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Conda, looking forward to finally eating after about a week without food, licks his lips lizard-like at the sight of the bloody steak.
The food smelled a little foul though, probably due to the fact that the tavern had been uninhabited for a while- but he'd had far worse, think along the lines of rotten flesh. The steak smelled lightly seasoned, just how he liked, he could even pick up the distinct scent of iron from the blood.

Conda thanks the owner then asks for a knife, fork, and napkin.