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Desmond fought, but the two men basically dragged him over to the lady's seat. He felt his face flame up and started to stammer, but then he was all but pushed in front of the pretty, smiling woman. Why was he buying the drink? Wasn't it Taxes' rear-end that knocked the drink over?

"I-I-I am?" he looked around in a panic for a close serving woman, but they had all seemed to vanish, as if somehow, every one of them had conspired to make this situation even more terrifying than it already was. "G-good evening, m-miss," he said, tripping over his words something terrible. She really was a pretty thing.

"I...uh, what drink...would you like...?"

She seemed to give them each a once-over with her piercing gaze, her smile growing hesitant as if she was trying to decide how much she wanted to put up with Desmond's stammering attempt. She was about to shrug when Ollie clasped Desmond firmly on the shoulder on the shoulder and said, "Why don't you decide, mate," in the hopes that a little show of assertion would make the man seem more confident. He dug into his pocket for a coin and waved it behind Desmond and Jack to entice one of the barmaids over.

"I don't know if you can tell, miss, but my good man here, he's got plenty o' stories to tell," Ollie said, turning back to the woman. "Y'know, the dangerous type. Oh, he's seen all sort o' things."

Which Ollie couldn't attest to, but he assumed. And if he was wrong, he could only hope that Desmond would be quick enough with his wit to make something up.

"Plenty of war stories," Jack concurred. Or at least army stories, since Sunderland hadn't been at war until...well, a few months ago, but that was besides the point. Women loved men with a scar or two for flavor, right? Added to the mystery.

"A fine choice!" he exclaimed when Desmond had finally decided. "And why not another for yourself," he added without actually giving the man a choice in the matter. Liquid courage and all that. After all, what were friends for?

He was glad that Ollie seemed as intent on helping Desmond, and without even being asked. A fine fellow, indeed.

Desmond was panicking inside. He had thought this was going to be a nice calm night of drinking with a friend, and even though he had seemingly made another friend, both of them were now trying to get him to woo a woman! A pretty woman, yes, but...

As if sensing her chosen's panic, Liadain appeared, having abandoned playtime with the other two guardians in favor of keeping an eye on Desmond. As he was almost forced into the chair beside the lady, his beautiful gray doe came up beside the lady and sniffed delicately at the woman's hands before lowering herself to the floor and resting her wedge shaped head on the woman's lap. The doe exuded an air of calm that permeated Desmond and helped to settle his nerves. When normally he would have been embarassed by Liadain's forward behaviour, at this moment, he appreciated it.

"Ah, my lady," he said to the woman, holding out his hand. "My name is Desmond Gray. And this is Liadain, the Gray Lady. She demands the title be added."

Ollie grinned when Liadain appeared, almost on cue. She's givin' you a run for your money, lassie, he thought to Taxes, who responded with a huff, as if to say that his statement couldn't possibly be true. Taxes had both acted as an infallible wingman and run interference for her Chosen on many occasions, both of which had always been perfectly timed. Ollie wasn't exactly picky about his companions, but there were always exceptions.

Meanwhile, the lady had taken her cup of wine appreciatively and was regarding Desmond in a whole new light, cooing over the gray doe and carefully stroking the Guardian's head. "She demands?" The lady echoed with an appreciative laugh. "She knows what she deserves then." Her accent suggested she wasn't native to Sunderland.

"Soraya," she added, taking Desmond's hand. She seemed more and more amenable to the idea of sitting and listening to Desmond, which Ollie took to mean that his and Jack's work here was nearly done.