"Uh... You *sure* this is the place you want to eat?" you say as you approach the hotel.
 
"Sure, it might not look like much, but it's a *themed* restaurant," Sammy says confidently. You eye the run-down hotel, not sure how it's still standing, much less up-to-code with Manehattan's stringent building requirements.
 
"I never would have guessed," you say sarcastically.
 
"Hey, peekon, you were the one who wanted to look around and try new places before you opened up your own," the griffon chided as you let yourselves into the lobby via the revolving door. The carpet used to be bright red, you can tell, but in the years since the hotel/restaurant's opening, hooves had turned it a dull shade somewhere in between puce and burgundy. Off to one side of the lobby was the reception desk, and on the other...
 
"Welcome to the *Cream of the Clop,* monsieurs!" a bubbly maretre d'hotel beckoned. "The finest in erotic dining in all of Manehattan!"
 
You shoot Sammy a look of incredulity. He gives you a wide grin. "Lighten up," he said, leaning into you. His head only comes up to your chest when he's on all fours, but on his hind legs, he's much taller than you.
 
"Pffffffffffffffine," you concede. He winks at the maretre d' and holds up two talons.
 
----
 
It doesn't take long before you're both sat in a booth. Well, less of a booth, and more of a private room. While there is a bench and table like a normal restaurant, there are all sorts of finely-embroidered pillows and blankets cluttering the floor. It reminded you of a pleasure house from Game of Thrones, a little. Instead of walls, the booth was canopied by layer upon later of sheer silk, creating a tent that let light in, but didn't show the interior of the booth. The bubbly little mare says the server will be there shortly,