"Ruin things?" Gilmore guffawed with an upward flick of the wrist, as if to dismiss the notion, "Don't give yourself too much credit. Your short, musical companion beat you to it-- and some time ago, at that. Though, it's in Master Shorthalt's nature to outdo everyone, isn't it?"
By that time, the Unseen Servant returned with a pair of cups balanced perfectly (or, more probable, magically) upon its back. The sorcerer dipped down and retrieved his, ostensibly a small porcelain shot glass, and lifted it toward Vax at the end of the chaise. His rings clinked against the cup's side.
"Cheers," he said before taking a small slurp and rolling the hot liquid noisily across the front of his mouth before letting it slip down his throat. A bizarre ritual. "Well, I have to say from your recount that the past year has been absolutely boring," with that, Gilmore leaned back and delivered the punch line, "and absolutely deserved."
"It's still rather hard to believe you're here. This is the last place I expected you to be. Preya is dreadfully uneventful compared to your life in Exandria." Another slurp, just as noisy as the first, as Gilmore laid lounging as satisfied as a cat in the sun. Where will you be living? What will you be doing? For work, I mean, since adventuring is not exactly a viable career. By the way," he gestured to the tea cup, "if you want milk or honey or sugar, just let me know. I'll transmute the tea. I don't keep perishables in the shop. Well, except for the laboratory. But I don't suppose you're keen on drinking what I have in there, ha!"