His brow ticked as the priestess obscured his view of the Kight, though those ghostlight eyes slowly turned to her... Then trailed down her neck, following the sleeve of her robe until he could see where her wrist vanished under his layered cloaks. Eyes darting, he spotted how her fingertips and palm rested against the other woman's vest, was she feeling out the curves of the Knight's breastplate? Was she doing the same to his leather armor? Not that he pulled away, as she withdrew her hands first. He stood there, idle, patient. Norbert, on the other hand, was flapping his bulbus gums in a vane attempt to speak... Still not a sound left him, sadly...<br/><br/>The poor brute.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>