Torian Varengrím reclined in his chair, rolling the stem of a silver goblet between his fingers. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, filling the silence that had lingered ever since he had been dragged, quite literally, from the warmth of a crowded tavern and deposited back into the confines of his home.

He sighed, stretching his legs out lazily, the weight of his fox-fur cloak settling over his shoulders. "You know," he mused. "if you're going to pull me from a bar like an unruly boy, then perhaps I should balance the scales." He lifted the goblet to his lips, letting the wine linger on his tongue before swallowing. "Maybe I should take a concubine."

The words hung in the air, rich with provocation, but he let them settle as if they were no more important than a passing thought

"Just a quiet little thing. Soft-spoken. Someone who wouldn’t scowl at me every time I so much as breathe the wrong way." A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it lacked true malice, he was only toying with the idea, enjoying the reaction more than the thought itself.

Torian tilted his head, chuckling softly, "I could be nice to have someone who doesn’t drag me home like a scolded dog when I want to have some fun," Torian shifted in his chair, the warmth of the fire lulling him into a familiar, comfortable haze.

He knew he was pressing his luck, but he thinks you deserve this.