Kharrn snorted loudly into the early quiet and flicked a hand negligently at the hissing Khajit with the tufted ears, "Easy, kitten, it's almost dawn anyway." He raked a scarred and battered hand through his unkempt mohawk, frowning at the stubble on his scalp. The expression changed immediately however when he caught sight of the bottle in Ayron's hand along with the diminutive cup. "Malacath's hairy arse, Ayron,  you've been keeping secrets again," he growled quietly with a grin as he held out a hand for the cup.

"Sujamma ain't the best drink, but it'll do the trick. I'd give my arm for some Black Briar though," he commented after throwing back the allotted drink. An almost wistful expression passed over the Orc's face as he barely managed to recall his life in Skyrim.