low-key doing a lookie

Ivar forced himself to straighten as he was approached by a stranger. It wouldn't do at all to seem as though he were bowing or scraping before her. He carefully hacked and spit to the side, clearing his mouth of the saliva that threatened to turn to vomit. He gave his most snarky grin, instead. There was something about her elegant dignity that immediately put the chaotic little goblin's back up, and he made no effort to curb his natural reaction to it though it would undoubtedly be a less than stellar introduction to these lands. He matched the common English tongue she used, rather than his own native Norsk or Íslenska, to be sure he would be understood, because what's the point in an insult if they aren't going to have a clue what was said? He couldn't be sure from her odd accent whether she'd understand him in any other language. "Not to worry. A most hideous stench turned my stomach, but now I can see the source of it was merely this foul creature in wolf's shape before me. My condolences for your infirmity."