Darrian glanced down at the mug of whiskey placed down in front of him, somewhat taken aback. Being bought drink was common enough, being bought expensive drinks was somewhat less so. And Conlan didn't look like the wealthier kind of clientele the Pearl sometimes entertained.
His smile, when he looked up at the man, stretched even wider. From his sitting position on the table, he lifted a leg, running his foot lightly up Conlan's thigh before pushing him gently to make him sit down on the empty chair behind him.
"A toast!" the elf said, picking up the mug and raising it high. "Will you do the honors, ser?" he asked Con, unable to hide his smile. If Conlan's record held true, a toast from the man would be worth listening to. To Mister Elf, perhaps. Or his Crow wife. Or terrible war injuries.