Holding up two stubby fingers to Dreg Cloudsweeper, Ringo reads from the menu.

“Clefthoof Ribs for me and the missus, good man!”

I wearily lean me head against Ringo’s shoulder while the Wildhammer Stronghold innkeeper disappeared into the back room. It had been a very long day and I wanted nothing more than a nap after we filled our bellies.

Ringo mumbled something and I slowly turned to face him.

“Hmm?”

Before he could repeat himself, my eyes flew wide open at the sight of an overly polished, highly adorned night elf entering the bar and I immediately sat upright and excused meself, muttering about an urgent need to use the bathroom.

“By Muradin’s beard!”

I complain under me breath as I enter the room and begin stripping off me clothes, save for the Sawed Off tabard as I stuff them into me backpack. I wince while trying to remove the rings from me swollen fingers. After a few moments of grunting and a hand dripping with saliva, me red fingers were finally bauble-free. Patting me braids into place, I was satisfied with me appearance and leave to rejoin Ringo.

The puffed-up night elf was now sitting next to him.

Ringo’s eyebrows shoot up at me drastic lack of modesty, an unspoken question forming in the creases of his face. I made a quick fanning motion at me face as I dismissively reply in our native tongue, “hawt.”

He snorts, amused and clearly unconvinced as I retake me seat at the bar.

After a few strained moments, the elf turns sideway and slowly eyeballs the both of us from top to bottom. I turn away, pretending to be interested in me chewed-up nails.

“Interesting gauntlets,” the night elf comments to Ringo, motioning towards the haggard dwarf’s Gauntlets of Desolation. Ringo cocks his head at him and grunts his thanks before digging into the steaming plate of Clefthoof Ribs now placed before us.

“Any reason you don’t have the other pieces of Desolation?”

Ringo wipes the barbecue sauce off with the back of his hand, smacking his lips.

“Been busy.”

“Ah, I see.”

The night elf places silver pieces on the bar, requesting filtered water from the innkeeper and remains quiet for a few moments.

I glance at Ringo and turn away, trying not to snicker.

“You do know,” the floppy eared oaf continues, lifting up the chain around Ringo’s neck, “You could get a better necklace from a fellow in Blade’s Edge. Seems he’ll reward you with Natasha’s Choker if you kill the Hound-Master for him.”

Ringo twists his shoulders away, yanking the chain out of the offending elf’s finger, and continues to munch on his ribs.

The nosy elf presses on, leaning closer.

“You have intellect on your bracers? Tsk. What need has a hunter for such things?”

Ringo drops the ribs on his plate with a clatter and wipes his sticky fingers with a cloth napkin. I pick up me backpack and waddle outside as Ringo quietly pays for our meal.

As he rejoins me in the courtyard, he irritatedly crosses his arms.

“So yer going to walk around without yer clothes forever? Would be easier if you just ignored these pinky-waving half-troggs.”

I snorted derisively.

“At least I eat me meals in peace!”