[The journal feed cuts to Draco staring at his journal with a mug of coffee in his hand, snorting in disbelief as he's reading the message that's appeared there. It also appears as though he doesn't quite realize there is smoke slowly billowing out of his ears and nose, like some sort of dragon.]This is ridiculous. 'Stop smoking. Or start.
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Now, now. If you intend to take up on cigarettes, you ought to do so properly.
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And what would be properly? Doing it your way?
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Now, now. That would be assuming that only my way is properly.
[A vague sort of smile lets Draco decide whether or not he was right in that assumption.]
You at least aught to be told which cigarettes are best. Some are simply unacceptably bad.
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I didn't realize there was a difference between the types. Go on then. Educate me.
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Some chaps like to roll their own, but I can't trust a man and his papers because you never know just what he's put in it. If I puffed on anything of that sort I'm fairly certain I'd shat my dear lungs.
[So much more than you ever wanted to know about them, boy.]
I would be willing to introduce you to a good few. A bit different then my tastes typically know, but the years have only refined the filter, it would seem, of a good Davidoff.
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Should I be concerned that you know so much about this? I suppose I could stand to learn though. Shall I meet you somewhere today then?
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[How nonchalant, Guy.]
Any preferences as to where? My residence is suitable if you haven't one.
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Well chosen. Good Spirits, fifteen minutes?
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