He shrugs, neither quite finished replenishing himself nor hugely into sweets.
"Well, do I want to know?" he demands, amused. "Would she have wanted me to? Unless," he adds, eyes softening, "we're still talking about cookery."
"The shell grotto," he waves a hand in its general direction. "Ex-tourist trap, closed now. Might or might not have been that one of Vortigern's that Merlin released the dragons from. You know, when he was meant to be a blood sacrifice to whatever kept crumbling the castle?" He looks smug, and gestures to his current unexceptional attire. "I know." Beat. "They aren't actually indigo," he's entirely unable to stop himself from tacking on. "Just black."
"If you can make that affable-gentleman-being-amiable-for-the-moment thing you do so well in person come across on paper," he says lifting a finger, although he's hard-pressed not to smile at Rus's puppyishness. "She's an owl-order customer, and I don't want the brewery provably associated with death threats or anything of that nature."
"I saw no difference," he says dismissively, and looks pained. "Just tell me you are planning to stop with terror?" He shrugs. "No, do use an aging charm, that should help." Frowning, "Yes, that's probably how it will work... she didn't say stronger in what way, though... how long do you intend to spend changed?"