Derral was pouring over notes on his table, and his psuedodragon was pushing the notes he needed to him. He was arguing with his familiar, and the familiar was meeping back.<br/><br/>"Yes, I know that the hobogoblins are close to the third possible site, but the other four do not correspond fully with the notes from all the survivors."<br/>"Meep, chirp."<br/>"Look, less lip, little miss, more help. Where is the account of the Bard of Litther?"<br/>"Cheep, mrrr."<br/>"Yes, I know you don't have lips, it is a figure of speech. Would you like to try the venison, I has some particularly fine spices, for this earlier. Thank you, and the map... Oh there it is!"<br/>"Murrrughtfc...*gulp* cheep?"<br/>"Don't you know it is rude to talk with your mouth full?"<br/><br/>And so on. He had a bag resting on the floor beside him, and was ignoring the stares of the other patrons, and did not notice the two women coming down the stairs. He brushed his brown hair out of his face, and continued to pour over the notes, while his familiar ate her part of the breakfast, and pushed it toward him, chirping at him, while he absently ate the meal.