The hairs on the back of Hahnvok's neck stood up almost entirely straight, and his long tail swayed slowly from side to side; she was so very close! And so soft when she'd bumped into him, completely unlike the hardened women of his own people back on the mesas. And she'd already done what he'd hoped, 'taken the bait' so to speak. Nodding cheerily at the dwarf to disguise his nervousness, the Tauren gestured to the enchanting mage. "Like I said, I'll cover whatever she desires." Her voice had sounded peculiar, strange chords prickling at the edge of his hearing, but the exotic nature of the woman was already making his blood run hot. "One of whatever your special is, and my grog as well." Turning slightly, but not daring to sit down (he couldn't be sure that the stools would hold his prodigious frame), the young plainswalker smiled at Lana. Hopefully his generosity would score him points with the hooved beauty, he prayed. Already his vest felt too tight, his pants almost constricting him, but he forced a calm demeanor rather than reveal how on edge he was. Though, the faintest speck of moisture leaking through his pants would surely be seen by someone...<br/><br/>"Good...evening?"<i>Too formal. You're not an ambassador.</i>Sighing slightly, he shifted nearer to her down the length of the bar, eyes drawn still to those massive breasts. It wasn't worth it to conceal his interest, and a blind man would've been able to tell she exuded sex appeal, so why bother? "Here to meet someone? Or just to drink for awhile? I've never had the chance to speak to one of your kind, as it happens." His Orcish felt thick and heavy on his tongue, like trying to mouth his way through rich honey, and it only occurred to him after he'd finished that she might not even speak the same tongue. "You're dressed for the night."<i>Too insulting. Damn.</i>Fumbling for something to recover, he groaned and shrugged his hulking shoulders--and was rescued by the prompt attention of the bartender, who winked at him as he passed the Tauren his rum. The woman received a strange blue drink in a crystal glass, shot through with veins of green liquor that hung suspended in the mix; it caught the light with an eerie sheen, doubtless some expensive mix preferred by the high-rolling patrons of Madame Nethergold's little oasis of desire.<br/><br/>Burying his muzzle in the oversized flagon, Hahnvok gulped down some of the cheaply flavored and fiery brew to steel himself. He'd had women before (a great deal of them, if he were honest), but all of them had been other shu'halo. The smaller races were a mystery to him, almost entirely barred from him from the sheer difference in size, and often the differences in outlook. The delicate elves, chattering goblins, and savage troll women all had a special place in his fantasies, so far left to daydreams or lonely nights near a campfire. And this creature, the draenei, her gravity-defying curves on full display? She was no exception, and he consoled himself that he'd at least have another woman to envision if she didn't deign to be taken to bed. On the other hand, she had clearly pleasured someone before arriving. Why<b>not</b>him? "What's your name?" Settling for that simple question, he kept his eyes on the grog, waiting.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>