When the half-elf set himself about the business of undressing (once more), Gilmore turned around and pretended to fuss with the fire place. It was, in truth, pretense, for all it truly required was the mere snap of his fingers to cause it to come roaring to life with purple-gold flames that...shed no heat? Magic was a strange and wonderful thing.
"It's a few years old," he replied with a bit of baritone bluster, "back when I wanted to ease the nostalgia for the old life." The sorcerer, himself, was barely half-dressed in those tiny shorts. He stretched out his arms and snapped once again; immediately a sort of chiffon robe flew out of the armoire and settled itself about his torso. "Not exactly the same market, I've exchanged weapons and healing potions for creature comforts, but it is nevertheless profitable. I'm on Preya's Council for Brightford, sort of like Uriel's Council, you'll remember, and I've met a man who is a fantastic lover."
Two truths and a lie. The last one, spoken as he turned around to face the half-elf, merely to see how the man would react. Because, as generous as Gilmore was, he was still human, and humans were not above the occasional pettiness.
Especially in matters of a broken heart.
What Gilmore saw Vax wearing coaxed a hearty guffaw from his rumbling chest. "How did you manage to pick the dullest things out of my wardrobe? That shirt is meant to be worn underneath things, not by itse--no, no." The sorcerer stroked his chin and smiled, his magical ring still aglow, "It works on you."