Yves happily sniffed Azrael's hand and then started to rub his cheeks on the angel's fingertips. He was a very friendly cat. His tail flicked idly and the purring continued, unable to get louder than it already was. And when Azrael moved away, Yves followed to hop up on the arm of his seat, laying down immediately next to him.
Duma watched the cat with an arched eyebrow. Betrayer. He nodded at Azrael's comment, grinning broadly before sipping his tea. Duma pointed to himself then mimed locking his lips. Then he gestured to Yves and lifted his free hand, doing a sort of 'jazz hands' which was, well, half the ASL for applause - or loudness in this case.
His eyes looked over Azrael, taking in every detail very casually but it was one of those things where you sort of 'knew' that Duma was looking at more than one could casually see. Duma had one of those 'piercing gazes' that fiction writers spoke of often - blue eyes deep set and deceptively tired looking. He pointed to his ring finger then at Azrael, back and forth momentarily until his brother caught on to the question.