Blissfully ignorant to the heart woes of his coming guest, Tycho was currently dealing with his own problems. He had tried cooking the meal himself because his cook had quit just hours before. Something to do with the gnomes having eaten his supply of garden carrots. Something about having to deal with Williams loudly complaining every other day that he should make rotting food so that Williams could 'have a taste'. There had been other complaints but Tycho had lost interest in the conversation and tuned it out. All in all, it had been a little hectic.

And one thing was for sure, Tycho was no cook.

He had cracked the door open to get rid of the smoke. Luckily for himself and Greengrass's bellies, Tycho had sent a mummy, I am dying of starvation, save me letter to his mother and food had been sent over through the floo (covered so there was no soot, thank goodness). Just in time, too, it seemed. As Greengrass was at the door asking if he was early.

Tycho probably would not wear typical formal attire even to an actual formal dinner. So for this meal with Greengrass, Tycho was clad in a housecoat that was a little flowery (the fact it was originally meant for a woman likely had something to do with that), flouncy white dress shirt and pants. Which was very dressed up to him when in his own home.

"You're right on time, why do you ask?" Tycho hoped Greengrass would ignore the faint scent of burned pork from Tychos earlier efforts.