When Georg's hand lands against his chest, he lets out a low, rumbling hum - purposefully, so that the vibration buzzes against the man's palm. His hands move to slide the borrowed robe from his shoulders, giving it back, smelling of him, of soil, of something coppery, of tobacco and woods.

"...Good evening, Georg," he nearly whispers...and then pushes into the room, walking over towards the bed. Without even waiting for the door to shut, he starts to pull his shirt off...and he sings. Softly, in very old Romanian, but clearly, pushing his voice out, out to his prey.

"...Follow me...trust the night...."