"Thank you, ser," for the towel and the directions alike. He locates the chair and seats himself, securing his staff before setting about to remove as much of the rain from his hair and face as he can. It's a bit of a fraught thing with the blindfold (and not removing it), though he manages as best he can; sodden as he is, there's only so much one towel can do. When it's finally soaked through, he refolds it neatly and lays it aside, then resettles himself with fingers laced before him and forearms on his knees.

He rapidly gets the feeling that only half this conversation is being held aloud, and not in the usual sense all context of mannerism and facial expression are lost on him. This isn't the place for a sheltered Circle mage; he's in well over his head-- But when the waters are closing on you what else can you do but swim?

So, then, he listens (what else are those pointed ears good for?), face turned toward Gwenaëlle in a thoughtful eyeless regard. The underhanded doings of merchants aren't anything he knows much about, but he can surely pick something up from this--find some way to be useful, even if only as a memory aid later.