"Gilmore," he replied, "let's not pretend you're a strange to handsome men standing before you wet and naked." He wore a teasing grin, of course, a sign of affection in a bit of the old rapport. Still, he tore himself away from the other man, reaching down for the leather pants, and slowly began to slip them on in an effort to achieve some sense of modesty lest some stranger walk by and get the wrong idea. While Vax might have no sense of shame, he respected Gilmore enough that he wouldn't want to besmirch the man's name with scandal. He was, after all, a man of honor. Honor that Vax had very little of. But he hoped to gain some how.
When the other man spoke of his hair, though, he merely frowned. "Now that is a low blow, Gilmore," he replied. "Grog could only hope to have the beautiful of a mane." He smirked a bit before he said: "You know how it is. You miss a blow, a terribly nasty beastie grabs you by the hair, and there are only a few options in the heat of the moment." Slipping his hands on his hips, he studied the darker man before him -- certainly darker in his time on these shores.
"Oh, I don't know," he replied, "I liked the warmer weight." The corner of his lip quirked up into a half-smile. "Not that you are any worse for wear, of course." With a heavy sigh, he stared down at his armor -- suddenly remember the heavy weight they bore and slipped on the leather that went over his torso. Grabbing the boots in hand, stuffed with the strange "gifts" of this realm, he glanced at Gilmore and added: "There wouldn't happen to be a plethora of bags of holding in this realm now would they?"