Oz's face lit up in a grin so devious that Loki himself would be jealous.  The course of the night was decided now.  He looked down at his cloak, still soaked with water from the rain, now with alcohol intermixed.  His grin slowly faded, replaced with a painted on look of irritation.  Something about it was clearly fake, as the dark brown material of his cloak was so old and ragged that a few ale-stains were hardly anything worth getting upset about.  Nevertheless Oz turned, casting his gaze in the direction of the man clad in leopard skin.<br/><br/>"Fat, crazy, old, and fool.  Impressive that you managed to levy so many accusations in one sentence."  His tone was sharp and condescending while his face seemed to betray his devil may care nature, "Though I've never seen anyone quite so offended at the suggestion that there<em>might</em>be a necropolis.  'fraid someone might go there and steal yer girlfriend?"<br/><br/>He kept his arms crossed, seeming nonchalant and cocky.  Moments before it never would've dawned on him that the bard's song would've preceded<strong>him</strong>picking a fight.  He didn't like being predictable and failed to consider that others might see it that way, but he was simply following an impulse.  It was something he was very familiar with.