( Oh yes. He'll admire each leg with alacrity. There is absolutely nothing wrong with admiring artwork, no matter the canvas. In fact, all the better for being a most appealing canvas, and about the only form of drawn artwork he's ever been able to appreciate.

He's amused by the scotch. Dry, however, he appreciates. How he manages to languidly meet her eyes again for the introduction portion of the bar dance, we may never know. )

I haven't the faintest idea. Let me know if you ever find out.

( He shifts enough to make the gesturing to an open barstool by him into an invitation. Fairly innocuous for him, at the moment. He's blithely amused at dismissing himself from hero status. It's an off the cuff statement, as most are, but ah, how he'd prefer to avoid that one forever. Extremely annoying, even in jest, unless that jest involved a bed, two or more naked parties, and lots of -- well. )

I, however, and Licyn. What might the lady of such impressive... legs be called?