Whatever the intention of the artist, the mask is certainly serving its purpose. A lump of clay drips from the heavier side, the one already sliding low on the man's cheek. He has perhaps an hour of wear time left if he's very, very gentle with it. Perfect.

Michael spares a glance at Nanaue. Does it count as wearing the mask if he's treating it as another garment entirely? He decides not—and anyway, he's not devoted to following the Elders' commands to the letter. That's for the locals. They'll get the odd mask when Nanaue tires of it, which should be by the time they get back to the inn.

"Good trade," he concurs.

He watches the man, now petting Baby in silence, wondering at the softness of his fur. He does not seem inclined to put him down any time soon. There's a soft thwump, the sound of whacking someone with a feather pillow though no such pillow has materialized, and the man startles back to his surroundings.

"Ah, thank you both." He hands the seal back to Nanaue then puts his hands to the mask, an uncertain smile on his face. It's from the Summoned so surely it must be a good trade, right?

He turns and heads away in the direction he'd been headed before the two can level any new offers at him.

Michael turns to Nanaue again and motions at his new hat.

"The Elders will want to see that. Let's show them."