With a gracious tilt of his head, Theodore withdrew a thin, simple case from his robes and placed it upon the table. He moved with the absent-minded ease of familiarity, every item in its proper place, and felt, rather than saw, the clasp. It clicked gently against his thumb, but he was lost in the wine list until a cigarette pushed between his lips and required lighting. Down went the menu, decisions made, out came the tip of his wand, and he inhaled through his narrow cigarette with only peripheral interest. He did so very little with magic these days that he liked to imagine his occasional indulgences in nicotine giving the wand-tracking officials something to do. The son of a death eater, wiling away his time with bits of flame, the occasional apparition, and -- dare he say it -- cleaning charms. How boring. It might have been an amusing thought, were it not so bleak.
He had little time to strike up another conversation before they were joined by Ingrid, and he smiled up at her before tapping at his cigarette. Above the grass, a few flicks of ash tumbled and then devoured themselves before hitting the ground. So much tidier than muggle cigarettes.
"I'll have a half-portion of shepherd's pie please, and a glass of whichever red you think will go best with the meal, thank you." He offered her the menu, and an assessing once-over, before removing his glasses and tucking them away again to be forgotten.
"I have a more serious question for you, if you'll permit me to be tasteless before a meal," he finally continued, once she'd gone. He looked serious, as was his wont, but ever-affable, even charming if one was inclined to judge his tone.