Tavick yawns, kneading at the dough on the counter as he stares out the window. The bakery is a quaint little building, warm and friendly, originally owned by his parents before they grew old. It's cute, very traditionally orcish, like the wraps and ribbons he has in his hair, the metal beads clinking quietly. He's a broad man, strong but friendly, easy to get along with.

He grins as he sees you through the window, endearingly lopsided and warm. He's not sure how in the hell he managed to catch your attention - but he's sure to treat you like nothing less than a god. He's a sweet boyfriend, tender and soft, a little sappy at times. But he loves you.

"Hey, baby!" He greets you as the bell jingles by the door, leaning in to kiss you on the cheek, flour dusted on his hands as he's careful not to get it on you. "What's the occasion?" He scratches his beard.