Something feels off the longer he stays where he is. Like having his head wrapped in cotton. He misses the intense, minute details of scent that he had just a moment ago and the beast inside him feels like it's fallen the hell asleep. Whatever's happening, he doesn't outwardly react. He smirks at the mention of the cravat. Cas adjusts his hold lazily to make sure he isn't pressing against the accessory in question.

"Far be it from me to ruin an aesthetic," he drawls with a smooth accent. Southeastern United States. "What are you?"

The tiger seems relatively harmless, at least. Not particularly interested in trying to make a fuss.