"Leander." The mage raises his head from the conversation he's been involved in up until now to look at you. He takes a note of how shifty you look, how nervous - so cute, he thinks. He mutters some excuse to the Bloodhound he's been chatting with, who waves him off and turns to their drink. He lopes after you before settling into the booth you've been occupying most of the evening. "What is it?" he asks softly. "You want to touch my hand again? Or..." His throat bobs. "My face this time?"