Lon raised one eyebrow at Alchfrid. "Remind me not to become your opponent," he said dryly, considering the man's size and bulk. Up close, he wasn't quite as impressive as he had been when he walked through the door; in fact, he was slightly shorter than himself, Lon realized. It didn't detract from the man's intimidating manner, though; even friendly, Lon wanted to stay on his good side. Joli laughed, then, and Lon looked at her curiously, an expression he had expected to repeat quite often in her presence, and his own lips twitched in anticipated amusement.<br/><br/>He was at a bit of a loss, then, when she turned and quieted, without sharing whatever it was that made her laugh out loud, and both of Lon's eyebrows went up, wondering if somehow he'd missed something that had been obvious. He opened his mouth to ask about it; really, the thought was quite unnerving, when Joli proposed a toast, and as a gentleman he was obliged to lend his support. "To caravans. Um, and soup." He lifted his mug, but before he drank, he glanced at Joli one more time. "And to new friends."<br/><br/>He took a swallow of ale; it wasn't half bad, but he'd had better before his exile - his mind drifted momentarily to a particularly fine vintage of Dwarven mead he'd had the pleasure to sample surreptitiously. But Joli seemed to genuinely enjoy it, and he smiled back at her, pleased at her thanks and recognition.