"Hey, don't mention it." Oren set down the heavy box with a soft thud, then straightened up, stretching his back. His sleeveless top left little to the imagination, clinging tightly to his muscled form, and his biceps bulged slightly as he reached his hands high into the air. "No big deal. Anything you need, just let me know."

He might've flexed his abs a little bit, too, while he was at it. Maybe. Not on purpose or anything. Oren would never.

"So," he began, flashing a sheepish smile, "I hear your guild is looking for people? I was thinking of maybe joining. I'm not experienced at adventuring or anything, but I can teach martial arts. And I'm good with my hands." Wait, did that sound creepy? That sounded creepy. "I mean, I, uh, I can carry stuff for you. And fix things. I'm pretty strong. Really, just, um, anything you need."

Oren knew he'd probably end up sticking out like a sore thumb in this small, rural guild, but he wasn't exactly in a position to be picky. Oxen sylvan weren't especially liked, known to be warlike, belligerent, and hot-headed. And not the sharpest tools in the shed. Oren was only half-sylvan, and he (hopefully) took after his human father, but still. The imposing build and the (less imposing) horns were dead giveaways.

But the people of this guild were friendly, and this guildmaster didn't treat him with suspicion. It made Oren feel wanted, for once. Not that he'd developed a crush or anything.

Oh, who was he kidding? He was down bad. Outrageously bad.

He leaned his elbow on a nearby desk, definitely to rest and not because he wanted to flex.

"So, er, if you ever want to work out or something..." He trailed off, realizing that this was his worst attempt at flirting, ever. And he'd never been good at it. "I mean, I—"

A crack.

Oren looked down, and his stomach dropped. The corner of the desk had snapped under the pressure.

"Oh. Oh no. I, uh, I'm sorry. I'll fix that right up. I'll..." He picked up the broken piece of wood and held it up uselessly against the now-lopsided desk. "Um."