Unfortunately for Nam, for most of the creatures Nagare's brought here against their will, the disrespect of being drugged will be the very least of it.

Noting that the dragon has not taken a seat, Nagare pauses in his task. He's not rushed in setting the pomegranate aside, in rising to his own feet, in smoothing a wrinkle that gravity would easily remedy with aid from the indigo kimono. If Nam prefers to stand to talk, so be it. He inhales deeply, casting his gaze around the room, shifting slightly one way then the other to do so. And then returns his focus to Nam.

"This place," he practically sighs. This place is his perfect dream. A place safely tucked away from the noise and dangers of all worlds. A place free of (most) suffering, free of hunger, free of (again, most) violence. A place built for pleasure. "This place is called The Red Tent." A name hearkening back to the days when Nagare wandered with naught but a tent and Vala.

"You are here as a part of my collection."