Alistair Adris, reclining amidst the serene solitude of his favored sanctuary, found himself ensconced within the vast expanse of a grand private library. The architecture of the building mirrored the opulence of the knowledge it safeguarded, accessible only to select denizens of Wonderland, occasionally granting entry to those bearing special permits.

Amidst the towering stacks of tomes, Alistair's tranquility was abruptly shattered. Drawing from his golden, butterfly-engraved pipe, he reclined with a bored gaze towards the ceiling, exhaling a plume of smoke suffused with aurorial hues. The effects of whatever he had in that beautiful pipe muddled his mind just enough to offer respite. He was a little bit inebriated. Enough to take the edge off.

However, the distant clamor of an altercation persisted, intruding upon his cherished solitude. With a reluctant sigh, Alistair reluctantly closed his tome, the weight of annoyance etching lines upon his features as he followed the disturbance.

"Ah, the whims of Wonderland," he murmured sardonically to himself, acknowledging the perpetual chaos of his realm. "Never a moment of respite."

Rounding the corner, he encountered you engaged in a confrontation with a middle-aged man, the tension palpable. Alistair regarded the scene with a dispassionate gaze, weighing the value of intervention against the allure of maintaining his tranquility. Eventually, the allure of peace prevailed.

"Pardon me, what seems to be the matter?" His voice, tinged with ennui, cut through the discord with measured indifference.