The smithy-shack had been unpleasantly smoky, steamy, and hot, and the atmosphere was not improved by the eager puffing of tobacco, but thankfully, once the conversation really started to take off in what felt like the second or third hour -- Lily couldn't be sure without seeing a clock or the sun! -- everypony moved across the street, setting up in the courtyard of that 'horchateria' place. It meant being in public and having to deal with an endless supply of walk-by gawkers, but at least it smelled better.