<div class="floatright">(http://i1232.photobucket.com/albums/ff375/Zwraith/For%20RP/Nick.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Nick Voss (Satyr)<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Jessamyne<br/><br/>The Satyr smiled a little as she accepted the offering, glad someone remembered how to act like a proper criminal around here.<br/><br/>He listened closely, but found the opportunity to respond was stolen by a playful smile as she left the bar. He managed a mock salute before she turned away, but could otherwise only smile right back. Turning his head, he followed her with his eyes, chuckling slightly in appreciation of her slightly swaying hips, and the pleasing view it offered. He kept an eye on her until she disappeared from view above, finding himself rather impressed with the elf. She had been straight with him he suspected, if not terribly forthcoming with the information she had learned herself before arriving. But, he figured, he just hadn't asked the right question.<br/><br/>Nick brooded on the elf for a moment as he looked back at the bartop. He supposed most of them didn't deserve the rep, and he'd heard stories from his ancient and greying grandfather, a long time ago now, about how the two races had come from the woods together. As long lived as they were though, Satyr's hardly held a candle to the lifespan of an elf, and he suspected, there were still plenty of the knife-ears that could remember when satyrs were called ally and friend, rather than 'beastman' and 'thug'. Or else, at least plenty who had heard stories from those who had. Smirking to himself, the Satyr ordered his third beer of the evening, feeling only the faintest tickle of a buzz in the back of his thick skull.