Gerald/Baz
Basil had fallen back, observing the merchandise tent carefully and eyeballing the stacks of t-shirts and memorabilia - yes, they'd almost definitely need to send out for more of the Stonehenge specials. The girl in charge was leaning forward and batting her eyes at Gerald - understandable, certainly, but not anything Basil wanted to listen to or think about too deeply, so he busied himself writing up a list of items that needed restocked to Owl back to the office. The venue had a small Owlery equipped for just that sort of eventuality - it was just a matter of waiting for one of their overworked flock to return to roost.
He took the shirt Gerald tossed him absently, then registered the words that went with it.
"I'm told it's terribly gauche to wear one of the band's shirts at their own concert," Basil said dryly, dredging up an ancient memory of a far younger Donaghan and Myron ranting at him, and each other, on the finer-points of concert fashion. But - it was also gauche to refuse a present. Conundrum. "You really didn't have to make the purchase, I'm perfectly comfortable as-is," Basil lied, resisting the urge to attempt to roll his sleeves up further.