"Hey, come dance with me. I want to."
He holds out his hand (the one with the rough scarring across the knuckles, the smaller scar in its palm), smiling as he does so: it's an unexpected request, but not one he can't fill.
"Do you have anything particular in mind? -- I am more than willing to indulge you, of course."
It's that casual air: neither condescending or submissive, just simply equalizing in tone -- there is nothing, in that instance, except what exists within that room (two people, a mage and a hero, on an even playing field).












