[@Searat]


Nothing more than a shadow cast over the length of Conda and the table he sat at. Air swept with a modest "whif" across the table, flickering the candles flame, making it dance a little, like a ballerina nailed down by the feet. At the moment, Conda had realized he'd been at his writing for a good stint and thought it best to have another look around (even though his keen hearing told him everything he needs to know about the state of the tavern as it is.) None the less, he shifts sideways in the brittle wooden chair and looks up at the rodent being with a easy and cultivated, and even slightly sarcastic look written all over his brutal features. He drops his pen like a bad habit then slowly pulls away his spectacles with his free hand- pipe in the other.

"Why... hello. What pray tell brings you to my table my friend, is my pipe smoke setting you off? I am truly very sorry if it is, but I just won't do without it.
...
"No.. there's something else on your mind isn't there? So be it, out with it." Conda says morosely.

His right hand goes to twirling his specs around with a chosen grace not unlike the pirouette of said ballerina.