Red flicked down to the card, taking it and turning it over a few times in thought. He listens to the other, gauging the man's words as he tapped the plastic to his lips, finally trailing eyes over the other's frame again.
Rubies end at the hammer, noting the hallmarks all across it, eyes shining as he forcefully contained the utter glee. A silversmith? Well, Nai was actually listening to him whine and complain about not having anything pretty to sell.
"The little minx." He mutters under his breath, eyes flicking the last gap to the others face, clearly clocking right back in like his mind had never left, letting plastic tug his bottom lip a second.
"Blazers and slacks are what the rich want. Boring, bland, 'I want what Sarza was wearing last week at the summer glam dinner'." Eyes roll as he turns then, slipping towards the male half of the store, trailing fingers over a rack of pieces, thinking to himself.
It's clear clothing is a passion of his, the works out on the racks unlikely to be his doing as many of them look same same. His own attire more akin to what one may find either from Piltover or those visiting, refined yet intricate, chaotic yet simple. The way the hand embroidered flowers flow along the sash at his waist, the little rose on his backside pocket, splashes of light color on otherwise tan and brown clothing gave it a humble flare.
Even still, he flicks his eyes over the human, swaying left and right before picking a few pieces of the simpler attire.
"Men often just pick the simple things, 'gets the job done' they say. There's no fun in basic. Not even a pattern, ugh." He moves then to the change rooms, setting the pieces out for inspection and trial.
There was a level of care in each choice, a flair of color here, a tint of something there, but nothing too bold. Seemed the only bold colors were in the dresses, and even they were quite drab in his humble opinion, just a slightly pink-white dress shirt or a ever faint mint tone to lines on the vest. Nothing stood out, it burned his veins a new passion each time someone seeks something refined, unique, one-of-a-kind kind of deals.
It's why he all but wears down his friends to let him make at least one outfit for them. Desperate to show them the power they could feel in the right clothes, so maybe, just maybe, he could make more.
"Lets start with these. A few styles of waistcoats, yes a corset vest if you don't like it, you don't need to try it on. Of course nothing will fit perfectly right off the bat, but it'll fit enough. My work is precise and made to order." He motions to the pieces pulled from the rack, clearly not made to order, simply premade in common shapes and sizes, like most places do. "My colleagues make what is popular and refined in the high class world. I may not be paid as regularly as they, but my tastes? They are fun, bright, different, darling. These are my fellow tailor's works. I, make to order custom pieces, statements that speak of the being wearing them and who they aim to be." Though his stance is languid, he looks pleased with himself, like speaking of this, his clear passion, was as easy as pretending to breathe.
"Nai? I dressed that man myself. Arrived in a ripped up blanket and a terribly ill fitting spacesuit, if you believe me."
