Aicelia watches the conversation between the shifter and the halfling with partial amusement, tempered with wariness and a ready to leap into action if desired, her legs, even though folded below her, coiled and ready for action. "I'd also encourage no one to make such debasing jokes," the elf murmurs in a break in the conversation, in her rich, high, sylvan-accented voice.<br/><br/>But she doesn't move, secretly glad she's not on duty at the moment as her eyes fall on Drake when he speaks, quirking an eyebrow at the supposed trick of the light as he extends his hand to the shifter. She looks Drake once over now as firelight gleams off of her elven chain.<br/><br/>No further action is taken than that, the girl listening to the crackling of the fire in between the conversations.