It was less 'sitting down' and more the physical dropping of a bag in the rough shape of a human into a chair.

THUMP. It occurred to him shortly after to arrange his arms and legs thusly to at least get... comfortable.

The feather was like a stone in his head.

Out of anything more to say to the man, he'd fallen deathly silent, staring at his hands and listening to the sounds of the tea being made, as if the ground process still wasn't entirely complete.