He's a veritable enigma - a Pylean so far removed from his Viking-slash-ZZ Top wannabe kith and kin he could charm the socks off of anyone with a heart (and a funny bone).

"Music. Scotch whiskey. Perfume bottles." He waggles his eyebrows. "Only, not really. But set me down in the middle of the Meatpacking District and honey, I'm like a kid in a candy store."

Idle chatter, again, but not out of any kind of heebies this time. Maybe he's like this all the time. Shock, horror.