The throbbing rhythms of the multi-snythlinked band inside the Devil’s Roost
make mere spoken words hard to hear, but Tikki sees and hears enough, and smells enough, to guess at what 
Adama says. He gives a long smile of satisfaction. A wolfish light shines in his 
eyes. The familiar rhythm of his words, "Good... very good," resonates
clearly in Tikki’s ears. More than that, the man’s smell fills with pleasure. He
fingers the bright brass cap of his walking stick, then motions Tikki nearer.