And of course, of course, Diabhall knows better. He can spot that he is being humored, and for just a moment, that bright gaze of his sharpens, brows drawing together by a fraction, something inside him twisting up. To Diabhall, an anomaly, strangeness, something to be shaken off and dismissed.

To Allumin? A clear expression of frustration, something alien on the face of the elder elf. Something Wrong.

He shakes it quickly, looking away, then back towards Allumin as he sets to washing his hair. Realizing the attention is off of him, he openly watches, enjoying the sight of well-toned muscle in the midst of a strange and uncomfortable (what?) conversation.

The question makes him freeze up. Why does it make him freeze up?

"...Something else? Such as?"

His tone is...off. Tight.

Anxious.