"Goddamn, that racket..." the old Zizz mumbled to himself some more as he let the herbal sensation roll around on the inside of his toothy snout. It would appear as though the newfangled magic rays of the man... woman... something-or-other had counteracted the calming essence of his Pipe. 

To take his mind off it, he eavesdropped on the two ladies conversing next to him. One of them, a winged girl who he vaguely recalled catching a glimpse of for a fraction of a second before, looked a bit strange, but that was, ironically, not very strange to a man like Rimau. The other one he didn't recognise, but he couldn't help but nod to himself as he listened to her talk about the dangers of naivete. Valuable stuff to teach a kid, of which there were too many who weren't taught that.

Good news for him, though, was the re-appearance of Miss Naida, possibly the prettiest and most efficient bartender this side of... anywhere, really. The grin came back to him as he removed his Pipe and began to ramble to her.

"Well, well, if it ain't my favourite bartender for the past week? Y'know, most bartenders I've seen don't 'ave wings an' can't flit about everywhere in a storm all fancy-like, an' that's pretty crazy 'cause it makes yer job real easy. Like, mint cash for nothin'-level easy. Reminds me o' this guy I saw once who set up his own bean farm, an'... well, it was pretty complicated, like, he had to sign a good mountain o' paperwork to even get 'imself the pen to sign the first of fifty million contracts with, an' there were, like, several thousand clauses designed to extort yer outta yer first-born son's soul... why's it always the first-born son, anyway? I mean, what 'ave all the devils got against the ladies? Hell, for that matter, why's it always virgin sacrifices? I'da thought the more experienced types would'a been considered, 'cause if yer gonna kill someone for some crazy kid in the sky, why bother bein' fussy? As if they 'ad standards all of a sudden? Pfft. That's a big problem we got nowadays, there ain't no professional standards, like that kid over there with his crappy 'music', an' if that were written down, that'd be in inverted commas, 'cause quite frankly, I dunno what he thinks he's achievin' tryin' to brainwash us into givin' him money with his fancy-shmancy magic rays. Look at 'at, backfire! I just got the courage to speak out against the lack o' professional standards in this day an' age! I remember a time an' a place where if you didn't 'ave standards, bullet to the 'ead fer you, hahahaha! Ahhh..."

It only then dawned on him that she might not be particularly interested in his rambling, especially after he noticed her mumbling to some other kid, the one with dog ears glued to his skull. He took another puff of his Pipe to clear his head again. It was too early to be making a bad impression.

"Sorry 'bout that, y'know I get a lil'... distracted when I ain't workin'. Anyways, lovely miss Naida, I don't s'pose y'could get me m'mornin' glass o' Orange Juice? I don't get these kiddos, I mean, look at 'em! Drinkin' Ale in the mornin'?! What kinda conduct is 'at? I once saw this one lady who drank a keg o' ale one Saturday mornin', an' lemme tell ya... uh... never mind. Y'ad to be there, anyways."