How well that the two events lined up so perfectly.

With more unneeded tromping- since Cledwynn was still the slightest bit nervous about the whole situation, and about the general thought of being around this many people, he tended to do that- he decisively sat himself down in a seat near the girl. Regarding this girl, Cledwynn somehow didn't feel as detached as he would when it came to others. That is to say, somehow he felt more comfortable with her- probably because of her welcoming demeanour. Perhaps, like the dragon before, she was a clairvoyant? Cledwynn could only assume so. But only if they'd hit it off beforehand, during a time he wasn't within the Restaurant. After all, it was likely that whatever that dragon was, he wouldn't be the only one with supernatural abilities. After everything he'd seen so far, his assumption now was that everyone here had some interesting perk about them. The dragon was a telepath. Something had to be up with the bartender too, since he knew the dragon could read minds. The more he thought about it, the possible answers were, one, that the dragon told him. That might not have happened, since when Cledwynn insisted to know how that dragon knew his name, the only response he got was more proof that the creature was a telepath. Either that, or the bartender deduced this the same way Cledwynn did- through the evidence he was given. The third option was that the dragon was a return customer, which Cledwynn almost completely ruled out as impossible. This place was in the middle of nothing, at the end of everything. It didn't seem like there was any way someone could manage knowing how to get here, but it was entirely possible. It just didn't seem that way to the mechageist, though. Still, if with his own life coming back to fruition as a concept in his memory, he had reason to believe that anything was possible. 

Which led back to the unassuming girl sitting before her. There had to be something about her, now that he thought about it. She couldn't just be normal. After all, she was here. And this place was deep in space somewhere. 

So how did a girl that looked so genuinely regular manage getting here? There was obviously nothing overly strange about her aesthetically, so by now, Cledwynn knew that if there really was something abnormal about her, it had to be internal- and when it came to internal powers of the supernatural, the first to come to mind was anything mental. 

But he wouldn't pry. If he did, there were a few things the girl could do in response- perhaps dodge his inquiry, or answer it truthfully if she were hiding something. He would never know for sure, though, since he wouldn't pry if she didn't want him to. If she were a telepath, though, she was definitely hiding it well so far.

"Thank you again for the compliment about my hair. I don't exactly hear things like that very often, so it came as a bit of a shock to me. Well, initially, anyway."

He was trying his best to speak out as much as he could, but that sociable facade could easily fall rather soon. Not that he wanted that to happen. Knowing this, he figured the best way to keep conversation going was to give names.

"Uh.. My name's Cledwynn. Two D's, one N. ... Wait, no, no, it's the other way around, two N's, one D."

He laughed awkwardly for a moment, pushing his scarf up to cover his mouth a little. It slipped back down to his neck almost immediately, but the premise of what he intended to do was definitely there.

He began to ponder again, this time of what the bartender had told him. 'It's on the house. Everything here is.' He would have to ask the bartender what they served when he was next given a chance. That, and the man's name. Constantly identifying him as 'the bartender' or 'the man' was getting tiring, and it started to feel bland- he knew very well that if he were trying to describe the bartender, or elaborate on his own thoughts about him, constantly calling him what he was and not by his name could easily make listeners- or readers, if he were writing things down- feel like it became redundant and repetitive, much like describing any one thing as both redundant and repetitive since they both generally meant the same thing.

Following his train of thought, however, Cledwynn noticed that he was served a drink in a glass. A clear liquid, lacking of any colour, of smell, and possibly of taste as well. 

Water. That was an easy guess, and it made sense to serve him this as a starter. After all, the bartender didn't really know Cledwynn's tastes. 

He could certainly use a drink, he was thirsty for some time. He picked the glass up and placed his lips to it, drinking for a brief moment, though when he relinquished the glass, he let out a content yet amazed sigh, his eyes widening a bit.

[i]It became immediately clear that this wasn't water.[/i]

It had to be something else, because its taste was off the scale. He couldn't really describe the taste in full, but it perfectly matched what he was craving. It didn't taste anything like any drinks he'd had in past lives. It was something new entirely, and probably the most delicious thing he'd had in quite a few lives. It took all his resolve not to down the entire glass, but as he drank more, his vocals released a gentle yet amiable hum of joy. He would certainly have to get more of this- he hoped it wasn't alcoholic, though.. 

As he drank, occasionally the sound of scarce amounts of liquid splashing against damp metals sounded forth from his legs. 

That was an interesting noise to boot. He hoped the girl before him couldn't hear it.

"And you?"