[Oh, Wrathion's into this. A little respect! That's all he's ever wanted. The pastries look good, too. Wrathion plucks one from the basket; makes a show of biting into it, of savoring the buttery, flaky crust and the sweet fillings within. He runs his tongue over his lips; lets his eyes flutter briefly shut.]
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Ah. A fine gift. And now -- a gift for you.
[He holds out his hand for the mana gem.]