"Nah, it's cool, I can hang around for a bit." It does occur to Fish that he's still on the clock and should be at the desk right now, but standing here staring at some guy's wristwatch takes precedence over assisting the inn's patrons, clearly. It could be said that he's about as metaphysically malleable as one could hope for, at least on the terms of right here and now. "I mean, if you want."

You scamp, you.

He folds his hands in front of his belt buckle—tonight's choice was repurposed from an old seatbelt, in case anyone wants to know—and waits there, most attentive, now lacking any sign of his earlier sour mood. He doesn't look cheerful, exactly, but his temper seems to have waned for now.