A quick glance at the menu, as well as the notices for what was the spiciest, and Ral picks out an intriguing looking vindaloo, the next time the waiter comes by for drinks and orders. Order, singular, in this case. But at least no one's nearby to stare or comment.

"What, this?" He snorts indelicately before lifting an arm and flexing, ever so briefly. He's no Boros Legionnaire, but there's a lot of muscle under those robes. "Just because I'm a mage doesn't make me some delicate bookworm, or some frail, wizened old codger. Now, I am working on streamlining the device some, but these things don't happen overnight. Even for me."