Worth a shot. It doesn't matter, anyway, he thinks, grinning in a flash. He closes the distance between them, unable to help it. She's so nicely set him up and all, and he exudes Sannleikr's influences.

"Do they?" he mocks, leaning over the bar. His reflection catches on bottles and glasses. Too many different faces of vessels, and a fiery, wrathful, holy flicker of light overtaking them. "Sorry, who are we talking about again?"