauntered past, his next words were almost growled, "And pitifully subserviant." Demons here typicaly had to have masters, masters of demons typically had no capacity for self defense outside magic. No armor, brittle strength...<br/><br/>Still he swirled his half finished bloodwine, gaze turning to the warlock. While his left arm elbow was propped on the counter, as he was sitting backwards leaning against it, the hand was hidden under the cloaks. The pet was a ploy, she was looking for something, a reaction, a response, something...<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>