Mr. Campbell Garrett, who was not a plain gentleman but one whose cunning, charm and wile were greatly sensationalized, would not have been able to fathom himself if he had looked into the looking glass because he now appeared like a bronzen God.  For truly, he was resplendent.  His golden locks, which curled over his olive skin, beamed.  His face was perfectly moisturized, his eyes, made wide and powerful and immersive by the changeling's magicks, appeared to be less arrogant than usual, but more understanding, more in tune with the cosmic oneness of the galaxy.  Each move was accompanied by the low purr that a tiger emits before the chase, each footfall was like a featherfall on a plane of down.  Garrett seemed less stupid now, and more regal, with a drawing gaze, an eloquent mannerism, a narrow gaze, an upturned nose.<br/><br/>And it would have broken a girl's heart to know that this beastly sum of the best parts of man was not interested in anything here.  He appeared disenchanted, disengaged and remarkably bored.  Even his agility seemed to have a sense of drollness despite his alacrity.  He bounded easily, but with no significant effort.  He had not noticed the drow speaking to him, about him, and aiding him because, quite frankly, Garrett was the biggest asshole this side of Land of Mourning.<br/><br/>((Garrett does not hand out dex boosts to anyone;  he rolls for tumbling/balancing with a modifier of +26, and gets nothing less than a 30.))<br/><br/>"You guys really know how to party," he said in a tone of perpetual sarcasm.   "First, a man who became a woman who became a man accosts me, kisses me, drags me here to do a stupid ritual, then forces me to hang out with the undead.  Marvelous.  I love how you spend your afternoons.  Or evening.  What time is it anyways?"