There is an echo of familiarity to this song and dance. A carousing public house, a woman with some measure of authority with whom one might wish to ingratiate themselves, a back room which requires the a specific kind of invitation in order to cross the threshold. Were the night not already so eventful (and maybe if the woman were a different sort of woman), the whole arrangement might inspire a certain measure of sentimentality.

Things being what they are, they are better occupations for their time.

A flick of ring-decked fingers as they duck past the edge of the tapestry suggests the available chair is John's if he care for it. There is a niche in the wall to the right and the cabinet built into it is that convenient height for propping oneself against if a man wished to strike the image of a particular version of comfortable. Turning back the edge of his coat, Flint settles naturally there.

"You must think you're very charming. Unless, of course, you have your log books hidden somewhere in that beard." This last part is for John.