[ Thorin has been watching Bilbo's dilemma from the middle of the stairs, only turning back once the hobbit finally makes up his mind. It never ceases to amuse him that his burglar is, quite frankly, terrible at actual burgling in most cases. He is more than adept at hiding things when he has a mind to, but actual theft is another matter entirely.
There are a line of numbered doors in a hallway, one side open to the large, open room below. It's close to what he's used to, but it just feels... off in a way he can't put words to. He steps up to the third one and unlocks it, pushing the door partially open, but he doesn't immediately barge into the dimly lit room. He's not that reckless.
Once Bilbo is within a conversational distance, he looks over, his shoulder still against the door frame. He's not about to admit that the exhaustion from the day is starting to creep up on him. It's nothing he hasn't faced before. ]
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There are a line of numbered doors in a hallway, one side open to the large, open room below. It's close to what he's used to, but it just feels... off in a way he can't put words to. He steps up to the third one and unlocks it, pushing the door partially open, but he doesn't immediately barge into the dimly lit room. He's not that reckless.
Once Bilbo is within a conversational distance, he looks over, his shoulder still against the door frame. He's not about to admit that the exhaustion from the day is starting to creep up on him. It's nothing he hasn't faced before. ]
You can return that later, Master Burglar.