Pheres doesn't like being touched, normally: it's too much, the way other trolls like to press in close, leaving no space to escape if things turn to violence. How people can tolerate it is a mystery.

But an arm around his shoulders is better than a hand on his horn, and besides, it's a different story entirely when he's drunk. Alcohol makes his temperature spike to burn off the perceived toxins, and, well, who can be concerned about getting hurt when other people's skin feels is so comfortably cool?

OA is covered in what must be yards of fabric, heated by the sun and their own temperature, but even the marginal warmth feels tolerable.

"I have a name, you know," he laughs. Their posts have always looked absurd online, and spoken aloud, they're not much better. "And yes, of course! Ahh.. I don't suppose you brought a cloak for me?"

"Mine is inside," he adds, a little sheepish. "I -- don't exactly know where."