Scoundrel's soft exhale is a sigh, watching as the Night Elf is manhandled up onto a table.  Well, she lost.  For a second, she pays no mind to the absolutely mammoth Draenei behind her.  One slim finger scratches at an old scar on her right cheek, brow furrowing in thought before she finally turns back to the much larger companion.  Both hands plant on slim hips, the bangle of her belt clinking as she stares up into his face.  "Interruptions!  Everywhere."  One finger pokes him hard in the chest, which for her probably harms her finger more than the mass of muscles in his abdomen.<br/><br/>She winces, shaking out her hand with pursed lips.  "A'ight, Handsome.  Poor timin' an' all.  Y'want a drink?"  She plops down on a stool, waving over two cups.  "Scoundrel.  No, it's not my real name.  M'parents weren't that bloody cruel."  She reaches into her pocket, throwing down a few coins that clatter on the countertop and reaches over to take the mug in one hand.  She lifts it to her lips, eyeing the second man out of the corner of her eye.  "Y'smugglin' a club in your pants?"  Either she's an excellent poker face, or she hasn't seen a piece of 'equipment' that large before.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>