The guard captain looked quietly up—well, up from the papers anyway—into Nys's silver eyes.  His eyes widened ever so slightly at the offer of a meal, followed by his tight lips relaxing, then stretching half way towards a smile.  “Thank you,” he spoke softly, his voice a resonant tenor.<br/><br/>The tall man shifted the papers down and took a long draw on the tea, sighing as the tasty beverage warmed him right up.  He took the croissant in a few bit bites, starting off chewing fast, but letting the flavors slow him down and remind him to enjoy life.<br/><br/>When he finished the plate, he gave a soft sigh.  “That hit the spot.  Lord Vendatti, right?”<br/><br/>He smiled as the raven cackled impatiently.  The femininity of the voice someone how made him smile on all the more.  Then he laughed openly as the bird hopped over onto his shoulders and pecked at the tie to his braid.  “Whoa, girl.  I don't have time to put my hair back in it's braid today.”<br/><br/>Despite the light tone, he went back to reviewing the applications as if he clearly expected the raven to obey.  “Olivia Vendetta,” he addressed the bird.  “Familiar to Nys Vendati, transmuter and initiate tot he third circle.  I trust you won't desert your post at the first flash of something shiny in the Mist?”<br/><br/>“What else do we have here,” he pulled another appreciation to the front of the pile and regarded Jamathiel skeptically.  “A tailor?  Are you along to stitch up wounds, perhaps?  Or maybe you fence?”<br/><br/>The windling man arched a brow, but he was grinning, “All Faela are tailors, Captain.  Not all Faela have draconic blood in their viens—and fewer still have tapped that power.”<br/><br/>The elf gave a quietly approving nod<br/><br/>He continued to question them each, needling them subtly and paying far closer attention to how they reacted to being questioned than to how they answered.