[ They're even finer, than originally thought, he realizes, as an curious once-over turns into a thorough investigation. Hand-stitched, with a care he's frankly never seen in a garment before. Even the finest clothing of his world is still machine-made. And the symbols ... they could mean anything, he'll grant, but a scepter certainly implies something to do with royalty.

He's all smiles as he lets the cloth fall back into its folded pile, barely disturbed. ]

I like to think I do!

[ He closes the distance to the lip of the springs, only there finally starting to disrobe. He takes a slow care with his suit jacket, matching pants, neat tie, spotless shoes -- when you wear nearly all white, everything has to be done carefully. ]

I can't say I've ever had the budget for that kind of thing, though. You must be pretty good at whatever it is you do.