"That's the..." He took a moment to think, " third best thing I've heard all day." Drak'thar was all too eager to lean over and slap a red button protruding from the table, his muscles still taut with strain. A loud *slap* and beads of sweat left behind evidence of the deed. "Gilidad! Another round of your glowy drink." A diminuitive 'yes boss,' squawked back. A brief glance about himself to assess the damage done, and he uprighted himself, more sweat and other unmentionable liquids left behind. "Yep, deffinately a hose," he said with a hint of pride. Knowing the kind of sneak Gilidad was, he righted his trousers, just incase. That quickly retreating pleasure stick reluctantly allowed itself to be tucked away, still protesting against the fibers as its prison was set into place.<br/><br/>"Best of luck to you, miss." He said with a labored rumble, realizing he'd never gotten Lucille's name. It was probably better that way. The likely-hood of meeting another like her -curvy figure, unblemished, pale, near glowing skin, and the endurance to take an orc on full blast for two rounds?-  were slim to none. He reached out the door, knowing instinctively when the next set of glasses would be there. Delicate deft hands, despite their size, plucked them from their resting place. The cold glowing liquid a stark contrast to the sun-kissed, sweaty palm of the orc. One was offered to Lucille.