As if Emet-Selch, of all people, would meet anything new with a look of anything other than skepticism or disapproval. It usually takes him time to warm up to new things. If he decides to at all.

So he sits back down in a rather ungraceful manner (Alcohol seldom permits being graceful) and leers at the small creature.

"You said its name is Opállios? Rather on the nose." Emet-Selch carefully extends a finger to attempt and touch the creatures face. The thing doesn't bite, does it?