He nods, having seen Cissa do this far too many times to get excited about it one way or the other.
"Thank you," he says gravely, eyeing the barman via the reflection on a perfunctorily framed... well, he can't see what it is through the gloss, and doesn't care. The intrusive little sod should be up making inquiries any time now. "I'll be sure to let you know if I need something in your line."
He shrugs. "For tensile? At a certain degree of ripeness." He gives Rus a deeply amused are you going to go on congratulating yourself? look, and comments, "Yes. Your chances of a double will increase considerably if you know what to aim for, you know."
(snrk) It was a bit more blatantly philosophical than his usual semi-obscure sociological stuff, admittedly.