He could see the purpose in her eyes, so D'ren ignored her terribly obviously fake memory lapse regarding his title. He simply turned back to the monitor mounted in the corner above and took another sip from the bottle. The man's bare arms were cut, both literally, and literally. His muscles were a minor thing compared to the scars on his biceps. On his right one alone, there were probably half a dozen, of various sizes; however, they all looked to be caused by a blade, except for one, which seemed to have been caused by a whip of some sort.

D'ren was most terribly obviously fake-ignoring the woman. It was hard to tell if this form of playing hard-to-get was normal for him, or if he was genuinely uninterested. But after a few seconds, he nodded to the robot across the counter.

"Holy Cheese San'wich."

The mechanical man turned behind him and picked up a flask marked "HCS." The barkeep opened it and poured a sloppy orange mess into a cup and then handed it to Vescalla.

D'ren said, "The name's D'ren. What's yours?"