[Performance is something different -- though perhaps this too is a performance, two gods petitioning a group (pack? herd? what's the correct terminology) of wyverns for their indulgence. Koby is all seriousness, though, offering both hands for the smallest creature to sniff at, it's breath scented like burning coals.]

I suppose you're right. You usually are, I've found. [There's a warm pulse of starlight, a half-smile.] When have I ever wanted to do things the easy way, Hilda? If it's not challenging and constantly unpredictable, I'm just not interested.

[The wyvern pulls back, streaks of silvery stardust left on it's scaly nose from Koby's palms.] If we weren't friends, I think I'd be waaaay more bored than I am.