The large tauren managed to produce a rather sly, shark-like grin on his face when noticing the positive reaction of the worgenette towards the mead he ordered. In response to that, he found notion to sip from the beverage himself.<br/>Yes, the honey mead was good. In fact, a connoisseur of alcohol might accuse the establishment for underselling it compared to its quality. At least that was Baqirs impression – not that he would dare share it with the goblins.<br/><br/>“<span style="color: DarkOrange"><b>Lo and behold, something new to learn everysday, huh? Did I just lure an unsuspectin’ woman into sinful enjoyment of alcohol?</b></span>” he asked rhetorically, producing another deep-down chuckle rolling into the floor and bar.<br/><br/>He mused over her response concerning his theoretical shape-change:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: DarkOrange"><b>Huh, well, if that happened, I guesses I’d have to adjust as well. But hey, I guess there’s benefits being dwarven as well. It reminds me of a druid I knows, right? Man always goes on about the “freedom” of his new forms when he goes on about that shape changing.</b></span>”<br/><br/>The tauren reshuffled and even dared to face her more fully, calm eyes maybe getting a biiit more bold than what’s expected of a casual conversationalist – even in her feral state, Baqir couldn’t deny she had some looks to flaunt. Sure, some might get all discouraged by the fur and the wolven skull-shape, but Baqir wasn’t exactly one of those – he was, after all, half-bull himself:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: DarkOrange"><b>Nethers, he might even go on and say you weren’t “cursed” as much as enhanced.</b></span>”<br/><br/>He sipped in-between his comment, continuing:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: DarkOrange"><b>…and again, it’s just my honest, not-so-humble opinion, but I’d think there were some definite benefits t’yers new shape. Question is, which there are and which are the best being a worgen.</b></span>”<br/><br/>-----------------------------------<br/><br/>Meanwhile, behind the bar, Amos found himself squirming on his seat with an embarrassed smile caressing his face in response to her warm, unbridled laughter. He attempted a casual shrug (he shrugged, atleast, though in no way casual) and elaborated on his predicament:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: RoyalBlue">It e-ended up w-with me doing three w-weeks of library duty, mostly s-sweeping floors and color-arranging tomes.</span>”<br/><br/>The owl made a face, and that response was further explained by Amos:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: RoyalBlue">Which, I’ll h-have you told is a much h-harder task d-doing when some m-mage tomes have a tendency to s-shift into other planes of e-existence or sprout legs and r-run around.</span>” Amos continued, unable to suppress a slightly tired chuckle when remembering his travails with those three weeks.<br/><br/>The alcoholic orders were up, and Osbourne gestured a wing proudly towards the beverages, saying:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: Gray"><b>I suggest a toast! To good company and – for once – a chance to relax, not fearing to be killed and gutted by whomever we’re talking to!</b></span>”<br/><br/>The young man seemed eager to follow that and held his mug up for a toast before taking a precarious, but lengthy sip from his order; he tried to sneak a peak of the shapely blood-elves body out of the side of his eye, quite confident that his all too obvious oogling couldn’t possibly be spotted.<br/>A spike of raw lust shot through his body involuntarily, almost causing him to choke on the ale – she was giving his mind far too much material to begin to drift, and it was showing.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>