Skwisgaar was fairly much oblivious to the change in staff, and much else. He'd had a little bit of pre-wedding jitters, and was working that off through recording a song or five. Fifteen. Whatever.
He didn't stop playing when Miniver's voice filtered through the speaker, he simply looked up, through the glass, locking gazes with the poet.
"Ja, uh..." He then furrowed his brow.
"Du tala Svensk? Aldrig sinne. Vad vill du göra vilja till tala om?" He asked, setting his guitar down and lighting up a cigarette instead. He pulled one leg up onto his other, resting his ankle on his knee.