"A plethora? No, it's a bit of a niche market when there aren't scores of adventurers delving through dungeons and bringing back heaps of forgotten treasure." Gilmore blinked a few times, finally daring another peek at the half-elf now that he was getting dressed. This was all very odd. It felt very odd, and Gilmore did not like feeling off his game. "Of course," he continued with a sharp clearing of his throat, "I do have a few in the shop, mostly designed to fit the fashions of the time, women's purses and evening bags and the like."
The thought of that leather rubbing against skin, wet skin nonetheless, underneath such a hot sun was enough to make Gilmore grimace. The unpleasant expression was course-corrected, though, righting up into something a little more affable and befitting someone that he was fond of. A...complicated relationship, but one of fondness regardless.
"It is a pity about the hair, though," Gilmore retreated to the previous subject (deigning, rather deliberately, to let the taunt about naked men go unanswered). He even lifted a bejeweled hand, as if to reach out and touch it, but stopped short. The fingers waved in some non-committed gesture. "Perils of a perilous occupation, no doubt, though--"
He stopped himself short. What he was going to say, what he wanted to say, was how Vax was still as beautiful as ever, missing hair notwithstanding. His forehead briefly bunched up as he took a moment to struggle with himself, weighing impulse against better judgment. As usual, with Shaun Gilmore, better judgment won out.
"Though, Vax'ildan," he rephrased, as if this was planned question all along, "this begs the question...why are you here? Do you know where you are, I mean?"