Mr. Nobles gurgled with drooping eyes, leaning into the – albeit unwillingly – affectionate caress of Risa. His beaks contorted smile faltered slightly, but only due to the onset of liking. Light forbid him if he wasn’t to enjoy an excess spoiling. Feathers always had to be cleaned, and while Amos was a studious man to that end, it couldn’t really beat the soft, feline caress of a woman.<br/><br/>Amos again had a lapse of anxiety – he wouldn’t admit it if somebody were up-front with the question, but sometimes… juuust sometimes, he allowed himself to try and understand the lure of adventure, warfare and the horrors of the world.<br/>Dangerous as it might be, you had to admit they made for some pretty spicy stories.<br/><br/>As she related her fortunate survival against the forces of the Scourge, the studious, curious side of our young boy emerged helplessly: Large, concentrating eyes indicated whatever she said sunk in immediately. Instead of tilting away and shielding himself with a mug, he leaned towards her just a mite.<br/>If his ears could gyrate, Risa knew they would be pointing towards her.<br/><br/>The tale trailed off and Finnigan was left with a churning mind:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: RoyalBlue">W-well, if a-anything you –weren’t-.. processed that is. And it meant that, despite your sacrifices, it was well worth the struggle in the end.</span>” He summarized.<br/><br/><span style="color: RoyalBlue">“And “processing” you would be a right out waste. If –I- was a Lich King, not-to-say-I-want-to-be..!” – Amos initiated, hurriedly excusing himself as Mr. Nobles opened one large sceptical eye – “..I couldn’t for the Sight of the Eye see why anyone should tamper with you.</span>”<br/><br/>He added in more of an actual observation than a right out praise:<br/><br/><span style="color: RoyalBlue">“..I mean, you seem a-able to handle yourself, got the looks to inspire and a personality to boot..</span>” he trailed off, peering away in deep concentration.<br/><br/>He then locked glance again, inquiring now that he was on a curiosity roll:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: RoyalBlue">How was it? …well, y-you know, how was it t-to finally know that all that fighting was over? Lich King was dead, couldn’t threathen the world? It had to be a massive relief – it was in Dalaran – or how did you experience it?</span>”<br/><br/>Osbourne chided her, saying:<br/><br/>“<b><span style="color: Gray">Goodness, no need to pardon! Sometimes, my feather coat needs to be tended! You’re doing an –excellent- job. Quite clearly you’ve been into falconry before. Go on, go on..!</span></b>” he chuckled with slightly undulating wings used to steady himself on her arm.<br/><br/>---<br/><br/>Baqir was given his – by most standards – huge mug of honey mead and paid his rightly dues immediately. A curt nod was carelessly thrown in the direction of the goblin bartender and for all sakes and purposes, it was just him and his mug..<br/><br/>Well, until he took a careful, modest sip of the alcoholic content and frowned just slightly.<br/><br/>The large tauren sunk and leaned over to timidly sniff at the edge of the mug, taking in the fragrance of his order. A deep, surprised “<b><span style="color: SandyBrown">Hrrrrrrrmmmm</span></b>” spurred him into a considering state of being.<br/><br/>He slowly rose his hand and inquired at the nearby bartender, apparently wanting to know some more about his current sample of booze.<br/>The goblin peered at him as if he was positively daft: The concept of investigating the origins of booze seemed absurd – why didn’t he just drink, get drunk, get mugged and be done with it?<br/><br/>Baqir insisted with a patient voice, and the bartender went off with a mutter to fetch someone more knowledgeable on what’s served.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>