[ Wrathion is young enough to be considered a child in Santa Rosita, but on Azeroth he's really treated as a young adult. Young enough to hire assassins, bodyguards, to order his own fathers death. To wage wars against Old Gods. The treatment here grates, but he endures it.

He is, however, not used to being... touched. People have a natural suspicion for members of the Black Dragonflight, and he's always kept himself at a safe distance to respect that. The world is rarely safe for him, and after the Draenor business (and unfortunate misunderstanding) he'd been a wanted criminal briefly. Friendships had been... fleeting, those few he could afford.

Complicated, to be sure.

Claude's arm lands around his shoulders and Wrathion immediately goes tense, the kind of tension that says he's contemplated doing something in response but resisted it. His hands move as if he'd reflectively wanted to -- reach for something perhaps? Hard to tell, but he drops them and sideways studies Claude. The tension begins to ebb a little, but not fully. It's a touch forced, and he offers Claude a smile that doesn't quite reach his gold-flecked hazel eyes. He's so used to them glowing brightly red, it's difficult to hide emotion when your pupils are so visible. ]

Ahhh, it certainly adds some variety to things.

[ His speech is smooth, refined, perhaps a touch theatrical. ]

I wonder if this Founder's Day celebration will offer us another opportunity?

[ Perhaps they'll have lessons cancelled so they can attend? Who knows! ]